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THE 
 
 YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 1 
 / 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 BY 
 
 IKS. lEOLLOPE, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 WIDOW BARXABY," "ADVENTURES OF A CLEVER WOMAN',' 
 "MRS. MATHEWS," ETC., ETC. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY. 
 
 1864. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2009 with funding from 
 Duke University Libraries 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/youngheiressnoveOOtrol 
 

 THE YOUNG HEIEESS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 It is not very often in our money-loving and industrious 
 country that we see a house, which has the appearance of being 
 absohitely abandoned by its owner, and apparently permitted to 
 fall into decay as rapidly as its nature shall permit, without 
 any interference from the hand of man either to hasten or 
 delay it. But such was a few years ago the case with a large, 
 dull, heavy-looking mansion in the county of Cornwall. 
 
 Yet although there might have been many, who would pro- 
 bably have been well pleased to occupy so roomy a dwelling at 
 the low rent for which it might probably have been obtained, 
 nobody came forward to bargain for it ; the reason for which 
 perhaps might have been found more in the imaginations of 
 those who turned away from it, than in any prudent considera- 
 tion for their own interest; for the house really was a good and 
 convenient house, and the garden attached to it, though curi- 
 ously matted over by a vigorous growth of weeds, was spacious 
 enough to have been both pleasant and convenient. 
 
 But the house had an ill name, and nobody, as it seemed, had 
 mental courage enough to set about giving it a better. 
 
 The circumstances which led to this evil reputation are well 
 known to me ; and as they have appeared to me to possess some 
 interest, I have been tempted to record them in the following 
 narrative. 
 
 The name of the family who were the last inhabitants of this 
 
 2 
 
2 ^ THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 Louse was Rixley. At the time my narrative must begin, it 
 coosistccl of only four individuals ; namely, a fathei', with one 
 son, one daughter, and one female servant to wait upon them. 
 Mr. Rixley, the father, was at tliis time about fifty years of age ; 
 his son was fifteen ; bis daughter, twelve; and the servant who 
 attended them, about forty. Mr. Rixley was one of those 
 people whom some persons declare to be very handsome, while 
 others aver that they are greatly the reverse. It was, however, 
 a matter of fact, which admitted of no dispute, that he was a 
 tall, well-grown, well-proportioned man with regular, and 
 decidedly handsome, features. The difference of opinion con- 
 cerning his looks could only arise among those, v;ho suffer 
 their imaginations to be the fool of their other faculties, or 
 else worth all the rest. In short, among those people who 
 were in the habit of seeing more than was absolutely in 
 sight, Mr. Hixley did not appear well-looking, because the 
 various expressions of his countenance — and they were very 
 various — seemed to indicate passions and feelings that were 
 sometimes doubtful, often bad, but never good. 
 
 His son inherited his form and his features, though by no 
 means the expression of his countenance ; but his daughter 
 resembled him not at all. She was small for her age, and very 
 delicately and symmetrically formed ; and her features and 
 complexion were likewise of a delicacy and refinement which, 
 in comparing her to her father, could only suggest the idea of 
 contrast, instead of resemblance. 
 
 As to the fourth personage who composed this small but very 
 various household, by name Sarah Lambert, she, too, had been, 
 as well as her master, very strikingly handsome ; but ill health, 
 or ill temper, or both together, had worn her almost to the 
 thinness of a skeleton ; and the magnificent black eyes, which 
 had probably, in the days of her beauty, been the most aidful 
 feature in producing it, had now an almost frightful effect as 
 they glared from her thin and sallow visage. 
 
 Helen Rixley was (as I have said) about twelve years old at 
 the time my narrative begins, and her half brother three years 
 older. The mother of the boy had been the mistress of his 
 very dissolute father, and had died when her child was about 
 two years old. Within a month after her death, Mr. Rixley left 
 his home at the Warren House, as it was called, and which Avas 
 not then quite so desolate as it became afterwards ; and, after 
 the absence of a month or two, announced by a letter to his 
 housekeeper that he was married, and that his house and 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. • 3 
 
 g-arJen were to be set in order, as lie should return to it with 
 liis bride in the course of a week or two. 
 
 The house and garden were, accordingly, put into very nice 
 order ; and in the course of a week or two, the master of it 
 arrived with his biide, and a very young and a very lovely 
 bride she proved to be. 
 
 Who, or what she was, he never announced to anybody ; and 
 yet he had no reason to be ashamed of her, for she really was 
 as innocent as she was young, and as good as she was beautiful. 
 
 The shame of the marriage — if shame there was — did not 
 rest with her, poor girl, but with the hard unfeeling female 
 relative who urged her into it. 
 
 She had been left an orphan by the early death of both 
 father and mother, who had made a miserably imprudent mar- 
 riage; the father being a young fortuneless officer on the eve of 
 being sent to the West Indies, and the mother, the equally for- 
 tuneless daughter of a clergyman, who had performed the 
 duties of a curate in a villao'e near the young^ man's last Eno-. 
 dish quarters. 
 
 A few years' service abroad sufficed to terminate all the mortal 
 cares of the young father, n.n'6. the young mother returned with 
 a baby to England, with no provision but a tiny pension, and no 
 relative to assist her, save a maiden aunt, who proclaimed, and 
 considered, herself as the most noble minded of women for 
 giving' her shelter. 
 
 The young widow, however, did not trouble her long*, and 
 moreover contrived, during the few years she lived, to pay a 
 very sufficient remuneration for the maintenance of herself and 
 her child, by means of selling her very clever water-colour 
 drawings to a Bond-street furnisher of costly albums. 
 
 The maiden aunt showed no very affectionate kindness, per- 
 haps, in placing the little orphan girl in a sort of apprenticeship 
 to a good school in the neighbourhood of London; but, as a 
 measure of prudence, she could have done nothing better, and 
 moreover, by a happy chance, the desolate child did not en- 
 counter any of the cruelties and hardships which are often said 
 to attend such a position. The object of so placing her was the 
 hope that it might enable her to get her bread as a teacher in 
 the school, or as governess in some private family; and being 
 exceedingly well tanght, and, moreover, exceedingly apt to 
 learn, it is probable that this result might have been easily 
 obtained, had not another mode of maintaining her been offered, 
 and eagerly accepted by the maiden aunt. 
 
 2—2 
 
4 THE YOUNG HEIEESS. 
 
 It chanced tliat in one of the short and far-between visits of 
 Helen Herbert to the country-town residence of this old lad}', 
 slie was seen, and very pas.-rionately admired, by Mr. Rixlcy, 
 who was then still a young and decidedly a very handsome 
 man. Nevertheless, the 3^oung- Helen did not admire him 
 by many degrees so much as he admired her, and would 
 very greatly have preferred returning to her promised post of 
 teacher at the school to the becoming Mrs. Rixley. 
 
 Had she been a few years older she might have made more 
 resolute and more successful efforts to decide this question fur 
 herself; but she was only seventeen, and the habit of obedience 
 was still so inveterate in her that she yielded with but little 
 resistance, and arrived in due time at the Warren House in the 
 character of its mistress. 
 
 Perhaps in these its best days the said Warren House had 
 nothing very beautiful or exhilarating in its aspect; but what- 
 ever was the cause, it is certain that the young and lovely Mrs. 
 Rixley was not in any way enchanted or exhilarated by finding 
 herself there. 
 
 In fact, the only thing that appeared greatly to interest her 
 in her new home was the beautiftil little boy whom she found 
 trotting about there with just about the same degree of licence 
 and of favour as we usually see accorded to a domestic pet. 
 Nothing, in fact, could more accurately describe his condition 
 than the words of the old song — 
 
 "Xow fondled, now chid, 
 Permitted, forbid, 
 It was leading the life of a dog." 
 
 But even this degree of favour 'was accorded more by the 
 servants of the house than its master; for tliough the brii>ht- 
 looking little seraph was suffered to come and to go, when the 
 parlour door happened to be open, v/ithoufc absolutely being 
 kicked out of the way, it was but rarely that his hard natured 
 father deigned to look at him, and never from the hour of his 
 birth, which had cost his unfortunate mother the loss of family 
 and friends, had he ever been seen to bestow a caress upon him. 
 
 This wretched mother had lived in the most perfect seclusion 
 of the Warren House; but during the two years which preceded 
 her death, she had learnt to welcome the departure and mourn 
 the return of her seducer, on whose afiection.s, although she 
 continued to be called by his name, and to appear to be mistress 
 of his house, she had evidently ceased to have any hold within 
 a very few months of her residence with him. 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 5 
 
 As long as she lived, poor young creature, her beautifal child 
 had been her idol, though she could scarcely feel him to be a 
 consolation ; but it seemed to be the pretty boy's fate to make 
 the mournful seclusion of the Warren House endurable to its 
 female inhabitants ; for when a real Mrs. Rixley took possesion 
 of it, his pretty ways occasioned her the only pleasure and 
 amusement she seemed capable of feeling. 
 
 Nor did her fondness for him cease, when she had a child of 
 her own to share it, The birth of her little girl was, never- 
 theless, an event oF immense importance to her. Had she ever 
 loved her husband, the evident loss of his affection, of which 
 she was made fully aware within a very few months after their 
 marriage, would doubtless have, in a great degree, poisoned the 
 happiness which the birth of her little daughter occasioned ; 
 but, as it was, she too, like her still more unfortunate prede- 
 cessor, learnt to welcome his departure from home with as 
 keen a feeling of joy as happier wives welcome a husband's 
 return. 
 
 As to the cause of his long and frequent absences she knew 
 nothino'. He used his house much as a traveller misrht use a 
 well-known inn, coming and going* without ceremony, and 
 without thinking it necessary to give notice either of the one 
 or the other. 
 
 The Warren House was a very isolated mansion, being at 
 nearly a mile's distance from the parish church, and rather 
 more from the little village to which it belonged; and the 
 detached mansions of the few gentlemen's families resident in 
 the neio'libourhood were at a vSomewhat o-reater distance still. 
 The reason of this sort of isolation was obvious, arising from 
 the immediate vicinity of a wide-spreading rabbit warren, 
 which had given its name to the house occupied by Mr. Rixley, 
 and its dreary aspect to the land immediately surrounding it. 
 
 The remoteness of its situation must always have rendered it 
 a lonely and unsocial sort of dwelling ; and its present owner's 
 manner of life had, of course, rendered it still more so. 
 
 The doubts which were speedily circulated respecting the 
 first Mrs. Rixley's right to the name not only kept these few 
 and distant neighbours from coming near her, but seemed left 
 as a legacy to the second Mrs. Rixley also; and the village 
 doctor was for a long' time the only one of their neighbours 
 who ventured to bi-ing his wife to call upon her. 
 
 But the sort of suspicion which at first appeared to attach to 
 her wore away by degrees : her little girl was taken to church 
 
6 THE YOUNG HEmESS. 
 
 to be christened, and was duly entered in tlie regisfci' as Helen, 
 the daughter of George Rixiey and of Helen, his wife; wlicreas, 
 in the- case of little AVilliam, the core in on v of christening in the 
 parish church was omitted altogether-; and this difference was 
 considered to be a very satisfactory proof that the second ]Mrs. 
 Rixiey had better claims to the civility of the neighbourhood 
 than the first. 
 
 But as this satisfactory event did not take place till nearly a 
 twelvemonth after the real Mrs.. Rixiey was installed in her 
 mansion, the visits of her neighbours were neither made, nor 
 received, perhaps, very cordially ; and, excepting in the case of 
 Mv. Foster, the apothecar^^, and his famih-, these visits never 
 led to any great intimacy. The habits and manners of Mr. 
 Rixiey himself were not, indeed, such as to lead to intimacy ; 
 for although he occasionally returned the hospitalities he 
 accepted by giving, about twice a year, a very ostentatious 
 dinner to those whose dinners he had eaten, the repulsive stiff- 
 ness of his manner was never relaxed towards any one. 
 
 He was no sportsman, and, therefore, never met his neigh- 
 bours in the field ; he never mounted a horse, and, therefore, 
 never made a morning visit ; and, moreover, he was so often 
 absent for v/eeks and even months together, that, excepting at 
 these formal dinner parties, he was very rarely seen by liis 
 neighbours at all. 
 
 There was but one amusement or occupation to which he 
 was known to be attached, and to this one he certainly was 
 attached even passionately, and this was eoatixg. 
 
 The Warren House at Crumpton was situated in the midst of 
 a mile or two of tolerably level, but very lofty and bleak table- 
 land, which reached to the edge of one of the boldest cliffs on 
 the coast of Cornwall ; and it was on the turbulent element 
 over which that bleak cliff huns^ that the master of the Warren 
 House found the only recreation which its neighbourhood seemed 
 capable of affording him. 
 
 A frightfully steep flight of rude steps, rarely trod by any 
 feet but his own, and those of the out-of-door servant, who 
 sometimes cleaned the shoes of the family, but aliuaijs took care 
 of the fine boat belonging to its master, led from a dip in this 
 cliff to the rocky beach below, where, in a curiously tranquil 
 little creek, was erected a large and very costly boat-l)ouse, so 
 well placed 'and so firmly constructed as pretty safely to defy 
 the storms of that stormy coast. 
 
 And in this boat-house dwelt the thing that was very 
 
THE YOUXG HEIRESS. 7 
 
 cltclcleclly dearer to Mr. Rixley than cither "svife, mistress, child, 
 or aiiy other th.ing whatever. 
 
 Bat bis pleasure in it was savagely solitary ; for though the 
 boatman who always accompanied hira, and another sailor who 
 often did so when the battling breeze was too strong for one 
 alone to combat — though both these men were highly paid and 
 highly valued servants — the idea of their sharing his pleasure 
 no more entered his head than the idea that the sails, the rudder, 
 or the oars enjoyed it. 
 
 That Mr. Rixley loved the sea at all times and in all varia- 
 tions of weather w^as clearly proved by the many hours he 
 passed upon it in heat and cold, in storm and calm, in sunshine 
 and in torrents of rain. A violent thunder-storm, indeed, was 
 his especial delight; and the only state of atmosphere which 
 ever kept him for a whole day on shore when at Crampton was 
 that of dense and hopeless fog, or perfect calm. But it was 
 evident that this dislike of a fog arose in no degree from any 
 consciousness or fear of dan^'er: for never was his eagerness to 
 embark so great, and so evidently uncontrollable, as when im- 
 minent risk of life was not only threatened, but positively pre- 
 sent with him. 
 
 Upon these occasions it was his invariable habit to bestow a 
 very liberal largesse on the boatmen on leaving the litlle vessel, 
 and another on the followinsr morninrr, if, on re-visitincr the 
 boat-house, he found his darljng craft well secured, and in all 
 respects well cared for. 
 
 But he was most sternly arbitrary in exacting their obedience on 
 occasions when the state of the elements was such as would have 
 made it only commonly prudent, had they refused to risk their 
 lives in compliance with his commands ; and he had very 
 correctly calculated the price at which they would consent to 
 run the risk he proposed to them. That price he paid without 
 a moment's hesitation; and had these nautical slaves of the 
 purse more fully comprehended the desperate wilfulness of the 
 man they had to deal with, they might easily and habitually 
 have extorted a much heavier tax than he had ever paid. 
 
 Once, and fortunately only once, the life of the assistant boat- 
 man was sacrificed to the sort of brutal intrepidity with which 
 Mr. Rixley defied all the dangers of a tremendous storm, for 
 the sake of enjoying the godlike sport (as he called it to himself, 
 for he never expressed that, or any other of his strange pecu- 
 liarities, to mortal man) of rising out of the depths of a sea 
 chasm, in order to ride aloft on the foamy crest of a sea wave. 
 
8 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 Once, while enjoying this pastime, he saw the man, who was 
 engaged on some manoauvre at the head of the boat, fairly 
 knocked over by a wave, and then washed into the sea by the 
 same wave on its return. All the efforts made by Mr. Rixley 
 and the other man to save him were vain ; and the poor fellow 
 sank before their eyes to rise no more. 
 
 This event, of course, made a good deal of noise in the neigh- 
 bourhood ; and the rashness of Mr. Rixley was also, of course, 
 much blamed ; but when a donation of two hundred pounds to 
 the poor man's widow was paid into the hands of the village 
 lawyer, with instructions to settle one hundred and fifty of it 
 upon his little orphan girl, and to place the remaining fifty in 
 the savings' bank in the name of the widow, as a fund to supply 
 her immediate wants, there was not a voice to be heard dis- 
 cussing the tragical event that was not loud in praise of the 
 brave gentleman's noble generosity ; and the accident by no 
 means tended to make the fishermen, or their sons either, less 
 willing to accompany the Warren House squire whenever he 
 asked for their services. He had shrewdly guessed that so it 
 would be, and was by no means inclined to quarrel with the 
 adventure. 
 
 But, notwithstanding the lavish liberality with which Mr. 
 Rixley repaid all services rendered to him in pursuit of this 
 darling amusement, he was neither greatly loved nor respected 
 by a single individual among those he employed. Even his fear- 
 lessness, which in most cases is a very highly-esteemed quality 
 by all whose lives are passed in the presence of danger, had in 
 no degree endeared him to them. Had any among them been 
 nice in expressing distinctions, he would have been oftener called 
 rash than brave by them; and very justly, for the mental con- 
 dition which deserves the name of courage was as unknown to 
 him as the sensations of a fainting fit ; and if he laughed aloud 
 while his attendants turned pale with fear, it was only because 
 his inordinate enjoyment of vehement sensations made the fitful 
 blustering of the roaring wind, and the mad dancing of the 
 foaming waves, more agreeable to him than the loveliest still- 
 ness which heaven ever permitted to rest upon the bosom of a 
 summer sea. 
 
 It will easily be believed that in this his favourite — or rather 
 his only — pastime, his wife and children had no share. In fact, 
 they had very little more of his society when ho was dwelling 
 at the Warren House, than when he was absent from it; and, 
 fortunately for her happiness, his wife was by no means disposed 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 9 
 
 to monrn over this neglect as one of the evils of her destiny ; 
 but, on the contrarj', to consider it as a most important allevia- 
 tion of her unhappy position; and such it certainly was. 
 
 Neither was she, for the most part, in any way annoyed by the 
 interference of her husband in the arrangement of her domestic 
 concerns. She hired servants and dismissed them, according to 
 her own judgment, will, and pleasure, he having told her in a 
 very peremptory manner, upon the first occasion of the kind 
 that offered, that she must never again trouble him by any 
 reference on such a subject. 
 
 Once, indeed, it happened, a year or two after their marriage, 
 that the servant who attended on the children was dismissed by 
 him, in consequence of her having', as he said, answered him 
 impertinently; but this interference was by no means exercised 
 rudely, as far as concerned his wife, whatever it might have 
 been to the servant he dismissed ; for with much more civility 
 and observance than he was in the habit of show^ing her, he 
 apologised for having put her to inconvenience by this sudden 
 dismissal, adding that he had made the best atonement he could 
 for it by making inquii-ies in every direction for a well-recom- 
 mended nursemaid to take her place, and that he had succeeded 
 in hearing of a young woman who had already filled a similai* 
 situation, and of whom he had received so high a character as 
 to make him expect that she would be a perfect treasure to her 
 and to the children. 
 
 The time of most ladies might have hung heavily upon their 
 hands in the situation in which Mrs. Rixley was placed; but it 
 was not so with her. The education she had received became 
 a great blessing to her. She had inherited her mother's talent 
 and taste for drawing ; and the teaching she had received in the 
 art had been excellent, and excellently well put to profit : she 
 was as good a linguist as any young girl could be who had 
 never left her native land, and who had never had time or 
 opportunity before her marriage to read anything beyond her 
 class-books. She had an excellent ear, and had been justly con- 
 sidered as the best pianoforte-player at the school ; and she 
 could have sung too, and very sweetly, had any one ever wished 
 to hear her. 
 
 But not even all this most fortunate treasure of resource 
 would have sufficed to occupy her time so completely as it was 
 occupied, had she not speedily taken a mother's interest in the 
 beautiful, but utterly neglected child, whom she found run- 
 ning about her husband's house as the acknowledged son of 
 
10 THE YOCNG HEIRESS. 
 
 its master, bufc receiving" no more notice from him than if lie 
 had been a foundling' left at his door. 
 
 There were man}' vices deeply rooted, and deeply hidden too, 
 in the heart of Mr. Rixley ; but their concealment was for the 
 sake of convenience, and did not in any case proceed from hypo- 
 cris}'', for no man could well be more indifferent to the opinion 
 of his fellow creatures. Mr. Rixley was a rich man, and rich 
 men may easily gratify their whims, and their passions too, with- 
 out exposing themselves to any penalty enforced by the laws. 
 Had he been a poor man the case would have been widely dif- 
 ferent. But although he could do, and did do, pretty nearly all 
 the evil which it suited his inclination to achieve without 
 making himself amenable to the laws, he was aware that if all 
 his transactions were known, it would in all probability be pro- 
 ductive of inconvenience to him ; and he, therefore, did a great 
 many things that nobody knew anj'thing about but himself 
 
 Farther than this, however, his hypocrisy did not go. He 
 did not think it necessary to affect a virtue when he had it not, 
 for he would not have given up a sail in his boat, or any other 
 gratification to which he was attached, for the sake of being 
 considered as the most virtuous man in existence by every 
 Imman being of his acquaintance. And therefore it was that 
 his wife discovered, before she had been twenty-four hours in 
 his house, that h& had a heart as hard as a stone, and not a 
 thousandth part so much amiable feeling as the cat who lay on 
 the hearth-ruo: and caressed its kitten as it ran over her. 
 
 On the whole, perhaps, it was well for her that this dis- 
 covery was made so speedily, and so decisivel}^ Had she loved 
 the man to whom she had l3een given as a wife, the case would 
 here again have been very different ; but as it was, it was far 
 better for her to understand him thoroughly, and understand 
 her own position also at once. 
 
 In achieving this she made no blunder whatever. 
 
 He remained with her for about a fortnight after their return 
 home as the most impassioned of lovers, and as she thought, 
 poor young thing, as the most disagreeable of men ; and then 
 he left her; why, or whither he went she knew not at all, and 
 certainly cared not much. Her childhood though not unprofit- 
 ably spent, had never been childishly gay, and had never been 
 j^outhfully happy, and now the quiet stillness of her almost 
 solitary home was infinitely less shocking to her than it would 
 have been to most girls of the same age. 
 
 In the course of this honey fortnight he had besought her to 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 11 
 
 toll him if there was anything she wished for, ^Yl)icll his house 
 did not contain, and which the neighbouring little town could 
 not supply, adding that he vras writing to a friend in London, 
 who would execute :\ny commission she would give with all 
 possible attention to her wishes. 
 
 In reply to this obliging offer she had answered very readily 
 that she should be greatly obliged to him if he would subscribe 
 to a library for her, and make arrangements for a regular 
 transmission of a book-box for her, about once a month. 
 
 The request was complied with, amidst abounding caresses, 
 and the standing order given in consequence of it having never 
 been rescinded, she had continued in the enjoyment of this very 
 consolatory indulgence to the day of her death. 
 
 And it was well she had it, for she wanted that, and every 
 other consolation within lier reach, to enable her to endure the 
 many painful features of her strange destiny. She was indeed 
 very speedily released from the oppressive fondness of her ill- 
 matched mate, and not unfrequently from his presence also for 
 many weeks together, and for this she was very truly thankful. 
 But neverlheless her life was a painfully strange one for so very 
 young a woman. Her good and steady friend, Mrs. Foster, the 
 worthy wife of the village doctor, often told her that she might 
 easily put herself upon a more intimate and pleasant footing 
 with the ladies of the neighbourhood, if she would show them 
 any indication that she wished it, for they were all disposed to 
 like, and think well of her. But poor Mrs. Rixley had no 
 courage to try the experiment. It is true that her husband 
 never enquired what she did during his absence, but she felt 
 very reasonably certain, that if anything like intimacy were 
 established between her and her neio'hbours, his cold and 
 repulsive manners to them would be a ceaseless source of 
 embarrassment, and annoyance. 
 
 And so she lived on in her studious solitude, her dearly 
 loved step-child, and her own darling little girl being her pas- 
 time as long as their babyhood lasted, and her well-instructed 
 pupils afterwards. 
 
 That she should dearly love her own, and only child, and be 
 dearly loved by her in return, was certainly not very extra- 
 ordinary, nor in any way out of the common course of things; 
 but there was something more than common in the attachment 
 which existed between her and tlie little William. Pity for 
 his neglected condition had first opened her young and truly 
 feminine heart to the motherless and neglected boy, and his 
 
12 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 bright beauty, and bright iatelligence had rapidly increased 
 this pitying tenderness, till her love for him very neai'l}'', if not 
 quite, equalled the love she felt for her own child ; while, on 
 his part, his devoted affection for her seemed to call foi-th, and 
 keep iu fall action all the energy of his excitable and ardent 
 spirit. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 My retrospect ought to have been condensed into the reason- 
 able bounds of one chapter; I have, however, exceeded this, 
 and must give another to it — but my narrative is still retro- 
 spective. 
 
 A manner of life so unvarying as that of 'Mrs. Rixley cannot 
 be exposed to any change, however apparently trilling, without 
 such a degree of attention being excited by it, as to make it 
 apjDcar of some importance. And so it happened with the 
 recluse of the Warren House when her nursery maid was 
 dismissed by her husband, and a stranger introduced in her 
 stead. 
 
 Had Mrs. Rixley's life and occupations been less isolated, 
 and less abundant in opportunities for solitary and fanciful lucu- 
 brations, she would probably have been satisfied by perceiving 
 that this new attendant upon the children appeared to under- 
 stand her business extremely well, and was regular and attentive 
 in the performance of it; but though these valuable qualities 
 were by no means overlooked, or undervalued by her meditative 
 young mistress, this did not suffice to prevent her fancying that 
 the young woman had something strangely capricious in her 
 disposition, although this supposed caprice never interfered 
 with the performance of the duties assigned to her. 
 
 For a long time, however, the idea that this Sarah Lambert 
 was subject to occasional fits of ill-temper greatly lessened the 
 confidence which her general good conduct was calculated to 
 inspire ; for poor solitary Mrs. Rixley was grievously tormented 
 with the idea that if the deep gloom, which sometimes appeared 
 so legibly stamped on the handsome and expressive features of 
 
THE YOUXG HEIRESS. 13 
 
 this important fancfcionary, were to seize on her -vvliile walking* 
 Avlth the children on the " beetling cliff," she might be strangely 
 tempted to save them and herself also from all fature hmnau 
 ills, by tossing them over the rock, and flinging herself after 
 til em. 
 
 But by degrees these vague imaginings in a great degree 
 wore themselves out, and well they might, for the woman's 
 devotion to the children was unbounded, and if any danger 
 could be rationally feared from her attendance on them, it must 
 have been found in the risk they both ran of being, in nursery 
 phrase, spoiled ; for it w^as very evident that if left wholly to 
 herself she would have indulged them much beyond the limits 
 of discretion. 
 
 But Mrs. E/ixley was not wholly wrong in thinking, and in 
 feeling, that there was often something singularly puzzling in 
 the aspect and manner of this young woman. Most people 
 would have allowed her to be extremely handsome, thoug'h 
 there were many, of whom her mistress was one, who thought 
 that the exj)ression of her magnificent eyes was more startling, 
 than ao-reeable. 
 
 These marvellous eyes were large, long, dark, and lustrous, 
 and there were moments, for instance when they were fixed 
 with almost passionate tenderness on the little William, when 
 neither her mistress, nor any one else could deny that they were 
 the most beautiful eyes they ever beheld. 
 
 But Mr. Foster, who was a " travelled man," having been a 
 navy surgeon in his youth, explained the mystery of this un- 
 wonted brilliancy, and vehemence of expression, by pronouncing 
 very confidently that the eyes were Greek eyes, and that, though 
 it was possible one of her parents might have been English, it 
 was quite certain in his judgment that the other must have had 
 a different orisrin. Whether he were rio^ht or wrono* in this 
 conjecture was never likely to be known, for no one ever heard 
 the tall, dark-eyed, grave-looking Sarah Lambert talk of her- 
 self, or any one belonging to her. ^ 
 
 To her mistress she was respectfully obedient, and rigidly 
 observant of her wishes, as respected the arrangements of the 
 -iiursery ; but there was a coldness in her manner which not all 
 the familiarity arising from lengthened service, or sympathy of 
 feeling concerning the children, could remove. Whether this 
 manner arose from dislike, or from respect, it would have been 
 difficult to say, but whatever its cause it was not agreeable, and 
 the less so from the striking contrast which it formed to her 
 
14 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 manner with the children, which was always fondly caressing", 
 and sometimes almost impassioned in its tenderness. 
 
 Mi'S. Rixley's studious habits — for the solitary life she led 
 had converted more than one of her pursuits into studies — often 
 prevented her from leaving the house in the morning, even in 
 the most tempting season of the year ; for as the children 
 advanced in age, her occupation as sole instructor to them both 
 constantly employed four or five hours of the early part of the 
 day, and when they were dismissed to their sports in the 
 garden, she was wont to sit down cither to read, or to draw, 
 and would often remain thus engaged till the daylight failed 
 her. 
 
 Upon one occasion when this had happened three or four 
 days successivel}'-, without her having taken any exercise at all, 
 she besfan to feel that she wanted the fresh air, and that she 
 had sat still too long. 
 
 The day had been warm, and the children having been in- 
 dulo-ed with a lonof evenino' ramble had Ofone both of them 
 early to bed, so it was alone, and not with the sturdy little 
 William trotting as usual by her side, that she set forth to take 
 a moonlight walk upon the cliff. 
 
 The breeze from the sea was deliciously cool, without bring- 
 ing any chilling quality with it; and she strolled on, and on, 
 till she had far exceeded the usual limits of her evening walk. 
 
 At length she reached the point where the steps, leading to 
 the beach and the boat-house, were situated, and for a moment 
 she felt a strong inclination to descend them ; for although her 
 strangely-tempered husband had never once invited her either 
 to accompany him in his boat, or even to w^^lk with him to 
 the beach, which formed the most attractive feature of their 
 residence, she had found out, and enjoyed its beauty in that 
 happier portion of her existence, during which his absence from 
 home left her free from any risk of meeting him, either on the 
 cliff, or under it. 
 
 When she took the children with her to the beach, she 
 availed herself of an approach somewhat more circuitous, but 
 much less dangerous ; but when alone she had so often taken 
 this shorter way, that she no longer felt any fear in treading it. 
 
 But now, though the moon shone brightly, she hesitated 
 when she reached the point wdiere the opening in the cliff, 
 looking more like a dark chasm, than a stair, yawned at her 
 feet, and after the doubt of a moment slie discreetly turned 
 away, determined for this time to be contented with looking on 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 15 
 
 the moon-lit sea from the heights, without attempting to 
 approach it more nearly. 
 
 This resolution was ti)e more easily taken, because there was 
 a little hollow sheltered nook, at no great distance from the 
 place whence the steps descended, which was well known to 
 her as offering the most commodious seat imaginable from 
 whence to look out upon the ocean, and the bold sweep of 
 towering rocks by which it was bordered. To this nook she 
 now turned her steps, and having seated herself in the turfy 
 hollow, she rejoiced in the prudence which had brought her to 
 a spot so every way enjoyable, instead of seeking the doubtful 
 pleasure of a scramble down the cliff. 
 
 She had not, however, enjo3'ed this snug position long, before 
 she became aware that the almost certain solitude which had 
 often rendered it so agreeable as a resting-place, was not quite 
 so certain by night, as by daj, for ere she had been seated 
 many minutes, she distinctly heard voices discoursing aloud at 
 no great distance from her. She speedily became aware, 
 however, that the speakers were approaching the summit of 
 the cliff by the steps from which she had just before turned 
 away, and she rejoiced anew at the discretion which had 
 prevented her meeting them, and this not only because she 
 wished not at such an hour to meet any one, but because the 
 doing so, even by broad daylight, would have led to the 
 awkward necessity of the ascending party going down, or the 
 descending party going up, for to pass each other would have 
 been pretty nearly impossible. 
 
 Her satisfaction, moreover, was the more complete, because 
 there was now no sort of necessity that she should be seen by 
 the approaching strangers at all ; for nothing could be more 
 easy than for her so to place herself within a few feet of the 
 place where she was sitting, as to be quite beyond the reach of 
 any passing eyes. 
 
 The change of position necessary to ensure this did not 
 occupy a moment, but the manoeuvre had not been long 
 accomplished, when a voice vibrated upon her ear, which she 
 instantly knew to be that of her husband. 
 
 He had been absent from the Warren House nearly a month, 
 but as he had condescended to tell her when he left it that it 
 was his purjoose to be absent for two, she was as much surprised 
 as chagrined at his unexpected return. Had she not believed 
 his continued absence certain, she would have been far more 
 likely to betake herself to the safe solitude of her bed-room 
 
16 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 than to have wandered within reach of his so well-known 
 haunt, as the steps leading to his boat-honse. 
 
 She rejoiced, however, most sincerely, that the timid fit had 
 seized her, which had prevented her meeting him, face to face, 
 where it would have been next to impossible for him not to 
 offer her the assistance of his arm; and it was now so long- 
 since anything so nearly approaching conjugal kindness had 
 passed between them, that the necessity for it would probably 
 have been equally disagreeable to both parties. 
 
 The rocky crag which so effectually prevented Mrs, Rixley 
 from being seen from the path above the hollow nook in which 
 she had placed herself, in no way impeded her being able to see 
 the persons who traversed it, and she soon perceived that the 
 companion of her husband was a woman. 
 
 Unfortunately for the reputation of the gentleman, the 
 frequency of this sort of companionship with jDersons of the 
 very lowest class was too notorious for his wife to be ignorant 
 of it, and the pain arising from seeing him thus approaching to 
 within a few feet of her, with his arm thrown round his com- 
 panion, arose chiefly from the disagreeable consciousness that 
 accident had now made her a spy upon his actions, while fully 
 aware that the peaceful tenor of her existence was the result of 
 her careful avoidance of everything approaching to interference 
 with his mode of passing his time, either at home or abroad. 
 
 So genuine was her wish to preserve herself in this state of 
 ignorance, that as the pair approached her place of conceal- 
 ment, she actually closed her eyes that she might not by 
 possibility recognise the w^oman who was his companion. 
 
 " Almeria I you are an idiot ! " were the first words which 
 she distinctly heard, as the pair approached her. They were 
 uttered in the deep voice of her husband, and though they 
 indicated reproach, there was something in the accent with 
 which they were uttered, which showed plainly that whether 
 idiot, or not, "Almeria" was not an object of indifference. 
 
 "You know," he said, "that let who will come into the 
 house, you are the only one, either in it, or out of it, for whom 
 I really feel attachment. Then why cannot this content you? 
 You cannot have forgotten that I told you, from the very first, 
 that desperately as I was in love with you, I never would sub- 
 mit to be tormented by a woman's jealousy. Have you forgotten 
 this?" 
 
 If his companion replied to this question, it was either by a 
 sign, or a whisper, for no sound was heard by Mrs. Rixley, who 
 
THE TOUXG HEIRESS. 17 
 
 \yould gladly, poor lady, Lave submitted to the fatigue oF walk- 
 ing a dozen miles before she slept, could she equally well have 
 escaped hearing what was to follow. But so it was not to be. 
 
 "Now just tell me, Almeria, will you," resumed Mr. Rixley, 
 in a tone that might have been heard distinctl}'', even had he 
 been less near to his concealed wife, for the pair had now 
 reached a point of the path that was almost exactly above the 
 unfortunate lady's head, "just tell me how you think it happens 
 that the doll of a woman I have got at home is suffered by me 
 to go on there, year after year, as the mistress of my house ? " 
 
 " The question is easily answered," replied his companion, 
 " She remains there because you cannot help it. She remains 
 there because she is your wife ! " 
 
 These words caused the concealed Mrs. Rixley to start so 
 vehemently, that had she been less completely out of sight of 
 those who were passing along the path above, the movement 
 must have betrayed her. It was not, however, the purport of 
 what was said which caused this emotion, but the sound of the 
 voice wdiich spoke it — a voice so perfectly familiar and w^ell- 
 known, that she felt it impossible she could be mistaken as to 
 the person to whom it belonged, and yet a second thought told 
 her that mistaken she must be, for how was it possible for her 
 to believe that this "Almeria," so earnestly assured that she 
 was the only one for whom her husband felt any real attach- 
 ment, was Sarah Lambert, her nursemaid? 
 
 It was not very wonderful, perhaps, that her curiosity to 
 ascertain the real truth upon this point was too pungent to 
 permit her submitting to the cautious restraint which she had 
 hitJierto imposed upon herself, and she was in the very act of 
 stepping forward from beneath the overhanging bushes which 
 concealed her, when the loud voice of her husband, immediately 
 above the spot where she stood, showed her that instead of 
 walking forward as she supposed they had done, they were 
 standing siill within about four feet of the top of her head. She 
 made this discovery however in time to arrest the imprudent 
 movement she was going to make, and it was probably fortunate 
 that she did so, for the tone of her husband's voice as he replied 
 to the fair "Almeria" by no means indicated any very gentle 
 mood. 
 
 "Again, I tell you, that you are an idiot!" he exclaimed. 
 "Yet it is I who am an idiot," he added, "for believino" that 
 you mean what you say. You know better, Almeria! you 
 know as w^ell as I do that if she were ten times my wife, I 
 
 3 
 
18 THE YOUXG HEffiESS. 
 
 would manage to get quit of her if she troubled me. But slic 
 does not trouble me. On tlie contrary, her remaining to all 
 intents and purposes my very contented and obedient ^Yife, 
 and your very unobservant and contented mistress, makes 
 her invaluable to us both ! Moreover she teaches the children 
 vv-ell, and it costs me notliing. Moreover she keeps the house 
 well, which is very convenient. Moreover every girl in the 
 parish might appear a beauty in my eyes without her ever 
 findinor it out, or carinof a rush about it if she did, and that too 
 is very convenient. And very convenient would it be for all 
 of us, if you had common sense enough to follow her example 
 in this iDarticular." 
 
 " It shall be my study to do so," replied the deep-toned and 
 impressive voice of Almeria, alias Sarah. "I ought to be able 
 to do it,'* she added, "for I know two receipts for it. The one 
 is that I should cease to love you. The other, that I should 
 leave your house, and hide myself where you should never see 
 me more." 
 
 " And if you ever attempt to achieve either the one or the 
 other," replied Mr. Rixley, "I swear by all that is sacred, that 
 I will murder j^ou first, and myself afterwards! Beware of 
 me, Almeria! I am not one who can be safely trifled with! 
 You pride yourself upon your strength of mind, and firmness 
 of character. And I have listened to your boastings till I 
 believed you to be all that you seenied to believe yourself, and 
 have almost worshipped you accordingly. And have you not 
 ruled me, and led me, as if I had been your slave, instead of 
 your master? Do you not know for, and by whose pleasure ifc 
 is that these two children, for whom I do not care a rush, are 
 kept here in high style and state, instead of being sent ofi" to 
 some cheap school, where I should never hear theii* voices 
 ap-ain ? Have I not told you a thousand times over, that I hate 
 children? And have I not given up my own will in this, in 
 order to gratify yours ? Why do you seem to shudder thus as 
 vou hang upon me, Almeria ? Perhaps jou think me a monster 
 jjecausellove them not? Ungrateful woman! If I love them 
 not, it is because they are not yours! It is hateful to me to 
 remember that the puling girl of my puling wife must inherit 
 all I possess, except forsooth what I may be pleased to leave by 
 will to your hopeful darling the boy, who is the very image of 
 his vulgar mother, and to my fancy, the most disagreeable brat 
 I ever encountered in my life ! " 
 
 " Take your arm from my waist, George Rixlcy ! I will sit 
 
THE YOUNG HEIEESS. 19 
 
 licre no longer ! The niglit wind from the ocean cliills my 
 limbs .... and your -svords chill my soul ! Let me go, 
 I say. I -svill sit here no longer." 
 
 These words, uttered in the clear voice of her stately nurse, 
 gave the first intimation to her greatly embarrassed mistress, 
 that the pair from ^Yhom it was so important th.at she should 
 remain concealed, were not, as she had imagined, pausing in 
 their walk, but actually seated, almost close to her. 
 
 She positively feared to breathe, lest her hiding-place should 
 be discovered thereby, and so great was her terror of the conse- 
 quences which might follow such a discovery, that had not her 
 husband obeyed the mandate of his mistress, and moved on, it 
 is highly probable that his unfortunate wife might have betrayed 
 herself by falling- insensible upon the spot where she stood, and 
 thercbv callinQ- their attention to her. 
 
 But she immediately heard him reply, in accents of tender- 
 ness such as she remembered to have heard in years long past, 
 "Chilled, dearest! come then! and come quickly! Why have 
 you let me detain you so long ! " 
 
 And then she heard no more, save their retreating* footsteps 
 towards the "^Varren House. 
 
 The effect of this most unexpected discovery npon Mrs. 
 Rixley was as painful — fully as painful — as if she had loved 
 her husband, though the pain was of a very different kind. She 
 found herself in the position which is, perhaps, of all others, 
 the most painful to a conscientious mind, that is to say, she 
 knew not what she oiicjlit to do, for she knew not, among many 
 conflicting feelings, which were the most purely dictated by her 
 duty, and an uncompromising sense of what was right. 
 
 There w^as something terribly repugnant to her delicacy in 
 continuing to associate with the woman who called herself 
 Sara,h Lambert, on the same terms of well-satisfied and 
 approving esteem as formerly. This course would not only be 
 repugnant to her Conscience, but would, moreover, require a 
 degree of constant self-command, and even of hypocrisy, Avhich 
 she did not believe she had the power of practising. Yet, on 
 the other hand, how could she venture to risk her own safety, 
 . and, what was far dearer still, the safety of the children, by 
 proclaiming her knowledge of the infamous position wliich their 
 nurse held in the house ? It had been made clearly evident to 
 her, by the direct avowal of her husband, that these unfortunate 
 children owed the asylum granted them in the house of their., 
 father to the influence of this woman, and if she permitted her 
 
 3—2 
 
20 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 own feelings to rob them of it, what had she to give them in 
 its stead ? 
 
 Tlirongh the long hours of the dreadfal night which followed 
 this discovery, the unhappy Mrs. Rixley never closed her eyes 
 in sleep, nor even for a moment ceased to meditate with tlie 
 most intense anxiety on the miserable position in which she 
 found herself involved. The consequence of this feverisli 
 watchfulness, and the miserable uncertainty of purpose which 
 ceased not to torment her during every hour it lasted, proved 
 too much for her strength both of body and mind, and when 
 Sarah Lambert as usual entered her room with the little Helen 
 on the following morning, she found her in a raging fever, and 
 perfectly delirious. 
 
 The violence, and the suddenness of this seizure, puzzled the 
 worthy Mr. Foster greatly. But it was in vain that he ques- 
 tioned Sarah as to the manner in which she had spent the pre- 
 ceding day. Sarah knew nothing of her having taken a late 
 evening walk; and when cautiously questioned by Mr. Foster 
 as to the possibility of her having been startled, or in any way 
 agitated by the unexpected return of Mr. Rixley, she gave a 
 very satisfactory reply in the negative, assuring the apothecary 
 that to her certain knowledge, her mistress had gone to bed, not 
 only without having seen her master, but also without having 
 been made aware of his return, as she herself, as well as all the 
 other servants, very distinctly declared that they had neither 
 seen, nor spoken to her after the return of Mr. Rixley, stating, 
 moreover, that to the best of their knowledge and belief, she 
 had retired to rest before his return, which was not till a late 
 hour in the evening. 
 
 This illness, though it was both violent, and lingering, did 
 not prove fatal ; but the unfortunate Mrs. Rixley never fully 
 recovered her health, or spirits. To decide upon a difficult, and 
 very doubtful question without any counsellor to assist the 
 judgment, must ever be a painful and arduous task, and sad 
 indeed were the long and dreary hours devoted by the suffering 
 invalid to the question of whether it were best, and wisest, to 
 run all hazards, and insist upon the dismissal of her husband's 
 mistress from the office of constant attendant upon herself and 
 the children, or to suffer things to continue as they were, and 
 endeavour to forget all she had seen and heard. 
 
 That she at length decided upon this latter course might per- 
 haps have been partly owing to the conduct of Sarah Lamliert 
 during her long illness. Had she been her sister, instead of her 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 21 
 
 rival, she could not have shown more devoted attention, or more 
 unwearied care ; and when, upon at length leaving her room, 
 and resuming by degrees the task of instructing the children, 
 she discovered that the strangely mysterious " Almeria " h;id^ 
 notwithstanding all her attendance upon herself, contrived to 
 sni:)ply her place with them, she felt no doubt, that she " might 
 have belter spared a better" person. 
 
 The result, therefore, of all poor Mrs. Rixley's deep medita- 
 tions was, that everj^tliing, excepting the state of her own health 
 and spirits, remained in the same state as before her illness ; 
 but she never completely recovered from the eiiects of the 
 shock she had received, and within two years after her eventful 
 moonlight ramble she died, leaving her only child and its almost 
 equally dear little brother, with no human being to love and 
 cherish them, save the guilty woman whoso disgraceful con- 
 nection with their father rendered her pretty nearly the last 
 person in the world, to whose care they ought to have been 
 confided. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " Dear, dear Sarah ! Pray do not tell me that I must not go 
 in the boat with ^lapa! " cried the eager William, who, notwith- 
 standing his fifteen years, and his almost manly stature, was still 
 wonderfully obedient to command, at least when the command 
 was spoken by the omnipotent Sarah Lambert, omnipotent 
 alike from her absolute and uncontrolled power in his father's 
 house, and from his own grateful and devoted affection to her. 
 Nor was this devoted affection more than she deserved, both 
 frvTm him and his sister also, for everything' like pleasure or 
 even comfirt, which they either of them enjoyed, was owing to 
 her influence, io licr exertions, to her stedfast purpose, and to 
 her stedfast wiU. 
 
 The reader must content himself with being told that several 
 years have worn themselves away between the conclusion of the 
 last chapter, and the beginning of the present one, and great 
 and important changes had taken place in the apparent situation 
 of jMr. Rixlcy during this interval. 
 
22 THE YOUXG HEIRESS. 
 
 For tlie first j'car or tAvo after tlio death of bis wife, his 
 cstablisbnient at the Warren House underwent but little cbano-o. 
 His intercourse with his neighbours, indeed, which had never 
 been very frequent, had now nearly ceased altogether, although 
 he was much less absent from the nei"hboLirhood, than he had 
 been during the lifetime of bis wife. 
 
 But this falling off of neighbourly intercourse was not very 
 extraordinary, for his 3'oung daughter had still too much the 
 appearance of a mere child to be visited, except by friends as 
 intimate and as warmly interested for her as the young Fosters, 
 and he was himself much too unpopular to be sought, and much 
 too unsociable to seek anything approaching to friendly inter- 
 course with an3^body. 
 
 But during this first year or two his two children had enjoyed 
 the advantage of receiving" lessons from the curate of Crumpton, 
 who, by the recommendation of Mr. Foster, and the influence of 
 " Almeria," was permitted to attend them for three or four 
 liours every morning. 
 
 No person could be more capable of advancing the education 
 of these sadly-placed children than was this good Mr. Bolton. 
 He was an excellent scholar, according to the English accepta- 
 tion of the phrase, and, moreover, as it happened, he was an 
 excellent French scholar too, 
 
 He was still almost a young man, though the father of a 
 large family; and though his object in accepting the moderate 
 stipend offered for the hours he thus devoted to the Warren 
 House was to obtain a greatly-needed increase to his small 
 income, he soon found himself so much interested both for the 
 boy and girl, that his friendship became as valuable as his 
 instruction. 
 
 When Sarah Lambert first learnt that the curate of Crumpton 
 was anxious to find pupils, she made one of those resolute attacks 
 upon her " master,'* which seldom altogether failed of success, in 
 order that William mi^ht have the benefit of instruction thus 
 fortunately within his reach; for his father had long ago 
 declared that nothing should induce him to place the boy at 
 school ; the final answer which he had given to her remonstrances 
 on this subject being-, that he had rather be hung, drawn, and 
 quartered, than submit to having his affairs, and his conduct, 
 examined into and judgment passed upon him, by masters and 
 ushers, mistresses and maids, through all the successive schools 
 and academies, which her silly fondness for him might lead her 
 to recommend. 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 23 
 
 "There is at least one lioly axiom, Almcria," said he, " that 
 I have never lost sight of throug-h life, — ^ let not thy left hand 
 Icnoio luJiat thy right hand doetlt,' and you, of all the world, should 
 be the last to quarrel with my respect for it, for it has saved 
 you from mucli that yon ^Yonld not very patiently have en- 
 dured ! " 
 
 He spoke truly — and she knew it. He spoke resolutely too ; 
 and when she was aware that he did so, the contest ended, for 
 Almeria loved not to speak idle words. And thus it was that 
 his son William had completed his fifteenth year, and his 
 daughter Helen her twelfth, without receiving any more finished 
 education than it had been in the power of his wife and the 
 curate to give them. 
 
 But as both the children were quick, intelligent, and docile, 
 they were considerably better informed on many subjects, and 
 in all respects greatly more intelligent, than those who had 
 apparently enjoyed much greater intellectual advantages. But 
 a very sudden alteration now took place in Mr. Rixley's manner 
 of livinof : and though he gave no reason for it, not even to 
 Sarah Lambert, it could scarcely be doubted that pecuniary 
 misfortune must be the cause of it. But upon no occasion had 
 he ever adhered so scrupulously to his system of secrecy as he 
 did now. He gave Mrs. Lambert, as he now always called her, 
 at least when there was any one present to hear him, very 
 sudden, but very explicit, orders to dismiss every servant in the 
 house, only permitting a woman in the village, who had formerly 
 lived with him as cook, to do the work of the house as a day- 
 servant; adding, however, as he gave this permission, that it 
 was highly probable that when Helen was a year or two older 
 she would have to fill this place herself. 
 
 "But this," he added, "will depend upon circumstances. It 
 is possible that I may never be obliged to place her in the 
 situation that Rebecca Watkins holds now ; but it is not only 
 possible, but very probable, that I may, and if the necessity, or 
 what I shall choose to consider as the necessity, comes, be very 
 sure, Mrs. Lambert, that I shall not shrink from it." 
 
 He said this sternly, and resolutely ; and Sarah Lambert felt 
 at that moment (and it was the first time that she had ever felt 
 it distinctly) that her influence with him was no longer so 
 omnipotent as it had been. 
 
 If before this conviction reached her heart, a choice had been 
 offered her between feeling it, or losing the power of feeling 
 anything, by yielding herself instantly to sudden death, she 
 
24 THE YOUXG HEIRESS. 
 
 would have chosen the latter. But no such choice was offered ; 
 and the pang that shot through her heart and brain at that 
 moment might have won pit}'' from any being of a nature less 
 flinty than that of the man \Yho inflicted it. 
 
 At the time this narrative actually begins, however, this 
 necessity had evidently not arrived ; for though everything 
 approaching to the appearance of a gentleman's establishment 
 had been broken up, the footman, cook, housemaid, and regular 
 ^•ardener dismissed, and the reverend tutor paid off, with a 
 formal written notification that his attendance upon the young 
 people would be no longer required, yet still the daily attendance 
 of the "maid of all work" was permitted; and no tasks were 
 as yet assigned to the delicate Helen but such as were appor- 
 tioned by Sarah Lambert, and these, most assuredly, were no 
 heavier than might h..ve been enjoined to an accomplished 
 young princess of the blood royal, whose education was not 3'et 
 completed. 
 
 Although nothing in the least degree approaching parental 
 love was now, or indeed ever had been, demonstrated by Mr. 
 Rixley towards either of his children, his conduct towards them 
 was by no means equal. To the boy he was always either 
 brutally severe, or else so negligent as to make it almost doubt- 
 ful whether he had not forgotten his existence altogether. 
 
 To the girl also, he was frequently very sullenly cross, but 
 neither absolutely brutal, nor forgetful; for it . frequently 
 l;appened that after one of his long absences from the Warren 
 House, which since the dismissal of his servants had again 
 become both long and frequent, he would desire that she might 
 be brought to him: and when she came, he looked at her much 
 as he miarht have done at a horse that he was about either to 
 buy or to sell. Upon these occasions Sarah Lambert never 
 failed to bring forward the 3'oung William also, secretly flatter- 
 ing herself that his handsome person, bright intelligence, and 
 frank, joyous manner must, in time, win the heart even of his 
 unnatural father. 
 
 And even alter she had given up this hope, she still persevered 
 in her sj^stem of making William accompany her to the parlour 
 when commanded to bring Helen. For some time the only 
 notice, which this sort of enforced entry produced, was a surly 
 frown, and to this the light-hearted lad was so accustomed that 
 lie did not greatly heed it; but it sank deep into the heart of 
 Sai-ah Lambert — so deep, that the passionate love she had once 
 felt for Rixley was so rapi^lly growing into hatred, that nothing 
 
THE TOUXG HEIPvESS. 25 
 
 prevented her leaving him but the idea that his children would 
 suffer more than he would by her loss. 
 
 Of this quiet, but most complete change in her feelings 
 towards him, Mr. Rixley was completely unconscious. He had 
 known, only too well, how successful his influence over her had 
 been in overcoming and stifling all her early principles, and all 
 her purest feelings : and he triumphed in the consciousness of 
 having perverted and subdued a mind so powerful, and a heart 
 so warm. 
 
 But, although he knew much, he did not know all the 
 peculiarities of her character, nor was he aware how far the 
 same resolute firmness of temper which had led her to conquer 
 every obstacle, and crush every virtuous feeling, in order to give 
 herself to him, might lead her in some new direction, upon her 
 discovering that she was no longer of the same importance to 
 him as formerl3^ 
 
 He did, however, perceive that she was very obstinately 
 resolute in her determination of bringing the son of the pre- 
 tended Mrs. Rixley as often into his imperial presence, as the 
 daughter of the real one: and this provoked him greatly; for 
 he not only had given to this, his sole legitimate child, the 
 privilege of being christened and registered at the parish 
 church, but he had actually made his will, and left her every- 
 thing he possessed. 
 
 This last act, indeed, was not performed without the pleasant 
 consciousness that it would be annulled if he should chance to 
 marry a second time, and become the father of a legitimate son. 
 
 In truth his only reason for making this will at all, was 
 because he was very particularly anxious to guard against the 
 possibility of his brother's inheriting, as heir-at-law, whatever 
 property he possessed. 
 
 Mr. Rixley was a great hater; he certainly mig'ht have very 
 fairly been said to hate many persons with an intensity that 
 might have secured to him the admiration of the great moralist 
 himself; but all his other hatreds were but minor passions in 
 comparison of that wliich he cherished against his brother ; the 
 original cause of this master passion may be explained here- 
 after, but it had nothing to do with the events which I have at 
 present to relate. 
 
 The having made this will, however, whatever the motive of 
 his doing it, had given his daughter considerable importance in 
 his eyes, and it was tliis feeling which caused him to summon 
 her to his presence in the manner above mentioned. 
 
20 THE YOUXG HEIEESS, 
 
 As to the poor boy, lie bad been fi-om the hour of his birth so 
 little. cared for, or indeed thought of, by his father, that notliing' 
 but Sarah Lambert's ill-judged pertinacity would have been 
 likely to have made him of sufficient importance to be the 
 object of positive dislike. Having been repeatedly told by 
 those who had given the boy all the instruction he had received 
 tliat he was more than commonly rapid in learning all that 
 they attempted to teach him, Mr. l.iixley conceived the bright 
 idea of procuring for him the place of usher at the grammar- 
 school of a neighbouring town, and it was with this view that 
 he still continued to allow the visits of Mr. Bolton, the curate, 
 in the capacity of a tutor. 
 
 Bat he became so irritated by the observation of the once 
 omnipotent Almeria, upon his want of affection for the boy, in 
 thus condemning him to a sedentary occupation in a close 
 school-room, which his active temperament would, she said, so 
 assuredly make peculiarl}'' painful to him, that he suddenly 
 changed his purpose, and protested with an oath — both oath 
 and protestation being addressed to the pale and gloomy-looking 
 Almeria — that the boy should cost him no more for lessons, but 
 should learn to be a sailor. 
 
 "Perhaps," he added, with a sneer, "that trade may suit his 
 temperament better : and, at any rate, I can teach it myself, 
 which will suit my present system of economy greatly better 
 than paying Mr. Bolton." 
 
 That Mr. Rixley was in earnest in saying this, was in some 
 degree proved, by three days passing away without their seeing 
 the £>'Ood curate ; but during that interval no further mention 
 had been made of the new project of education. 
 
 On the fourth, however, upon Sarah's taking the two children 
 into the parlour, the salutation of their father was not, as usual, 
 addressed to Helen, but to the boy. 
 
 " William 1 " he said, " what would j^ou say if instead of 
 having Parson Bolton to make you study Latin and Greek, I 
 were to take you in hand, and make a sailor of you? " 
 
 " I should say, papa, that I liked it very much indeed ! And 
 I would not let Helen get before me in Latin, either, for I 
 would sit up at night to write my exercises," was the boy's 
 reply. 
 
 " Come along then ! " returned his father, with a greater 
 approach to good humour in his voice than poor William had 
 ever heard from him before. 
 
 "Won't it be nice for me, Sarah?" said the boy, turning to 
 
THE YOUXG HEIRESS. 27 
 
 tlie coustanfc friend wlio he felt sure would rejoice with his 
 rojoicing". 
 
 Bat in this he wns disappointed, for Sarah Lambert knit her 
 dark brows, and said, " ISTo, WiUiani ! I do not choose that you 
 shoukl 2'0 on the sea in such weather as this. It is blowing* 
 fearfully! It will be a storm. I will not let you go, William." 
 
 And then it was that the boy said, " Dear, dear Sarah ! 
 Pray do not tell me that I must not go in the boat with 
 papa ! " 
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 Mr, Rixley had been so long accustomed to submit himself 
 in many things to the influence of Sarah Lambert, at least 
 v/hile under the immediate influence of her commanding, or her 
 beseeching eyes, that he heard this appeal, and saw the arbitrary 
 shake of the head wdiich rejected it, without testifying either 
 surprise or anger. Nevertheless, after the inteWal of a 
 moment, he turned suddenly towards her, and fixed not exactly 
 an angry, but very decidedly an inquisitive glance upon her 
 countenance. 
 
 Her pale cheek was for a moment crimsoned, and, contrary 
 to the usual result of an enquiring look from the man who 
 fancied himself her master, slie did not retui-n his glance, but 
 fixed her eyes upon a flower that she held in her hand. 
 
 At that moment they mutually misunderstood each other most 
 completely. Mr. Rixley fancied that she feared having offended 
 him by the blunt wilfulness with which she had opposed his 
 proposal ^to the boy, and she thought that he had detected the 
 dark feeling of suspicion with which she had heard him 
 propose to take his young son with him upon the sea in 
 weather which none but a practical sailor could have en- 
 countered without certain suffering, and probable danger. 
 
 They were both mistaken, however; for Sarah Lambert 
 neither feared, nor heeded, the possibility of his being offended 
 by her refusal, nor did he guess how dark was the suspicion 
 which had flashed upon her mind upon hearing his proposal to 
 the boy. 
 
 He looked at her frowningly, nevertheless; but not as he 
 
28 THE YOUXG HEIEESS. 
 
 wonlcl liare looked had he suspected the truth; and said rudely 
 enough, "How can you be such an idiot, Sarah Lambert? 
 Because it jDlcascs you to stand there looking at a rose, or a lil}', 
 or whatever it is 3'ou are holding there so daintily, you want to 
 make this great huge giant of a boy do the same. I suppose 
 you are giving him lessons in- needlework ? How does he get 
 on with his stitching, Mrs. Lambert?" 
 
 "jS'o, papa ! no! Sarah docs not want to make a coward of 
 mo! Don't be angry with her because she loves me! Only 
 tell her that there is no danger, and then she will like my going 
 almost as much as I shall like it myself." 
 
 "Very well, sir, I will obey you," replied his father. And 
 then turning towards her with what he intended for a smile, 
 but which she read aright as a sneer, he added, " I beg to assure 
 you, iSlvs. Lambert, that there is no chance whatever of your 
 young darling's being exposed to any danger, and I therefore 
 Hatter myself that you will be so obliging as to let him go." 
 
 "Then let us all go!" said Sarah Lambert, with an air of 
 great animation, " I am no great coward m^^self, and as to the 
 gentle-looking Miss Helen, I can assure you, sir, that she is 
 likely to turn out a perfect heroine. There is no such feeli'ng as 
 fear in her nature! You will like to go in the boat, my dear, 
 will you not? " 
 
 "I should like to go anywhere "with you, Sarah," replied 
 ITelen, creeping lovingly to her side, and passing her arm under 
 that of her faithful attendant and dearly beloved friend. 
 
 "Intriguing sorceress!" muttered Mr. Rixley between his 
 teeth, but in a tone so low that the children heard it not, though 
 Sarah Lambert did, for he took care to be close to her ear as he 
 uttered the words. 
 
 She started, but immediately recovering her self-possession, 
 she said, addressing them both, but without paying the least 
 attention to their father, who nevertheless stood by in silence, 
 as if expecting her final commands, "No! we will neither of 
 us go. This ^ycatller is not fit for an excursion on the water. 
 Hush ! Do you not hear the rnoiu"- wind. It is not right 
 for us to leave the house in such weather, and therefore we will 
 not do it." 
 
 Both the bo}' and girl did as she bade them do. They did 
 listen to the wintl, and became so seasonably aware of its vio- 
 lence, that they signified their conviction, like reasonable beings 
 as the}" were, that "they thought it would perhaps be better to 
 stay at home." 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 29 
 
 "Curse her ! " muttered Mr. Rixley in a deep whisper. 
 " What great events from trivial causes spring ! " 
 
 Unimportant as this scene appears in the repetition, it was 
 productive of very important resnlts to the parties engaged 
 in it. 
 
 The rage of Mr. Rixley appeared for a moment to be perfectly 
 uncontrolable. He stamped with his feet, he clenched his fists 
 till his nails lacerated the palms of his hands, and again he 
 uttered curses both deep and loud against her, for so only was 
 the object of his wrath designated. "Leave the room," he 
 said, distinctly addressing the two children, "" I wish to speak 
 to Mrs. Lambert on business." 
 
 Sarah Lambert, on hearing these words, released the hand of 
 Helen, which was fast locked in hers, bent down and kissed her 
 forehead, and said, in a very gentle and composed voice, " Go, 
 my dear; — go, both of you into the school-room. I will come 
 to you almost directly." 
 
 Helen immediately prepared to obey her by walking towards 
 the door, but having reached it paused for a moment to wait for 
 her brother. But the obedience of the boy was less prompt; 
 he remained stationary, and as it were rooted to the spot where 
 for the first time he heard the sound of his father's harsh voice 
 raised to unmitigated violence, and utterinfj curses aofainst her 
 whom he loved himself with all the gratitude and all the fond- 
 ness of his warm enthusiastic nature. 
 
 His father turned towards him with an uplifted arm. " Go, 
 William ! " said Sarah Lambert, very quietly, but fixing her eyes 
 upon him with a look that had more of entreaty than command 
 in it; and he obeyed her instantly. 
 
 To the school-room they both went, William's arm round the 
 waist of his sister, and her head resting against his shoulder as 
 they walked. '^ 
 
 On entering the room he placed her in the cushioned chair 
 which had been her mother's constant seat, and having closed 
 tlie door placed himself before her, and remained for a moment 
 silently looking in her pale face. 
 
 "Helen!" he said at length, "I do not wish to have any 
 secrets from you, and I do not choose that you should think me 
 any better than I am. You arc my sister, you know, because 
 the same man is your father and my father, and as we have 
 neither of us any other brothers or sisters, we ought not to live 
 like strangers together, the one not knowing what is passing in 
 
o 
 
 THE YOUNG HEHIESS. 
 
 tlie liearfc of the otlier. And you don't know yet, Helen, what 
 is the greatest and strongest feeling in my heart," 
 
 "Yes, I do, William!" replied the little girl, aHectionately, 
 " your love for me, and for Sarah Lambert is the greatest and 
 stronQ-est feelmc>-." 
 
 " No, Helen, it is not," he replied, gloomily and sternly. 
 " You are mistaken, you are deceived in me, and that is exactly 
 the reason why I am now determined to open my heart to you. 
 I will not let yon love me upon the strength of a mistake and 
 a blunder, and from believing what is no better than a lie. I 
 certainly do love you, and Sarah, both, dearly, dearly! But 
 you have got a very mistaken idea of me, Helen, if you think 
 that sweet gentle feeling is the strongest feeling of my heart. 
 Hear the truth at once, and then all the love you may be able 
 to feel for me afterwards I shall cherish and delight in, because 
 it will be fairly my own, without cheating; but first listen to 
 me and believe what I say — the greatest and strongest feeling 
 of my heart is hatred of my father! Yes, Helen, hatred of 
 3'our father, and my father." 
 
 "That sounds very shocking, "William!" replied the poor 
 girl, looking frightened, but at the same moment stretching out 
 her arms to embrace him. 
 
 "Then you think you can love me still?" said he, kneeling 
 down before her, and fondly returning the kiss she impressed 
 upon his forehead. " How very glad I am that I have told you 
 the truth, Helen ! I don't feel now as if I were so very wicked, 
 and the reason for that is, that I am no longer conscious of 
 deceiving you, and of appearing better than 1 really am," 
 
 Having said this he sprang upon his feet, and strode with a 
 hnrried step up and down the room. 
 
 "What do you think he is sa^^ng to her all this time, 
 Helen ? " he exclaimed, after continuing his walk in silence for 
 a minute or two. "I suppose you know who he meant by her ? 
 When he uttered in that horrid voice the words 'curse her,' vou 
 understand that he meant to curse Sarah Lambert? " 
 
 Helen did not speak, but she bent her head in reply in a way 
 which made her brother fully understand that she agreed with 
 liim in his interpretation. 
 
 "Her, Helen!" he repeated — "Hee! Sarah Lambert ! The 
 being who has watch.ed over his dying wife, and the motherless 
 children she left, more like an angel than a woman ! It was 
 three years ago and more that \'our dear mother died, Helen, 
 and you were a very little girlj too little perhaps to remember 
 
THE YOUXG HEmESS. 31 
 
 much about it now; but I remember it all! I romembev how 
 day after day, and night after night, she would sit watching by 
 your dear pale mother's bed, and only steal away from time to 
 time just to see that you and I wanted for nothing. Ay, and 
 she was very kind to him too, ungrateful tyrant as be is, I 
 have seen her gentle ways with him a thousand times, when he 
 has been as sullen as a bear to her in return! Yet now he 
 curses her! — Helen, I hate him." 
 
 "Do not say so any more, William — not even to yourself," 
 rej^lied the little girl, looking pale with terror," I am sure it 
 must be very wicked to say so, or I should not feel so frightened 
 at hearing it. Promise me that you will not say it again," she 
 added, coaxingly, and repeating her caress. 
 
 "There is no occasion that I should say it again," he replied, 
 springing upon his feet, while the heavy gloom which had 
 seemed to settle on his young brow vanished completely. I 
 have spoken the truth, and you are no more likely to forget it 
 than I am. I wanted you to know the truth, Helen, and you 
 do know it, and yet you love me still. I feel now as if I did 
 not much care for anything — nor will I care for anything, as 
 long as he does not drive Sarah away from us. But she shan't 
 stay to be ill-used. He had better not use her ill, Helen ! He 
 had better not ! I do assure you it would be very dangerous, 
 for I hate him already quite enough : and if he makes me hate 
 him more by ill-treating her, I think I should kill him — I do, 
 indeed ! But don't look so frightened, child. Good gracious, 
 how pale you are! How can you be such a fool, Helen? Do 
 you think I am going really to kill him this very minute ? " 
 
 "I wnsh you would not talk in such a very dreadful way, 
 William ! " said the poor girl, actually trembling from head to 
 foot. " If you really love me, you never will talk to me in such 
 a very shocking way again. What do you think Sarah would 
 say, if she could hear you? " 
 
 " Why, I think it is very likely, my dear, that she would say 
 jnst as you do, that it was very wrong to talk about such 
 shocking things as killing. But I can tell you, Helen, what 
 she would not do. She would not turn as white as a sheet, lips 
 and all, as you have done. — There is no silly girl-like weakness 
 in Sarah Lambert! If she told the real truth like me, she 
 would be sure to say, that if a wicked man was shot, it would 
 be no more than he deserved. But I think it is very likely she 
 would not say it, though she might think it, for fear, you know, 
 that it might set me upon shooting him." 
 
32 THE YOUXG HErRESS. 
 
 This \Yas said with the o-ay boy's usual lightness of manner ; 
 bnt poor little Helen was in no hnraonr to laugh at it. Her 
 father's violent lanci'uacre had frio'litened her, and her brother's 
 wild talk frio-htened her again ; but tliis was not all, for she was 
 frio-htened also, because she tliouq'ht that Sarah staved a et'cat 
 deal too long in the parlour, considering what a very bad 
 humour her father was in: and, perhaps, she was right. 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 Mr, Rixley remained silent for a minute or two after his 
 chihlren had left tlie room, as if listening to the sound of their 
 retreating footsteps; and then he said in a voice so low as to be 
 almost a whisper, " Sit down, Mrs, Lambert." 
 
 Had he cursed her again, and in the same fierce tone of angry 
 violence as before, it would not, perhaps, have affected her so 
 painfully as these civil words thus civilly spoken. It was the 
 first time he had ever addressed her as "Mrs. Lambert," when 
 they were quite alone, and it was also the first time tliat she 
 had ever felt convinced in her inmost heart that he had ceased 
 to love her. Perhaps he was not altogether unmindful of the 
 effect likely to be produced upon her by this change, and it 
 might be that he felt more disposed to produce such an effect 
 than to avoid it. 
 
 Be this as it may, he was instantly obeyed, which, heretofore, 
 had not always been the case when he had addressed a command 
 to her. It is probable that the young William was riglit, when 
 he said that Sarah Lambert would not turn pale upon hearing 
 him talk of shooting and killing, yet her always pale check 
 had become much paler now ; but there was, moreover, a strong 
 expression of resolate endurance in her eye, which, from its 
 sternness, might have frightened the bold boy himself, had he 
 seen it. 
 
 "It is high time that we should understand one another, 
 Almeria;" said Mr. Rixley, as soon as they were both seated, 
 " and depend upon it," he^addeil, "that it will be as much for 
 your advantage, as for mine, that we should do so," 
 
 These words, slowly and deliberately spoken, together with 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 33 
 
 tlie act of seating themselves, which they did in two chairs 
 exactly opposite to each other, afforded the stronglj^-moved, but 
 strongly-minded Sarah Lambert, quite tim.e enough to decide 
 upon the line of conduct she should adopt in the new positioD 
 which she plainly saw opening* before her. 
 
 Notwithstanding the many excellent and noble qualities with 
 which Nature had endowed this unfortunate woman, the vehe- 
 mence of her feelings, whether excited by what was evil, or by 
 what was good, had hitherto for ever overpowered the dictates 
 of her judgment, but it was so no longer with her. She was at 
 that moment quite as certain as if the words had been already 
 spoken, that it was the purpose of her master to dismiss her, 
 of her lover to declare that she had outlived his liking, and of 
 the man, for whose sake she had sacrificed all that made life 
 precious, to inform her that for the future their paths must be 
 as widely apart as possible. 
 
 All this she felt, and knew, as if by inspiration; but by the 
 time her now. haughty-looking master had placed himself in his 
 chair, she was perfectly prepared for it all. 
 
 " We are neither of us fools, Mrs. Lambert," said Mr. Rixley, 
 cutting his nails, as he spoke, with a penknife which he had in 
 his hand, " we are neither of us fools, and therefore whatever 
 business we may have to settle is not likclv to detain us lono-. 
 Though you do not choose to let jouv nurseling*, Master William, 
 hazard his precious safety by taking a sail Avith me, I hap2:)en 
 to think the day exactly fitted for it, and I shall be off directly ; 
 so you must excuse the want of ceremony, if I settle the business 
 I have to do rather abruptly. How long is it, Mrs. Lambert, 
 since you and I began making* love? " 
 
 Many great and important acts have been performed that 
 demanded less strength of mind for their achievement than was 
 required to enable ^^ Mrs. Lamhert" to reply to this question in 
 the manner she did. 
 
 "A very long time, Mr. Rixley! There is no denying that," 
 she said, in an accent which betrayed no more emotion than if 
 she had been discussing the length of time it had cost her to 
 hem his last dozen of pocket-handkerchiefs; "and I own to 
 you," she added, "that I am well pleased at your giving me an 
 opportunity of speaking to you on the subject of my situation 
 in your family. I know I am useful in the house, and I know I 
 am useful to the children ; and I think it would be a great folly 
 in you to send me away, merely because my love-making days 
 are over. You do me no more than justice in saying I am not 
 
34 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 a fool ; but a fool I must bo, if I felt it necossary to give up my 
 situation as your servant, because we have both of us grown 
 tired of love-making," 
 
 " I am sure I don't want to send you away, Mrs. Lamberl", if 
 you can really be contented to stay as a servant, and nothing 
 else; but nothing else you ever can be again, I promise yon. 
 The folly has lasted too long already, and the consequence is, 
 that you decidedly give yourself very unwarrantable airs v/ith 
 me. What the devil was it to you, Mrs. Sarah Lambert, 
 whether that long-legged scamp of a boy that 3'on have been 
 dandling for the last dozen years got a ducking or not? Much 
 it would have hurt him ! I tell you fairly I don't like such a 
 dictatorial style from you any longer. It is higli time it should 
 be left off." 
 
 " Dear me, Sir ! " replied the once splendid and omnipotent 
 Almeria, in an accent, and with an attitude in perfect accordance 
 with her situation as a long-trusted and faithful attendant upon 
 the children, "I should have thought that you had seen enough 
 of women, and children, to know that a nursling is dearer to 
 the nurse than anything else in the whole world, that is to say, 
 of course, after her love-making days are over. But if you will 
 let me stay on, Sir, as nursery governess and housekeeper, I will 
 do my duty by the children, antl never trouble you by reminding 
 you of the days that are past and gone. And I am sure, Sir, if 
 you take another to manage your housekeeping, you won't find 
 it answer." 
 
 Mr. Rixley looked at her with a suspicious glance for a 
 moment, as if he did not quite know v/hether she was in 
 earnest; but there was a quiet business-like composure in her 
 manner which reassured him ; and, moreover, he had recourse 
 to a little rapid mental logic, which speedily convinced him that 
 there was i^othing at all extraordinary in her being willing to 
 continue to remain in the house upon the terms she herself 
 proposed. 
 
 " Why should I suspect her of being more pigeon-like, and 
 constant, than I am myself?" thought he. "She is much too 
 clever a creature, and that I ought to know by this time, to 
 want to go on for everlasting, as if there was no such thing as 
 growing old. And it is hard to say what I could do without 
 her, either as to the housekeeping, or the children. I had 
 better take her at her word, and try her, at any rate. It will 
 be easy enough to get rid of her afterwards, if I find she 
 plagues me." 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 35 
 
 These wise tlionghts passed rapidly throngh his brain, and 
 \vore acted upon immediately. 
 
 "Tliere is a great deal of truth in what you sa}'-, ]\Ir3. Lam- 
 bert," he replied, after the meditative silence of a minute or 
 two: "I certainly do think that it would be very great folly 
 for mo to send off such a useful person as you are, for no worse 
 fault than making a fuss about the great boy that you nursed; 
 so you have my free leave to stay, provided you never get 
 bothering me b}'' going back to old times, or any nonsense of 
 that sort — j^ou understand ? " 
 
 " Yes, Sir, I understand perfectl}^," was her reply. 
 
 " Very well then. Let us say no more about it. The boy 
 may go on with his Greek and Latin if you will, and be an 
 usher if you can find anybody to take him. I shall not trouble 
 him, or any of you, much, for my affairs rcquiro my being a 
 good deal in London just now." 
 
 " Very well. Sir," replied Sarah, very meekh^ " I will endea- 
 vour to keep everything in good order during your absence." 
 
 "Do so, old lady! and if you never plague me with any 
 old nonsense about yourself, nor any nev/ nonsense about tlio 
 boy, you may live, and die too, in the old Warren House, with- 
 out my doing anything to prevent it." 
 
 As he said these words he clasped and pocketed his pen-knlfe, 
 raised his tall person from the chair in which he had been 
 reclining, and walked out of the room; but he left the door 
 open behind him, and therefore if he had turned his head round 
 he might have seen her; for which reason she remained for a 
 minute or two perfectly motionless in the chair in which he had 
 left her. 
 
 But ho passed on, turned the corner from the passage into 
 the hall, and was immediately out of sight. And then she 
 moved her limbs, and drew a lono; breath. 
 
 The moment after, she heard him open the house door, and 
 slam it after him ; and tlien she drew another long breath, and 
 rose from the chair; but she held fast by the back of it,- as if 
 fearing that her strength might not be sufficient to enable her 
 to stand without it. But this Riint feelincr did not last lono-, 
 and the moment it was passed she moved off with a hurried 
 step towards her own room, her only fear being that she might 
 meet some human eye before she reached it. She had the good 
 luck to escape this, for William and Helen were obediently 
 waiting for her in the school-rcom, and, having reached the 
 shelter she sought, she noiselessly closed the door and locked it. 
 
ZQ THE YOUNG HEIEESS. 
 
 r^nd then tlircw herself upon the bed, and for a few moments 
 she so far gave way to her weakness, both of mind and body, as 
 to burst into a convulsive fit of weeping. The tears she shed 
 were soalcling liard-wrang' tears, but they were beneficial to her. 
 Had she not wept, she might have become delirious. 
 
 CHAPTER yi. 
 
 TTttt, or wherefore, it might be difficult to tell, but it is 
 certainly a fact that the propensity to different passions differs 
 as mucli in different liuman beinofs as their form and features. 
 A keen-eyed, and nice-finq-ered phrenologist might point out 
 Vv'ith groat accuracy the effects of this variety of temperament 
 as manifested by the form of the head within which the agents 
 of these various passions are at work ; bnt this only shows the 
 effect of their greater or less activitj', and not the cause of it. 
 Why it was that the woman, who is best known to the reader 
 as Sarah Lambert, though frequently under the influence of very 
 powerful passion, Avas in no degree subject to jealousy, I cannot 
 tell ; such, however, was the fact. 
 
 Mr. Foster, tlie apothecary of Crumpton, was perfectly 
 correct in his judgment, when he stated it as his belief that 
 Sarah Lambert was of Greek origin. Her mother was a Greek, 
 and had come to this country ns the wife of a certain Tliomas 
 Lambei't, the comely cajotain of a merchantman, who had fallen 
 in love with her at Corfa, and married her there, greatly to the 
 scandal and displeasure of her family, who considered their 
 liandsom.e but portionless daughter as having greatly degraded 
 lierself by the connection. 
 
 The comely captain, however, did not very long survive his 
 nuptials, but lived long enough to bring his handsome wife to 
 his native town, which was Falmouth, where he established her 
 in a very comfortable, wcll-furnislied little mansion; but the 
 worthy man died when his daughter Almeria was oidy five 
 years old, leaving her and her mother with little or nothing to 
 maintain them, save the rent of their pretty house, which was 
 let as furnished lodgings, the widow and her child contenting* 
 Ihemselves with the little back parlour, and the kitchen below 
 if. 
 
THE YOUXG nEIR"ESS. 37 
 
 Their raenns of Hvinrv", however, were occasionally increased 
 by the handsome "Widow Lambert's condescending- to cook for, 
 i\m\ wait npon snch single gentlemen as came to lodge with her, 
 and could afP)rd to pay her for doing so. 
 
 Bat, notwithstanding this condescension on her part, she did 
 not neglect her little girl, and gave her quite as much, or rather 
 more education, than was necessary for her station. 
 
 Tiiris unfortunate girl was very handsome, and her mother 
 was very proud of her beauty, and long persuaded herself that 
 'it was absolutely impossible that so beautiful a girl, who could 
 play music, and speak French, could fail of getting a husband 
 rich enough to keep her like a lady ; and to take them both 
 back to their own briglit mother country w^ith wealth and 
 grandeur enough to make all their kindred there both proud 
 and happy to receive them. 
 
 And if admiring lovers had been all that was necessary 
 to realise this dream, jioor Mrs. Lambert would only have 
 awakened from it to Ave'.come the reality. Neither were there 
 wanting several eligible, proposals of marriage to the beautiful 
 Almeria; but her obstinate refusal to accept any of them, 
 though long tolerated by her admiring mother as a prudent 
 expectation of something better still, at length became a source 
 of perpetual struggle between the mother and daughter. The 
 tempers of both were violent, and as year after year passed on, 
 the continued strife between them became so ceaseless and 
 habitual, that the lives of both were embittered by it. 
 
 Yet still the beauty of Almeria continued as striking as ever, 
 and again and again her hand was sought for in marriage by 
 men whom her mother approved, but to none of whom she could 
 be persuaded to listen. It was in vain that Mrs. Lambert — • 
 whose temper was become as gloomy as it was violent — it was 
 in vain that she explained the deficiency of their little income 
 to supply their daily wants, and the daily dress of her admired 
 daughter, for the only answer she could obtain was the sturdy 
 repetition of the often pleaded defence, " Mother, I do not love 
 him ! " 
 
 "Nor will you ever love any man ! It is not in your nature 
 to love," was the answer she had more than once received from 
 her angry parent. But Almeria herself was of a different 
 opinion, and rather felt conscious that it was because she could 
 love, and love passionately, that she shrunk with such deep 
 abhorrence from the idea of giving herself to one whom she 
 loved not. 
 
3S THE YOUXG HEIEESS. 
 
 It is scarcely possible to imagine a more dangerous process 
 for such a character as hers, than that to which she was tlius 
 perpetually exposed. She felt in her very heart of hearts that 
 she was rig'h.t, and not wrong — virtuous, and not vicious — 
 in refusing' to become the wife of any man she could not love; 
 3^et, notwithstanding- the trnth and purity of this theory, it was, 
 by the unfortunate concurrence of the circumstances around her, 
 likely to lead her to the reverse of all that was virtuous, in 
 principle, and right in practice. 
 
 Matters w^ere in their very worst state between herself and 
 her mother; money was scarce, and debts abundant : and, more- 
 over, a wealthy merchant, who offered to provide for her mother, 
 as well as to make a handsome settlement on herself, was 
 earnestly beseeching her to marry him, when a j'achting 
 excursion, in which he was engaged, brought Mr, Rixley to 
 Falmouth. 
 
 The purpose of the party, with whom he was engaged, was 
 to make a lono- ramblinQ- cruise, but the wind fell to a dead 
 calm when they were off Falmouth, and they came on shore to 
 escape the bore of close quarters, and nseless sea-room. 
 
 The rest is soon told, and the less it is dwelt upon the better. 
 Mr, E/ixle}'- appeared to Alraeria the beaio ideal of all she had 
 been looking for in a lover ; and, to say the truth, her home had 
 become so miserable, that even had she admired him less, ho 
 might have succeeded in winning her heart. But, as it was, all 
 the indifference of her past life seemed like a well-preserved 
 magazine of gas, that blazed into a brightness proportioned to 
 its former darkness the moment that the flame had reached it. 
 
 Mr. Rixley, with all his ardour, and all his impassioned 
 vehemence, was not a man capable of returning, or of compre- 
 hendiucr such a love as that which Almeria Lambert bore him. 
 But he certainly thought her by far the handsomest woman he 
 had ever seen, nor was he at all insensible of the pleasure of 
 being' passionately beloved for himself, and himself alone. He 
 knew perfectly well that his wife neither did, nor ever had loved 
 him, nor had he ever had much faith in the disinterested attach- 
 ment of poor William's mother, though in point of genuine 
 attachment she might i:)erhaps have held the middle ph'ice 
 between the passionate love of Almeria, and the something 
 more than mere uuimpassioned indifference which was felt for 
 him by his wife. 
 
 Certain it is, however, that coarse and nnrefmcd as had ever 
 been every attachment he had hitherto felt, and totally incapable 
 
THE YOUNG HEmESS. 39 
 
 as lie was of compreli ending- the powerful character of tlie un- 
 fortunate Almeria, or of appreciating- the streng-th of her mind, 
 or even her devoted attachment to himself, he was nevertheless 
 fully aware that he was loved now, as he had never been loved 
 before ; and being conscious, moreover, that he was no longer 
 in the flower of his youth, his vanity was as much touched as 
 his affection, and he was desperately determined not to lose the 
 gratification of so splendid a conquest. 
 
 The manner in which he brought her into the house has been 
 already stated, as well as the position she held there. Although 
 he was infinitely more capable of awakening all that was evil 
 in the unfortunate woman's character, than of appreciating 
 what was good, he was far from being insensible to the 
 gratification of being her idol as well as her master; and 
 tliough his dissolute manner of life led him during the years 
 which followed into many passing intrigues, it could scarcely 
 be said that she ever had a rival. Had she been as prone to 
 jealousy however, as she decidedly was the reverse, it is possible 
 that the case might have been difTerent; as it was, she felt 
 herself as undoubtedly certain of his continued loYe for her, as 
 of her own unvarying love for him. 
 
 It is certain, indeed, that not all this undoubting confidence 
 in his attachment either did, or could prevent lier being a very 
 miserable woman. She had no natural propensity to hypocrisy 
 in her, yet her whole life was a cheat, and the consciousness of 
 this galled her pride even more than it awakened her remorse. 
 The certainty, however, that the man she adored, rather than 
 loved, was an object not only of indifference, but dislike to his 
 wife, was an endless and ceaseless source of consolation to her, 
 and without it, as she often told herself, she would rather have 
 died than lived. 
 
 Another source of consolation arose from a cause of precisely 
 an opposite character, namely the strong sympathy which 
 existed between her unfortunate mistress and herself in their 
 feelings towards the children. She knew that here at least she 
 was a blessing and a comfort to her, and the knowing this was 
 a more constant support to her under the many miseries of her 
 degraded position (although she guessed it not) than all her in- 
 fatuated confidence in the attachment of her mastei'. 
 
 It is a commonly received belief that love is blind, but there 
 could not easily be found a stronger illustration of the truth 
 of this, than the manner in which Almeria Lambert so lon^T 
 witnessed the hard indifference of Mr. Rixley towards his 
 
40 THE YOUNG HEIEESS. 
 
 children, witlioufc feeling her attf\chment to him lessened hy if. 
 He had told her that if the children had been hers, he should 
 have loved them; and she so implicitly believed the assertion 
 that she only pitied, where she ought to have hated him. 
 
 As to her own attachment to them, which partook of the 
 same characteristic devotedness and warmth of heart which so 
 long sustained her love for their father, she accounted for it to 
 herself, by remembering that the children were his. 
 
 In short from the hour in which she had first seen him, to 
 that in which he had just left her in the manner I have 
 described, she had been living as completely in a state of 
 delusion respecting his character, his qualities, and his feelings, 
 as if she had been held under the spell of an enchanter's wand. 
 
 J^ow, for the first time, she saw him such as he really was, 
 and the doing so very nearly destroyed her. 
 
 The firmness of her own attachment had communicated a 
 like firmness to her faith in him. She had never for a moment 
 felt the sensation of jealousy, for this is a passion that for the 
 most part owes its birth to suspicion, and suspicion was foreign 
 to her nature: nor was it jealousy that tortured her now. Had 
 she believed him to be still the same glorious being which her 
 ignorance and her imagination combined had led her to paint 
 liim, and if so believing she had learnt that he no longer loved 
 her, but loved another, the conviction, if it had really reached, 
 might have really killed her .... but it would not have cured 
 her of her love. But now the frightful truth flashed upon her 
 with the clearness, and almost with the rapidity of lightning, 
 that she had been living;' under a delusion from the hour she 
 had seen him first, till within a few short moments of the 
 instant when she had seen him last. 
 
 The revulsion occasioned throughout her whole being by this 
 discovery was fearfully violent, and its effects were fearfully 
 lasting. To follow the course of all the terrible thoughts 
 which chased each other through her throbbing brain, as the 
 conviction of the delusion under which she had lived, settled 
 itself as it were upon her very heart and soul, would be a futile 
 attempt; and the sequel of my story will do more towards 
 making this vehement process understood, than the most 
 laboured description of it. Yet even while crushed to the 
 earth by the blow which had fallen upon her, the dauntless 
 spirit of the unfortunate woman seemed to rise within her in 
 defiance of the cold-blooded contempt with which she had been 
 treated. 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 41 
 
 But for a considerable time slie felt as if her intellect was 
 confused, and that although she had mnch to do, and that very 
 strong measures were to bo taken, she would have been about 
 eqnally at a loss to say what her object was, or what the means 
 by wliich she proposed to obtain it. By degrees, however, she 
 became more collected, and more calm; one proof of which 
 was, that she resolutely determined to avoid taking any sudden 
 resolution as to her future conduct. 
 
 " Could I," thouo;ht she, " durinor the course of the comino: 
 night sleep but for one short hour, the puzzling confusion of 
 thought which now besets me, would cease, and I should not 
 decide one moment to do that which I should decide asrainst 
 
 O 
 
 doing the next," 
 
 She rose from her bed, and for a few minutes indulged herself 
 by standing bare-headed at her window, and receiving the fresh 
 strong gale from the sea upon her forehead. And then she 
 soliloquised again. 
 
 "I will first make a difficult, but not very important 
 resolution," thought she; "if I have sufficient self-command 
 to keep that, I may look forward with something like confidence 
 in my own strength for the future." 
 
 And after a few minutes of consideration this first resolution 
 took for its object the occupying the remainder of the passing 
 day exactly as she would have done, had the most important 
 catastrophe of her life not fallen upon her. 
 
 To achieve this, the first thing she had to do was to seek the 
 children, and to speak to them, as if she were still the same 
 tranquil-minded and contented being they had ever known her. 
 This might be somewhat difficult, for instead of tranquil-minded, 
 her head was throbbing^ as if a set of fullina: hammers were at 
 work within it. Yet what was this, when compared to the task 
 which was to follow after? For had she not to see, and hear, 
 and speak to, the man who for a dozen j^ears had perseveringly 
 deluded her into the belief that he had loved her, even as she 
 had loved him ? And as she remembered this, the thought of 
 instant self-destruction flashed across her mind as an alternative 
 offering most tempting relief. 
 
 It was surely more a Greek than an Eno-lish feelings which 
 followed, and which at once and for ever chased every idea of 
 self-destruction from her mind. 
 
 "Destroy myself?" she mattered bitterly, "and so save the 
 villain from all further pains and penalties from his infernal 
 acts? No! By the God that made me, I swear that I will 
 
42 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 clierish my own life ^Y^tll all tlic tender caution of a coward 
 keeping guard over bis own safety, and all the wakeful watch- 
 fulness of a mother protecting- a precious child. Yes, E-ixley ! 
 I will live till I have tauo-ht thee to know that a wronfred 
 woman's hate may be more difficult to conquer than her love. 
 
 From this moment Mrs, Lambert found no fjirther difficulty 
 in sustaining the part she had assigned herself. In all respects, 
 save one, she was guid'ed, as she had ever been, by the kindly 
 feelinpfs of a very affectionate heart. She could not feign to 
 love William, and his sister Helen more dearly than she really 
 did love them, therefore with them she had no change to make; 
 and as to the being before whom she was never again to appear, 
 save as the thing she was not, how could the playing such a 
 part be anything but joy and gladness to her? "Should she not 
 deceive him ? Would not her every look and word be false ? 
 And should she not taste all the sweetness of vengeance as she 
 fooled him ? And might she not worm herself into tlie hidden 
 mystery of his changed heart? And might she not tortm'e him 
 then? 
 
 The smile was a very fearful one that sat upon her still 
 handsome features, as she thus prepared herself for the task 
 that lay before her; it was not a false smile, however, but a 
 very true one, inasmuch as it spoke a feeling of deep content- 
 ment from contemplating the work that lay before her, and 
 with it a consciousness of the unshrinking strength which she 
 felt within her, wherewith to accomplish it. 
 
 CHAPTER Vn. 
 
 She found Vv^illiam and Helen very quietly seated in the 
 school-room, the turbulent feelings of the boy soothed into 
 forgetfulness of everything painful by the clever device of 
 Helen, who after suffering: his first vehement burst of ano;er 
 against his father's offensive words to the beloved Sarah to 
 exhaust itself, had restored him easily to his usual hapi^y state 
 of mind by making him read the "Lay of the Last Minstrel" to 
 her as she sat at work. 
 
 Mrs. Lambert praised them both for being so well employed, 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 43 
 
 avicl with sncli perfect composure of look and manner, as almost 
 made them forget that anj-thing had occurred to vex lier. 
 
 I have now related all that I know respecting the unfortunate 
 Almcria Lambert up to the moment at which the feeling, whicli, 
 when she was innocent, had proved strong enough to overthrow 
 all that she knew was right, had been converted, after many 
 years of guilt, into another feeling quite strong enough to stifle 
 that to which it owed its birth ; but which, nevertheless, w^as 
 not of the quality likely to lead either to fitting repentance or 
 fitting atonement. 
 
 Yet still the character of the woman remained a mixed cha- 
 racter ; it Avas by no means wholly bad, for there was no sclfisl;- 
 ness in it : and there was still an immensity of that deep devo- 
 tion to those whom she could still love, which redeems human 
 nature from much that is contemptibly little, though it cannot 
 save it from much that may be fearfully bad. 
 
 The day pnssed on, to all appearance mnch as former days 
 had done ; William prepared his exercises for the clergyman's 
 evening visit. Helen had been readv for it before the scene in 
 the parlour took place ; and she now settled herself very steadily 
 at the pianoforte, in order to achieve a final and decisive victory 
 over a difficult lesson. 
 
 The habit of Mr. Rixley was to dine alone when his mornings, 
 or rather his whole dtxjs, were passed on the sea, and he did so 
 now ; his son and daughter, however, were ordered to come in 
 with the dessert; and as no order of his was ever disobeyed, 
 they appeared before him, although both of them would infinitely 
 have preferred rem.aining to perform the very hardest tasks that 
 the school-room could offer than partake with him the finest 
 fruit that was ever spread before a mortal. 
 
 Upon this occasion, however, he treated them both with 
 rather more than ordinary civility; nay, he even condescended 
 to speak to the boy as if he were a reasonable creature capable 
 in some degree of understanding him. 
 
 *' There ! that will do in the way of crunching, and peeling, and 
 munching. Let alone the walnuts, William, and listen to me. 
 I wish to speak to you about your future prospects, if you are 
 not too great a fool to understand me." 
 
 The boy coloured, pushed the offending plate from him, and 
 fixed his fine intelligent eyes upon the face of his handsome, 
 but stern-looking father; but he said nothing. 
 
 "That means that you will listen I suppose j but it would be 
 more civil if you said so," said Mr. Kixley. 
 
44 THE YOUXG HEIRESS. 
 
 " I will listen," said the bov. 
 
 "Thank you, young Sir! you are excessively polite and 
 obliging, not to say condescending and amiable. However, it 
 may be as well to mention to you that if you do not listen now, 
 you will never have an opportunity of doing so at all, for most 
 certainly I shall not take the trouble of speaking twice to you 
 upon a subject which I consider as being much more interesting 
 to you than to me." 
 
 The boy looked steadily at him, but did not speak. 
 
 *' You heard me this morning offer 3-ou the choice of becoming 
 a sailor, or remaining a book-grub and becoming an usher. You 
 heard me offer you the choice, I suppose? " 
 
 " I heard you say something about it, Sir," replied William, 
 quietly. 
 
 "It was very obliging of 3'ou to listen so attentively," 
 returned his father; " and I presume you also heard your stupid 
 old nurse object to it, even though I proposed to teach you the 
 trade myself? " 
 
 The face of William became as red as scarlet on hearing this 
 disrespectful allusion to one whom he loved at once as a 
 mother and a friend; but he replied firml}^ "If j\Trs. Lambert 
 objects to it. Sir, I should object to it too. I hope I shall never 
 do anything that Mrs. Lambert objects to." 
 
 "Very well, my independent j'oung Sir; then an usher you 
 shall be to the end of your days; and I hoiDe you will have 
 themes to correct, and boys to flog, to your heart's content." 
 
 William had been looking steadily in the face of his father 
 from the time that this conversation began; but on hearing 
 these last words, the expression of his features suddenly changed, 
 and a smile, that might have been construed into a look of 
 rather saucy defiance, succeeded to the subdued and quiet air 
 with which he had hitherto listened. 
 
 But the change in the boy's face was neither more sudden 
 nor more striking than that which was perceptible in the 
 father's. A sort of dry and hard indifference had seemed to 
 be settling itself on the features of Mr. Rixle}^ but this was 
 now changed to a look of brutal rage. His face was flushed, 
 his brow contracted, his full under-lip was compressed for a 
 moment by his large white teeth, and the glance which shot 
 from his eyes had something vastly more like hatred than 
 paternal love in it. 
 
 " You sneer at me, do you. Master William Lack-name ? 
 Pray do you know who you are? Perhaps your dearly-bcloved 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 45 
 
 Mrs. Lambert may have mentioned the fact to you; but if she 
 has not, I ^Yill. I plainly perceive that it is high time you 
 should know who and what you are. Did Mrs. Lambert ever 
 disclose this interesting secret to you?" 
 
 "I don't know what yon mean, Sir," replied William. "I 
 don't think that Mrs. Lambert ever told me any secret." 
 
 "Very discreet. Very right. Very proper on the part of 
 Mrs. Lambert. But the reasons which kept her silent do not 
 affect me ; therefore. Master William, I desire you to understand 
 now, and to remember for ever, that, according to law, you are 
 no son of mine ; and, therefore, whatever I do for you is a 
 matter of grace and favour, and not to be sneered at. Do you 
 understand me. Sir? I never was married to your mother. She 
 was my mistress. Sir, and not my wife. Do you comprehend 
 what I am saying to you ? " 
 
 The effect of this announcement upon the poor boy was 
 terrible ! The cruel words seemed to have turned him to stone. 
 Pie uttered not a syllable ; but, having looked steadily in the 
 face of his savage father for a moment, as if to read there some 
 trace of jesting falsehood, he crossed his arms upon the table 
 before him, and hiding his face upon them, uttered one sharp 
 cry of such deep anguish, that the frightened Helen rushed 
 from the room, and, flying to Sarah Lambert, exclaimed, "Oh! 
 come to poor William this very moment, dear Sarah ! I 
 believe papa has said something that will kill him ! Something* 
 about his mother .... Come with me, Sarah ! Oh, if you 
 had heard him groan as I did, you would not like to keep away 
 from him ! " 
 
 Sarah Lambert divined the truth in an instant. 
 
 "He has told him, has he?" she said; and then added, in a 
 muttered murmur to herself, but too ir.distinctly for Helen to 
 understand her words, "It follows quick. Tiiis is part and 
 parcel of what has gone before. There is something- brewing- — 
 something in the wind." And as she spoke she seized Helen by 
 the hand, and hastened with her into the parlour. 
 
 "Oh ! you are come to see the denouement, Mrs. Lambert, are 
 you ? " said Mr. Rixley, as they entered. " Did Helen tell you 
 that I have announced to this young hero the blot in his escut- 
 cheon ? I rather wonder, by the way, that he has never found 
 it out before, for I really believe that pretty nearly everybody 
 in the parish knows it. But people sometimes are vastly dis- 
 creet, when there is no earthly reason for their being so, and 
 vastly the reverse when there I?:. JN'ot that I mean to blame 
 
4G THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 yoLi about it, Mrs. Lambert. It was quite right and proper that 
 3'ou shouid say nothing on the subject without my orders." 
 
 All this was said sotlo voce to the greatly excited, but very 
 quiet-looking Mrs. Lambert, as she stood looking at the sobbing 
 boy from a distance, while his sister hung fondly over him, 
 whispering in his ear, "For my sake, dear, darling William! 
 look up again ! Never mind what he says. E-emember how 
 we have seen him use Sarah ! Surely we ought not to mind 
 anything he says to us, after that." 
 
 Her words were not heard in vain. William not only looked 
 up, bat rose from his chair; and, taking the hand of his sister, 
 which she had laid upon his amn, pressed it to his lips. 
 
 " Come into the garden with me, Helen ! " he said, without 
 appearing conscious that there was any one else in the room. 
 " A walk under the lime-trees will do me good," 
 
 She, too, at that moment, seemed neither to see or remember 
 any one but her brother, and hand in hand they walked out of 
 the room together. 
 
 "Certainly that boy is the most audacious cub that ever was 
 hatched," said Mr. E^ixley, following them with his eyes ; " and 
 it would serve him perfectly right if I bound him apprentice to 
 a tinker. My fool of a wife was the first who turned his head 
 by her ridiculous petting' ; and there is no denying that you 
 liave had some share in it too, my sage old lady." 
 
 " I am sure if I have, Mr. Rixley, it has been done from mere 
 idle thoughtlessness, and not because I fancied that a boy in his 
 situation ought to be too much humoured and indulged ; quite 
 the contrary : for I know, of course, that he must make his 
 own way in the world, and that he ought to be made to under- 
 stand it?' 
 
 This was said so precisely in the tone in which a cold-hearted 
 and cautious confidential servant would have been likely to 
 answer under the circumstances, that Mr, Rixle}'' felt instantly 
 relieved from all fear of opposition in his projects from the 
 interference of the over-fond nurse. 
 
 " Quite true, Al . You are perfectly correct in your 
 
 notions on the subject," said he, looking at her with very grave 
 approbation ; " and if you are to go on living here, as my house- 
 keeper, I shall consider it as a great advantage that you should 
 no longer behave to him as if he were my son and heir. There 
 has been a great deal too much of it already. But things, as 
 you must plainly jierceive, I think, must all be put upon a new 
 footing now. I am going to bo married, Mrs. Lambert." 
 
THE YOUNG nEIDESS. 47 
 
 People who have taken the trouble of studying perhaps the 
 most powerful, though not the most obvious, peculiarity in the 
 female character, cannot but have perceived that a very strong 
 and resolute joower of self-control is at their command, when 
 circumstances call upon them to exert it. It is needless to enter 
 into the philosophy of the subject ; but it might be easily shown 
 that this sort of passive power often very effectually supplies 
 their want of strength, both moral and physical, in other 
 respects. 
 
 There were at that moment two very opposite feelings at 
 work within the heart of Mrs. Lambert, which between them 
 made her thiuk it was still worth while to live, in spite of all 
 the misery that weighed upon her. 
 
 The first — decidedly the first — of these, was the hope of 
 obtaining revenge, in some shape or other, upon the man who 
 had so basely treated her; the second was the hope that she 
 might still be able, in some degree, to guard the children she 
 loved from the sorrow and the suffering which their unprincipled 
 father was likely to bring upon them. 
 
 She knew that they had hitherto profited greatly by her 
 influence; but that influence, as she vras now informed upon the 
 best authority, she possessed no longer; and most women, upon 
 becoming aware of this fact, might have been tempted to with- 
 draw themselves from a scene where they could no longer hope 
 to be useful, and v/here they were very sure of being wretched. 
 
 But Mrs. Lambert had a proud, and stiff, and sturdy spirit 
 within her, vvhich would have made the destroying herself by a 
 bold leap from the cliff into the sea a much easier and a greatly 
 less painful task than the seeking relief by quietly withdrawing 
 Jierself from the man who had destroyed her. 
 
 But it required no long meditation to make her feel that if 
 she still hoped to play an important part in the drama of IMr. 
 Rixley's future life, it must be done under the shelter of a mask 
 as deceptive as that which he had worn when persuading- her 
 that, with all his faults, he was a noble-minded being-, who 
 deserved her love. 
 
 And such a mask she felt that she had the skill to fabricate, 
 and the courag:e to wear. 
 
 Nor vras she mistaken in thus estimating her own powers. 
 She knew, for she had already, poor soul, been often obliged to 
 practise it, that she was capable of that sort of patient perse- 
 vering self-control which could enable her .to "look like the 
 innocent flower, but be the serpent under it." 
 
48 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 And as a proof of this she now heard the man, whom but 
 yesterday' she had believed to be devotedly attached to her, 
 proclaim his intention of being married to another, without 
 manifesting, by any outward or visible sign whatever, that she 
 was either surprised or pained by the intelligence ! 
 
 He was himself, however, probably a little surprised, though 
 certainly exceedingly well-pleased, by the quiet and perfectly 
 contented, if not exactly delighted tone, in which she replied, 
 ''I cannot say that I am at all astonished at hearing it, Mr. 
 Rixley. It is no more than I expected ; and, of course, it is no 
 more than is right and proper. Had it happened a few years 
 ago, I dare say I should have thought differently about it; but 
 women outgrow the follies and fancies of their youth much 
 sooner than men do, unless they hapjDen to be very great fools 
 indeed; and, as far as I am concerned, I must say that if the 
 lady is a real lady, and has got a good fortune, my opinion is 
 that it is the very best thing you can do, both for yourself and 
 Miss Helen." 
 
 "I am very glad to hear you say so, Mrs, Lambert," replied 
 Mr, Eixle}', very cordially, "and it just confirms me in the 
 opinion I have always had of you. Some women, and a good 
 many of them, if the truth must be spoken, are good for nothing 
 on earth after their youth and beauty are over; but that's not 
 the case with you by any means," 
 
 "I am sure it is ver}'' kind of you to say so, Mr. Rixley," she 
 replied, without moving a muscle; "and it is easy to reconcile 
 oneself to grey hairs, when one hears an old friend sjDeak as 
 you do now. I think, Mr. Rixley, that the good opinion and 
 friendship of such a man as you are, are better worth having 
 than the young love of all the men in the world. Women, you* 
 know, grow old a great many years before men do ; and I am 
 quite convinced that all the women who have common sense 
 enough to remember tliat, spare themselves a monstrous deal of 
 vexation ! " 
 
 "I tell you what, Almeria — I beg your pardon; I ought to 
 call you Mrs, Lambert, and so I will henceforward, for jo^x 
 deserve to be treated with respect, and you shall liave it from 
 me, at any rate. But this is what I was going to say, Mrs. 
 Lambert. I did not intend, when I came down here this time, 
 to say anything more to you in the way of confidential talk, 
 than merely that I was going to be married; and, to say the 
 truth, I was more than half afraid that you would fly off in a 
 passion, as so many women do when they iiear that an old 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 4C 
 
 friend is beginning' to tliink of the main chance a little, instead 
 of goi"S' 01^ love-making- to the end of his days. But you, my 
 dear good soul, are suoli a cni)ital first-rate creature, that I feel 
 inclined to tell yon a great deal more about myself than I ever 
 did before; and I have no doubt you may be very useful to me 
 in many ways. Do you think you shall have patience to hear a 
 long story ? " 
 
 "Oh, dear! j^es, Sir. I am quite sure I shall find it very 
 interesting, if it is about yourself; for I do assure you that you 
 are quite as interesting to me now as you were when wo 
 were both younger, though, of course, in a_ different way," she 
 replied. 
 
 "Very well! that is just as it ought to be. But I won't 
 begin now. I will wait till those tiresome children are gone tc 
 bed, and then I will tell you a great many things, Mrs. Lambert, 
 of wdiich you have no notion as yet, I promise you. And there 
 is a good chance that you may be useful to me, with your 
 clever head, for there are one or two points upon which I 
 have not quite made up my mind, and I shall like to have your 
 opinion." 
 
 CHAPTEB VIII. 
 
 "Now, then, old acquaintance ! " began Mr. Rixley, as soon as 
 ho found himself tete-a-tete with Mrs Lambert. "I presume 
 there is no danger of our being interrupted ? Rebecca Watkins 
 is gone, I suppose ? " . 
 
 " Yes, Sir. I locked and bolted the door after her a quarter 
 of an hour ago," was the satisfactory ve-pW. 
 
 "Now, then, sit down, Mrs. Lambert, and you shall hear a 
 great deal more about me than I ever told you before. I think 
 you will be rather surprised to find that you don't even know 
 my real name." 
 
 " Is not your name George Rixley, Sir ? " said his companion, 
 fixing her large eyes upon him w^ith a look in which there 
 seemed to lurk a suspicion that he was jesting. 
 
 "You don't believe me?" he said, laughing. "But I am 
 telling you nothing but the truth, Mrs. Lambert. My name is 
 George, certainly, and once upon a time my name was Rixley, 
 5 
 
50 THE YOUNG HEIEESS. 
 
 too; but it is so no longer. My father's name was Rixley; but 
 my mother was a Beauchamp, and hei' only brother, who died 
 a bachelor, left me his estate on condition that I took his name : 
 so I am now George Rixley Beauchamp, instead of George 
 Rixley. This name and fortune, however, did not come to me 
 till I was thirty years old; and my father, being both devilish 
 strict and devilish poor, I had led but a hard sort of life till old 
 Beauchamp died ; for, as he never would tell anybody what he 
 intended to do with his property, I could not borrow a shilling 
 upon my chance of the estate. And what made my condition 
 worse was, that I have a detestable 3-ounger brother, who was 
 bred a parson, and who was a prig and a hypocrite from the 
 hour he was born. If ever any man had a good right to hate 
 another, I had a good right to hate him; and hate him I did, 
 and hate him I do, and hate him I shall, as long as X have life 
 enough left in me to love or to hate anything." 
 
 This profession of fraternal hatred was uttered with a degree 
 of fervour, which left no doubt of its sincerity. 
 
 The blood of his greatly excited auditor seemed to curdle in 
 her veins. 
 
 " The man is giving the last touches to the portrait of him- 
 self which he has drawn this day ! " thought she, with a sort of 
 mental shudder, which did not, however, in the very least degree 
 affect her outward demeanour. She looked at him, indeed, with 
 a stedfast composure of features, which gave to her pale face 
 the aspect of a bust of marble, as motionless and still as if 
 actually made of stone, yet having, like the portrait busts of 
 Hiram Power, such an expression of living intellect, that "one 
 might almost say the marhh thought." 
 
 Bat Mr. Rixley, as he called" himself, was in no condition to 
 speculate upon what was passing in the mind of his auditor. 
 He was thinking, feeling, living, wholly in himself, and for 
 himself; and all that he was conscious of in the condition of 
 his companion was that she was a creature devoted to, and 
 wholly dependent upon him, who might be useful, but who 
 was infinitely too helpless and forlorn to do him any possible 
 harm. 
 
 There was, therefore, no drawback to the pleasure with 
 which he recounted a history of which he was himself the hero, 
 and in the detailing which he might safely indulge himself by 
 expressing his most hidden and most detestable Icclings, with- 
 out a shadow of fear that this egotistical outpouring could do 
 him any injury. 
 
THE rOUNG HEIEESS. 51 
 
 "There is no necrl," ho vesumecl, "that I should waste time 
 in telling you all his diabolical ways of making' me appear 
 like a demon, and himself like au angel ; it is enough that I 
 should tell yon that he did so, year after year, till everybody 
 belonging to me, excepting my old uncle, who, luckily for 
 me, had a natural antipathy to parsons, I do verily believe, 
 thought I was too bad to live, and most likely prayed for my 
 death." 
 
 "They must have been very wicked, then!" said Mrs. 
 Lambert, who, as he stopped and looked at her, as if to 
 ascertain the efiecfc he was producing, felt herself obliged to 
 say something*. 
 
 "Wicked?" he repeated, with an oath. "Yes, Goody Lam- 
 bert, I think you are tolerably right there. I don't think there 
 was one of the set that did not deserve to be burnt alive. I 
 think it may be taken as a proof of my having a very g-ood 
 temper, for in the midst of all this lecturing and torment I 
 actually found time to fall in love. I did, upon my soul ! 
 deeply, madly in love! And now I will make you understand 
 why, and how, it came to pass that I hated, do hate, and ever 
 shall hate, my odious and every-way detestable brother. Tliis 
 girl, this lovely girl, for she was lovely, Mrs. Lambert, lovelier 
 ten thousand times over than ever you were, though she had 
 not your great bright Greek eyes — this girl refused one, and 
 married my brother ! — she did, upon my soul ! " 
 
 And having reached this climax, Mr. Rixley Beauchamp 
 paused in his narrative aj^parently to take breath, for ho 
 was very highly excited, and actually appeared gasping* from 
 vehement passion. 
 
 Mrs. Lambert was greatly more self-possessed and composed. 
 His fierce eyes were fixed upon her, however, and it was evident 
 that he expected her to say something in reply. It is probable 
 that she might have preferred remaining silent, but she was not 
 in the mood, notwithstanding the tranquillity of her aspect, to 
 yield to any such self-indulgent suggestion, and she said in a 
 voice which, considering' the circumstances, was marvellously 
 steady and passionless. " And no great wonder that you hate 
 him, Sir! He seems altogether to have done quite enough, I 
 think, to justify your hatred." 
 
 " Enough ! yes, enough ! and to spare, my good woman, for 
 he seemed to live only for the purpose of making himself 
 appear an angel, as I told you before, and me a demon ! But 
 now I must get on with what I want to tell you, for this part 
 
 5—8 
 
52 THE YOUXG HEIRESS. 
 
 of my story makes me still feel as if I should go mad, when I 
 think of it. The next thing* that happened was, of course, 
 that he had a son and heir born to him, and I had the grati- 
 fication of hearing it pretty plainly hinted that our rich uncle 
 Beauchamp was very likely to settle his estate upon this very 
 particularly beautiful bo}^ ! But now, Almeria, the scene 
 suddenly changed, for our half-witted, old mummy of an uncle 
 died at last, making me his sole heir ! For a few years I was 
 happy enough, as you will easily imagine, for my blessed 
 brother was as poor as a rat, being disappointed in his hopes of 
 getting a living*, having a new baby born to him every year, 
 and my father's affairs getting into worse condition every day 
 lie lived. But this state of felicity did not last long for me; 
 my father died, and my mother's settlement, though not a large 
 one, was quite sufficient to make her feel rich, when my father 
 and his extravagant ways were removed; and then she went to 
 live with her darling youngest son, and they all seemed to be 
 living in Paradise together, and I will leave you to guess how 
 much I enjoyed seeing it. I really believe I should have gone 
 mad, if I had not just at that time taken a violent passion for 
 boating. I was invited to join a cruising excursion on board 
 Sir Solomon Jones' yacht, and we were caught in a gale that 
 very nearly swamped us. Every one of the companj^, except 
 myself, were not only as sick as cats, but they all, more or less, 
 showed the white feather, and the sailors on board did me the 
 honour of declaring that I was the only man amongst them. 
 It was this, I believe, that first put the fancy into my 
 head .... and then you know, as long as I remained in 
 London or at Beauchamp Park either, I was sure to see and 
 hear something of the man I hated, for as long as my mother 
 lived, they continued to reside in London, where the hypocrite 
 parson had at last got appointed to a chapel. So, upon reading 
 in the nev^spaper a description of this place, I came down to 
 look at it, and bought it immediatel3^ The scheme answered 
 perfectly; for by means of calling myself Rixley, and leaving 
 out the Beauchamp, I altogether escaped the bore of being 
 known in the county as Beauchamp, of Beauchamp Park. I 
 brought down a devilish pretty girl, and called her Mrs. Rixley. 
 She was the mother, you know, of your precious nursling*, 
 Master William. But I took this idiot mother to sea with me 
 one stormy day, merely because she was the greatest coward I 
 ever knew in my life, and I thought it would be good fuu to 
 hear her squall, and see her drenched iu the spray, but I had 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 53 
 
 no notion of its killing her, whicli it certainly did, as I dare say 
 3^011 have heard." 
 
 "I am no great gossip, Mr. Rixley," replied his deeply 
 disgusted auditor, who felt, as she listened to him, a fresh pang 
 of self-reproach for having been beguiled into loving the vile 
 being to whose autobiography she was so demurely listening. 
 " I am no great gossip, as you well know, and all I remember 
 to have heard on the subject was that the first Mrs. Rixley died 
 in consequence of a cold which she caught in boating." 
 
 "And I suppose ray baby fool of a wife heard the same story," 
 rejoined Mr. Rixlej'-, " for though I often tried to coax her to go 
 out with me, I never could persuade her to put her foot in the 
 boat ; and I must say, Mrs. Lambert, that you were fairly worth 
 ten thousand of either of them, for though the only way I could 
 ever give you a sail was the making you get up in the middle of 
 the night when the moon shone, we have bad many a spanking 
 voyage together : and nothing was ever so cleverly managed as 
 the nursery night-work! My idiot of a wife, fancying that 
 nobody but herself could take sufiicient care of her precious 
 daughter either by night or by day, soon rendered our having 
 separate rooms a matter of necessity; and then, as you may 
 remember, Mrs. Lambert, I positively forbade that the boy 
 should be made such a milksop of, as to sleep in the room with 
 a nurse, and this left us pretty tolerably at liberty, you know — 
 and, upon my soul, you showed yourself a heroine upon more 
 occasions than one. I never saw any woman in a boat behave 
 like you ! It is a devilish pity you should ever grow old, for I 
 don't expect that my young lady wife that is to be, will ever 
 handle a rope as I have seen you do." 
 
 " If I had been a lady, Mr. Rixley," replied his companion in 
 a tone of the most philosophical indifference, "the chances are 
 that I should never have handled a rope either. My father had 
 been a hard-working, and very brave sailor in his youth, and it 
 was very natural that I should take after him." 
 
 "It maybe very natural, IMrs. Lambert," he replied, "but 
 it does not al\va3's haj^pen, for all that. I am sure my pretty 
 doll of a daughter is not at all like me, and that is one reason, 
 I suppose, why I care so little about her. And now that just 
 brings me round to the point I wanted to come to. The fact 
 is, Mrs. Lambert, that I shall not be contented unless I have a 
 son. That hateful brother of mine has one, and, moreover, he 
 is one of the finest-looking' young fellows that you ever saw in 
 your life — ^just such a grown fellow as William is. But as to 
 
51 THE YOUXG HEIRESS. 
 
 Helen, she is like iiotliing' on earth but her mother, and she, as 
 you know, was never well, and died at last quite young. Now, 
 if Helen dies young, whom must Beaucbamp Park and my ten 
 thousand a-year go to ? After all I have told you, Lambert, 
 you cannot feel much at a loss to guess why it is that I am 
 anxious to have a legitimate son," 
 
 " Oh dear, no ! Mr. Rixley," she promptly replied, " I 
 comprehend your motives perfectly ! — And you have fixed upon 
 the lady, have you ? " 
 
 " Yes, to be sure I have," he returned, laughing, " I should 
 have thought that you knew me better than to fancy that I 
 should have talked about it, before it was all settled. And a 
 devilish lovely youug creature I have chosen, I promise you — 
 so young, indeed, that I don't at all relish the thoughts of 
 presenting Miss Helen to her. She must dislike the idea 
 of being called mamma by a girl very nearly as tall as 
 herself." 
 
 "But how will you be able to manage, Sir, so as to prevent 
 it?" said Mrs. L:\mbert, in a tone of friendly anxiety. 
 
 "Why, it does not seem very easy just at first thinking of it; 
 but a clever head like mine, especially if assisted by another 
 clever head like yours," he replied, " may be able to find both 
 the will and the way. I don't think there is any great need of 
 my dwelling upon the fact, that I would rather sell every acre 
 of my uncle's property, and throw the money into the ocean, 
 than let my detested brother, or either of his children, have it"" 
 
 " Why, certainly. Sir, after what you have told me, I can't 
 think it very likely you should wish for that : neither is there 
 any danger that it should be so, while you have children of 
 your own," replied Mrs. Lambert. 
 
 " Children ! A cliilcl, I suppose you mean ? You don't 
 imagine, you half-caste Greek Jack Tar, do you, that I intend 
 to bequeath my grandfather's long-descended Beauchamp acres 
 to a bastard ? Upon my soul, if I thought you had really any 
 such notion in your head, I would turn you out of the house 
 this instant, and never let you enter my presence again! " 
 
 "And very proper it would be that you should do so," 
 returned the resolute woman, with the most stoical apathy, " I 
 was only thinking of Miss Helen, Sir." 
 
 "Very well, then. It is all very natural that you should 
 think of Miss Helen, and if I were to die to-morrow, the whole 
 of my Grandfather Beauchamp's fine property would go to her. 
 But this does not satisfy me,- Lambert. Just think, what would 
 
THE YOUXG HEffiESS. 55 
 
 happen, if you i-)lcasc, in case that girl should die ! She is ag 
 like her mother as oue egg is like another, and I think it very 
 likely— very likely indeed — that she may die early. Look at 
 her little delicate hands and feet, Lambert, and then look at 
 mine, and you will see at once that she does not take after me, 
 in any way, but after her mother, who, though she lived the 
 most healthy life possible, always in the countr}^ you know, 
 and never keeping late hours, or anything of the kind, died 
 before she was thirty, or near it. The girl will do the same, 
 and then the son of that d — d ungrateful woman who scorned 
 my love, and of the detested brother who supplanted me, will 
 become my heir! You may have some notion how detestable 
 this idea is to my soul, by the fact that I already, though in 
 pretty stout health, and not yet fifty years old, have made my 
 will. I have, upon my soul, Lambert, I have made my will, 
 and left everything I have in the world to Helen, which I did 
 on account of my not being over sure that I might not, some 
 coal-black night or other, get washed overboard among the 
 rocks; and then, you know, they might have made out, perhaps, 
 that the girl was just as illegitimate as the boy, and' as they 
 would all, of course, be leagued together against her, you may 
 guess what sort of a chance she would have had against them 
 all. But for all that, Mrs. Lambert, I have no moi-e intention 
 of leaving the Beauchamp property to that wry-faced girl, 
 than I have of leaving it to you. My intention is to marry' 
 and a devilish fine young creature I have fixed upon, as I have 
 told you." 
 
 "And upon my word. Sir, it appears to me that you could 
 not possibly do anything better," replied the attentive listener, 
 without changing either in look or manner the perfect com- 
 posure of her demeanour. "And how soon will the marrias'e 
 take place?" ^ 
 
 "Why that is just what I can't exactly tell you; and it is 
 upon that very point I shall want your advice and assistance," 
 he replied. "I have made my ofier, and have been very 
 graciously accepted ; but I would much rather settle everything 
 about Helen, and where she is to live, and who is to take care 
 of her, and all that sort of plaguing business, before I actually 
 settle the day. And now what I want to ask of you is, 
 whether you would yourself be ready and willinc^- to take 
 charge of her?" ° 
 
 The resolute composure of the unhappy woman had lasted 
 her to this point so well, that her voice had never for a moment 
 
56 THE YOUXG HEIKESS. 
 
 faltered, nor had her complexion changed; but now she 
 suddenly became as red as scarlet, and her eyes, which had 
 been steadily fixed on the face of her master, now sought the 
 ground, as if she had no longer sufficient courage to look at 
 him ; and as to her voice, she trusted it not, but remained per- 
 fectly silent. 
 
 " Why, what the deuce is the matter with you, woman ? " he 
 exclaimed. " By Jove, one might think I had asked yon to 
 murder, instead of take care of her ! What makes you colour 
 up in that ridiculous way ? And why do you sit there as if you 
 were struck dumb ? Wliy can't yon answer a civil question 
 civilly, and without keeping one an hour waiting for it? " 
 
 But Alraeria Lambert was not a woman to be terrified, or 
 overpowered, by rough language ; on the contrary, this rude- 
 ness from her master at once restored the courage, which had 
 almost failed her upon being made to remember that the pro- 
 tection thus asked towards the being she most fondly loved 
 could not be given by her, without degrading the object of this 
 fond affection. 
 
 It was a dreadful thought, and as true as it was terrible; 
 but she had been already called upon to stifle and conceal the 
 strongest feelings of her soul, and had obeyed the call with 
 a degree of courage which made her, as she felt, the master of 
 the heartless wretch who tortured her. This thouo-ht at once 
 restored her self-possession, though this last pang was sharper 
 perhaps than all which had preceded it. " You must excuse 
 me. Sir, if for a moment I felt half frightened at the idea of 
 your trusting the care of your heiress to me. It would bring 
 such a deal of responsibility with it ! " 
 
 "Don't be a fool, Lambert, and make mountains of mole- 
 hills!" he replied. "In the first place I am not dead yet, if 
 you please to observe, and in the next, you may as well remem- 
 ber that I intend to have a male heir before I die, so that your 
 chance of having so important a personage as my heiress upon 
 your hands, is but small." 
 
 " True, Sir ! that is very true indeed ! I forgot /7za^," she 
 replied with energy, " and it makes a great difference as to my 
 saying yes, or no, to your proposal. Then if I say yes. Sir, I 
 may take it for sure and certain I suppose, that as soon as ever 
 you have got a son born, you will destroy the will you have 
 made, making Miss Helen your heir ? " 
 
 " Yes, to be sura you may. But what a queer woman you 
 are," was the reply. " I should have thought, considering what 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 67 
 
 a fjrcafc affection yon have ever professed for her, that you 
 would have rather seen her a great lady, and an heiress, than 
 not" 
 
 "And so I should still, Sir," she replied with great readiness, 
 "if it were not so plain to see that you would rather leave your 
 estates to a son than to a daughter. And, besides, Mr. Rixlcy, 
 I feel quite sure that you will never leave either of the dear 
 children in poverty. If I did not think tliaty I could not of 
 course find it in my heart to wish for you to have a son." 
 
 " Well, Goody Lambert, I would rather hear you talk in that 
 way, because it is no more than natural, and though I won't 
 bind myself by promising anything fixed and certain just at 
 this moment, you may set your heart at ease about my not 
 leaving you all three to starve. A pretty riot you would be 
 kicking up, if I did, wouldn't you, old lady ? " 
 
 " Why, of course. Sir," she replied, now perfectly restored to 
 composure, and to the part she intended to perform, " I should 
 not rest very quietly in a starving condition, with a darling boy 
 starving on one side, and a darling girl on the other, knowing, 
 too, that their father possessed many thousands a year. But it 
 would be nothing better than affectation, if I pretended to say 
 that I have any such fears, for I have not. I dare say you will 
 behave very handsomely. Only, Sir, there is one thing that 
 puzzles me." 
 
 " Well ! speak out; what is it? " demanded her master. 
 
 " You must promise not to be angry, Mr. Rixley," she replied, 
 "for without that I had rather keep silence." 
 
 " Don't be a fool, Mrs. Lambert. I don't believe a word about 
 your being afraid, so out with it. What is it that has puzzled 
 you ? " said he. 
 
 " Why, it is this, Sir," she replied, with a sort of respectful 
 curiosity in admirable keeping with the part she was perform- 
 ing, " I cannot guess why it was that you dismissed your ser- 
 vants, and gave over living like a gentleman, just about the 
 very time you made the will you tell me of, making Miss 
 Helen a great heiress. I can't understand why you should have 
 told me just then for the first time that it was very likely Miss 
 Helen would, one day or other, have to take the place of Rebecca 
 Watkins in the house." 
 
 " You shall not puzzle your old brains long about that, Mrs. 
 Lambert," he replied, "for I will explain it at once. My pur- 
 pose then, was exactly the same as my purpose now. When I 
 gave you this Lotice, I had made up my mind to do exactly 
 
58 THE TOUXG HEIEESS. 
 
 v.liafc I am about to do now, tliafc is to say I had made up my 
 mind to marry; and I had also made up my mind that in case 
 I should have a son, I would make a will by which, as in duty 
 bound, I should leave the whole of the Beauchamp property to 
 my son, making, however, such a provision for the girl as her 
 penniless mother's daughter might have a right to expect ; and 
 that shall be enough for her to live upon, with you for a com- 
 panion, Mrs. Lambert. And if she does not like that, she may 
 make herself a teacher in a school, as her mother was before 
 her. Why do you look at me so sharply, with your great eyes ? 
 Are you going to grumble at what I have said ? " 
 
 " Pray, Mr. Rixley, do not say I look sharply at you," 
 returned Mrs. Lambert, with exceeding meekness. " If you 
 were to say that I looked as if I were listening with great 
 attention, you would show that you understood me better. I 
 have done my duty to yonr children since I was hired to attend 
 upon them, and I sincerely wish to do so still ; and it must be 
 plain to you, that in order to do this, it will be necessary for me 
 to understand what your intentions are about them." 
 
 "Yes. That is true enough, certainly," he replied. "But 
 you need not talk about them, Mrs. Lambert. Let things turn 
 out as they will after my marriage, you will have little or 
 nothing more to do about him. I have completely made up my 
 mind that he shall be an usher in some country school or other. 
 Everything that Parson Bolton has told me about him proves 
 that it is exactly what he is fit for, so you need not give your- 
 self any farther trouble on that subject. For the present, how- 
 ever, everything may go on exactly as it does now, only you 
 won't have many more visits from me, I suppose, before the 
 marriage takes place ; not that I mean to give up my dear boat, 
 not a bit of it, I promise you ! When I am once safely 
 married I shall make no scruple of coming down to the Warren 
 House for the sake of a sail, though I shall not think it necessary 
 to bring my beautiful w^ife with me. She never saw such a rough- 
 looking barn of a place as this since she was born, and the party 
 she would find here would startle her a little too, I suspect. 
 Don't you think so, Mrs, Lambert ? " 
 
 This question was asked with a gay laugh ; and, therefore, 
 Mrs. Lambert laughed too. But she was probably conscious 
 that her muscles were more likely to rebel in making this 
 attempt, than in performing anything else she could require of 
 them ; she therefore very discreetly pulled forth her pocket- 
 handkerchief and applied it to her nose. 
 
THE YOUXG HEIEESS. 59 
 
 The device answered even beyond liev hope, for Mr. Rixley 
 BeauchamjD laughed aloud as he looked at her, and exclaimed, 
 " What a discreet personage you are becoming, Mrs. Lambert ! 
 You do not choose that even I should see how greatly you feel 
 amused at the idea of the future Mrs. Beauchamp's coming to 
 pay a visit at the Warren House, and finding you here ?"' 
 
 " Well, Sir ! And if sucli a thought did come into my head," 
 she replied, " I am sure it was very natural." 
 
 " To be sure it was, old friend ! And don't fancy I am going 
 to be angry with you for that. Not a bit ! I won't say that I 
 should exactly like to make the experiment, for the style and 
 station of the future Mrs. Beauchamp is considerably more ia 
 accordance with the style of Beauchamp Park, than of Crump- 
 ton Warren House, and the place itself, as well as the live stock 
 she would find here, might produce rather a disagreeable effect 
 on her nerves." 
 
 The conversation then turned on the minor details of house- 
 hold economy; all of which he seemed to have studied and 
 arranged on a very modest style of expenditure; but this was 
 not a point that, as far as she herself was concerned, was at all 
 likely to excite the most excitable feelings of her vehement 
 character. It would not, indeed, have been easy for Mr. Rixley 
 to have touched on any subject whereon she could have listened 
 to him with so much genuine indifference. In fact she herself 
 possessed, although he did not know it, quite as large an income 
 as she required to maintain her. Her mother's death had put 
 her in possession of about sixty pounds a year, which sum was 
 transmitted to her by half-yearly payments, through the agency 
 of a Falmouth banker. This money had hitherto been spent by 
 her in a manner to make the pretty strict economy of Mr. 
 Rixley as little injurious to the comfort of his children as 
 might be. Among all the lamentable faults of this unfortunate 
 woman's character, there was no mixture of sordid selfishness ; 
 and the reason she had never mentioned this little independence 
 to her master was solely that she might be able to employ it for 
 the use or gratification of the children, without being told, as 
 she frequently was on all occasions of expenditure, that he did 
 not wish his children to be over-indulged. 
 
 Perhaps it was fortunate that this branch of his discourse 
 was so little interesting to her : for its discussion produced a 
 look of such genuine weariness on the features of the miserable 
 Almeria, that the self-occupied brute felt very comfortably per- 
 suaded the communication of his intended marriage, which he 
 
60 THE YOUXG HEIRESS. 
 
 had somewhat dreaded to make, had not nfTectcd her very 
 strongly : for that it was evident she was made more tired than 
 angry, by his long statements respecting his future intentions 
 concerning his children, and their future manner of life mider 
 her superintendence. 
 
 Nothing could be more accordant to her wishes than that he 
 should so think ; and when he taxed her with being so tired of 
 liis long story as to be very nearly asleep, she confessed that he 
 was quite right, and that anything he might wish to say further 
 in the way of directing what was to be done about keeping up 
 the garden, and the boat-house, when he was away, would be 
 much more accurately remembered by her if he would be so 
 good as to let her hear it the next day, when she would not 
 feel so sleepy. 
 
 He immediately agreed to this, telling her that she might 
 take herself off as soon as she pleased; but adding, with a 
 significant nod, accompanied by an equally significant laugh — 
 " Your falling to sleep when I am talking to you of all my own 
 afil\irs, is a pretty plain proof, my ci-devant beauty, that it is 
 high time I should take me a wife. I suspect it is a sign that 
 we are neither of us quite so young as we have been." 
 
 " Perhaps it is, Sir," replied Mrs. Lambert, very quietly ; " I 
 wish you good night. Sir; and I shall be ready to hear all you 
 may be pleased to have to say to-morrov/.'* 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 "Thank heaven! That is over, and never, never, never, can 
 it come again ; " soliloquised the unhappy woman, as soon as 
 she had shut herself up within the shelter of her own room. 
 "And this is the man to whom I have sacrificed my youth, my 
 innocence, my happiness ! But my misery, my frightful, fright- 
 ful misery, is not all his fault! Let me be just, even in this 
 hour of bitter agony! It is not his fault, but mine, if I have 
 debased myself to the lowest pitch of degradation and infamy, 
 in order to indulge a tender passion for such an animal as that! 
 Had another painted him to me, as he has now painted himself"', 
 would I not have expended my last breath in deaouucing that 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 61 
 
 other to the world as a liar and a slanderer ? But what is there 
 that human malice, or human invention could have attributed to 
 him, that could liave exceeded in vileness what he has recorded 
 of himself? What has become of all the rainbow-colouring- 
 with which his accursed falsehoods beguiled my judgment, and 
 made me fancy that all the shame and sin that surrounded me 
 was in truth intellectual superiority, and devoted affection ? Oh 
 fool ! fool ! fool ! And it is for this man, for tliis cold, hard, 
 selfish villain, that I have sacrificed myself, soul and body! In 
 this life, and in the next! For ever, and for ever, and for 
 ever ! " 
 
 It would be in vain to attempt to follow the wretched woman 
 throuo'li all the fearful meditations of that dreadful niofht. It 
 is probable that even her reason was in some degree shaken 
 by the vehemence and the vainness of her self-reproaches, and 
 by the intensity of the indignation, and the hatred which seemed 
 to overflow and submerge her very heart and soul as she dwelt 
 upon the systematic villany by which she had been deluded, 
 and destroj'ed. 
 
 To say that her once passionate love for her master was 
 turned into as jDassionate hate, would be but a weak description 
 of the feeling to which she now appeared to yield, and devote 
 herself, and which seemed to resemble in its deep intensity the 
 fanatic vehemence of a half-crazed religious enthusiast, about to 
 atone for all past sins by a phrenetic devotion of himself to 
 present suffering. 
 
 The light of the early morning sent its cold pale beams into 
 her chamber before she had for a moment closed her eyes in 
 sleep. She started almost in terror as she perceived this : for 
 her achino- head had been working: at intervals throuo^hout the 
 night upon what she might best do for the interest of the children, 
 and had pretty well decided that her best course would be 
 openly to advocate their cause, and to shame the unprincipled 
 father into securing* to each of them snch a provision as might 
 secure them from the misery of absolute poverty. 
 
 But she knew that this could only be hoped for as the result 
 of her resuming* such a degree of influence over his mind as might 
 induce him to listen to her on this important theme with fear, 
 if not with affection. But this again could only be hoped for 
 by her being still able to subdue her own feelings with the same 
 success which had hitherto attended her efforts to do so; and 
 this she felt could not be done if she met him with her head 
 aching, and her pulses throbbing, as they did at present. 
 
62 THE YOUNG HEITIESS. 
 
 Slie rose from lier bed, and, looking* at her face iii the glass, 
 j^Ositively started, at perceiving the havoc which one night of 
 Tehemeut suffering had produced on her appearance. It is 
 no fable which states that the colour of the hair will chano-e in 
 a single night. The hair of the unfortanate Almeria Lambert 
 w^as peculiarly rich and abundant, and had been very nearly 
 black ; but now one side of her head was almost as white as 
 silver. 
 
 Vanity had nothing to do with the emotion which this dis- 
 covery occasioned : her first, in truth her only thought upon the 
 subject came in the shape of alarm lest he should discover it, 
 and suspect in consequence the sincerity of that indifference, the 
 assumption of which was the only possible means by which she 
 could gratify the burning longing for revenge which had become 
 the stronofest feelinsf of her nature; for all her other feeline^s, 
 even those which her repentant heart now told her were the 
 best and purest she had ever felt — namely, her love for the 
 children she had nursed and cherished, as if they had been her 
 own — even her love for them called upon her to take vengeance 
 against their unnatural father. It has been said, truly enough, 
 that we are all disposed to 
 
 " Atone for sins we are inclined to. 
 By damning those we have no mind to;" 
 
 and it was probably for this reason that the enormous proportion 
 of selfishness which the present plans of Mr. Rixley Beauchamp 
 displayed, caused them to raise so fierce a feeling of anger, and of 
 hatred in the heart of Mrs, Lambert, for she had no selfishness 
 in her. If, by sacrificing everything she had in the world, she 
 could benefit those she loved, or in any w'ay increase their happi- 
 ness, the doing so would have given her more keen gratification, 
 and more really heart-felt joy, than any other thing that could 
 have befallen her. 
 
 To her own personal gratification and convenience, she was 
 very nearly insensible, and still more nearly indifferent; but to 
 minister to the pleasure, the happiness, the gratification in any 
 way of those she loved, seemed to make earth a heaven to her. 
 
 By the slight sketch which has been already given of lier 
 early history, it may be easily perceived that the broad boundary 
 lino between right and wrong had never been very clearly 
 pointed out to her : and the miserable result of this has been 
 sufficiently shown. But even this deficiency, lamentable as it 
 was, would nob have brought her ao low as she had fallen, had 
 
THE YOUXG HEIEESS. 63 
 
 it not been tliat her imagination was as super-abundantly active, 
 as the moral sense was torpid. 
 
 The sort of mystery in which the goings and comings of Mr, 
 Rixley were involved, the remarkable incongruities in his mode 
 of living, the lavish expenditure which attended all the arrange- 
 ments in which his nautical amusements were concerned, and 
 the close economy whicli he exhibited on almost every other 
 occasion, would all have suggested to most people, as they 
 certainly did to his very miserable wife, that his resources were 
 precarious and uncertain, if not absolutely disreputable; nay, 
 even this last idea often, and very painfully, suggested itself to 
 her, in consequence of the very evident repugnance which ho 
 displayed on every occasion, where there seemed a probability 
 of meeting strangers, to accept any of the rare invitations 
 addressed to him. 
 
 But no such reasonable thouofhts ever su2*gested themselves 
 to the unfortunate Almeria, though she too had her medita- 
 tions on the subject. She had fabricated a romantic theory of 
 her own, by which she contrived to convert all the selfish 
 caprices of her master into so many proofs of his noble nature, 
 and his arduous struggles to maintain his family, without 
 sharing the anxieties of his (probably) very uncertain position, 
 either with his wife, or with herself. 
 
 She had, in fact, persuaded herself, purely by the workings of 
 her own imagination, that Mr. Rixley was a merchant, and not 
 always a very prosperous one, and that when he left them, it 
 was solely to attend to his mercantile concerns; and that when 
 he lavishly spent money upon his boat, and its costly accom- 
 paniments, it was both because some lucky speculation had 
 answered, and also because the moonlight hours which he spent 
 in that dear boat with her, were the happiest of his existence ! 
 
 It is not very difncult to imagine, therefore, what her feelings 
 must have been, on learning that the man who had perpetually 
 reproached his gentle, meek-spirited wife, because her very 
 humble housekeeping was not humble enough, had been for 
 years living in the uncontrolled enjoyment of an income of 
 many thousands a year ; that the only reason for his having 
 married at all, was for the sake of gratifying' his fiend-like 
 hatred of his brother, and that noiv the dearest hope of his life 
 was that by the birth of another child he might be able, at his 
 own death, to leave his beautiful, innocent, motherless daughter 
 in a position too obscure for her ever to profit, in any way, by 
 the wealth and tstation he himself enjoyed ! 
 
64 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 As to her own share in the terrible exposition of this long- 
 drawn tale of treachery, hatred, perfidy and hypocrisy, she saw 
 — she understood — she felt — it all ; but, nevertheless, when 
 contemplating the whole series of his life's dark history, she 
 was hardly conscious that she was thinking of herself, and yet 
 her share of it was not the least tragical part of the drama. 
 
 It was thus that the long-deluded woman passed the hours 
 which immediately followed the discovery of her having bound 
 herself, body and soul, to a much viler being than any she had 
 ever conceived it possible could exist, and that too by the 
 sacrifice on her own part of everything that might have left her 
 the comfort of self-respect to console her in her misery. 
 
 That she was in no degree blind to the sin and degradation to 
 which she had submitted herself by yielding to her unbridled 
 passion for the man she now^ so deeply detested, was proved by 
 the melancholy depth of her conviction, that, with all her 
 tender pity and devoted love for the poor friendless Helen, she 
 could only bring her to shame and woe, by cherishing, and 
 watchinof over her ! The more she meditated on this terrible 
 idea, the more its questionable truth became evident, till every 
 other sorrow and regret seemed swallowed up in the feeling, 
 nearly approaching to despair, which it brought with it. 
 
 Yet still she felt that the destiny of this dear child was not 
 decided, and could not be decided for many months, or it might 
 be for je^vs to come. It might be that she would inherit the 
 whole of her father's noble property, and if she did, her less 
 fortunate brother would most assuredly be also well provided 
 for by her. And for a few moments while these pleasant 
 thoughts held possession of her mind, her spirits were soothed, 
 her throbbing pulses became hushed, and she fell into a deep 
 sleep which endured for an hour or two, and which probably 
 saved her from absolute madness. 
 
 Her waking from this sleep was certainly terrible; but, 
 nevertheless, the good effect of it was not lost; for though 
 profoundly wretched, she was in perfect possession of her 
 reason, one proof of which was that the most fixed and 
 stedfast object of her thoughts, from the moment that she 
 roused herself to a perfect consciousness of her situation, was 
 the finding some protection for Helen, less injurious than her 
 own. 
 
 Mr. Rixley Beauchamp meanwhile enjoyed a night of undis- 
 turbed repose. It was some time indeed since he had felt so 
 completely at case in his mind, and so every way comfortable 
 
THE YOUXG HEIRESS. 65 
 
 fis lie did on retinnof to rest that msxlit Not that he had ever 
 been tormented by any scruples, or by any doubts as to wliat 
 he»should do, in order so to arrange his affairs as to leave him 
 at perfect liberty to follow his own wishes, and his own will, in 
 every respect. But he was not altogether without a feeling of 
 uneasiness as to the manner in wliich "old Lambert" miofht 
 receive the news of his intended marriage. This uneasiness, 
 l\o\vever, was now passed, and over. Tlie woman had behaved, 
 as he was quite ready to allow, admirably well, and he was a 
 luck}'' fellow for having secured the services of such a steady 
 sensible person to take charge of his plagues of children. 
 
 It was with this comfortable thouo-ht that he turned himself 
 snugl}'' round upon Lis j^idow, and went to sleep. 
 
 It was not the custom of Mr. Rixley Beaucbamp to breakfast 
 with his children. Strong coffee, and new-laid eggs, could in 
 no way be considered as fit provender for them, and notwith. 
 standing the revolting fact that William was very nearly as tall 
 as his father, it was considered by tliat father as much more 
 seemly that he should continue the wholesome habit of eating 
 a, bowl of bread and milk with his sister in the school-room, 
 than that he should be deluded into fancying himself a gentle- 
 man, and a fitting companion for himself. 
 
 So the master of the house, as usual, took his coffee and es'S'S 
 in solitary state, a part of that state consisting in his beino- 
 waited upon during the meal by Mrs. Lambert. 
 
 His first p-lance at her countenance on that mornino*, thouMi 
 it had no mixture of fear in its expression, had somethino- of 
 curiosity in it. He did not feel quite sure as to the temper in 
 which he should find her : for the temper of Mrs. Lambert had 
 never been an even temper, her secret thoughts having- some- 
 times led her to be very sad, while her secret feelings, while 
 believing herself the only loved one of the man she loved, had 
 oftener led her to be joyfully serene, if not exactly joyously 
 gay. 
 
 But Mr. Rixley Beauchamp, though he certainly did not 
 meditate upon the subject very deeply, was nevertheless quite 
 aware that the news he had communicated to her on the 
 preceding evening* must necessarily have made her perceive 
 that her position was greatly changed, and he did not feel 
 quite certain that she would behave as well to-day as she had 
 done yesterday. 
 
 He had, however', the very great satisfaction of perceivino- 
 that her countenance expressed nothing in the least degree 
 
 6 
 
C6 THE YOUXG nEIRESS. 
 
 approachin^^ to ill-humour; and so well pleased was he by the 
 discovery, that he told her to sit down by him and let him 
 explain to her exactly what he intended to do about Helen. • 
 
 "As to tlie boy," he added, "we need not waste our time in 
 talkino* about him. His fate is settled and sealed. He shall 
 be an usher in some country grammar-school. Bolton says 
 that he is the best scholar he ever had, and that's a proof, you 
 know, that he is fit for the business. Moreover, my dear 
 Lambert, to tell you the truth, I don't think he is fit for any- 
 thing else. He is a milk-sop, Lambert. If he had been a fine 
 spirited fellow, such as I was at his age, I should very likely 
 have got fond of him. But I never came down here in my life, 
 that I did not find him either coaxing and kissing my idiot of a 
 wife, or else looking at Helen as if he were quite ready to hold 
 her doll for her, if she was tired of holding it herself. In 
 short, I hate the boy, that's the truth ; and that's one reason 
 wdiy I rather enjoy the idea of his being an usher, for I'd much 
 rather sweep the streets myself." 
 
 Had Mrs. Lambert permitted her master at that moment to 
 have seen the expression of her countenance, it is possible that 
 he might have come to a different conclusion respecting her 
 state of mind. But she was far too much self-possessed to 
 hazard any such experiment as looking at him, being, on the 
 contrary, very particularly engaged at the moment in rincing 
 his coffee cup preparatory to its being replenished. 
 
 "As to the girl," he continued, "I don't say that I have any 
 dislike to her, for I really have not. She is certainly very- 
 pretty, and that, you know, is the best thing that a woman can 
 be; and if I have no son, she will be my heiress, and in that 
 case, of course, I shall bring her forward, and see that her 
 education is properly finished. But meantime, Lambert, I 
 intend that she shall remain here with 3-ou. For the next 
 year or two, this will be quite as well for her as the finest 
 school I could put her to ; and if I am so fortunate as to have 
 a son, I will leave a couple of thousand pounds in your hands, 
 which will be quite enough for your adopted daughter, TIdm 
 Bixleij. For, mind you, Goody Lambert, she is never to hear 
 the name of Beauchamp unless I should fail to have a son. Do 
 you understand me ? " 
 
 "Yes, Sir, perfectly," replied Mrs. Lambert, in a tone, and 
 with a manner that expressed the most dutiful attention to his 
 words. 
 
 " I shall not sell this place at present," be resumed, " and I 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 0)7 
 
 shall let 3''0ii remain here as long as I keep It, and what may 
 happen afterwards, will depend very much upon yonr conduct, 
 and that of the girl." 
 
 "And I hope, Sir, that you will find no cause to be displeased 
 with either," was her respectful reply, 
 
 "And I hope so too. But I shall not stand upon much 
 ceremony with either, if I see, or hear of anything that I 
 disapprove," said he, risings and taking up his hat, which lay 
 in a chair near him, "I am now going to my boat to enjoy 
 my last free sail for a long time, perhaps, for immediately after 
 my marriage I shall probably only stay here for a few hours, if 
 I come at all, for it will only be to settle ^vith the Falmonth 
 banker about the payment of the sum I shall allow to you and 
 Miss Helen, for your housekeeping', and it may be that I shall 
 even manage that by writing. However, in case I should be 
 drowned to-day. Goody, remember there lies my will in that old 
 desk yonder. I have taken good care that neither my dearly 
 beloved brother, nor any of the cursed imps belonging to him, 
 shall profit in case of my sudden death, either by sea or land. 
 Vi^hen I am married, and" have a lawful son born, alive and 
 thriving, it will be a different auair; but till that happens, I 
 will keep guard over it as carefully as if it secured the 
 property to myself, instead of to pretty Miss Helen. And 
 now good morning to you, Mrs. Housekeeper. I suppose j'ou 
 have not forgotten the orders I gave you at dinner yesterday 
 about letting me have a good boat luncheon packed for me this 
 mornino' ? " 
 
 "Oh, no. Sir! It is quite ready, and I suppose old John 
 may follow you down with it?" said Mrs. Lambert, looking 
 at him with an expression of such placid obedience that he 
 rewarded her with a very cordial and merry slap upon the 
 shoulder, exclaiming at the same time, " That's right, old 
 woman ! You are a trump now, as you always have been. It 
 used, you know, to be the queen of hearts, but now, by Jove, I 
 think you are the ace of clubs, for you are as powerful in yonr 
 place as Hercules himself could be ! But don't forget, if yon 
 please, that another proof of your power must be displayed by 
 getting ready a first-rate supper for mo when I come back to- 
 night; for I mean to see the moon rise, I promise you, and I 
 shall be as hungry as a wolf," 
 
 6—2 
 
68 ' THE YOUXG nEir.ESS. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 To most women ifc would have been a relief to find herself 
 alone after snch a scene as the above, but it was not so to 
 Almeria Lambert. She had been exerting every faculty to 
 enable her to act a part — a most difficult part; and she had 
 been perfectly conscious the whole time that she had acted it 
 well, wonderfully, admirably, astonishingly well. This conscious 
 success had sustained her strength, and made her feel for the 
 time that hers was the predominant spirit, and that the tyrant 
 villain she so deeply hated w^as still her slave. 
 
 But no sooner was the unhappy wretch alone, than all the 
 deep and desperate misery of her condition rushed back upon 
 her heart, and completely overwhelmed her. It must have 
 been a hard-hearted being who could have looked at her then, 
 without compassion. All the illusions of her life had vanished 
 as suddenly as if charmed away by the wand of an enchanter. 
 She saw, with terrible clearness, ivliat she herself had been, and 
 luliat the beinsr for whom she had made herself the wretch she 
 was! The idea of looking at the pure and innocent girl who 
 had been consigned to her unholy guardianship was dreadful to 
 her, and she rose from the chair into which she had fallen when 
 her master left her, and with a rapid movement closed the door, 
 and locked it. 
 
 And then she re-seated herself; and then with a sort of hard 
 composure which had greatly less of sober reason, than of 
 desperate resolution in it, she set herself to think upon the 
 future. That the fearful passion of revenge was busy at her 
 heart, cannot be doubted ; and yet ifc came in such a c]uestionablo 
 shape that she knew it not, for it seemed to herself that her 
 only wish — her only thought — was how she could make atone- 
 ment for the grievous sins she had herself committed. 
 
 But whatever of good, or whatever of evil, might have been 
 at work within her during the next dreadful hour or two, no 
 fair judgment could have been passed upon her either for the 
 one, or for the other ; for assuredly she was not in the full 
 possession of her reason. 
 
 Meamvhile the unfortunate children of a most guilty father 
 sought what naturally seemed the best and only solace within 
 
THE YOUXG HEIRESS. 69 
 
 their reach, namely the comfort of an unrestrained discussion in 
 tlie school-room between themselves, respecting the cruel scene 
 of the previous day. 
 
 Their childish breakfast had been placed before them by 
 their umwhile nurse, with an intimation that if they wanted 
 anything more, they w^ere to apply to Rebecca Watkins for it, 
 for that she should herself be too much engaged to attend to 
 them. 
 
 And having said this, she left them to their melancholy talk, 
 and she sighed as she remembered how melancholy it must be. 
 "And yet," thought she, as she silently turned away, "how 
 blessed is their condition, when compared to mine! " 
 
 "I don't think we shall trouble Rebecca Watkins to give us 
 any more breakfast," said Helen, with a melancholy smile, " I 
 don't feel as if I should ever be hungry again." 
 
 "And it is I, my poor Helen, who am the cause of all j'ou 
 suffer ! " cried William, striking his forehead with his clenched 
 fist. "I! — I who would gladly give half the years of my life 
 if I could be an honour and credit to you during the other half! 
 But instead of that, my very existence is a disgrace to you ! 
 How much better would it have been for you, Helen, if I bad 
 never seen the light of day ! " 
 
 " How can you talk such cruel and hard-hearted nonsense, 
 William! " exclaimed the poor girl, bursting into tears. "You 
 must know so very well, William, that jow are the person I 
 love best in the world ! You must, and you do know it, and yet 
 3^ou have the heart to wish that you had never been born ! Isn't 
 this being cruel ? " 
 
 " No, no, no ! " replied the unhappy lad, his pale lips trembling 
 with emotion. "It is because I love you, as well as you love 
 me, that I wish I had never been born; and I believe that both 
 you and I too ought to wish that I was dead, for then at least I 
 could not be a disgrace to you ! " 
 
 "Why," said she, "do you say such dreadful words to me, 
 William? Why should you be a disgrace to me? All the 
 shocking things papa said last night, cannot make any real 
 difference in you. If it is all true, it is no fault of yours. And 
 perhaps it is not true, perhaps he said it only because he was in 
 a passion. You know when papa is in a passion, he always 
 does say shocking things. But considering how old and tall 
 you are, William, you ought to know better than to mind it so 
 very much." 
 
 "It is only because yon are not so old, my poor Helen, that 
 
70 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 you do not mind it; more. Not only am I between three and 
 four long" years older than you are, my poor child, but for hours 
 and hours, Helen, when you have been a-bed and asleep, I have 
 been reading-, reading, reading" all sorts of books! You know 
 what a quantity of books poor mamma used to read, and I too 
 read them all, and a great many more besides that I have got 
 from Mr. Bolton's library, and I know a great deal better than 
 you do, Helen, what my situation really is. I wonder if your 
 dear mother knew the truth ? If she did, she must indeed 
 have been an angel to behave so like a real mother to me ! " 
 
 And here the unhappy boy once again buried his face in his 
 hands, and sobbed like a girl. 
 
 It was in vain that Helen, threw her arms around his neck, 
 and endeavoured to comfort him by her endearing caresses ; for 
 so strongly had the painful idea taken possession of him that 
 the close affinity between them was, and must ever be a disgrace 
 and injury to her, that the caressing repetition of the name of 
 brother, by which again and again she fondly addressed him, 
 seemed instead of a comfort, to be a torture to him; and when 
 at last he raised his head and looked at her, she was positively 
 frightened at the altered expression of his features, and the 
 look of gloomy misery which she read in his eyes. 
 
 "Helen!" said he, with great solemnity. "You must never 
 call me by that name again ! It is a disgrace to you, and can 
 only be a pain to me. Could any act of mine do you any sort 
 of service, Helen, I think that I would gladly give my life to 
 achieve it. But as it is between us now, sweet love, my best 
 advice is that you should never call yourself my sister. The 
 fact is — and you should thank God for it, Helen — the fact is 
 that we cannot feel alike towards the man that we both call 
 father. I am far — oh! very far — from wishing* that there 
 should be any sympathy betvreen us on tliis subject! " 
 
 And here he paused, and for a moment or two remained 
 profoundly silent, but then added in an accent which made her 
 tremble, — " Helen ! I hate him ! " 
 
 ^ ^ Tfp ^ ^ ?P 
 
 Helen was by no means a weak-minded young girl. She 
 was, on the contrary, a very intelligent, and a very reflectivo 
 person for her age; and minds so constituted are not apt to 
 experience the painful sensation of terror, lightly. But it was 
 terror that she felt at that moment, for the whole aspect of 
 her brother seemed changed, and one of the noblest and most 
 intellectual countenances that ever was looked upon seemed 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 71 
 
 suddenly to be motamorpliosed before licr eyes, and to become 
 the type at once of the most vehement rage, and the most 
 bitter suffering. 
 
 'Nov were the delicate featm'es of Helen deficient of expression 
 in their turn, and her look of mingled fear and woe seemed to 
 recal her brother to a better or a calmer state of mind, for he 
 took her hand gently and kindly in his, and said, '* Do not let 
 me frighten you with my violence, Helen ! And whatever may 
 happen to me, dearest, remember alwaj^s that if I had loved 
 you less, I should have borne the degradation which has fallen 
 upon me better. I did so dearly cherish the thought of being 
 your friend, and yom' protector through life, that the suddenly 
 being informed that I am. in a condition too degraded to permit 
 of my being so, has overpowered me. But love me still, 
 Helen ! Though I may be forced to leave you, and though 
 our destinies, if I continue to live, must, perforce, be sure to 
 throw us very widely asunder, let me, to my very last hour, 
 believe, that notwithstanding the stigma that is upon me, you 
 will still remember me with affection." 
 
 Helen's reply to this may be easily imagined. She threw 
 her arms aronnd his neck, and told him, while a shower of 
 tender tears poured down her cheeks, that no sister ever loved 
 a brother more fondly than she loved him, and that she did not 
 believe that any girl living could have a brother, who so well 
 deserved her love. 
 
 "Bless you, my Helen!" he replied, while his manhood, 
 stent as it was, could not prevent his eyes, too, from shedding 
 some drops which showed that there was still left some of that 
 tender softness of nature, which in the midst of all his lightness 
 of heart had so effectually endeared him to the small circle 
 within which he had lived, save with, the one exception of his 
 unnatural father. 
 
 Had his situation and prospects been less miserable, he might 
 indeed have been considered as an individual peculiarly favoured 
 by nature, for he certainly possessed in no common degree the 
 qualities and the faculties which are most calculated to insure 
 happiness. With a form and features of very uncommon 
 comeliness, he had a constitution, both of mind and body, 
 indicative of a degree of firmness and vigour, that seemed to 
 promise success in whatever he undertook; and the enthusiastic 
 affection, with which his very heart and soul re^oaid kindness, 
 rendered him a being that it seemed impossible not to love. 
 
 Bat the hard chance, which made him find in his own father 
 
72 • THE YOUXG HEmESS. 
 
 a being from whom his heart .shrank with abhorrence, seemed 
 to have changed his nature, and wliat under other circumstances 
 would have constituted the noblest feature of liis character, now 
 appeared forcing him to desjieration and to sin. 
 
 Hatred was now almost as busy at his heart, as love; and he 
 was so conscious of this, that he shrunk from the look of earnest 
 and affectionate enquiry which his sister fixed on his strangely- 
 altered features. 
 
 " Let me leave you now, Helen ! " he said ; " I am no fit 
 companion for you, in any way. I cannot go to Mr. Bolton 
 to-day. Let me be quite alone! I will walk. Perhaps the 
 dreadful thoughts which seem to have taken possession of me 
 may leave me, in the stillness of a solitary walk. I shall not 
 come home to dinner, Helen, so do not wait for me. Tell poor 
 dear Sarah Lambert that I love her dearly, and the more 
 dearly, Helen, because I know she will alwa^'s love you. God 
 bless you both ! " 
 
 And with these words he turned away and left her. 
 
 Poor child! She little guessed at that moment how fearfully 
 important she would learn to consider every word he then said 
 to her! And yet her heart sank within her as she lost sight of 
 him, and she wept long and bitterly; for the solitude in which 
 he left her was, for several hours, perfectly uninterrupted. 
 
 CHAPTER XT. 
 
 Mrs. Lambert meanwhile sat herself down in the parlour as 
 soon as- her master had left it, and remained there perfectly 
 alone for nearly an hour. She could not, however, have been 
 said to be perfectly idle, for if her limbs were at rest, her brain 
 was at work, and on themes, too, of such deep importance, that 
 instead of remaining thus silent, and thus still, for one hour, she 
 would willingly have continued thus deeply meditating on the 
 future for many. But this could not be. She had much to do, 
 and a will still stronger than her wish for meditation, to make 
 her do it. 
 
 For a moment she paused before the door of the school-room, 
 and she longed to open it; but she did not yield to the tempta- 
 tion, for she neither wished to waste her time nor to agitate her 
 
THE YOUNG HEmESS. 73 
 
 Spirits; and slie passed on to the kitchen, where all necessary 
 preparations were made for the substantial supper which her 
 master had ordered to be ready against his return. 
 
 She, moreover, gave such instructions to Kebecca Watkins as 
 she thought sufficient to supply the wants of the less important 
 portion of the family for the d^y, and all this being accom- 
 plished in a very steady and business-like manner, Mrs. Lam- 
 bert put on her bonnet and shawl, and set off upon a walk to 
 the parsonage. 
 
 She was no stranger there, for both the young people, with- 
 out having any such intention, and in fact without being 
 conscious of what they were about, had impressed the 
 Bolton family with a very decided feeling of respect for Mrs. 
 Lambert. 
 
 Innocent as a^ngels of the nature of her real position in their 
 father's house, they had ever spoken of her to their kind friends 
 the Boltons with the truest respect and affection, and though 
 the good clergyman and his wife did not see her often, for 
 Mrs. Bolton was as devoted a mother as Mrs. Lambert was a 
 housekeeper, all the intercourse which had ever been between 
 them was of the most friendly kind. 
 
 When, therefore, she now knocked humbly at the parlour 
 door, she was greeted with a friendly smile both by the good 
 clergyman and his wife, when she opened it incompliance with 
 the hospitable command " Come in! " 
 
 After the first words of salutation had been exchanged, Mr. 
 Bolton, fixing his friendly eyes on the face of the visitor, ex- 
 claimed, " You are not well, Mrs. Lambert ! and j^ou are not 
 only looking unusually pale, but you look harassed and 
 unhappy. I trust that nothing is the matter with either of my 
 dear pupils?" 
 
 If it had happened that her master had made the same dis- 
 covery while she had waited upon him during the morning meal, 
 it might have annoyed her greatly; but now the observation 
 was a relief to her, for it at once offered an opening for the 
 communication she wished to make, and for the dismal tale she 
 had to tell. 
 
 " My looks, then, are a faithful index of my mind," she replied, 
 "I am, indeed, harassed and unhappy, and to a gentleman like 
 you. Sir, and to your good lady too, your knowing this will be 
 more likely than anything to make you listen to me." 
 
 "Sit down, Mrs. Lambert," was the kind reply, "and if we 
 can eitlier of us be of any use to you, be very sure that we 
 
74 THE tOUXG HEIEESS. 
 
 shall not shrink from any trouble it may bring with it. There 
 is nothing' the matter with the young people, is there? " 
 
 "They are botli well in health, Sir," she replied, "and yet it 
 is on their account that I am so miserable. As to myself," she 
 added, withdrawing her eyes from Mr. Bolton's face, and fixing 
 them on the ground, " I neither want nor wisli for aid from any 
 one. I have forfeited all right to the friendship of the good, 
 and my pecuniary situation is such as to render their pecaniary 
 assistance unnecessary." 
 
 Mr. Bolton changed colour, and most involuntarily started, as 
 she said. this. The unfortunate Mrs. Lambert both saw and 
 understood this perfectly. Had the unhappy woman not been 
 the mistress of her every way vicious and unprincipled master, 
 she might have been cited from one end of the country to the 
 other as the most perfect pattern of an excellent servant that 
 could be found in it. She herself knew this as well as Mr. 
 Bolton did, and it was this consciousness of her own merit 
 which enabled her at once to perceive that the nature of her 
 self-accusation was already understood. 
 
 The silence of a moment followed, and then Mr. Bolton 
 raised his eyes and said, as he directed them towards his wife, 
 " If you wish to consult me as a clergyman, Mrs. Lambert, and 
 as the minister of your parish, it would be better perhaps that 
 I should see you alone." 
 
 " You will cease to think so, Sir, when you shall have heard 
 what I am going to say," she replied. " If it were of myself, 
 and my own affairs, that I was about to speak, I should receive 
 3'our rebuke with equal deference and obedience ; but in that 
 case, Mr. Bolton, it would not have been necessary, for I should 
 never have presumed to speak to you on the subject at all. But 
 it is concerning your pupils. Sir, and of their very terrible posi- 
 tion, that I wish j'^our advice, and perhaps your assistance, and 
 that of your lady also. Fear not that I should make any 
 farther reference to myself. Yon have understood the words I 
 have already spoken as I intended you should understand them ; 
 and this, as far as I am concerned is all that is necessar3\" 
 
 The wretched woman felt that the worst part of the task she 
 had set herself in seeking this interview was now over, and she 
 at once felt restored to all the cool, deliberate, and resolute 
 self-possession which made so remarkable a feature in her 
 character. 
 
 " Go on," said Mr. Bolton, after the pause of a moment. 
 
 "My master is not, as I believe, in any respect the sort of 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 7-5 
 
 2^erson tliafc he is considered to be in this ver}' neighbourhood/' 
 she resumed. " In the first place, he is not known here by his 
 real name; in the second, instead of being in the necessitous 
 circumstances which he has affected, as an excuse for his parsi- 
 monious manner of living, he is a man of distinguished family, 
 and the possessor of a large and long descended property ; and, 
 in the third, the fine noble-hearted boy who has had, amidst all 
 his misfortunes, the great good luck of having been j^our pupil, 
 Sir, has, in fact, no right to any name at all, his unfortunate 
 mother not having been the wife of his father." 
 
 " Your statement respecting Mr. Rixley's real name and cir- 
 cumstances is quite unexpected, certainly; and I believe tlio 
 ^vhole neighbourhood to be as much in the dark on th.e subject 
 as myself," replied Mr. Bolton. " But it is otlierwise respecting 
 what you tell concerning his son, for most persons, 1 believe, arc 
 aware that he was never married to the poor boy's mother. I 
 love the lad most sincerely ; and most truly rejoiced should I 
 be, were it ever to be in my power, to assist him in any way ; 
 but I will frankly confess to you, Mrs. Lambert, that having for 
 so many years avoided any personal familiarity with Mr. Rixley, 
 and remained so perfectly in ignorance of all the mysteries 
 Avhich seem to be attached to him, I have no wish whatever to 
 become more acquainted with him now than I have hitherto 
 been; and I shall be obliged to you if you will excuse my not 
 listening to any further details about him." 
 
 Mrs. Lambert remained silent for a moment : and, notvrith- 
 standing all her self-possession, she felt ntterly at a loss how to 
 proceed; but, fortunately for her, and for the helpless being 
 whose cause she meant to plead, her pale and sunken features 
 assumed an expression of such deep and true despair, that the 
 kindly heart of Mrs. Bolton was too profoundly touched to 
 resist it. 
 
 " Perhaps, Stephen," said she, addressing her husband, almost 
 in a whisper, "perhaps you might do good by listening to what 
 she has to say." 
 
 The intellect of Mr. Bolton w\is an intellect very greatly 
 superior to that of his wife, but it would have been difficult to 
 have found anywhere a heart of finer quality than hers. One 
 of the good gifts belonging to that heart was its true allegiance 
 in all ways to her liusband, and it w^as rarely indeed that slie 
 uttered any word which might be construed into the expression of 
 an opinion different from what had been previously given by 
 him. Bat when this rare occurrence did take place, it invari- 
 
70 THE tOtJNG HEIRESS. 
 
 fiWy pi'Oflucecl, f\3 all rare occurrences do, a considerable effect, 
 and the "words which I have given were no sooner spoken than 
 the countenance of the clergyman ;3nderwent a marked change ; 
 its cold, and almost stern expression relaxed, and he said, "My 
 good wife is right, Mrs. Lambert. Go on, and tell me every- 
 thing you wish to say. My reason for stopping you arose from 
 my dislike to hearing anything like secret communications 
 respecting the affairs of my neighbours, in Vv'hich I can do no 
 good. But if yon think I can be useful to the children or to 
 3'ourself, I am quite ready to listen to you." 
 
 " I beg you to believe. Sir, that I know what is due to you, 
 and to your lad}'-, better than to ask assistance from either of 
 you for such a person as myself. Neither do I require assistance 
 from any one. But concerning these unfortunate young people 
 I have the double reason arising from their great need of help, 
 and the consciousness of my own unfitness to render it. May I 
 not add that the great kindness which they have hitherto 
 received, both from yourself and your lady, has seemed to 
 lustifv my asking the help which they so greatly need from 
 you?" 
 
 " Yes, Mrs. Lambert, you are right, quite right. Let us hear 
 in what way you think we can be useful to them." 
 
 This permission, to speak freely, seemed for a moment only 
 to impede her power of speaking at all, for on receiving it she 
 raised her hands to her eyes, and remained, as it seemed, lost in 
 thought. But then she began by stating to them, with scrupu- 
 lous exactness, precisely the narrative which she had received 
 from her master on the preceding da}^ apologising for the 
 streno'th of the lannuaq-c she used when describing his hatred 
 towards his brother by saying that as she earnestly desired to 
 make them comprehend his real feeling and his real motives, she 
 preferred repeating the precise words in which he had exj^ressed 
 them, however painful it might be either to speak, or hear 
 them. 
 
 Having rapidly, but very accurately repeated all he had told 
 her of his early life, she alluded to the commencement of her 
 own fatal acquaintance w^th him as slightly as was consistent 
 with her purpose of making them acquainted with the facts, 
 and the only portion of the narrative that she dwelt upon in 
 which she was herself concerned, was that which first followed 
 her domeslication in his family ; bn-t she only did so sufficiently 
 to make her auditors comprehend that, during this time he had 
 succeeded in persuading her that notwithstanding his frequent 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 77 
 
 fibsences from the Warren House, he was still devotedly attaclied 
 to her. 
 
 "I mention this," she continued, "in order to enahle you in 
 some slight degree to understand the effect which his recent 
 disclosures have produced. It was only yesterday, Mr. Bolton, 
 that he communicated to his unfortunate son the whollj^ unsus- 
 pected fact of his illegitimacy. The effect of this disclosure upon 
 the young man was terrible — very, very terrible! I have 
 always been aware tliat ho was a highly sensitive, and very 
 noble-spirited boy, but I certainly should never have anticipated 
 that he w^ould have felt such agony at being made acquainted 
 with this stain upon his birth. That the blow fell the more 
 lieavily from the savagely unfeeling way in which it was given, 
 cannot be doubted; and the fearful and desperate glance of 
 hatred which it produced — it was but one glance ! for the boy 
 never raised his eyes to his unfeeling father again — will never 
 pass from my memory ! But Mr. Rixley only sneered at him." 
 
 And here for a moment the miserable ^voman covered lier 
 face with her hands, and remained silent; when she removed 
 them she was perhaps paler than ever, bat there was an air of 
 stedfast and immovable composure in her features which seemed 
 to indicate that the most terrible part of her narrative was 
 over, and that whatever remained for her to tell would bo 
 spoken with more calmness. "It w\as yesterday also," she 
 continued, "that he for the first time informed me of its beiuQ- 
 his purpose to marry immediately, adding that he had selected 
 a bride, beautiful, high-born, and wealthy. He added also that 
 he was greatly enamoured of her, but that he had reason?, 
 stronger still, for deciding upon again enduring the matrimonial 
 yoke. 'I marry,' said he, 'wholly and solely in the hope of 
 haying a son, for I will not leave 'it within the reach of possi- 
 bility that my hateful brother should inherit my estate.' " 
 
 And then in a perfectly clear and steady voice, Mrs. Lambert 
 went on recapitulating all that the reader already knows 
 respecting his having guarded against the danger of his 
 brother's succeeding as heir-at-law, in the case of his sudden 
 death, by having made a will bequeathing the whole property 
 to his daughter. 
 
 Having reached this point of her narrative, Mrs. Lambert 
 paused, and remained silent for a minute or two, with her 
 hand pressed upon her forehead, as if her memory had lost the 
 thread connecting what she had said with what she was about 
 to say. 
 
78 THE YOUNG nEIEESS. 
 
 " Bat I sec not how I can be of any nse hi these affairs," 
 said ]Mr. Bolton, more from a wish to assist her in I'ecovering' 
 her memory than from any desire to check Iici' narrative. 
 
 "Pardon me, Sir, for being so prolix," she replied quickly, 
 and with every appearance of being" in very perfect possession 
 of all her faculties. "The nature of the assistance which I 
 hope to find from the benevolent kindness of yourself and your 
 lady will be sufficiently evident. Having" informed me, as I 
 have stated, of his having taken this precautionary measure, 
 which he seemed to laugh at, however, as he mentioned it, he 
 went on to inform me that it was still his intention to keep his 
 present, and his future family, in ignorance of the obscure 
 marriage which he had formerly contracted, and which death 
 had fortunately dissolved, and to be equally reserved on the 
 subject of his having two children inhabiting a remote house, 
 which they, none of them, knew he possessed. 'As to the bo}'',' 
 he added, 'I shall immediately make an usher of him' — and 
 then, at the same time, I think it was, he told me that I was to 
 continue at the Warren House to take care of his daughter, 
 adding' that he should provide for the maintenance of us both. 
 And it is concerning this last announcement, Sir, that I want 
 your advice and assistance. Had I been . . . other than what 
 lam ..." said the unhappy woman, bursting in tears, "I 
 would have accepted the precious charge with joy and gladness, 
 and while waiting upon her with all the duty of a servant, I 
 should have loved her with all the tenderness of a mother; but 
 as it is ! . . ." And here she stopped, and the first tears she 
 had shed during the interview escaped from her eyes, and rolled 
 down her pallid cheeks. 
 
 For a moment her auditors both remained silent, but even so 
 they both managed to reply to the appeal made to them in a 
 way that very clearly showed that they felt the force of it. 
 Both Mr. Bolton and his wife fixed their eyes upon the carpet 
 and gently shook their heads. But this mute avowal that they 
 both agreed with her in opinion as to the impossibility of her 
 being permitted to take charge of their dearly beloved Helen, 
 was not all the answer she received. In a voice of deep 
 sympathy, and of very earnest kindness also, Mr. Bolton 
 hastened to reply, "Mrs. Lambert, I am quite sure that I 
 speak the sentiments of my wife, as well as my own, when I 
 toll you that your conduct upon this occasion is exactly 
 ever3"thing that it ought to be. We know wonderfull}'- little 
 of Mr. liixley personally, considering how many years wc 
 
THE YOUNG UEIRESS. 79 
 
 liave been neighbours, and how long I have been employed 
 to assist in the education of his cliildren; but all we do know of 
 him must naturally lead us to wish that we niay know nothing 
 more, and most especiany that we may not bo led by any 
 circumstances into the necessity of liolding personal iutercourse 
 with him. You v/ill easily understand this, Mrs. Lambert, and 
 I feel confident that you v/ill carefully avoid the either doing or 
 saying anything that nilgLt lead to this. "But on the other 
 hand I do not scruple to tell you that we all love these most 
 unfortunate young people too sincerely to shrink from doing 
 ev^erjthing' that may be in our power to help them. Tell us 
 candidly, and without any scruple or hesitation, what it is you 
 would yourself wish that we should do for them." 
 
 This challenge, far from appearing to embarrass the hitherto 
 almost trembling- visitor, seemed to inspire her instantly with 
 courage and confidence. 
 
 "I will tell you. Sir," she replied. "I have already told you 
 all I know concerning' them, and I will nov/ tell you what it is 
 I dare to hope from your kindness to beings so utterly helpless, 
 and so miserably unprotected as they are about to be. Let me 
 beginj however, by speaking of myself, as the doing so will 
 tend to remove embarrassment in many ways. I received upon 
 the death of my mother a sum of money which enabled me 
 to purchase an annuity of sixty pounds for my natural life. 
 This income is fully adequate to the supply of all my wants, 
 and I possess, moreover, a small house in Falmouth, a couple of 
 rooms in which will suffice for my own accommodation, and the 
 rent of the remainder will assist my income. I have said thus 
 much to prevent the pitying kindness of your hearts from being 
 wasted upon any thought of me. In reply to your frank 
 question. Sir, as to what I would wish you to do for the un- 
 fortunate young people for whom you have already done so 
 much, I frankly answer that I wish — nay that I dare venture 
 to hope — that you will extend to them all the personal protec- 
 tion which circumstances may enable you to bestow. Mr. Rixley 
 set off this morning upon a water excursion, leaving orders 
 that supper should be prepared for him against his return this 
 evening. It will be my office, as usual, to wait upon him at 
 table, and I expect that he will take that opportunity of 
 explaining to me what it is his precise purpose to do respecting 
 the children. He has alreadv informed me that he intends to 
 leave the Warren House to-morrov/ morning', and that it is his 
 purpose to leave me sufficient credit at the Falmouth bank to 
 
80 TEE YOUNG HEffiESS. 
 
 enable me to keep house, and provide for them as I liavo 
 already done since the death of their mother. Some distinct 
 and specific instructions ou the subject of his unfortunate son I 
 also expect to receive from him, and my earnest prayer to you, 
 Sir, is that whatever funds are left at my disposal you will 
 take the management of them, and do the best you can for the 
 interest and protection of both these most innocent and un- 
 fortunate creatures." 
 
 Mr, Bolton remained silent for a minute or two after she had 
 ceased speaking, and then said, " Your request, Mrs. Lambert, 
 has so much that is vague, and 5'et so much that is important 
 in it, that my reply must . . . . " and here the good man again 
 paused, as if doubtful of what he ought to say; but presently 
 added, "of necessity be vague also. I can make no promise 
 more specific than that I will do all that may be in my power 
 to serve them. 
 
 " But surely," he continued, " in the case of his son he will 
 make his intentions known by a personal communication with 
 himself? William must be, if I mistake not, nearly seventeen 
 years of age. He looks even more, but I well remember that 
 lie has always been remarkably tall, and in every way advanced 
 beyond his years. But even at seventeen he surely ought not 
 to be treated as a mere child, and left in the care of his nurse. 
 It is evident, Mrs. Lambert, from the position in which Mr. 
 Rixley proposes to leave you here, that you are still likely to 
 have considerable influence over him, and I trust you will exert 
 it for the purpose of preventing this cruel injustice. William 
 E/ixley has great abilities. Not only has he learnt everything 
 that it was in my power to teach with more brilliant rapidity 
 than I have ever before witnessed, but he has on many 
 occasions show^n unmistakable symptoms of a noble spirit, and 
 a highly susceptible sense of honour. I earnestly advise you 
 not to let his father depart leaving orders that this boy should 
 be placed as usher in a country school. It is utterly impossible 
 to conceive any situation less suited to his temperament. I 
 think it would kill him, Mrs. Lambert! For Heaven's sake do 
 not let this unnatural father set off upon this project of marriage 
 till he has conversed with his son upon the nature of his future 
 career ! " 
 
 Mrs. Lambert listened to all this with the most respectful 
 attention, but her complexion changed from pale to red before 
 she answered it. 
 
 At length she said, " I beseech you, Sir, Dot to judge of my 
 
THE YOUXG HEIRESS. 81 
 
 wish and will to obey you strictly upon every point concerning; 
 which yonr kindness and compassion will lead 3'ou to bestow 
 your invaluable advice, by what I am going to say in answer to 
 your present proposal. But in order that you should understand 
 nie, it is necessary that you should be told that, till yesterday, 
 this unfortunate boy has been left in total ignorance of the 
 miserable circumstances of his birth. Till yesterday he believed 
 his mother to have been his father's lawful wife, I was present 
 when his unfeeling father told him in the most abrupt and 
 brutal manner the disgraceful truth, and never can I forget the 
 terrible effect which this truth produced on the unhappy boy. 
 Rao'e and — can we wonder at it — hatred also flashed from that 
 bright and youthful eye. Do not, I conjure you, Mr. Bolton ! 
 Do not insist upon my again bringing this father and son 
 together face to face! Most solemnly do I assure 3'ou that 
 knowing' the father's reckless brutality as I now know it, and 
 havino- witnessed the vehement emotion of the son as I saw it 
 then, I dare not risk making myself the agent for procuring* 
 such a meeting". Wait, Sir ! wait till the first dreadful shock 
 is over, and then, if circumstances should seem to render it 
 desirable that they should meet at all, the danger of their doing* 
 so may be less," 
 
 Mr, Bolton listened to her gently, and with great attention, 
 but when she had finished he shook his head in a way that very 
 plainly showed he did not agree with her. 
 
 "Mrs. Lambert," he said, "I must frankly tell 5"ou that I 
 think you wrong*. You are evidently terrified at the idea of 
 their meeting, from fearing that some personal violence might 
 arise between them, from one side or the other. But trust me 
 there is a good deal of feminine weakness in this fear. Nay ! 
 do not look ashamed of it! Your spirits must have been dread- 
 fully shaken during- your late interviews with this hateful man, 
 and we can scarcely wonder that very wild fears for the future 
 may mix with more substantial ones. But I really believe that 
 if you will consider the subject dispassionately you will agree 
 with me in thinking that this young* man ought to see and con- 
 verse with his father before this projected marriage takes place. 
 It may be too late afterwards," 
 
 " That is true, Sir, very true ! " replied the pale and almost 
 ghastly-looking* woman, in an accent of deep respect; for the 
 sudden flush which the idea of a meetino* between a father and 
 son had sent to her face very speedily passed away, and left her 
 as pale as ever. 
 
82 THE YOUXG HEIRESS. 
 
 " I liave not seen poor William since I carried in breakfast to 
 Ijiraself and his sister in tlie scliool-room this morninfr, but I 
 will nov/ return to the house, and, if he is not gone out upon 
 one of his rambles, I will tell him exactly what you say. I am 
 sure there is no person whose opinion he will be so likely to 
 listen to as yourself." 
 
 "The sooner you seek for him with this object the better," 
 rejoined the worthy clergyman ; " and therefore I Avill now wish 
 you good morning; but not without assuring you that I justly 
 appreciate the motives which have induced you to pay us this 
 
 TlSlt. 
 
 " I will go, sir : I will go immediately," she replied. " Let 
 me only add one word for the poor friendless girl who is to be 
 consigned to my protection, bnt whom I love too sincerely to 
 hazard her happiness, and her respectability, by taking charge 
 of,- Her fate, by her father's statement, is still very uncertain. 
 Should he have no male heir it is his purpose — and if I under- 
 stood him rightly he made his will with this object — for this 
 friendless girl to inherit his large property. Such being his 
 intention, it is impossible to doubt that it must be his intention, 
 also, immediately to make such a provision for her as may 
 enable any person who takes charge of her to provide suitably 
 for her home and her education. I have already explained with 
 sufficient clearness why I cannot be that person. But j'ou. Sir ! 
 .... You and your excellent lady !....! dare not dictate 
 to you, but should you, when I have withdrawn myself to 
 the obscurity which my degraded condition demands, should 
 3''0u then find this dear child wholly unfriended, yet rich 
 enough to insure those who befriended her from loss, may 
 I not hope that wholly friendless she will not be permitted to 
 remain ? " 
 
 " Be very sure, Mrs. Lambert, that both my wife and myself 
 appreciate your motives in this application to us. In my soul I 
 believe that they do you honour ; but jou. must not insist upon 
 an immediate answer from either of us. Give us time to talk 
 the matter over together, and I think it very likely that your 
 view of the case may be adopted by us. But at present I will 
 pledge myself to nothing, Mrs. Lambert. You will doubtless 
 Lave a final conversation with your master before he leaves the 
 Warren House, and the result of this may enable us to decide 
 upon the degree of assistance which we may have it in our 
 power to offer you." 
 
 This was too reasonable to be controverted, and the unhappy 
 
THEYOUXG HEIRESS. 83 
 
 CO 
 
 woman took lier leave witli assurances of the deepest g'ratitude 
 for the unnici'ited kindness with which her terrible narrative had 
 
 been received. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 It is needless to follow the wretched Mrs. Lambert through 
 all tlie hours of that dreadful day. There were moments darino- 
 the course of it in which she could remember nothing but the 
 sort of phosphoric brightness which still rested on her recol- 
 lections of her first years of union with the man who now so 
 recklessly threw her from him as an idle toy, no longer possess- 
 ing the power of amusing him. But if there were moments 
 given to the memory of the delusions which formerly sur- 
 rounded her, there were long hours bestowed upon the recol- 
 lection of the scenes of yesterday, and the preponderance of the 
 latter, over the former, was in accurate, and very natural pro- 
 portion to the recent freshness of the one, and the blighted and 
 blasted memor}^ of the other. 
 
 But it is indeed needless to follow all this, and scenes less 
 visionary have now to be related, which must necessarily throw 
 into the shade all the useless regrets of the sinning, but more 
 sinned against, Almeria Lambert. 
 
 * * * * 4?: * 
 
 Poor Helen had passed very nearly the entire day alone. 
 ^ "William had left her for the solitary walk which he had pre- 
 dicted would be so useful to him ; and Mrs. Lambert had, in 
 many ways, too much to do to permit her giving more than a 
 few moments at a time to Helen ; so that long before her father 
 had re-entered the Warren House after his lengthened excur- 
 sion along the coast, she had quietly crept to her little distant 
 bedroom, said her prayers, gone to bed, and fallen asleep. 
 . William returned an hour or too before his father, and, though 
 looking pale and miserable, he accepted the supper Mrs. Lam- 
 bert had prepared for him, but not till she had assured him that 
 Lis father was not in the house j for the poor boy seemed to 
 dread the sio-ht of him. 
 
 " I would rather go supperless to bed, Sarah Lambert, than 
 7—2 
 
S4i THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 run the risk of meeting hira ! " said he, with something very 
 like the shuclJer of abhorrence passing over him. 
 
 '• There is no dnngt-r of that, my dear boy," she replied, in 
 the tone of iron composure with which she habitually concealed 
 every emotion too strong to be safely made manifest. " Your 
 father intends leaving home to-morrow ; at least an hour before 
 your usual time of rising. He is going* to be married, you 
 know ! He is going to visit the lady he is in love with ! I have 
 told you that, already, William, and you may be therefore very 
 sure that he will not delay setting off upon so agreeable a commis- 
 sion at all longer than he can help. So you have only to keep 
 in your room, my dear boy, till about six o'clock in the morning, 
 and then you may come down stairs without any fear whatever 
 of meetino- him." 
 
 " Till six o'clock in the morning ? " replied William. " Very 
 well! And now then, good night, dear old friend! Nobody 
 in the whole world, I believe, ever loved me excepting thnt 
 angel woman who taught me to call her mother, my pretty 
 Helen, who ought to have been my sister, but who shall never 
 have the shame of calling me brother, and yourself, dear Sarah ! 
 Goodnight!" 
 
 And having said these words with very evident emotion, he 
 pressed a silent kiss upon the forehead of his nurse, and left 
 her. 
 
 He had evidently been much more strongly affected by all 
 that had happened during the last twentj'-four hours than his 
 sister had been, and it is, therefore, by no means extraordinary 
 if he did not sleep quite so soundly. 
 
 Mr. Rixley returned to the Warren House very punctually at 
 the hour when he was expected, and it was soon evident that ho 
 came fully prepared to do honour to the supper ho had bespoken. 
 He both ate and drank heartilv, and when he had finished his 
 meal, but not till then, he invited Mrs. Lambert to sit down 
 with him, saying, " It will be better, Goocly, to say all that there j 
 is left for me to say to you to-night ; for there is nothing bores 
 me so much as havino^ anything to do in the business line, when i 
 I have got to set off full speed in the morning. However, I ^ 
 bcilieve I have already told you nearly all that is necessary for 
 you to know. I have left an order at the Falmouth Bank, 
 which will enable you to receive fifty pounds quarterly, for the 
 maintenance of yourself and Helen, You seem to wince, my 
 beautiful Almeria ? But this is quite enough I promise you, 
 and most decidedly I shall allow no more. You must remember, 
 
THE YOUXG HEIRESS. bo 
 
 if you please, that the chances are at least a thousand to one 
 against Miss Helen's inheriting the Beancliarap property, and 
 3'oa may depend upon it she "will hear of me, should I be suffi- 
 ciently unlucky to want her as an heir; and, in the meantime, I 
 strony;ly advise you, for her sake, never to breathe a word to 
 her, or to anybody, respecting this very improbable contingency. 
 As to that detestable giant of a boy," he continued, "I have 
 already told him, and you too, what I intend him for. Take 
 care, Mother Lambert, that with as little delay as possible you 
 make an usher of him. There are lots of schools — free schools, 
 and tight schools — in Devonshire and Cornwall, both, where a 
 single Avord from In's dear friend Parson Bolton would get liirn 
 admitted immediately; and that the said Parson Bolton may 
 not have the disgrace of standing godfather to a sans ctilotte, 
 this order upon Kingwood's Bank will not only pny your first 
 quarter, but serve to fit you all out in the independent line. 
 And now, good night, old lady ! This may probably be the last 
 time that you and I shall be tete-d-iSte together, and my farewell 
 advice to you is not to trouble yourself, or indulge yourself iu 
 any romantic love fit for that gawky boy, for take my word for 
 it you will only be disappointed." 
 
 The master paused, but the servant uttered no syllable in 
 reply ; she only raised her eyes, and looked at him. 
 
 He returned the look, and laughed. 
 
 "Yes, yes! Mrs. Lambert," he resumed, "I understand your 
 great Greek eyes perfectly. You think I am jealous of the 
 hobbydehoy, but you were never more mistaken in your life. 
 As far as my peace of mind is concerned, I give you my word 
 of honour you might bestow your mature affections upon every 
 boy in the parish, if you liked it, without causing me any 
 Othello-like sensations whatever. I speak wholly and solely 
 for your own use and benefit, because I happen to know that 
 ladies who are no longer in their i^remiere jeunesse are rather 
 apt to fall in love with gentlemen who are. You understand 
 French, you know, so I need not explain mj^self farther." 
 
 A little interval — a very little interval — elapsed before Mrs. 
 Lambert spoke, and then she only said, very quietl}^, " Thank 
 you. Sir. I am quite sure that you intend that what you say 
 shall be useful to me, and I think it is very likely in one way 
 or another, that it may be so. But you forget, Sir, how late it 
 is, and I have not finished my. packing yet, for I did not know 
 how much linen you would choose to take with von?" 
 
 ^^All! vou foolish woman! All! Wliafc should I leave 
 
86 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 linen hero for? For tincier ? Or clo 3-011 tln'nlv ifc might bo 
 convenient to heljD out Master William's equipment before ho 
 takes possession of his ushersliip, and so save you a little 
 stitching', Mrs. Sarah ? and make him look, perhaps, a little 
 more like a gentleman than he ever did yet, eh ? " 
 
 "No, Sir, not that," she replied, "only I don't know what to 
 do about making room for it. If you take all your things, Sir, 
 I must look about for a lars'er box." 
 
 "Very well! look away, then," he repliecl, "I dare say yo\i 
 will find lots in the store-room. I have got to pack my writing- 
 desk before I go to bed, so bring me my glass of wliite wine 
 negus, and then be oflP." 
 
 Having said this, he liglited a cigar, which he smoked while 
 slie cleared the table, and obeyed his command that she should 
 place his desk, which was deposited on a distant table, upon the 
 one before him. When she had done this, he nodded his head 
 and mumbled " Good night ! " without, however, removing his 
 cigar ; but before she had closed the door of the room after her, 
 he remembered bis negus, and called out, " I say, Lambert ! 
 don't forget my negus." In answer to which she replied, " No, 
 Sir," but without re-entering the room. 
 
 On reaching the kitclien slie found the faithful factotum 
 Rebecca Watkins still there, though it was considerably later 
 than her usual time of leavino- the house. " How comes it 
 that you are here still, Rebecca?" said she. "I thought you 
 were going when I took in my master's supper." 
 
 "And so I was going," she replied, "but just as I was 
 passing the bottom of the stairs to go out, who should I see 
 coming down but Master William, looking so unaccountable 
 pale, that I believe I started outright at the sight of him, and 
 that made him smile, poor young gentleman, but looking for 
 all the world like a ghost all the time. And then I asked him 
 if I could do anything for him, or get anything for him to 
 take, seeing that he looked so poorly, and his answer was that 
 he would not trouble me, but that he really was going into the 
 collar to draw a tumbler of beer, for that he was so remarkable 
 thirsty after his walk, that he did not think he could get to 
 sleep without it. And thereupon I offered to draw it for him, 
 but this he would not hoar of, upon no account. I tried to 
 take the tumbler he had brought down stairs with him out of 
 his hand, but he would not let me have it, and seeing he was so 
 determined, I gave it up, bat I was determined, on my side, that 
 I would not go home till I had told you how ill I thought ho 
 
THE YOUKG HEmESS. S7 
 
 Nvas looking, that in case yon heard him moving in the nlg'ht 
 3'oa might go to him. But I knew it would vex him, like, if 
 he thought I was watching him, and I, therefore, crept back 
 into the kitchen and shut the door, so that he could not see me, 
 and then I do believe that I fell asleep in the chair I sat down 
 upon, for I never heard him go up again." 
 
 "I think he was only tired, Rebecca," replied Mrs. Lambert, 
 "and there is no great wonder in that, for I know he has been 
 taking a very long walk to-da}^ However, I shall be sure to 
 remember what yon have told me, and take care to look after 
 him if he should be unwell." 
 
 " Now, then, I shall go away easy," replied Rebecca, "but, 
 upon my word, I tell you no more than the truth when I say he 
 looked ill, for I don't know that I ever see'd a young lad look 
 so deadly pale in my life." 
 
 " I hope you will find him looking better when you come 
 to-morrow, Rebecca, but you will do no good by staying any 
 longer now, for I would not have him disturbed on any account. 
 Nothing that anybody could do for him would do him as much 
 good as a sound night's rest." 
 
 " Good nights," were then again exchanged between them, 
 and they parted, Rebecca Watkins going to her home, and 
 Mrs. Lambert to the school-room, where she sat down to 
 meditate deliberately, as she told herself, during a few un- 
 interrupted moments, on all that had happened to her during 
 the last eight and forty hours. 
 
 If the steadiness of her deliberation might have been judged 
 of by the steadiness of her demeanour during the next quarter 
 of an hour, it was steady enough, for not only was she as pale 
 as marble but as motionless too. Apparently, however, she 
 gave way to no vehement emotion ; she ' shed no tear, sfie 
 breathed no sigh,' but at the end of that quiet, or, at any rate, 
 motionless interval, she suddenly roused herself, as if then 
 recollecting for the first time since she had left her master's 
 presence, that he had commanded her to do many things which 
 were still undone; she got up from the chair on which she had 
 placed herself, and having for a moment closely pressed her 
 aching forehead with her hand, she seemed suddenly to shake 
 off the sort of dreamy stupefaction which had been creeping 
 upon her, and employed herself in making- the negus which 
 had been ordered; having done which she carried it to the 
 parlour and placed it on the table at which her master was still 
 sitting, arranging sundry papers in his writing-desk. 
 
83 THE YOUNG HEIEESS. 
 
 Ho took no notico wlmfcvcr of her eiilrancc, but when she 
 ■was ill tlie act of leaving the room, be said, "What have you 
 been so clevih'sh long' about? Are my things packed, Lambert? 
 I am going to bed this moment," 
 
 •' Everything shall be ready," she replied, and closed the door 
 behind her. Bat everj'thing was not quite ready j'et, for she 
 had to go into his bed-room before he entered it. Many of the 
 tilings which he had ordered to be packed were still there, and 
 it was with a hurried step that she now mounted the stairs to 
 his apartment. She succeeded, however, in accomplishing all 
 she had to do there before he entered the room, but met him 
 on the stairs as she descended with her apron full of various 
 articles which she was about to put in his travelling trunks. 
 
 "You have not finished yet?" he exclaimed impatiently. 
 "Upon my soul, Lambert, it is quite time that I should give 
 3'ou up, for you are grown into a cursedly tedious old drone," 
 
 "I shall have plenty of time, Sir," she replied, as she passed 
 him. 
 
 And so she had, and she faithfnllj^ kept her promise of having 
 everything he bad ordered neatly packed; and then she too 
 went to bed. 
 
 CHAPTER XIIL 
 
 At her usual early hour on the following morning the faithful 
 KeLecca arrived at the Warren House, and let herself into the 
 b:ick kitchen by means of the key which had for years been 
 confided to her in order to enable her to make her frequent exits 
 and entrances without troubling the scanty household. 
 
 As usual, too, she performed her morning duty of making 
 the fire and putting on the kettle, and then repaired to th.c 
 parlour in which the master of the house had supped on the 
 preceding evening, and began to put it in order for his brcak- 
 j'ast. 
 
 But before she could make the room look titly she had rather 
 more to do than usual, for the carpet was covered on both sides 
 of the chair in whicli he had sat with fragments of various 
 written papers, of which it seemed that he had disembarrassed 
 
THE YOUXG HEIRESS. 89 
 
 Iris writ in G^-dcsk wliicli he had leffc standinsf on tlie table exactly 
 opposite his chair. 
 
 Having carefully removed all the.^e minute fragments, and 
 thereby restoretl the room to its ordinarily neat aspect, she 
 prepared to lay the cloth for breakfast, for she knew that " the 
 master" was to set olF early on his journey to London. , - 
 
 ]3ut she felt almost afraid to move the writin"--desk lest it 
 might have been expressly left there by its choleric owner in 
 order to be readv for his further use in the morning-; and 
 having" stood meditating on this doubtful point for a moment, 
 she laid the still-folded cloth on' the table determined to consult 
 the housekeeper before she ventured to reinovo the very hand- 
 some and important looking desk. 
 
 She did however all she could in the way of preparation that 
 did not interfere with this prudent resolution; she took away 
 an empty tumbler which stood upon the table, removed every 
 particle of dust with her checked a{)ron, and then placed the 
 tea-tray with pretty nearly all that was needful for breakfast 
 beside the table-cloth, in order to be perfectly ready to obey the 
 orders of Mrs. Lambert as soon as she should receive them. 
 
 Nor did she wait long for the appearance of this important 
 functionary, for she entered the room almost at the moment that 
 she had completed these preliminary operations. 
 
 "Oh, goodness! I am so glad you are come down, Mrs. Lam- 
 bert!" exclaimed Rebecca, pointing to the table, "for I was 
 come to a stand-still, because I did not know^ whether I ought 
 to move that grand-looking box, or not. You know that it 
 always stands yonder upon that table from the time master 
 comes into the house, till he goes out of it again, and I am sure 
 I don't know if he would choose that anybody should put hands 
 upon it besides himself." 
 
 "You go on laying the breakfast, and never mind about the 
 box," replied Mrs. Lambert, seating herself in a chair near the 
 door. " Only take everything else off the table," she added. 
 
 "And so I have, Mrs. Lambert. I have taken away a dirty 
 tumbler, and the plate that it stood upon, tea-spoon and all, and 
 I have swept away lots of bits of paper both from the table, 
 and the carpet round about, but I would not do any more till I 
 had got 3'our orders." 
 
 " Well, Rebecca, then I think you had better leave the desk 
 where it is and lay the cloth at the other end of the table," was 
 the reply. 
 
 Reb.cca immediately set to work to obey her, and while she 
 
90 THE YOUNG REIEESS. 
 
 wa.^ thus employed, Ivlrs. Lambert said, " Have you seen j^Iaster 
 "William, Rebecca? Ho is always stirring' before this time, but 
 1 liave neither seen nor heard him." 
 
 "Nor I either, Mrs. Lambert," replied Rebecca. "But I am 
 not a bit surprised at it," she continued, " for I am positive sure 
 that the poor young* gentleman wsls not well v,iien I saw him 
 just before he went to bed last night, You know I told you so, 
 Mrs. Lambert, didn't I? " 
 
 "Yes you did, Rebecca, but I can't say that I minded you 
 much, for I knew that he had been takino- one of his over-lonjj 
 walks,, and that was quite enough to make him look tired. 
 However, I'll go and sec if anything is the matter with him." 
 
 "And that is just what I think you ought to do," was the 
 rejoinder, "for I won't believe that he is right well till I see 
 him ao'ain, and. he tells me so." 
 
 "Finish what you are about, then," said Mrs. Lambert, 
 leaving the room as she spoke, "and I will come back again 
 with news of William, directly." 
 
 She kept her word, for she did. come directly, and in as short 
 a time as it was well possible for her to have mounted the 
 stairs, and come down again. "111!" she exclaimed, as she 
 re-entered the parlour, " It does not seem very likely that he 
 should be ill. But he is neither in his bed nor in his room, 
 Rebecca, and the strangest thing of all is that his window, 
 which opens upon the top of the porch is thrown up, and that 
 he is gone that way is clear, for one of his sheets is made fast 
 to one of the posts of his little bed, which he has drawn close 
 to the window, and it is plain that he has let himself down by 
 the help of it." 
 
 " But what in the wide world could have made him do sucli a 
 trick? " replied Rebecca. "What should he have run away for 
 in that fashion, Mrs. Lambert? " 
 
 " Because his father had used him brutally ! " replied Mrs. 
 Lambert, covering her face with her hands. 
 
 " Poor boy ! Poor boy ! " responded Rebecca. " To think 
 that such a fine, handsome, kind-spoken young' gentleman 
 should hazard his dear precious young life for that! " 
 
 " Gracious God, no 1 " replied the other, vehemently. " I 
 don't believe any such thing. There is nothing in the whole 
 world so unlikely! But we are two fools for being frightened 
 about him, Rebecca Watkins. I'll bet you what you please, 
 that he is only gone upon another of his long walks. He has 
 always been as mad about walking as his father about sailing. 
 
THE TOUXG HEIRESS. 9l 
 
 . . . . And licrc comes tlie clial.se f^:ir mymastcv! Don't say 
 anytliino' to aiiybocl)^, Rebecca, about Wi!li.iiu's getting" out of 
 the window. It v/ill only give people a notion that he is a wild 
 sort of boy, ar.d that ho is not. Mind what I tell yon ! He is 
 the very best and gentlest liuman being' tliat evei' God made. 
 He might do many wild madcap things in sport, but that is the 
 very worst of him." 
 
 At this moment, the old servant, who was gardener, shoe- 
 black, and head boatman of the establisliment, presented himself 
 at the door. " Is master ready ? " said he. 
 
 "He has not had liis breakfast yet, at any rate," replied 
 Rebecca, "so the chaise must wait his pleasure, as, of course, it 
 ought. But if he is late it is not our fault, for we have got 
 everything ready for him." 
 
 " Do go up to his door, John, will j^ou ? " said Mrs. Lambert. 
 " Go to his door, and tell him that the chaise is come." 
 
 The man hastened to obey her, and mounted the stairs, not 
 exactly with a light step, but certainly not with a slow one, tlie 
 two women remaining below, too much occupied, as it seemed, 
 with the strange escapade of William to enable them to think 
 much of anything else. 
 
 But their talk on this subject was very speedily interrupted 
 bj the retuvn of John, who rushed down the stairs with a step 
 as rapid as that with which he would have descended from the 
 top-mast to announce the sight of land after a calm, though 
 nothing could be less alike than the countenance with which he 
 would have announced that joyous fact, and that with which 
 he now addressed the two women who were awaiting his 
 return. 
 
 "He is dead ! " he exclaimed, in an accent which would have 
 carried terror to the stoutest heart. " He is dead, and as cold 
 as a stone ! " 
 
 Rebecca Watkins uttered a loud scream, while Mrs. Lambert 
 sunk into a chair in perfect silence, but looking herself as pale 
 as the corpse her fellow-servant described. 
 
 "But, maybe, he is not outright dead, Mrs. Lambert?" said 
 Rebecca. "Maybe he is only swooned away like, out of an 
 accident ? Didn't we ought to send right away for the doctor, 
 Mrs. Lambert ? " 
 
 " To bo sure we ought!' responded both the other servants; 
 ''and that without losing another moment!" added Mrs. 
 Lambert. 
 
 "Mr. Foster will be here in the twinkling of an eye, I'll 
 
92 THE YOUXG HEIEESS. 
 
 nr-iSwci' for him," exclaimed John, seizing upon his hat, 
 and dariin'"'' out of the house withoat waitiiiu; for farther 
 orders. 
 
 " JJut mercy on mc ! " exclaimed Rcbcccn, trembling in every 
 limb, "it is not right for us to stay down here, doing nothing, 
 is it, iMrs. Lambert:' Didn't we ought to go up stairs together, 
 both of us, to sec if there is any good to be done? How can 
 wu be sure that John mightn't have blundered? Didn't wc 
 ouu'ht to go up, Mrs. Lambert? " 
 
 " Most certainly wc ouglit, Rebecca," replied the other, with 
 crcatly more composure ; though she, too, still looked very pale : 
 " the or.ly olgeclion to cur going together," she added, "is our 
 having to leave the house-door open. It won't do, you know, 
 to keep the doctor waiting when he comes." 
 
 " Well, then, what can we do?" said Rebecca, "I wouldn't 
 go up first by my own self for all the wdiole world, and I don't 
 suppose you would either ? What a pity it is that Master 
 William should be out of the wa)'- just at this moment!" 
 
 " It is, indeed ! " replied Mrs. Lambert, with a sigh, " I would 
 give a great deal to have him by me at this moment. Not that 
 I mind about going up, Rebecca. I will go up directly, if you 
 will promise to bring up the doctor the very minute he comes. 
 You must not keep him here talking, remember, because if any 
 good can be done, of course it must be done directly. If he 
 really is dead it must have been in a fit, and the only chance 
 will be to bleed him immediately." 
 
 "Yes, sure," replied the still shaking Rebecca, "that is what 
 will be done, I'll engage for it ; and don't you be feared that I 
 shou'd keep back the doctor from doing it." 
 
 Havinn- received this reiterated promise, IMrs. Lambert left 
 the kitchen, and repaired with a slow, but perfectly steady step 
 to contemplate the dead body of the man whom she had once, 
 and that at no very distant date, loved with a devoteduess of 
 affection, but very rarely met with in any class. 
 
 Bat even then she lost not that wonderful power of self-corn- 
 mand, which had enabled her for so many years to retain an 
 aspect of perfect tranquillity in a situation, which, to most 
 women, would have rendered the attempt to do so absolutely 
 impossible. She now entered her master's bedroom with her 
 usual steady step, and, having reached the bed, stood gazing on 
 the lifeless'form, wMiich lay stretched upon it, with a dcgTce of 
 solemnity which precluded the possibility of accusing her of 
 anything like indifference, or lightness of feeling, but which 
 
THE YOUXG HEHIESS. . 93 
 
 ppolce at the same time the most perfect self-possession and 
 cahnness. 
 
 The man who had so hitely been the personification of every, 
 thino' thafc was vehement and ^vilful, now Lav stretc'ied before 
 her in a way that proclaims the idle nothingness of all human 
 passion more impressivel}^ and more convincingly, than all the 
 sage, and all the priest have timght. 
 
 The deep philosophy of the lesson was not lost on the half- 
 educated woman. She could not tremble, and totter, and faint, 
 as the majority of women of her own rank might have done; 
 but she felt that she stood face to face with th.e greatest mystery 
 which has hitherto been revealed to us throughout all the 
 startling wonders of creation ! 
 
 Where was that spirit now, which had possessed the skill of 
 seeming to be one thing, while it was another? Was it gone 
 where it would be for ever stripped of tliat power '? And would 
 it henceforward inhabit regions more fitted to its real nature 
 than to its assumed one? Or was there in sin a quality, 
 analogous to wei^-lit in matter, which took it and itsbelor.QMngs, 
 oj ncccssitii^ and by a primal law of nature, down deeper, and 
 deeper still, to a lower stage, a lower department of Nature's 
 workshop? 
 
 Almeria Lambert had certainly been taught, after a fashion, 
 to speak French, and to play on the pianoforte; but, neverthe- 
 less, she was a very ignorant woman ; and when her fancy once 
 set sail, she had neither rudder nor compnss to help l:er, and 
 during her fits of sjDeculation, would often have been at a loss 
 to have told either which way she was going, or by what means 
 she hoped to obtain the goal she had in view. 
 
 But on the present occasion, at least, the vagueness of these 
 imaginings was certainly beneficial to her, for however wild the 
 whirlwind, of thought which- seemed to drive her on, it had 
 decidedly the beneficial effect of taking her from the ghastly 
 scene before her, or, at any rate, of enabling her to contemplale 
 it with infinitely less of mere feminine weakness than Rebecca 
 Watkins could have done, 
 
 Mrs. Lambert, however, was not long left to her solitary 
 meditations beside the body of her late master ; for John had 
 been a fleet messenger, and Mr. Foster obeyed the startling 
 summons with all the promptness which such a summons is 
 sure to produce in a neighbourhood too scantily populated for 
 exciting incidents of any kind to abound. 
 
 Moreover, the really kind-hearted village doctor no sooner 
 
9-i THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 heard old Jolin's panting announcement that " Squire Rixley 
 had died of a fit durino: the nioht," than his thouo-hts flew to 
 the children, both of whom he had ushered into the world, and 
 both of whom seemed to him, as well as to all others, to have 
 so wonderfully little claim upon the kindness of any one in it. 
 
 When, therefore, the grey-headed messenger added to his 
 intelligence, "the housekeeper's best respects, and hopes that 
 liis honour would be pleased to come over to see if anything 
 could be done in case the poor gentleman should not be dead 
 outright," Mr. Foster seized his hat and strode off to the 
 Warren House without a moment's delay, but with a much 
 stronger feeling of interest for the children than for Mr. Rixley 
 himself, whether he were dead or alive. 
 
 As to this latter question, the first glance of the experienced 
 doctor's eye settled it, as far as he was concerned ; and the first 
 words he spoke as completely removed all doubt from those 
 around. 
 
 " There would be no use in attempting to bleed him ! His 
 blood will never flow again," said Mr. Foster, gently laying his 
 hand on the shoulder of Mrs. Lambert, who was still standing 
 beside the corpse, with a countenance that had more the expres- 
 sion of deep reverie and meditation than of vehement emotion. 
 
 "You had better come down stairs, Mrs. Lambert," said he. 
 '' I am sure the poor children must want you to be with them at 
 such a moment, and you can do no good here ! But where is 
 William ? Does he know that his father is dead ? " 
 
 " We can't find Master William, Sir," said Rebecca Watkins, 
 who, together with old John, had followed the doctor up 
 stairs. 
 
 " Master William, Sir, must have set ofi"upon his usual morn- 
 ing walk long before old John went up to call my master," said 
 Mrs. Lambert, " and, therefore, of course, he can know nothing 
 about it." 
 
 "Yes, indeed, poor young gentleman," added Rebecca, " it is 
 likely enough that by this time he may bo miles off; bird shoot- 
 ing, maybe, as he often is by times in the morning. And it was 
 plain that he was more than usual early to da}'', 'cause we know 
 that he got out of the window of his room to prevent disturbing 
 anybody." 
 
 Mrs. Lambert knit her brows, and said hastily, " Nonsense ! 
 That is no proof that he was out earlier than usual, for it is 
 wliat he has been in the habit of doing for years." 
 
 "No, sure," said John, with a look of astonishment. " Well, 
 
THE YOUXG HEIEESS. 95 
 
 now ! to think of my never finding that out, and I coming so 
 constant almost before daybreak ! " 
 
 " Well, well, his being absent now is of no great consequence j 
 for he could do no good to anybody here," returned Mr. Foster. 
 " Let us think of poor Miss Helen. I suppose she is asleep 
 still, Mrs. Lambert? Bat I should like to see her, if you 
 please, as soon as she gets up. I think the best thing will be 
 for her to come to our house directly; it will be less dismal for 
 her, poor child, than staying here ; and I suppose we shall soon 
 learn what is to become of her afterwards. But I don't believe 
 that there is anybody in the whole county that knows anything 
 about Mr. Rixley'§ family. It is just possible that his bankers 
 at Falmouth may, but that we shall easily find out; and if he 
 has ever made a will, I think it is more likely to be with them 
 than with anybody else. But I suppose, upon this point, you 
 know nothino:, Mrs, Lambert?" 
 
 "I certainly cannot say that I Iniow anything about his will, 
 Sir, except that I have heard him say that he had made one," 
 replied Mrs. Lambert. 
 
 "I am glad to hear it," returned Mr. Foster. "If we find a 
 will, it will, doubtless, make everything easy." 
 
 This conversation did not take place, however, as the parties 
 stood round the dead man's bed; bat Mr. Foster, having seen 
 that Rebecca "Watkins and old John had reverently covered the 
 body, drawn the curtains, opened the window, and closed the 
 door, had led the vray down stairs, and seated himself in the 
 dining-parlour. 
 
 "Let me see poor Helen before I go," said he, as soon as he 
 had received this agreeable information respecting the will ; 
 " and as soon as I have spoken to her I will myself ride over to 
 Falmouth, and inquire at the bankers, whether they are in pos- 
 session of any document that may be of importance to these 
 poor friendless orphans. But I should like to see poor Helen 
 first." 
 
 " I will go to her immediately. Sir," replied Mrs. Lambert, 
 turning to leave the room as she spoke ; but ere she had 
 reached the door, the unconscious Helen appeared at it. 
 
 " Is papa gone, Sarah Lambert ? " she said, meeting her 
 nurse in the doorway, and before she had become aware that 
 Mr. Foster was in the room. 
 
 But before Mrs. Lambert could answer, the friendly doctor 
 had hastened forward, and, taking her hand, led her to a chair, 
 and placed her in it. 
 
96 THE YGU-:a heiress. 
 
 Helen loolvcd surprised, but-, nevertheless, greeted lilni with 
 lier usual fi-iendlv cordial itv. "1 o.m always o-lad to see vou, 
 Mr. Foster," she said, with a smile, "provided yon do not conje 
 because somebody is sick, and I don't believe that anybody is 
 sick now. Where is William, Sarah Lambert? " 
 
 "Do not be alarmed because you do not see him, my dear 
 Helen," said Mr. Foster, "fur I dare say ho is perfectly well, 
 tiiough he does not happen to be here. But I am very sorry 
 he is not here, too, for I have sad news to tell you, ni}' dear, 
 and I know it would be a comfort to you to have your brother 
 with you, and I shall be very glad when he comes home. But 
 I cannot wait for that before 1 tell you what has happened, for 
 it is quite proper you should hear of it immediately." 
 
 These words, vague as they were, prepared her, ns the 
 friendly speaker intended they should, for something both sad 
 and sudden; and this was all by which he thought it necessary 
 to preface the words, " Your father, ray dear young lady, is 
 dead! He has, apparently, died suddenly during the niglit; 
 probably from apoplexy." 
 
 " My father dead ? " she exclaimed, suddenly changing colour; 
 "and where is William? Sarah Lambert! tell me where 
 William is gone? Pray let me see him directly." 
 
 " You shall see him, my dear child, as soon as ever he returns 
 to the house," replied Mrs. Lambert; "but I do not think that 
 will be for some hours yet, for I fancy he has set off quite early 
 upon one of his long walks." 
 
 This answer seemed to satisfy Helen, or, at least, to silence 
 her ; bat it appeared to surprise Mr. Foster, for he said, " How 
 very strange it was, that he should have set off without seeing 
 his father, almost at the very moment that the chaise which is 
 now at the door must have been expected to take him from 
 home. He had not quarrelled with his father, had he? If he 
 had, poor lad, he will be dreadfully sorry when he comes home, 
 and finds what has happened." 
 
 " Quarrelled ! " said ]\lrs. Lambert, indignantly, " Oh, dear no, 
 Sir! nothing could be further from his thoughts than that, poor 
 dear boy. But my master never chose that anybody should 
 take leave of him when he went away, or make any fuss of any 
 kind when he came back; and, therefore, there was nothing* at 
 all extraordinary in William's setting off to take a walk this 
 fine morning." 
 
 "No, indeed," returned Mr. Foster; "in that case, he can 
 neither blame himself nor hi blamed by anybody. I was going, 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 97 
 
 my dear Miss Helen," continued the kind-beai'ted apothecaiy, 
 " to do my very best to persuade you to g-o home with me to 
 my house; but now I will say nothing about it, as I can 
 perfectly well understand that you would not like to be out of 
 the way when your brother returned. I must go now, for 
 there is more than one sick person in the parish expecting me ; 
 but I shall call again before I go to Falmouth, and then I hope 
 he will be returned, and that he will join with me in endeavour- 
 ing to persuade you that it will be much better for you, just at 
 present, to come down and stay a little while with Mrs. Foster 
 and the girls, than to remain here." 
 
 The only thing which poor Helen clearly understood at that 
 moment was, that Mr. Foster meant to be kind to her; and 
 it was probably more the grateful feeling which this idea 
 produced than anything approaching grief for the death of 
 her father, which drew forth the tears which now filled her 
 eyes. 
 
 " You are very kind ! " she said, with rather an hysterical 
 sob. 
 
 "Take care of her, Mrs. Lambert," said the apothecarj-, 
 kindly; "but that I am very sure you will do, without my 
 telling you; and I say, Mrs. Lambert," he continued, in a 
 whisper, "don't let there be any nonsense about her going to 
 look at her father. She is quite hysterical enough already, 
 without that." 
 
 Mrs. Ltimberfc respectfully promised to obey bis instructions, 
 and the friendly apothecary took his leave. 
 
 CHAPTEU XIV. 
 
 The sudden death of the master of a house, and the father of 
 a family, can never occur without plunging all the survivors 
 connected with him into a state of great agitation and excite- 
 ment. Whether his loss be lamented with affection, or deplored 
 only as the breaking up of domestic ties, it must necessarily be 
 the prelude to many painful scenes. 
 
 It may be fairly hoped that few men die leaving so little 
 trace of affectionate regret behind them as Mr. Rixley of the 
 
 8 
 
9S THE rOUXG HEIRESS 
 
 Warren House; but on the other hand it may be fairly hoped, 
 likewise, that few men die leaving" those to whom they had 
 given existence, and who depended on them for the support of 
 it, so completely at a loss to guess what was to become of 
 them. 
 
 In the present case, however, it was only on poor Helen that 
 this desolate fcelino- fell with all its weio'ht. Had she ever 
 loved her father, had she ever been permitted to love him from 
 the honr of her birth to that of his death, this dismal feeling 
 of desolation could not have fallen so heavily on her; for then 
 her thouo;hts would have had more than one direction in which 
 to turn themselves, and their heavy gloom would have been 
 softened into tenderness, and relieved by tears. 
 
 But nothino' in the slio-htest deo-ree resembling^ tears now 
 came to the relief of Helen, as she thought of her father. She 
 remained in the chair in which Mr. Foster had placed her 
 perfectly motionless. 
 
 Rebecca stood looking at her with a pitying* eye, her arms 
 a-kimbo, and dolorously shaking her head; old John had 
 followed the doctor with the civil intention of opening tlie 
 house-door for him; but before the house-door was reached, 
 Mrs. Lambert called him back. 
 
 "I want you immediately, John," said she, earnestly, "I 
 want you to go, without a moment's delay, to Mr. Bolton; tell 
 him what has happened, and beg him to have the great kind- 
 ness to come here directly," 
 
 The old man moved off with a step rapid enough to prove 
 that he, too, thought this was the most proper measure that 
 could be taken; and when he was gone Mrs, Lambert went to 
 Helen, and drawing a chair close to her, sat down, and passing* 
 one hand round her waist, parted the hair upon her drooping 
 forehead, and said, " Look up, my darling child ! You must 
 rocovcr j^ourSelP, Helen! You must not let this terrible event 
 overpower you so completely! I hope and trust that your good 
 friend, Mr. Bolton, will be here directly. The seeing him will, 
 of course, be a great comfort to you, lout I should not like for 
 him to see you so perfectly miserable as you look now, for it 
 would be enough to make him despair of being useful to 
 you." 
 
 " Where is William, Sarah Lambert ? Where is my dear, 
 dear brother? I should not look miserable if he were here. It 
 is William I am thinking about and nothing else," replied 
 Helen, in vehement agitation. 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 99 
 
 "Depend upon it, my dear child, William will be here again 
 in a few hours, so do not make yourselt miserable about that." 
 
 ''Do you really think so, my dear, darling Sarah Lambert?" 
 returned Helen, suddenly throwing her arms round the neck of 
 her nurse, and eagerly kissing her. " If your words do but 
 come true, Mrs. Lambert, jon shall find that whatever happens 
 to us I shall try to behave as I ought to do. If William and I 
 are not parted, I am sure I can bear anything'. And you, too, 
 Sarah Lambert ! I must not be parted from you, my dear, dear 
 nurse. And if we three are together, we will never mind 
 about wanting money, or an3'-thing of that sort, for I am quite 
 able to work, and so is William, and so are you. It is quite 
 impossible that anything very terrible can come to us if we are 
 all left together." 
 
 "Your good and wise friend Mr. Bolton will tell us all that 
 we oug'ht to do," replied Mrs. Lambert, "and you, and Williani 
 too, v/ill, I am quite sure, be always ready and w^illing- to do 
 whatever he says ought to be done. I am sure we can neither 
 of us doubt his kindness to William, for he really seems to 
 think him the very best, as well as the very cleverest boy he 
 ever knew m the whole course of his life. I have heard him 
 say so over and over again, Helen." 
 
 "And so have I, Sarah Lambert," replied Helen, with 
 energy; "and it v/as true, too, and I don't believe he ever will 
 see any one equal to him if he lives a hundred years. But 
 where is he, Mrs. Lambert? Where is he? Oh! his absence 
 at this moment is dreadful ! " 
 
 "It is certainly very unfortunate, my dear child," replied 
 Mrs. Lambert, whose perfect calmness of manner formed a 
 strong contrast to the vehement emotion manifested bv Helen ; 
 " very unfortunate 1 " she repeated, " and yet, after all, my dear, 
 it is of no great consequence, you are certain of seeing him in 
 an hour or two." 
 
 " Oh ! if yon could but convince me of that ! " returned 
 Helen, clasping her hands, "if you could but convince me of 
 that, you would no longer have any reason to complain of my 
 not behaving well ! " 
 
 " Well then, my darling child ! " returned Mrs. Lambert, 
 fondly kissing her, " you will be everything I wish you to be 
 before the evening. But you must begin to show your intention 
 of behaving well to-night, by eating some breakfast this morn- 
 ing. I should not like for Mr. Bolton to come and find you as 
 pale and as shaking as you arc now." 
 
100 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 Poor Helen answered nothing, but, dearly as she loved her 
 nurse, she felt greatly relieved by her leaving her quietly alone 
 while she employeVl herself in preparing the table for breakfast, 
 for then she could indulge herself by placing the back of the 
 chair upon which Mrs. Lambert had been sitting exactly before 
 her, and having crossed her arms upon the top of it, she leant 
 her aching forehead upon them, and, suffering her abundant 
 curls to fall forward, enjoyed for a few moments the comfort of 
 knowing that the tears might flow without being seen by an}'- 
 bod}'-. 
 
 Tiie preparations for breakfast meanwhile, went on, and in 
 the course of them, Rebecca Watkins asked the housekeeper if 
 she should now remove the writing-desk, and cover the table, 
 as usual, with the table-cloth. 
 
 "No, Rebecca! no!" answered Mrs. Lambert, with some 
 quickness, " Let it remain exactly as it is. The table is large 
 enough. The last thing* he ever did was using that desk, and 
 there let it be left till Mr. Bolton comes." 
 
 The few minutes which had elapsed since Helen was left to 
 herself, appeared to have been beneficial to her, for when Mrs. 
 Lambert took her by the hand, and led her to the table, she had 
 not only ceased to weep, but she held up her innocent young 
 face to her kind and watchful Sarah Lambert for a kiss, and it 
 was bestowed with a degree of fondness that could scarcely 
 have been greater if it had been given by a mother to her 
 child. 
 
 "And you do really think that William will return before the 
 day is over ? " said Helen, preparing to eat her breakfast, and 
 at the same time nestling close to the chair in which Mrs. Lam- 
 bert had placed herself beside her. 
 
 "Don't be angry with me, Sarah Lambert," she added, "for 
 l~>laguing you with the same question so over and over again ; 
 but nothing does mo so much good as hearing you say that you 
 feel surt3 he will be back to-night." 
 
 "Well, then, dearest," replied her indulgent comforter, "I 
 will keep on saying the same words again, and again, and 
 again, till you have got him back again." 
 
 Helen turned her beautiful eyes upon her with a look that 
 seemed to speak more gratitude than the promise deserved, but 
 it was not so, if its value was to be estimated by its effect; for 
 when Mrs. Lambert presently repeated with a smile, " He will 
 be back again before night, Helen," the gentle girl really 
 looked as if she only wanted that assurance in order to 
 
THE. YOUXG HEIRESS. 101 
 
 console her under every possible misfortune — past, present, or 
 future. 
 
 Helen and her loving nurse were not left long, however, to 
 either give or receive consolation solely from each other, for 
 considerably before Mrs. Lambert had hoped to see him, Mr. 
 Bolton entered the parlour. 
 
 They both rose up to receive him; he looked, good man, not 
 only hurried, but agitated, and, having noticed poor Helen with 
 gentle and paternal kindness, he turned to her nurse and said, 
 " Let me speak to you alone Mrs. Lambert for a few minutes." 
 
 She curtsied her acquiescence, and saying to Helen, " Wait 
 for us here, my dear child, till we come back again," she 
 preceded the clergyman into the school-room. 
 
 " This occurrence is frightfully sudden ! awfully sudden ! Mrs. 
 Lambert ! Have you had any reason during the time you have 
 known him, for supposing that Mr. Rixley had any propensity 
 to apoplexy ? " 
 
 ^ " Unless occasional violence of temper might be so considered, 
 Sir, I should certainly say not,'' replied Mrs. Lambert. 
 
 "Did any scene of unusual vehemence occur between you 
 after you left us yesterday ? " said Mr. Bolton. 
 
 "Unusual?" repeated Mrs. Lambert, thoughtfully. " jSTo, 
 Sir ; I should certainly say not. He remained in his boat for 
 many hours ; but I have no reason for thinking that he injured 
 himself in any way by this. On the contrary, he eat a more 
 than usually hearty supper; but he sat up very quietly for more 
 than an hour afterwards, arranging the papers at that writing- 
 desk. When he ^vent to bed he left it on the table, exactfy 
 where you will find it when 3'ou re-enter the room. Sir, for I 
 have not let anybody touch it since. He told me himself some 
 days ago that his will was in that desk ; and it is there, Sir, 
 that I hope you will find it." 
 
 "It is not I who must look for it, Mrs. Lambert," replied the 
 clergyman. " We must immediately put seals upon all his 
 personal effects; and then take measures, without loss of time, 
 to inform his nearest of kin of his death, and of the state in 
 which all his property here is left." 
 
 "Yes, Sir," she replied; "that is what I thought must be 
 done; and I trast, for Miss Helen's sake, that it will be you, 
 Sir, who will have the kindness to write to his family." 
 
 "It may, perhaps, be best that I should do so," he repHed. 
 " Meantime, Mrs. Lambert, I would wish that if the late Mr. 
 Rixley was in the habit of employing any attorney in this 
 
102 THE YOUXG HEIRESS. 
 
 neiglibourhoocl, that persou should be sent to immecllatcly, in 
 order to witness the putting seals upon all receptacles contairjing 
 papers, money, or plate." 
 
 "This shall be done directly, Sir," she replied. "Old John 
 \vill easily find a messenger to ride over to Falmontli to Mr. 
 Lacas. But w^ho is it tliat must send for him? Would it be 
 asking too much, Sir, if I begged of you to take the trouble of 
 writing a line to Mr. Lucas in your own name, desiring him to 
 come to the Warren House?" 
 
 It would be no great trouble, Mrs. Lambert," he replied. 
 "But -where is William? I think it would be better that he 
 should wunte this note." 
 
 "Unfortunately, Sir, William is not at home," replied Mrs. 
 Lambert. 
 
 " Kot at home ! Where is he, then ? " inquired Mr. Bolton. 
 
 " I don't know. Sir," she replied. " He was gone before I was 
 up this morning, and I suppose he has set off to take one of his 
 long early walks." 
 
 " I am sorry for it," returned Mr, Bolton. " I should have 
 wished to speak to him immediately. But it cannot be helped, 
 and we must not vraste time by waiting for him. Give me pen 
 and ink and paper, Mrs. Lambert, and I will write at once, not 
 only to Mr. Lucas, but to Mr. Hixley's family also. I think you 
 told me that he had a brother. Can you give me his address?" 
 
 "No, Sir, that I certainly cannot," she replied ; " and I do not 
 believe that I have ever heard him name it. But I think that 
 if you were to direct your letter to the Rev. Mr. Rixley, Beau- 
 champ Park, to he foriuarded, I think it could hardly fail to 
 reach his brother." 
 
 " But did you not tell me that the family name was Beau- 
 champ? " demanded Mr. Bolton. 
 
 "No, Sir," she replied; " Rixley is the family name of my 
 late master. He himself took the naijie of Beauchamp, when 
 he succeeded to the Beauchamp property on the death of liis 
 maternal uncle. His brother, therefore, I presume, must still 
 be called Rixley." 
 
 "True, true. I will then direct my letter to the Rev. Mr. 
 Rixley," returned Mr. Bolton, preparing to use the writing 
 implements which she had brought him. 
 
 "But his daughter and heiress," rejoined Mrs. Lambert, 
 almost in a whisper, as if afraid of interrupting him — "his 
 daughter and heiress will, of course, take the name of Beau- 
 champ. She will be Miss Beauchamp, of Beauchamp Park." 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 103 
 
 "Upon my word, Mrs. Lambert," said Mr. Bolton, liokling" 
 liis pen suspended while he spoke to her, " I think you draw 
 your conclusions respecting- Helen's heiress-ship from very 
 uncertain authority. I sincerely hope that you have never 
 given her reason to suppose that you have any such idea in 
 your head." 
 
 "Never ! Mr. Bolton, never ! " she replied, with great earnest- 
 ness. " I should be quite as averse to having any such notion 
 suggested to her as you could be yourself, Sir, or, perhaps, more 
 so, for I know better than any other person can do hov,^ little 
 dependence can be placed on any statement made by her father. 
 If my master really did make a vrill, I think it will be found in 
 his writing-desk. But I certainly feel that it is very possible 
 he never made any will at all. Gracious heaven!" she ex- 
 claimed, after the silence of a minute or two, " it is venj 
 possible 1 " and as she said this she clasped her hands together 
 across her forehead, with a much greater appearance of 
 agitation than she had yet shown. "And if it be so, if it 
 should prove so, Mr. Bolton," she added, " what is to become of 
 Miss Helen ? She will be worse off, oh ! greatly worse off, than 
 she has ever been! Who is there to feed her? Yvlio is there 
 to take care of her? Is she to be indebted for her daily bread 
 to such a one as I am ? " 
 
 And then, for the first time since old John had announced the 
 death of her late master, the wretched woman shed tears; nay, 
 despite all the self-command on which she so justly prided herself, 
 she wept bitterly; and there was an expression of such deep 
 despair on her pale harassed features, that the kind pastor's 
 heart ached for her. He seemed to forget, for the moment, her 
 own statement of the guilty life which she had for so many 
 years been leading, and to remember nothing but her faithful 
 attachment to the orphan child she had nursed. 
 
 "Do not torment yourself, Mrs. Lamberfcj by fancying a 
 misfortune which certainly, from what you told me yesterday, 
 does not seem probable," said he. " Did you not say that your 
 master had positively stated to you the fact of his havino- 
 made his will, and also that he had left his property to his 
 daughter? " 
 
 "Most assuredly he did!" she eagerly replied; while her 
 own statement, thus simply repeated to her by Mr. Bolton, 
 seemed to reach her with all the force of incontrovertible 
 authority. "He not only said it," she continued, earnestly, 
 "but I believe in my heart that then, at least, he spoke the 
 
104< THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 truth. But tliere is something so very dreadful, Sir, in the 
 bare possibility of its proving otherwise, that 1 felt as if I had 
 not strength to bear it ! But I not only remember his words, 
 I remember also the dreadful feeling with which they were 
 uttered; and, therefore, it is that I do believe they were said in 
 earnest ! If he has made his will — and, thank God ! I do 
 bolieve he lias made it — it was no love for his sweet innocent 
 child that made him do it. It was only hatred to his 
 brother ! " 
 
 "This may be so," said the clergyman; "but it will be better 
 for us not to remember it, Mrs. Lambert. You reprobate his 
 hatred for his brother; and yet 5^ou seem to be giving way to 
 a similar evil feeling towards himself. I will not deny," he 
 continued, seeing her dark eye flash with indignation — " I will 
 not deny that he has given you great and terrible cause to 
 dislike him, and to shudder at his name; but it is our duty as 
 Christians, Mrs. Lambert, to conquer all sucli feelings, and to 
 forget them," 
 
 "Forget them!" she replied, again pressing her clasped 
 hands across her forehead. " Forget them ! God forbid ! " 
 
 "Fie, fie! " said Mr. Bolton, shaking his head. "You know 
 not what you say ! " 
 
 And feeling that this was no moment for reasoning with her, 
 he resumed his pen, and wrote the following letter to "The 
 Rev. Mr. Rixley:"— 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ^^7th S€2)temher, 18—. 
 " Sm, 
 
 " It has become my painful duty to announce to you the 
 sudden death, in my parish, of a gentleman, who I am told is 
 your brother. This gentleman, whom for many years I have 
 known as Mr. George Rixley, has been residing, at intervals, 
 during that time, at an old mansion that he has purchased here, 
 known by the name of the " Warren House," he has made 
 himself very little acquainted with the neighbourhood, but I 
 learn from a servant who has lived with him many years, and 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 105 
 
 wlio seems to know more about him than any one else, that 
 
 though the name by which he has been known here was that of 
 
 his father, it is not the name which now, of right belongs to 
 
 him, he having for some years assumed that of Beauchamp, in 
 
 consequence of inheriting the property of a maternal uncle. I 
 
 mention these circumstances that there may be no doubt left 
 
 upon your mind respecting- his identity. All other particulars 
 
 respecting him, and the children he has left, will be more easily 
 
 explained to you, Reverend Sir, if you answer this letter, as I 
 
 presume you will do, in person. 
 
 "Mrs. Lambert, the housekeeper, to whom I have before 
 
 alluded, tells meHhat she has no doubt that her late master left 
 
 a will, as he has himself, more than once, stated this fact to her. 
 
 She has even pointed out to me the piece of furniture in which 
 
 she believes this document is placed. It is a moderate-sized 
 
 writing-desk, and I shall foi-thwith have it conveyed to the 
 
 parsonage house for greater security, where I hope it will be 
 
 opened by your own hand. It will be desirable, of course, that 
 
 this should be done as speedily as possible, in case the will, said 
 
 to be deposited in it, should contain any instructions respecting 
 
 his funeral. Should I not be fortunate enough either to see or 
 
 hear from you before the thirteenth of the current month, the 
 
 remains of your brother will be interred in Crumptou Churchyard 
 
 on that day. 
 
 " I remain, Reverend Sir, 
 
 " Your obedient Servant, 
 
 " Stephen Boltox, 
 " OJJcciaiin(j Minister of Crumjjion. 
 "Please to acldvess to me, 
 " Crumpton, Cornwall." 
 
 Having written this letter, Mr. Bolton read it aloud to Mrs. 
 Lambert, and then sealed and dispatched it by a trustworthy 
 messenger to the post-oCBce at Falmouth, together with a note 
 to Mr. Lucas, the attorney, requesting to see him immediately. 
 
 Having performed this necessary business, Mr. Bolton pro- 
 posed returning to Helen, and the housekeeper accompanied him 
 accordingly into the parlour. They found her sitting exactly 
 where they had left her, and on seeing Mr. Bolton re-enter the 
 room, she again rose up, but made no step in advance to meet 
 him, and in fact looked so miserably ill as to suggest the idea 
 that she was too weak to make the exertion. 
 
 "My poor dear Helen ! " said the clergyman, taking her hand 
 and replacing her in her chair, " the shock you have received 
 
106 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 has been too sndclen, ar.d too Yiolont for your strength; but you 
 must rouse yourself, my dear child, and not sit thus gloomily 
 meditating upon what has liappened, I think, Mrs. Lambert," 
 he continued, " that the best thing I can do will be to take her 
 to the parsonage. You will have a good deal to do here to get 
 everything in good order preparatory to the arrival of Mr. 
 Rixley, who will be here in a day or two, I have no doubt, and 
 it will be better for Helen to remain quietly with us till he 
 comes. You will scud down whatever you think she may want, 
 and ma}' feel quite easy about her, for you know she will be well 
 tiiken care of." 
 
 "Thank you, Sir, a thousand times for your'thoughtfol kind- 
 ness ! It will indeed be a great comfort to see her removed from 
 this dismal house," replied Mrs. Lambert, every feature in her 
 speaking face bearing testimony to her sincerit3^ 
 
 " Helen, dearest! " she continued, taking the hand of the pale 
 girl betv,^een both of hers — "Helen! Do you hear the great 
 kindness of Mr, Bolton ? " 
 
 "Indeed I do hear it," replied Helen, while tears of gratitude 
 started to her eyes, "and I am most grateful for his goodness 
 to me. . . . Snt, Yv'illiam, l\Irs. Lambert? You cannot think 
 I would go av/ay without seeing William, do you? " 
 
 "Your coming to us need not prevent your seeing him, 
 Helen," said Mr. Bolton. "I believe the dear bo}' knows that 
 t!;ere is no place where he would be more Avelcome 'than at 
 our house — for we all love him. But even if he had any doubt 
 upon the sul^ject, which is not very likely, Mrs. Lambert, you 
 know, can easil}'' make him understand that v>'e are all expect- 
 ing him, yourself included, Helen. Will not this suffice to 
 make your mind easy on that point? " 
 
 Poor Helen looked greatly at a loss hovr to answer. She 
 certainly did not wish to appear either ungrateful or unreason- 
 .'ible, and yet it was very evident tliat the arrangement did not 
 quite please her. For a moment she was silent, and then she 
 said, "If I do not thank you as I ought to do, dear, dear Mr. 
 Bolton! it is not because I do not feel your kindness. But 
 there is something so strangely dreadful in all that has hap- 
 l^ened since William took leave of me last night, that I don't 
 think anything would do me so much good as the seeing him 
 again the very first moment that he comes home. After I 
 have seen him for one single moment, Mr, Bolton, and that he 
 has kissed me once more, and wished mo good night, as he 
 used to do, I would rather go to your house ten thousand 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 107 
 
 times over than stay here, but I must just stay to see him 
 first, if you please ! " 
 
 " No, Helen ! Ko ! I must have my way in this," replied 
 Mr. Bolton. " It is not right, my clear child, at least in my 
 opinion it is not right, that jou should remain here." 
 
 " Now Helen, I am quits sure that you will resist no longer," 
 said Mrs. Lambert 
 
 She spoke this earnestly, and most assuredly .with perfect 
 sincerity; but it was easy, for Mr. Bolton at least, to see that it 
 was not without a bitter pang that the unhappy woman felt the 
 stern necessity of parting with the innocent young creature 
 whom she had so carefully cherished, and so fondly loved. But 
 she remembered that it was she herself who had first pointed 
 out this necessity, and a moment's thought had sufficed to make 
 her deeply thankful that she had pleaded against herself so 
 successfully. 
 
 Helen listened respectfully, as she always did, to every 
 suggestion of Mr. Bolton, and after the silence of a moment, 
 she said, "If you think it is better for me. Sir, I am ready to 
 go. But somebody will come and tell me when William comes 
 home?" 
 
 Mr, Bolton undertook to promise that this should bo done, 
 and then her bonnet and shawl being given to her by Mrs. 
 Lambert, the kind clergyman passed her arm under his own, 
 and led her from the Warren House, little thinking that she 
 should never re-enter it again ! 
 
 ^ ^ ^'$ rfr ^ ^ 
 
 Nothing could be more truly amiable than the manner in 
 which the orphan girlwas received by Mrs. Bolton; and had it 
 not been for the eager wish which still seemed to pursue her for 
 the return of her brother, her young nerves would soon have 
 recovered their tone ; but as hour after hour of that long day 
 wore away without bringing him, or any tidings of him, not all 
 the kindness with which she was surrounded could avail to 
 tranquillize her. 
 
 At a few minutes before eleven o'clock at night Mrs. Lambert 
 came to the parsonage, but it was only to beg that the family 
 would not sit up any longer, as she now considered it as quite 
 impossible that William should return that night. 
 
 It was painful to witness the agitation with which Helen 
 listened to this announcement, and the more so, because those 
 who felt this friendly pain had not a word to say in the way of 
 hope or consolation to her. 
 
108 THE YOUXG HEIRESS. 
 
 This most ill-timed, and unfortanate absence was indeed so 
 perfectly unaccountable in every way, that neither of those kind 
 friends who stood around the sobbing g-irl could suggest any 
 probable reason for it. Not ouly had William never before 
 absented himself at night, but never upon any occasion had he 
 suffered his passion for solitary rambling to beguile him to any 
 spot sufficiently distant to prevent his returning to the house 
 before the usual hour of closing it; for the nifrht. 
 
 Mrs. Lambert remembered all this, and remembering also the 
 strange manner in whicli he had left it that morning, or rather 
 during the preceding night, she could not lielp sharing in some 
 degree the fear which had evidently taken possession of Helen, 
 namely that he had fled from the hateful tyranny of his father 
 without any intention of returning. 
 
 Nevertheless a moment's reflection sufficed to persuade her 
 that; in the present state of affairs there would be no great 
 difficulty in getting him to return; she knew how devotedly he 
 was attached to his sister, and felt not the slightest doubt that 
 he would hasten back to her as soon as the news of his father's 
 death should reach him ; and the suddenness of this event was 
 so sure to make it talked of far and near, that she felt no doubt 
 that the report of it would very speedily overtake him. 
 
 Notwithstanding the long and confidential conversation which 
 had taken place on the preceding day between herself and Mr. 
 and Mrs. Bolton, Mrs. Lambert felt that she could not with 
 propriety speak as openly to Helen in their presence respecting 
 the motive of William's departure, and the certainty of his 
 return, now that the cause of his aversion to his home was 
 removed, as she could do if they wqvq tete-a-tete ; she therefore 
 said, respectfully turning to the clergyman and his wife, " If 
 you will kindly permit me to attend Miss Helen to the room in 
 which she is to sleep, I think I could persuade her to undress 
 and go to bed quietly, and to-morrow she will, I trust, be more 
 composed, and more reasonable." 
 
 This suggestion was immediately acted upon; the gentle 
 Mrs. Bolton led the way to her neat guest-chamber, placed a 
 light upon the table, gave a silent kiss to the sobbing Helen, 
 and retired, leaving the pale but perfectly composed Mrs Lam- 
 bert, and the orphan girl she so fondly loved, alone together. 
 
 No sooner was the door clo::od upon them than Helen rushed 
 into the arms of her nurse, and wept upon her bosom as she 
 had often done when terrified by the harshness of her father in 
 days of yore; and, as in days of yore, her sorrow was soothed, 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 100 
 
 and her caresses returned with the tenderness of a motlier. 
 The heah'ng effect of this nnrestrauied indulgence of fceh'ng 
 immediately produced the benefit anticipated. Helen, though 
 still looking very miserable, became composed and reasonable, 
 and instead of turning with all the bitterness of despair from 
 the friendly and consoling words that were addressed to her, 
 she now became as eao-er to listen as Mrs. Lambert was to 
 speak of her absent brother. 
 
 "Now you are ray own dear reasonable Helen again!" said 
 the loving nurse, placing the orphan girl beside her, and looking 
 fondly in the lovely young face so confidingly turned towards 
 her. "Now you will listen to reason, my darling child, and not 
 to the inventions of your own frightened fancy." 
 
 " I will listen to you, my dear, dear Sarah Lambert ! " replied 
 Helen, fondly kissing her. " You never, as long as I can 
 remember anything, have said to me any word that was not as 
 kind as it was true, and as true as it was kind, and you never 
 will, of that I am very sure ! But it is strange his going away 
 so, just at this terrible time, isn't it, Sarah Lambert? Do j^ou 
 think that anything passed between them — any violent quarrel 
 I mean — after I was gone to bed? x^t what time did papa 
 come home ? " 
 
 "Very late, ray dear child," replied Mrs. Lambert, "and I 
 am quite sure there was no quarrel, for I must have heard it if 
 there had been; and I give you ray honour that I heard nothing 
 of the kind. Lideed I believe that William must have been 
 gone to bed before his father came home, but of this I cannot 
 speak with certainty, because I was very busy." 
 
 "It is a great, great comfort to me to hear you say that, 
 Sarah Lambert! " replied Helen, "fori -was afraid — oh, dread- 
 fully afraid — that they might have quarrelled, and that they 
 might have fought! " and Helen trembled from head to foot as 
 she uttered the words, and hid her face on Mrs. Lambert's 
 bosom. 
 
 " Set your dear heart at rest for ever from all such thoughts, 
 m}'' child ! " returned her nurse, very solemnly. " I am sorry 
 that you should have conceiv^ed such, even for a moment. It 
 was the will of God that your father should die, Helen, and 
 therefore he is dead. The suddenness of this event must 
 naturally make it a great surprise — a great shock — to you, but 
 such cases are by no means very uncommon, and greatly less 
 surprising, I think, than it would have been either to you or to 
 me to see William fighting with him. I cmm^t imagine, my 
 
110 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 dear child, how so wild a thought could ever have entered your 
 head." 
 
 "My dear, dear Sarah Lambert," replied Helen, almost 
 "cheerfully, " I feel and understand the truth of every word you 
 say; but it is easy enough for me to explain to you how this 
 wild and terrible thought came into my head. It came in two 
 ways, Sarah Lambert. One way was from the horrible fierce 
 and angry looks of .... of my poor father the last time I 
 ever heard them speak together, and the other was from the 
 look — the fearful look — of my dear tortured brother, after the 
 frightful conversation in which his mother's shame and his own 
 degradation were so cruelly announced to him. Oh, vSarah 
 Lambert! can I ever forget the fearful change that came over 
 my poor brother's face when he confessed, with such terrible 
 bitterness, that he hated him who had brought this shame upon 
 him, and then rei^roached him with it ? " 
 
 " Yes, my precious child 1 " replied Mrs, Lambert, solemnly, 
 " I trust that you will forget that, and all else that has tended 
 to destroy the joyous happiness which ought ever to be the 
 portion of childhood ! Be ever pure and innocent of sin, my 
 sweet Helen, and then the years that are to come will atone for 
 all that was evil in those which are past; and that has been 
 much, very much, my poor child." 
 
 " But for a great while, you know, I had my dear mamma 
 with me, and always dear Y*^illiam, and always you! Ought I 
 not to be thankful for all that, Sarah Lambert? " replied Helen, 
 again laying her head lovingly on her nurse's shoulder. " And 
 if my dear William comes back, and if you stay with me always, 
 alwavs, I don't think that I shall ever again complain of any- 
 thing." 
 
 The unhappy woman, thus fondly "loved in vain," could not, 
 with all the stern firmness of her character, prevent a tear from 
 falling on the face of the loving, and fondly loved young creature 
 from whom she was so firmly resolved to tear herself. But even 
 at that bitter moment she remembered the will which her late 
 master had taught her to expect would be found in his writing- 
 desk, and instead of suirering more tears to fall, she cheerfully 
 exclaimed, " My dear, dear Helen ! Look up hopefully ! We 
 have all of us, in different ways, suffered a good deal of sorrow, 
 I believe .... But I think the future will bo better, Helen ; 
 and if it be so, if it indeed should be in any degree what I 
 anticipate for you, I shall still be happy! Yes, Helen! happy, 
 happy, happy ! " 
 
THE YOUNG HEEIESS. Ill 
 
 Helen very naturally tliouglifc that tlils burst of hopeful 
 gladness, so unlike the usual qaiefc scdateness of Sarah 
 Lambert's manner, arose from the vivid recollection of what 
 they had all suffered from the capricious violence of her father's 
 temper, now removed from them for ever ; but having* never 
 before heard her allude to her own share of suffering from this 
 cause, she felt that this dearly-beloved nurse had always had 
 more merit, as well as more suffering, than she had ever before 
 given her credit for. 
 
 Again she caressed her tenderly, and again she exclaimed, 
 that if William would but come back again, so that they miglit 
 all three live on quietly together at the Warren House, she 
 should be quite contented with her own share of happiness. 
 
 For one short moment — as the conscience-stricken woman 
 listened to this innocent burst of young affection, and read in 
 the sweet eyes that were fixed upon her, with all the eloquence 
 of sincerity, the confirmation of the feelings it expressed — for 
 one short moment, poor Sarah Lambert thought that the sins of 
 the wretched Almeria might be for ever buried and forgotten in 
 the grave of him who had caused them ; but the vain illusion 
 lasted no longer, and, when it was past, she said, in a voice 
 which betrayed no weakness- of any kind, but which was in 
 perfect accordance with the solemn wisdom of her words, " My 
 dearest Helen ! neither of the three can reasonably expect, or 
 reasonably wish, that so it should be! You have several very 
 near relations, Helen, although you have been hitherto very 
 strangely kept in ignorance of their existence ; and both the 
 law of nature and the law of the land point them out as the 
 persons to whose protection you must look for support, and 
 by whose authority you must be guided. And this will be 
 greatly more advantageous to you, Helen, than being left for 
 ever in the hands of your old nurse." 
 
 " Then their protection must be extended to that old nurse 
 also," returned Helen, while a bright flush dyed her cheeks, and 
 such a light flashed from her eyes as Sarah Lambert had never 
 seen emitted from them before. 
 
 " Concerning all that, my dear child," she rei^lied, " we must 
 for a while lono-er remain in io-norance. The best s'ood nio-ht I 
 can now give you, my dearest Helen, is the assurance that I feel 
 no doubt of your brother's return, as soon as he shall have heard 
 the news, which will be so quickly spread through the country 
 as to make it pretty nearly impossible that he should not hear 
 it soon. And now, then, sleep well, my darling child! Let 
 
112 THE YOUNG HEinESS. 
 
 what will happen to either of ns, I do not think that either will 
 ever quite forget the more than common love that there has 
 been between ns." One more loving kiss was then exchanged, 
 and then they parted;- the interview having produced effects as 
 ojDposite as it is well possible to imagine on the minds of each ; 
 for Mrs. Lambert left Helen with a feeling of deeper misery 
 than had ever, perhaps, rested on her mind before; for never 
 before had she felt her to be so every-way deserving of her 
 devoted love; while never had she felt such a profound convic- 
 tion that the most imperative duty of her future life would be to 
 separate herself from her for ever! And on the other hand, 
 Helen laid her head upon her pillow, and dropt asleep, with the 
 delightful feeling that tlie old friend she so truly loved, loved 
 her most truly too, and that such being the case, there was little 
 or no danger that any new friends would have the power, or 
 will, to part them. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 On awaking the next morning, the first thoughts of Helen 
 were painfully confused. It was a minute or two before she 
 clearly remembered where she was; and when, by degrees, all 
 the circumstances of her perfectly new position arranged them- 
 selves in her mind with all the grave reality of truth, she felt 
 as if she herself were as much changed, and as new as they 
 were. The influence of her father's stern temper, harsh 
 manners, and tyrannical will, had not only produced effects 
 uniformly painful upon very nearly every hour of her past 
 existence, but had apparentl}^ in a great degree, changed her 
 very nature too. Not only had his fearfully unfeeling temper 
 made itself felt when living witli his unhappy children, but the 
 crushing weight of his tyrannical caprices had been made to 
 bear upon them even in his absence; nor could all the influence 
 nor all the power of Mrs. Lambert neutralize the effect of it. 
 
 The very remarkable personal advantages of both the 
 children, as well as the terms of affectionate admiration in 
 which the Bolton and Foster families spoke of them in the 
 neighbourhood, was quite sufficient to have obtained for them 
 
THE YOUxXG HEIRESS. 113 
 
 many valuable friencls; and moreover, the manner in wliicli 
 they were left to grow up, under the care and companionship of 
 servants, added a feeling of pity to the interest they were so 
 well calculated to inspire. But all these friendly feelings were 
 of no avail in benelitino- the forlorn situation of the forsaken 
 children at the Warren House; for never did its tyrant master 
 leave it without reiterating his commands that no strangers, of 
 any rank, were to be permitted to enter its doors, and that the 
 children were on no account to be suffered to hold intercourse 
 with any persons in the neighbourhood, save and except the 
 clergyman and the apothecary. 
 
 All this had, of course, been submitted to without resistance, 
 but not during the last year or two without a very painful con- 
 sciousness of hardship and restraint. This consciousness had, 
 on the part of Helen, been felt more on her brother's account 
 than her own. There is a natural diffidence about young girls,, 
 who have had no companions of their own age, which renders 
 it much easier for them to yield to such discipline than to 
 attempt resistance to it; and it would have been almost as 
 likely for Helen to have taken possession of her father's boat 
 during his absence, as to have ventured to look in the face of 
 any of the forbidden individuals who resided in the neighbour- 
 hood. 
 
 Poor William Rixley was exactly the sort of boy to attract 
 attention, and to enjoy with keen delight the riding and the 
 shooting which had repeatedly been offered to him by many 
 whose kindly natures led them to witness, with real pain, the 
 many privations to which "that magnificent-looking young 
 fellow, William Rixley," w^as obliged to submit. 
 
 The only horses he ever rode were unbroken colts, lent to 
 him by the neighbouring farmers, who declared that, somehow 
 or other, the J^oung chap could do more towards bringing them 
 into order than they could; and one observing old man declared 
 that the onl}'- likeness, as far as he could see, by which the 
 young Rixley showed himself to be the son of the old one, was 
 observable when the Warren House squire was enjoying a stiff 
 gale at sea, and when his son was making a skittish young colt 
 obey the rein, just as his father made the bounding boat obey 
 the helm. 
 
 And the old man was right; for in this sort of enjojmient in 
 danger lay the only point of intellectual resemblance between 
 them. But the speculative eye of this old man was not the 
 only one which watched the bold bearing of the beautiful, but 
 
 9 
 
114 THE YOUNG HETPvESS. 
 
 neglected boy, with interest ; and very many were the friendly 
 liints which, directly and indirectly, he received, concerning the 
 readiness with which such, or such of his aristocratical neigh- 
 bours would give him either hunting or shooting, by the loan of 
 a horse, or the eniree to a preserve. But all these friendly 
 hints, though they made bis heart beat and his eye sparkle, 
 were one and all uniformly received with a sadlj'-whispered, 
 but most positive refusal. 
 
 It is very possible that the fe-ar of his brutal father's anger 
 would not of itself have sufficed to ensure such constant 
 obedience ; but it Lad been made plain to the capacities of both 
 William and his sister, that any transgression of the rules laid 
 down for the regulation of their melancholy existence would 
 infallibly be visited in such a waj^ upon their much-loved 
 Sarah Lambert, as to cause her great annoyance : and this was 
 enough — always and for ever enough — to secure the obedience, 
 not only of the gentle Helen, but of the fearless William 
 likewise. 
 
 It was with wonderfully sudden strength and distinctness, 
 that all this rushed upon the mind of Helen, as she awoke the 
 next morning, and remembered that this terrible father ivas 
 dead and could torture them no more ! 
 
 It is a lamentably false doctrine which teaches parents to 
 believe that their children ought to love them, and, in point of 
 fact, must love them, let them be treated as they may. Neither 
 children nor wives, however strong they may feel the tie to be, 
 which binds them to the tyrant parent, or the tyrant spouse, 
 are, in any degree, removed beyond the reach of ordinary 
 human feeling ; and those do but delude themselves who 
 think it. 
 
 It was with nothing like a pang of sorrow that Helen 
 remembered she was fatherless ; but neither was it with any- 
 thing approaching the triumph of newly-liberated self-will. In 
 fact she thought only of William, and of Sarah Lambert ; and 
 the only portion of these new-born thoughts which personally 
 concerned herself was that which led her to believe stedfastly 
 in her true and loving heart, that now that she need be afraid of 
 nobody she might do a thousand and a thousand things which 
 would be sure to please them both. 
 
 But that day, and the next, wore themselves away without 
 bringing- any tidings of William; and poor Helen again began 
 to feel very miserable about him, notwithstanding all the argu- 
 mcnts adduced by Mrs. Lambert, to prove that the cause of his 
 
THE YOUNG nEIRESS. 115 
 
 absenting himself being- so well known to them, the certainty of 
 that cause behif^ removed ouo'hfcto convince them that ho would 
 return as soon as the fact should reach him. 
 
 But the day following brought the Rev. Mr. Rixley to the 
 parsonage, and the emotions produced by his arrival, and by 
 the scenes which followed it, soon caused all lesser anxieties to be 
 forgotten. 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Rixley was, in all respects, as totally unlike his 
 deceased brother as it was well possible for one man to be 
 unlike another. Yet he too had been, and indeed still was, 
 extremely handsome; but in his case there was no combaii 
 between the fine regularity of his features and the expression of 
 them. 
 
 No one could possibly deny that he was a very handsome 
 man, and it was not likely that many could be found who could, 
 with the envious perversity of his late brother, feel any doubt 
 as to his being, as we may say of children, as good as he was 
 handsome. 
 
 But, nevertheless, he looked as if his life had not been one 
 of unbroken prosperity, for there was much more of anxious 
 meditation than of triumphant success in the expression of his 
 countenance. 
 
 But there certainly is a sort of freemasonry among good 
 men as well as among bad ones, and the Rev. Mr. Rixley and 
 the Rev. Mr. Bolton had not long* sat face to face together 
 before a sort of mutual feeling liad been generated between 
 them which led each to feel very sure that they should speedily 
 both like and esteem the other. 
 
 Mr. Bolton evidently thought it proper to take it for granted 
 that Mr. Rixley would be anxious to learn all the particulars 
 which he could communicate respecting his late brother's very 
 sudden death; and he expressed himself very much as if he had 
 been making an apology, when stating how very little he knew 
 personally either of his departed neighbour during his life, or 
 of the manner of his death. 
 
 " It must, I am afraid, appear very strange and very un- 
 neighbourly, Mr. Rixley," said he, " that a neighbour, of so 
 many years' standing-, and one too who, excepting the excellent 
 lad}'', his late wife, was the only instructor of his children, 
 should know so very little about your brother, as not to be able 
 to tell you, with any degree of certainty, whether his health, 
 previous to his late attack, was good or bad, but such is the 
 case. Is it long since you last saw him, yourself, Mr. Rixley? " 
 
 0—2 
 
116 THE YOUNG HEIEESS. 
 
 "Yes, Sir," replied bis new acquaintance, "it is many years 
 since I last saw my brother, Mr. Beaucliamp ; but at that time 
 he certainly had the appearance of being an extremely healthy 
 man, and one whom I should have thought very unlikely to die 
 from such an attack as this seems to have been. He went to 
 bed, you say, apparently in perfect health. It must therefore 
 have been some sort of fit which carried him off? " 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Rixley, I believe so. We have a very clever and 
 experienced medical man among us who saw him after his 
 death, and I understand that such was his opinion of the case." 
 
 The conversation then went on to the more interesting subject 
 of the deceased gentleman's children, of whose very existence 
 Mr. Rixley declared himself to have been ignorant till the 
 receipt of Mr. Bolton's letter; but all discussion respecting 
 them speedily and naturally ended by Mr. Rixley's saying, 
 " My first business must be the examining the desk you have 
 mentioned to me, in search of a will. If we find this, my path 
 will of course be pointed out to me by its contents, and till I 
 have made myself acquainted with this will, I think I would 
 rather not see the little girl you have mentioned. The boy, I 
 think you said, was not at home?" 
 
 "No, Mr. Rixley, he is not, and the circumstances attending 
 his departure are very painful," replied Mr. Bolton. "Your 
 estrangement from your brother will doubtless have made you 
 less acutely sensitive respecting all particulars relating to him, 
 than would have been the case had things been otherwise 
 between you; but there was much in his manner of living 
 which it is painful to remember, and to comment upon. This 
 2)Oor lad, who, if I mistake not, is about sixteen or seventeen 
 3^ears of age, is a natural son. But he is a boy that any father 
 might be forgiven for being proud of. He has been my pupil 
 for several years, and I have found in him not only very superior 
 and rare ability, but a very noble, though certainly a somewhat 
 fiery temper. He has never been an inmate with me, and, of 
 the many hours we have spent together, the great majority 
 have, of course, been devoted to study. Nevertheless, I think I 
 know enough of him to say that he possesses many fine qualities, 
 and a warm and generous heart. But, for all that, it is quite 
 certain that ho was anything rather than an object of afilction 
 to your brother ; on the contrary, he was uniformly treated by 
 him with very cruel neglect, and, on many occasions, with very 
 cruel harshness also, and there is every reason to believe that 
 he clandestinely left his father's house ou the very night ho 
 
THE YOUNG HEKESS. 117 
 
 died, in consequence of a most painful scene wliicli had passed 
 between tbem on the previous evenin:^, the particulars of whicli 
 have reached me; and they have left me fully persuaded that 
 the poor youth quitted the house of his father with no intention 
 of returning- to it. Nor will 3-ou, Sir, greatly wonder at the 
 vehemence of the poor boy's feeling when I tell you, that it was 
 during this scene, and in the presence of his young, and greatly- 
 loved legitimate sister, that the disclosure of his being a natural 
 son was m.ade to him, accompanied, as I am assured, by a degree 
 of unfeeling indignity which amounted to insult. This scene 
 took place in the evening; the unfortunate boy went to his bed- 
 room shortly afterwards, and has never, I believe, been seen 
 since by any of the family." 
 
 "Poor boy! he must have suffered greatly!" replied Mr. 
 Rixley. " Such a disclosure, and so suddenly made, mny well 
 have produced such a result; and the poor fellow must be 
 perfectly destitute, I presume." 
 
 "I presume so, too," replied Mr. Bolton, "save and except 
 the conscious power of great ability which he must have carried 
 with him. His father, it seems, had decided upon placing him 
 as an usher in some country grammar-school. But with all his 
 scholarship he was totally unfit for such a situation. And how 
 he hoped to find the means of living, I know not. It is, liow- 
 ever, almost impossible that the news of his father's sudden 
 death should not reach him; and when it does, depend upon it 
 he will immediately return to the Warren House." 
 
 "Yes, no doubt of it," replied Mr. Rixley, "and let us hope 
 that the w^ill you mention may make some provision for him. 
 Of course I feel rather anxious to see this document. Shall we 
 look for it, Mr. Bolton ? " 
 
 "That is the desk, Sir, which is supposed to contain it," 
 rej^lied Mr. Bolton, pointing to an isolated box upon an isolated 
 little table that stood before the book shelves on the opposite 
 side of the room. " But I am every moment expecting a call 
 from Mr. Lucas, the attorney, who has been occasionally 
 em)-)loyed by your late brother. I got him to put his seal on 
 various depositories at the Warren House within a few hours 
 after we discovered that its owner was dead, and yonder desk 
 was among the number. I fully expected jouv arrival to-day, 
 Mr. Rixley, and requested that he would call here, which he 
 promised to do." 
 
 The conversation between the two clergymen then fell upon 
 the peculiarly desolate condition of poor Helen; and Mr. Rixley 
 
118 THE YOUXG HEIRESS. 
 
 nslceil some questions, tliougli not witla any appearance of very 
 vivid interest, respecting the education she had received. 
 
 "As long" as lier admirable mother lived," replied Mr. Bolton, 
 " I should really think she was as thoroughly well taught as it 
 was possible for any young lady to be, Lut since that heaviest 
 of all possible losses, her mother's death, fell upon her, she has 
 had no instructor but myself." 
 
 "How old did you say she was?" demanded tlie uncle, but 
 still sjDeaking as if the question were asked only because it 
 seemed necessary to say something about her. 
 
 "I do not exactly know," was Mr. Bolton's reply, "about 
 thirteen, I think, or something more. She is a very lovely girl, 
 and becoming more so every day, I think." 
 
 This sort of talk went on but a short time lonjrer before it 
 was interrupted by the arrival of the Falmouth attorney ; and a 
 very few minutes afterwards the important desk was brought 
 forward, and the seal that had been placed upon it broken by 
 the same legal hand which had affixed it. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 When the desk was opened every recess in it was found filled 
 with papers, many of which the attorney's rapid and experienced 
 eye discovered to be documents and memoranda of business-like 
 importance ; nor were they long in finding that most important 
 one of which they were in search. This document was the work 
 of a London lawyer, and not of Mr. Lucas ; and the three gen- 
 tlemen now bent upon its examination were all equally ignorant 
 of its contents. 
 
 j\Ir. Lucas was desired to read it aloud, which he did, clearly 
 and distinctly. It was not a long will, considering the great 
 amount of property disposed of by it, the preamble occupying 
 the largest portion. This preamble was evidently listened to 
 with pain by both the clergymen, but probably not with much 
 surprise by either. Mr. Bolton, indeed, almost felt that he had 
 heard it before, so precisely was it in accordance with Mrs. 
 Lambert's statement respecting the feelings and intentions of 
 her late master. 
 
• THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 119 
 
 Ifc very explicitly stated that his only motive for making the 
 will at all ^Yas as a measure of precantion, lest, by possibility^ his 
 brother, or any of his brother's children, might inherit his property 
 in case he died intestate. The preamble then proceeded to state 
 that this possibility might arise from the fact of his having a 
 natural son, whose existence would, of course, be no impediment 
 to the succession of his brother, or his brother's family to the 
 Beauchamp estate ; and that as his legitimate daughter was 
 born under apparently similar circumstances, inasmuch as he 
 had lived with the mothers of both in great retirement, and that 
 both had been called by his name, he deemed it safest to be- 
 queath his said property by will to his daughter Helen Rixley 
 Beauchamp, commonly called Helen Rixley. 
 
 Then followed in goodly legal style, and phrase, the import- 
 ant, " give and hequeath," followed by the enumeration of sundry 
 estates familiarly known by the comprehensive phrase, " The 
 Beauchamp property," all and every of which were bequeathed 
 and settled upon his daughter Helen, and her heirs for ever. 
 
 The name of the testator and of three witnasses, with the 
 seals of all duly appended then followed ; having examined 
 which, Mr. Lucas folded up the parchment, and for a moment 
 held it in his hand, as if doubtful in whose custody he should 
 place it ; but this moment sufficed to decide him, and he pre- 
 sented it to Mr. Rixley, saying, "You, sir, as the natural guard- 
 ian of the young lady, are the person in whose hands it would 
 seem most proper to place this important document, till such 
 time as the proper steps can be taken for proving it," 
 
 " If I can be of any use in proving' the hand writing of my 
 brother, I shall be ready to do it," said Mr. Bixley, composedly ; 
 " but I would rather not be troubled by having the custody of 
 the will. Either Mr. Bolton or j^ourself. Sir, might, I think, 
 with more propriety undertake the care of it." 
 
 " Mr. Lucas was the lawyer employed by your late brother 
 while he was in this neighbourhood," said Mr. Bolton, " and I 
 think the desk itself, and all that it contained, had better be 
 consigned to his keeping for the present. He will, too, be cer- 
 tainly the most desirable person to be employed in transacting' 
 the necessary business at Doctors' Commons." 
 
 "If I am to take this desk and its contents into my 
 charge," replied the attorney, " I must beg to have a catalogue 
 of the said contents taken in your presence,- gentlemen." 
 
 Little as Mr. Bixley appeared desirous of mixing himself in 
 his late brother's concerns, he could not object to so reasonable 
 
120 THE YOUNG EEIEESS. 
 
 a proposal, and tlie contents of the desk were according!}^ ex- 
 nmined, and catalogued. It contained a few letters and several 
 bills, a few of these being apparently still due, but the rest 
 having receipts appended to them in very proper business-like 
 style. But, with the exception of the will, the only document 
 of any real consequence which they found was a fully authenti- 
 cated certificate of the marriage of the late William Hixley 
 Beauchamp with the mother of the young heiress. 
 
 " This, too, is by no means an unimportant document," said 
 the law3^er, putting it into the hands of Mr. Bolton. 
 
 " Certainly not," replied the curate of Crumpton, passing it to 
 Mr. Rixlev. 
 
 " There is nothing equivocal in this," rejoined the lawyer 
 again, receiving it, and carefully replacing it in the desk. " This 
 document, and the will together, places the young lady in per- 
 fectly smooth water." He thej:i rose, locked the desk, and put 
 the key in his pocket. 
 
 " I came here on horseback, Mr. Bolton," he said, " and I will, 
 therefore leave this desk in your charge ; but I will take an 
 early opportunity of sending for it." 
 
 " I will not offer to spare you the trouble," replied Mr. Bolton, 
 smiling, " for I would not wish to have any further responsibility 
 thrown upon me respecting this important desk. I will, how- 
 ever, give it house-room till ^^ou send for it." 
 
 This promise seemed to satisfy the lawj^er ; and he took his 
 leave as soon as he had received it. 
 
 The funeral was to take place on the following day ; but not- 
 withstanding the amiable physiognomy of Mr. Rixley, and the 
 very decided opinion conceived by Mr. Bolton that he was an 
 exceedingly amiable man, the interval which must of necessity 
 elapse before they parted seemed longer than the curate of 
 Crumpton knew how to employ. 
 
 The statement made by Mrs. Lambert respecting the estrange- 
 ment between the two brothers had been very completel}'" con- 
 firmed by the demeanour of Mr. Bixley, and, moreover, the fact 
 that the so-recently-heard-of niece was endowed with the noble 
 property which, but for her, must of necessity have belonged 
 to himself and his children, caused Mr. Bolton to feel that the 
 offering to present this obnoxious young intruder to her un- 
 known uncle was but an unpromising device for enabling them 
 to get through the remainder of the day in a manner as little 
 painful to all parties as might be. 
 
 But a very few moments' reflLcLiou convinced the worthy 
 
THE YOUXG HEIHES3. 121 
 
 curate that, however little profitable, or hovrever little pleasant 
 it might be to bring- these near, but unknown, relatives together, 
 it was decidedly his duty to do it. All the circumstances of 
 Helen's real position recurred to him. He remembered all the 
 particulars related to him by Mrs. Lambert, as well as the per- 
 sonal confession which had been blended with the narrative ; and 
 he felt that, whatever might have been the conduct of his very 
 worthless parishioner to his brother, it could not exonerate 
 Helen's uncle from the obvious duty of protecting so near a 
 relative, under circumstances which so clearly showed that such 
 protection was very greatly required. 
 
 After the silence of a minute or two, passed in meditation as 
 to the best manner of stating the case, Mr. Bolton said, "I feel 
 considerable reluctance, Mr. Rixley, to the taking advantage of 
 the accidental circumstances which have broug-ht us too-ether, 
 in order to dictate, or seem to dictate, to you tlie line of conduct 
 towards your young niece which I think you ought to pursue; 
 and believe me, nothing but the persuasion that it is my duty, 
 would induce me to do it." 
 
 " I am persuaded of it, Sir," replied Mr. E-ixley, gently, but 
 somewhat coldly. " Permit me, however, before you enter upon 
 the subject," he continued, " to make you aware that the cir- 
 cumstances which led to the estrangement between my brother 
 and ra^^self, were of no common kind, nor are they such as I could 
 easily explain in their full extent to anyone. I have, moreover, 
 another observation to make, v/hich is, that my brother's richly 
 endowed heiress cannot by possibility require any sort of assist- 
 ance which it is in my power to give. She will, of course, 
 become a ward of Chancery, and proper persons will be appointed 
 to take care of her. Were she poor, instead of rich, Mr. Bolton 
 I might possibly feel, notwithstanding all that has jiassed, that 
 it was my duty as far as my very limited means would permit, 
 to assist her." 
 
 " Bear w^ith me patiently, my dear Sir, even if I take the liberty 
 of saying that I differ from you entirel3^ The very peculiar 
 advantages which both nature and fortune have bestowed upon 
 your niece, render her greatly more in need of your protection 
 than she would be were she without them." 
 
 "I suspect there must have been some fallacy in the reasoniuo- 
 Vv'hich leads to so startling a conclusion," replied Mr. Rixley, 
 with a quiet smile. " I should think," he added, " that the same 
 protection under v/hicli this young lady has been living since 
 the death of her mother miglit easily be secured to her still. I 
 
122 THE YOUXG HEIRESS. 
 
 know that her late father's ref;idence here has been by no incans 
 constant, or even regular, in its periodical rccurrcnco; for 
 though I have not seen him, I have heard of him frcquentl3^" 
 
 This speech embarrassed the good curate exceedingly. He 
 had no intention %Yhatever of communicating the confession of 
 the unhappy Mrs. Lambert to any one. He could nob doubt 
 that it had been made to him solely for the purpose of inducmg 
 him to find a more fitting protector for Helen than she herself 
 could be; and could he have obtained this protection from her 
 uncle without disclosing the principal reason which caused him 
 to seek it, he would have been relieved from a very painful task. 
 But he now saw, and felt, that this was impossible; and he, 
 .therefore, though not without great reluctance, distinctly stated 
 to Mr. Rixley the reasons which made the removal of Helen 
 from the neighbourhood an event so very greatly to be desired 
 for her. 
 
 Mr. Rixley plainly showed, both by his heightened complexion 
 and his kindling- eye, that the depravity which could thus con- 
 sign a daughter to the charge of a woman so circumstanced 
 was felt by him as no light addition to all the foregone causes 
 of indignation, which for years had been accumulating in 
 his memory against his brother. 
 
 He positively shuddered as the clear statement of the facts 
 develoiDed to him all the hard corruption of heart which it was 
 so well calculated to prove, and Mr. Bolton flattered himself 
 that he had conquered. 
 
 Great, therefore, was his disappointment, when, withdrawing 
 his hands, with which for a moment he had covered his face, 
 Mr. Rixley said, " What you tell me. Sir, is very terrible, and I 
 wish I could have died without hearing it ! Unhappily I wanted 
 no further proof of depravity in this man to justify the estrange- 
 ment between us, which I have so vainly attempted to conquer, 
 as far as my own feelings were concerned, for long, long years 
 of life. It was his conduct to our angelic mother which first 
 turned my heart against him ; in comparison to which his 
 conduct towards myself I can truly say as counted as nothing', 
 although it has been marked v/ith unceasing hostility on his 
 part. And now, when I hoped that such painful — such guilty 
 — feelino-s miQ:ht be forirotten, and buried for ever, I liave the 
 misfortune of learning what is, perhaps, more atrocious than all 
 which has gone before it! But I ought to beg your pardon for 
 this weakness of lamentation and murmuring*. It would have 
 been fitter that I should have received this intelligence without 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. . l23 
 
 making any commentary on it. Bat I am sorry to perceive 
 that we draw a very different practical inference from it. It is 
 evident that 3'oa think this crowning- trait of infamy on tlie 
 part of my brother ought to induce me to take his daughter to 
 my heart and my hearth, and make her the companion of my 
 own girl. Mr. Bolton, I cannot do this — it is repugnant to my 
 feelings, and alarming to my conscience. How dare I bring an 
 unhappy young creature, who has passed every hour of her life 
 in such companionship, to be the daily and hourly associate of 
 my innocent child ? I dare not, I cannot do it ! " 
 
 " If such be your view of the case. Sir," replied Mr. Bolton, 
 gravely, " I will say no more. Heaven tempers the wind to 
 the shorn lamb ; and the pure and innocent creature who unfor- 
 tunately inspires such feelings will not be the victim of them. 
 I am as full of hope as you are of fear concerning her : and we 
 will now let the subject drop. This is a heavy day for you, Mr. 
 Bixley; nor is it without pain to me. But there are many 
 hours of it to be got through yet ; and I think it would do us 
 both good if we could contrive to get a little air and sunshine 
 without committing the obvious indecorum of being seen by 
 the villagers. But I think if you would trust yourself to ray 
 guidance, I could take you down to the beach by a path that I 
 have myself formed from the bottom of my garden, in which it 
 is extrem.ely unlikely that we should meet anyone." 
 
 "The doing' so would be a great relief to me," replied the 
 other, " for I confess to 3'ou that my head aches very severely." 
 A statement to the truth of which the pallid countenance of 
 the speaker gave ample testimony. 
 
 Mr. Bolton immediately rose, and prepared to lead the way; 
 but Mr. Rixley retained his seat, and made a movement with 
 his hand, which indicated that he had something more which 
 he wished to say before they set out. Mr. Bolton obeyed it; 
 and then, with a little hesitation and a little embarrassment, his 
 companion said, "Do not, if you can help it, my dear Sir, con- 
 sider me either capricious or inconsistent, if I tell you that noi'j 
 I should wish to see my niece. Till the question of her becom- 
 ing one of my family had been fairly discussed and finally 
 decided, I wished to avoid this ; as, otherwise, my averseness to 
 receiving' her might have been attributed to personal prejudice 
 asainst her. But there is now no dano-er that vou should 
 so mistake me, and therefore, by your good leave, I will see 
 her." 
 
 Though, after what liad passed, Mr. Bolton was inclined to 
 
124 • THE YOUNG nEIRESS. 
 
 think tliis a very useless ceremony, and only calculated to pro- 
 duce pain to poor Helen, he, neyerthelcss, did not feel justified 
 in refusing- to do "\vliat\Yas asked of him; and being very sure 
 that he should find the unconscious heiress with his kind-hearted 
 ^vife, he ^Yent to the usual sitting-room of that truly-estimable 
 personage, and found Helen, as he expected, sitting close beside 
 her, and looking all the better for the consolatory talk to which 
 slie had been listening'. 
 
 Durino- the short interval which had intervened between 
 leaving the uncle and finding the niece, Mr. Bolton had decided 
 that he would not as yet communicate to Helen the great change 
 ^Yllich had taken place in her condition. He was well aware, 
 indeed, that no form of words wdiich he could use in announcing 
 this, could possibly convey to the young girl the immensity of 
 the change which awaited her; but he wished her uncle to see ' 
 her unchanged in look and manner by any such startling an- 
 nouncement; and all he said was, "Come with me, my dear 
 Helen ; your uncle wishes to see you." 
 
 " Have you heard anything about William, Sir ? " was her 
 reply. 
 
 " Go, Helen ! go, my dear," said Mrs. Bolton, gently, but in 
 a tone that had some authority in it. " I am very glad," she 
 added, " that he wishes to see you. He is the nearest relation 
 you have left, my dear child, and it is greatly to be desired that 
 he should take some interest in j'ou." 
 
 "No! William is the nearest relation I have left, and no 
 uncle in the whole wide world can ever take so much care of mc 
 as he would do, if he would but come home again ! " exclaimed 
 Helen, somewhat vehemently. 
 
 "Come wnth me, my dear," said Mr. Bolton, extending his 
 hand towards her. " It is not behaving well to keep your uncle 
 w^aiting." 
 
 Helen's onl^^ reply to this was instantly rising from her chair, 
 and putting her hand in that of Mr, Bolton, Avhicli was extended 
 towards her; but not a word more was spoken between them 
 before the parlour door w^as opened, and Helen found herself 
 standing in the presence of her uncle. 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 125 
 
 CHAPTER XVITL 
 
 The heart of the young girl beat painfully; but that of the 
 relative before whom she was brought to present herself ap- 
 peared, by his attitude and occupation, to be in a state of very 
 perfect composure. 
 
 Mr, Rixley had taken up a book as soon as he had found 
 himself alone ; this might, in some degree, have been a matter 
 of habit, but it was also a fair indication of the real state of his 
 feelings towards the child he had sent for. His reason for 
 sending for her was precisely what he had stated to Mr. Bolton. 
 He felt no personal interest in her, and he would willingly have 
 altogether forgotten her existence; a state of mind to which he 
 flattered himself that his family, as well as himself, would very 
 speedily attain : nor did he feel any misgivings as to the pos- 
 sibility that the approaching interview would make any 
 alteration either in his wishes or intentions. 
 
 But in this he was mistaken. 
 
 Helen was very pale when she entered the room, and a 
 feeling made up of one-third of j^outhful timidity, and two- 
 thirds of averseness to the interview, caused her to show nothino- 
 of her magnificent eyes, save their long* lashes; moreover, 
 instead of approaching her uncle, she stopped short, and stood 
 immovably still, within one step of the door. 
 
 It would be difficult to do jastice to the feelings with which 
 Mr. Rixley gazed at her. 
 
 In the first place, he had expected to see a little girl; but 
 Helen, thongh little more than thirteen years old, was already 
 as tall as the majority of women ; and though very slight, 
 there was an air of quiet, graceful firmness in her carriage, 
 which, even more than her height, prevented her from havino*, 
 in any degree, the appearance of a child. But this difference 
 between what he saw, and what he expected to see, could only 
 produce surprise; and it was a far different emotion that Mr. 
 Rixley experienced. It was not like the effect of looking upon 
 what was new to his eyes, but upon what was familiar. Most 
 familiar, and most dear, did the features of Helen appear to her 
 uncle ; for they were the features of his mother. Most wonder- 
 fully striking, both iu form a;id iu expression, was the reseii;- 
 
126 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 blance between his almost idolized mother and this lovely girl; 
 and it was the more striking" to him from the fact, that the late 
 Mrs. Rixley had not only married at a very early age, but had 
 retained her bcailty in an extraordinary degree to the time of 
 her death. 
 
 Such a resemblance to a mother, so freshly remembered, 
 must have produced a strong effect on most men, especially 
 ■when suddenly appearing before them for the first time; but 
 in this case, it was no ordinary amount of feeling that waa 
 awakened. All the most interesting' circumstances of Mr. 
 Rixley's life had been influenced by, and mixed up with his 
 mother. The untoward, and early-displayed temper of his 
 brother, had of necessity led to such a difference in their 
 mother's feelings towards them, as bound the younger to her 
 with more than common love and devotion, while it produced 
 feelings in the elder so nearly approaching* hatred both to 
 mother and brother, as to poison the peace of both. 
 
 The consciousness that this gentle mother, and ever-faithful 
 friend, had often endured a sort of domestic martyrdom while 
 watching over his interests, hda never left him, and her image 
 lived as freshly in his memory as if he had lost her but yester- 
 da}^ It V\^as not very extraordinary, therefore, that this sudden, 
 and most unexpected appearance should completely overpower 
 him. For one moment he looked at her, as if actually gazing 
 on a supernatural appearance, and there was a wildness in his 
 eye that almost partook of terror. But in the next, he burst 
 into tears, and, rushing towards her, caught her in his arms, 
 and pressed her to his heart, as if he had found a long-lost 
 daughter of his own. " Oli, my child! my child!" he ex- 
 claimed. " How came I to forget tliat, though you were his 
 daughter, you were the grandchild of my angelic mother ! — 
 Helen! dearest, dearest Helen! You are her living image! — 
 For God's sake do not hate me ! — If you will let me, my sweet 
 girl, I will be a father to you ! My dear Anne will be a sister, 
 and you w^ill love your aunt, Helen, even if you cannot love mo, 
 for everybody loves her. — But I have frightened you, my dear 
 one! Fiightened you by my vehemence! — you will not, you 
 cannot love me ! " 
 
 " But I do love you. I love you already ! " cried Helen, 
 earnestly. " But you you must not weep because you have 
 found me. I cannot bear to see your tears. And yet I love 
 you the better for them. I see," she added, wdiile her own 
 tears flowed still faster than his, " I see that you loved your 
 
THE YOUXG HEIRESS. 127 
 
 rnotlicr, just as I loved mine. For I can sit and cry by the 
 hour tooether when I think of her ! But indeed — and indeed — 
 I -^ught not to ciy now, for I feel that God has sent a great 
 blessing to me, but though I do cry, I am verv, very thank- 
 ful ! " 
 
 This most unexpected scene had passed before the eyes of 
 Mr. and Mrs. Bolton with such astounding vehemence and 
 rapidih^, that for a moment they both looked bewildered; but 
 nothing could be more genuine, nothing more cordial than the 
 joyful congratulations which followed it. 
 
 Mr. Bolton, who but a few short minutes before had -felt so 
 heavy at heart from the failure of all his efforts to propitiate 
 the good offices of the only person who could properly under- 
 take the charge of the desolate young heiress, now looked and 
 spoke as if every care he had in the world had been removed, 
 and the two clergymen cordially shook hands together as if for 
 the first time. 
 
 And truly ifc was for the first time that they had done so with 
 any real and cordial sympathy of feeling ; for on the only sub- 
 ject of personal interest that was in common between thern, their 
 opinions and their feelings had hitherto been greatly at variance. 
 Mr. Bolton's earnest desire being that the personal charge of 
 the orphan heiress should be undertaken by her uncle, while 
 Mr. Bixley's earnest desire was that he might have nothing 
 whatever to do with her. 
 
 Now, however, it speedily became evident that all their 
 views, hopes, wishes, and intentions on this subject were in the 
 most perfect accord, and the intercourse between them became 
 cordial and unembarrassed according'l3\ Nor was the gentle- 
 hearted Mrs. Bolton in any degree less pleased than her husband 
 by this additional gleam of sunshine which seemed to have 
 fallen like a ray from heaven upon the head of the so lately 
 desolate Helen, and no one that had looked ujDon the little 
 party, that now sat so lovingly together, would have easily 
 believed that the kindly feelings so legible in the eyes of all 
 v/ere not yet half an hour old. 
 
 It was strange that the sudden change of purpose which had 
 been so seemingly resolute as that of Mr. Rixley's, should bring 
 with it so much deep-felt delight; but never did a fine expres- 
 sive countenance more unequivocally express happiness than his 
 did as his eyes fondly rested npon his beautiful niece. " And 
 your name is her name ! " he exclaimed joyously. " How little 
 did I anticipate the pleasure which this gives me ! " 
 
128 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 "Was your dear mother's name, Helen, then?" said his 
 niece innocently. " And it was the name of my mother, too," 
 she added. * 
 
 " ISTo, my child," replied her uncle, "her name was not 
 Helen, but it was Beauchamp, and your name is Beauchamp," 
 
 "No, it isn't !" returned Helen, looking disappointed. "My 
 name is Helen Rixley." 
 
 " She knows nothing about it as yet," said Mr. Bolton, reply- 
 ing to the inquiring glance of his new acquaintance. " There 
 has been no time to tell her. When I carried your permission 
 for her to come to you, I thought much more of that than of 
 the . . . than of anything else, Mr, Rixley." 
 
 "I thank you. I believe everybody has behaved much better 
 in this business than myself. I thank 3'ou much for letting me 
 have the pleasure of announcing the real state of the case to 
 Miss Beauchamp. For you are Miss Beauchamp, my sweet 
 Helen, and you inherit the property, as well as the name of your 
 grandmother's family." 
 
 "Do I? " said Helen, looking' rather puzzled. "Why do not 
 you inherit it, uncle ? You are her son, and I am only her 
 grand-daughter." 
 
 " You are a bad lawyer, Helen. As the child of my mother's 
 eldest son, you inherit the property by your father's will." 
 
 " Oh ! that is the law, is it ? " she replied. " And I suppose 
 the dear old Warren House is what you call the property, and 
 if that is the case I hope you will sometimes come and live 
 there with me, — and Mr. Bolton, and Mrs. Bolton, and all the 
 dear children will very often come and see us. I know they 
 will, because they are always so very, very kind. And when 
 dear William comes back, he, and I, and dear good Sarah Lam- 
 bert will all be as happy as the day is long ! " 
 
 A shade seemed to pass over the countenance of Mr. Rixley 
 at the mention of William, and a deeper shade still over that 
 of Mr. Bolton at the name of Sarah Ijarabert; for they both 
 felt that there were difficulties to be overcome before the young 
 heiress could be established with all the decorum as well as 
 with all the liberality and refinement which her position required. 
 
 A elance was cxchan2:ed between them, but for a moment 
 they were both silent, and then Mr. Rixley said, "You may 
 depend upon it, my dearest Plelen, that all those who will have 
 the management of your affairs before you become of nge, will 
 bo anxious to do everything in their power to make you comfort- 
 able and happy. But you have a great deal moi'G to learn 
 
THE YOUNG HEIEESS. 129 
 
 about your own affairs before we shall be able to make you fully 
 compreliend the great change which has taken place in youi* 
 situation. For instance, my dear child, though it is quite true 
 the Warren House has become your property, you will, I think, 
 young as you are, agree with mo in thinking that it will not be 
 the most proper and suitable residence as your home, when I 
 tell you that you are also become the posessor of a very noble 
 mansion called Beauchamp Park, where your ancestors have 
 lived for many, many generations, and where your grandmother, 
 through whom you inherit the property, was born. This 
 Warren House was bought by your father, comparatively 
 speaking, a very few j-cars ago." 
 
 "Well! lam sorry for that," replied Helen, with a gentle 
 sigh, "because I don't think I shall ever like any other house 
 so well — particularly the schoolroom, you know, Mr. Bolton, 
 where we always were so very quite and comfortable, William, 
 and I, and dear Sarah Lambert! However," she added, "I 
 believe it would be very silly to care very much about a house. 
 Of course we should grow to love any house, if we had the 
 people we loved with us — and that I shall always have, shall 
 I not, dear uncle ? " 
 
 This was a very embarrassing question, and the more so 
 because Mr. Rixley was a very sincere man, and would have 
 found it difiBcult to say " Yes " when he meant " No." And 
 lie certainly was in no doubt as to the fact that it would not do 
 for a young lady, ag'ed thirteen and a half, the heiress of the 
 Beauchamps of Beauchamp Park, with a clear revenue of ten 
 thousand a year, to set up housekeeping with a runaway boy if 
 she could find him, even though he was the natural son of her 
 f;ither, or with a nurse who had been that dissolute father's 
 mistress. 
 
 All therefore that he could reply to this eager burst of affec- 
 tion was to tell her, kindly, but vaguely, tliat he thought she 
 had a good chance, wherever she was, of being loved by the 
 people around her, and therefore there was little doubt of her 
 loving them in return. 
 
 But vague as this was, it was all he could venture to say, and 
 Mr. Bolton spared him the embarrassment of discussing the 
 arrangements for her future home at this early period of their 
 acquaintance, by observing that it was time for them to set off 
 upon their projected walk, if they meant to reach the pictu- 
 resque spot he had mentioned ; a suggestion to which Mr. 
 Rixley readily agreed, and the two gentlemen set off together 
 
 10 
 
130 TIIE YOUNG HEIEESS. 
 
 ill a miicli better state of mind for tasting tlic boautics of 
 nature than if they had done so before the introduction of 
 Helen to her uncle. JSTeYcrtlieless they had to converse on 
 topics that \ve;re in no trifling degree painful to both. The idea 
 that this dear and precious child should have been beguiled 
 into lovinof her father's mistress with all the tender affection of 
 a warm young heart, was very painful to Mr. E/ixley, and ho 
 expressed his grief and indignation strongly. 
 
 " I can neither blame your feelings, my dear Sir, nor be sur- 
 prised at the strength of them," said Mr. Bolton. " But let 
 us be thankful," he added, " that you have been prevailed upon 
 to see this dear child, and that her beautiful features have 
 achieved the effect of recalling your honoured mother's image." 
 
 His companion was silent for a moment, but was evidently, 
 and even strongly affected by these words; and then said, "Yes 
 Mr. Bolton, I am thankful — very deeply thankful — and the 
 more so when I remember how very near I was to passing by 
 on the other side. Nothing will satisfy me now,'-' he contiuuecl, 
 "but removins: her from the neio'hbourhood of this woman at 
 once, and receiving her as a member- of my own family." 
 
 "And that," returned the greatly comforted Mr. Bolton, 
 earnestl}^ " that is precisely what I have ventured to wish, and 
 to hope, from within about an hour after I made your acquaint- 
 ance. And take my word for it, IMr. Jlixley, the more you see 
 and know of this poor child, the more you will rejoice at her 
 having become known to you. Fortunately there can, I pre- 
 sume, be no diflSculty in constituting' you her personal as well as 
 her natural guardian ? " 
 
 "No, there w^ill be no difficulty about that, I daresay," 
 returned Mr. Rixley. "The funeral of her father is to take 
 place to-morrow," ho continued, " and on the following day I 
 pui'pose setting off on my return to London, and will take her 
 with me. Our home there is not a splendid one, for we arc 
 not rich people, Mr. Bolton, but I think we shall be able to 
 make her comfortable, and she will have the advantage of 
 being within reach of the best masters. ^loreover, if you will 
 venture to trust a father's report, you may have the satisfaction 
 of believing that your young- favourite will find a nice sort of 
 sister in my daughter. But you must not take all this upon 
 trust, my good friend, but must com.c up to sec liow we are 
 going on, with your own eyes. We ow^e you much, Mr. Bolton, 
 and I should be sorry to think that Helen should not still bene- 
 fit by your friendship." 
 
THE YOUNG HEIEESS. 131 
 
 Their walk was both long and plcasanf;-, for their conversation 
 was in no clanger of flagging for want of matter, and proved 
 equally agreeable and satisfactory to both parties. 
 
 On their return to the parsonage, however, they found that 
 poor Helen was again- plunged in very bitter grief not only 
 Ironi the prolonged absence of her brother, but on account of 
 the very unsatisfactory tidings which she had at length received 
 from Mrs. Lambert. 
 
 Her nurse, who really seemed almost as anxious as herself, 
 had promised, when she parted with her on the preceding even- 
 ing, to get one of the many fishermen who lived in the village, 
 to make inquiries in the town of Falmouth as to whether Wil- 
 liam had been seen there, for it had occurred to her as probable 
 that if he had left his father's house with the hope of finding* 
 some emjDloyment which might maintain him out of it, Fal- 
 mouth would be the place where he would in the first instance 
 be likely to seek for it. 
 
 And this conjecture, as it seemed, had been perfectly justified 
 by the result, for her envoy had returned with the intelligence, 
 that the poor lad had been seen and recognized at Falmouth 
 while in earnest conversation with a party of sailors at the 
 port, during the afteruoou of the day in which he had left tho 
 Warren House. 
 
 But her intelligence went no further, and could therefore 
 scarcely be said to have afforded his anxious sister any consola- 
 tion at all; for, as she truly said, he could not have remained 
 many hours in Falmouth without hearing of the event which 
 they expected would cause his immediate return upon his 
 becoming acquainted with it, and his not returning proved only 
 too plainly that he had not remained there long enough for the 
 intelligence to have reached the town before he had quitted it, 
 which reasoning, together with the profession of the persons 
 with whom he had been seen conversing, went far towards 
 proving that he had probably embarked and put to sea before 
 the intelligence which it was hoped would cause his return 
 could have reached him. Should this indeed be the case, how 
 terribly distant, and how terribly vague, did her hope of seeing" 
 him again become ! 
 
 This idea, which was much too v/ell founded to be reasonably 
 combated, affected her so deeply, that Mrs. Bolton thought it 
 would be best for all parties that her uncle should not see her 
 under the influence of a sorrow so vehement, and in which it 
 was so perfectly impossible that he could sympathise; and 
 
 10—2 
 
132 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 therefore, at the earnest persaasion of her kind hostess, the 
 weeping 5''oung heiress again Liid her head upon lier pillow, as 
 little mindful of her newly acquired importance in the world, as 
 if slio had been three 3'ears old, instead of thirteen and a half. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 On the morning of the funeral, Mrs. Bolton carefully guarded 
 the door of Helen's room, in the hope that the poor girl might 
 remain unconscious of what was going on till the ceremony 
 was over, w4iich, as it had been fixed for an early hour, she 
 thought might bs managed without any great difficulty. Not, 
 indeed, that j\Irs, Bolton so little understood either the feelings 
 or the character of Helen as to suppose that she would either 
 feel or affect any vehement grief on the occasion ; but she knew 
 that the poor girl had suffered, and was still sufl'ering greatly 
 from the absence of her brother, and even the scene of the pre- 
 ceding day with her newly-found uncle, though soothing and 
 consolatory in no ordinary degree, had evidently caused her con- 
 siderable agitation, and Mrs. Bolton was not at all mistaken in 
 thinking that the more quiet she was kept during this last day 
 at Crumpton, the more fit she would be for her journey to London 
 on the morrow. 
 
 But fate did not second the kind intentions of the curate's wife, 
 for within a few minutes after the arrival of the professional 
 officials, with their hearse, and their mourners, at the Warren 
 House, the quiet mansion of the village priest became the scene 
 of a tumult which might have aroused a sounder sleeper than 
 Helen. 
 
 She was awakened by the noise of many voices all speaking 
 vehemently together, and started up in her bed to listen ; for it 
 instantly occurred to her that some news had arrived respecting 
 her brother. She sprang instantly from her bed, dressed her- 
 self with the least possible delay, and, totally forgetting Mrs. 
 Bolton's gentle injunction to remain quietly in her room till she 
 cume for her, rushed down the stairs, and on reaching the little 
 hall at the bottom of tliem, found herself amidst a group of men, 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 133 
 
 two or tliree of whom were sailors ; and one of these was the 
 favourite boatman of her deceased father. 
 
 Mr. Bolton and Mr. Rixley, who had been at breakfast in the 
 parlour when the noise began, were now in the midst of them, 
 and evidently endeavouring to comprehend what they were 
 saying, which, from their all talking' together, was no easy 
 task. 
 
 " Is it about William ? Does anybody know anything about 
 William ? " cried Helen, stopping short on the last stair but one, 
 and thereby enabling herself, poor child, to be both seen and 
 heard by those to whom she addressed herself. 
 
 The boisterous, and now brutal-looking fellow, called by his 
 late patron. Commodore Jack, and known in the village as John 
 Cummings, was the individual who undertook to answer her. 
 
 "Know anything about him?" he roared in reply, in the 
 stupendous voice which he prided himself in making heard in 
 the stiffest gale that could blow. " I know anything about him ? 
 I think we know enough ! The infernal imj^ got up in the 
 middle of the night, and murdered his father, and then jumped 
 out of the window and started for Falmouth, where he got a 
 berth on board some vessel that was short of hands, and he is 
 now, doubtless, hugging himself for his exploit on the high seas. 
 He thinks he has cheated the hangman, mayhap, but he will 
 be caught, if there is justice either in heaven or earth, and I 
 shall have the glory of seeing him hung before I die." 
 
 That these dreadful words were listened to with horror and 
 dismay may easily be credited, but for a moment it was in awe- 
 struck silence. And the next sound that was heard was that 
 caused by the fall of Helen from the place where she stood, upon 
 the stone floor of the hall. 
 
 There were by this time many persons assembled in this little 
 hall, including* the whole of the small household, with the ex- 
 ception of the nurse and her charges, with Mr. and Mrs. Bolton 
 and their guest ; but the majority of those who already filled 
 the room, and many more who were endeavouring to force their 
 way into it from without, consisted of the villagers, particularly 
 that portion of them who gained their living as fishermen, and 
 as sailors. 
 
 Several of this motley throng made a movement towards the 
 prostrate and insensible Helen; but it was her uncle who first 
 reached her, and raising hei' in his arms, carried her into the 
 parlour. 
 
 Mrs. BoUoa followed them, but the master of the house re- 
 
134 THE YOUXG HEIRESS. 
 
 mained amidst his boisterous guests, who were greatly too much 
 excited to listen to his gentle remonstrances and entreaties, that 
 they would retire. 
 
 Finding that it was utterly impossible to get rid of them, he 
 addressed himself to John Curamings, and in an accent of pas- 
 toral authorit}^, desired to know for what reason he thus forced 
 himself into his house, and on what ground he had dared to blast 
 the character of an absent, but most estimable young man, by 
 uttering the wild statement which had produced so alarming an 
 effect on his young sister ? 
 
 Notwithstanding the vehement excitement of tlie rude fellov/ 
 he addressed, Mr. Bolton was too much respected in his parish 
 for any inhabitant of it to answer him uncivilly, and even Com- 
 modore Jack took his hat off as he replied, " Please j'our rever- 
 ence, I should not do what I am doing in regard to coming here, 
 nor I should not say what I have said in regard to the wicked- 
 ness that has been done, if I had not warrant for it. I trust jouv 
 reverence will not be putting my late honoured master and 
 patron under the ground this blessed day, before you have sent 
 for the coroner and had the body properly examined; and 
 saving your presence. Sir, it will bo at your own peril if you 
 do, for as sure as my name's John Caramings, we'll have him 
 up again." 
 
 Mr. Bolton felt puzzled and looked distressed. " Will you 
 tell me," said he, "on what ground it is that you have con- 
 ceived this very strange and improbable idea ? Mr. Foster, who 
 is a very skilful practitioner, has seen the bod}^, and if it had 
 exhibited any appearance to justify the strange idea you have 
 conceived, you may be very sure that he would have perceived 
 it. Will you tell me, Cummings, what it was that first put this 
 thought into your head ! " 
 
 "Yes, your reverence, you have all the right to ask, and I 
 hav'n't the leastest objection to answer. The reason why I 
 think the sudden death of my late patron and master was nowise 
 natural is this. The day before he died, or was put to death, 
 he passed above ten hours in my company in his boat, and if I 
 ever seed a man, gentle or simple, in the very topmost enjoy- 
 ment of health and strength it was Squire Rixley that day." 
 
 " I have no doubt that your statement is perfectly true, John 
 Cummings," replied Mr. Bolton, " but take my word for it, that 
 no medical man would tell you that he was the less likely to 
 die of apoplexy on that account. On the contrary, indeed, I 
 think it very likely that many persons miglit think ten hours of 
 
THE tOUXG HEIRESS. 135 
 
 exercise, and pcrliaps of violent exertion, for the sea was rong-L, 
 aiKl your master was famous you know, for ncvci* sparing liim- 
 self — many people, I say, mig-ht think this very likely to be tlio 
 cause of the lit that carried him off." 
 
 " God bless your heart, Mr. Bolton ! But you, Sir, d'ye see, 
 asking your pardon, are a parson, and sea-work that might 
 seem likely enough to a gentleman of j^our cloth to be darnation 
 difficult and dangerous, would come like child's play to such a 
 gentleman as Mi\ Rixley. And then, Sir, by your leave, 
 in the next place, I can't find out that Mr, Foster, who 
 is no doubt of it, a firsfc-rato gentleman in his way, I 
 can't find out that he ever did, as one may say, examine 
 the dead gentleman at all. He could not stay, as Rebecca 
 Watkins tells me, above a minute or two in the room, and that 
 minute or two most likely came very quick upon the death, and 
 everybody knows that it is not just at first like, that the 
 symptoms of poisoning shows themselves, and that I, for one, 
 know from more tlian hearsay, for I have seen with my own 
 eyes a dead man that was poisoned, both soon after the death, 
 and two days later, and the difference was no joke, 1 can tell 
 
 you." 
 
 " But why, if you have had this notion in 3^our head, did you 
 not mention it earlier?" said Mr. Bolton. "Only as late as 
 yesterday morning Mr. Foster might, I know, have seen the 
 body without any inconvenience ; bat now the undertakers have 
 finished all their preparations, and such an examination could 
 not take place at present, without producing a very disagree- 
 able effect. Mr. Rixlej^'s own brother is here for the purpose 
 of attending the funeral, and such a circumstance could not 
 take place without shocking him greatly." 
 
 " I can't help that. Sir," said the resolute John Ciimmings, 
 " I hope I should be as loath as another to shock any gentle- 
 man's feelings, v.'ithout due cause for it, and as to the charge of 
 delay on my part, Mr. Bolton, I think I can explain the reason 
 for my not having* any suspicion at first, and then letting the 
 suspicion get hold of me afterwards. The reason was this, 
 Sir : We all of us, we Crumpton people I mean, know Rebecca 
 Watkins, who has been, off and on, a servant at the Warren 
 House for years and years, and a thorough good sort of body 
 she is, and one vrhose word I would take as surely as that of 
 anybody I know, for there is nothing like falsehood in her. 
 And she it was, please your reverence, ^Yho first put this question 
 into my head." 
 
136 THE YOUXG IIEITvESS. 
 
 "What, quosfion?" said Mr. Eollon, ratlicr impai^en(^3^ 
 "You surely forget, Jolm Cum min<^s, that the funeral of your 
 Jate master is very indecently stopped by the strange conduct 
 you are pursuing." 
 
 " I forget nothing, your reverence," replied the man, "One 
 thing that I can never forget is, that let him have been what ho 
 mif^ht to others, he was ever the sailor's friend. I fcn-o-ct 
 jiothmg, your reverence; and if you had heard Rebecca 
 AVatkins say what I heard her say this morning, I greatly 
 misdoubt if you would ever have forgotten it, either. We were 
 all, that is a many of us, talking together upon this sudden 
 and awful change from all the might of manhood, caring not a 
 button for the stiffest breeze that could blow, and the horrid 
 stillness of a corpse stretched helpless on the bed of death ! 
 ' Well now, to be sure,' said Rebecca Watkins, ' there must have 
 been something queer going on among 'em all at the Warren 
 House. There was the squire, the very day before the night of 
 his death, going down to the beach, and into his dear boat, 
 looking for all the world as if he intended to live for ever; and 
 there was that dainty boy William, with his handsome face, and 
 his eyes full of tears, making much of his sister, for all the 
 world as if he expected that he never should see her again. 
 Well then, what follows next? why who should I meet upon 
 the cellar stairs, just as I was going to set off home for the 
 night, but William ? I axed him if I should draw some beer for 
 him, for he looked as white as a sheet, and I truly thought that 
 he had worn himself out w^ith his walkinsr, and hadn't streno-th 
 enough to get down to the beer barrel and up again. But he 
 only seemed to want to get rid of me, and said Thankey, 
 thankc}', Rebecca, it's your going home time. I wou'd rather 
 draw the beer myself,' and then, your reverence, she went on to 
 tell us that when she went back to her work in the mornino- 
 the first news she heard was, that Master William had let him- 
 self down from the window by the help of his sheets tied toge- 
 ther, and was off, nobody knowcd where. And then the next 
 thing that come upon her was finding the master dead in his 
 bed." 
 
 " Startling events both, no doubt of it, John Cummlngs. But 
 I see not why you should fancy that there was any connection 
 between them," replied Mr. Bolton. 
 
 "You have not quite heard all Rebecca's story 3'et," resumed 
 the sailor, doggedh'. "I don't rightly remember how tiic 
 matter came out, whether the people about got to asking her 
 
THE Y0U2>G HEIRESS. 137 
 
 question.^, oi' wlicUier it come onfc becaiir^e her heart wns too fuU 
 to keep it in; but before slic finished, she gave ns plain enough 
 to understand tliat there had been sharp and bitter words be- 
 tween tlie father and son. And now I have said my say about 
 my poor master; he was the sailor's Priend, bat I won't answer 
 for his never having done or said what he had better not. By 
 Rebecca Watkins' account, who can hear throngh a key-hole, I 
 suppose, as well as another, the squire was in a passion with the 
 boy for some provoking trick or another, and then he twitted 
 him with being base-born, which he didn't ought to have done, 
 for certain, but tlic young chap, she says, was downright mad 
 with rage, and slio says, too, that if she don't greatly mistake, 
 she heard him as good as threaten his life. Well, Sir, and 
 what happens within a trifle more than twenty-four hours after- 
 wards? Why, the father is found dead in his bed, and the son, 
 after jumping out of the window, and scrambling his way by 
 hook cr by crook to Falmouth, is seen talking with sailors on 
 the qua}', and I'll bet fifty to one that he is sailing away by this 
 time to the other side of the world, perhaps." 
 
 This long statement, which, though rapidly uttered, was pro- 
 nounced with great distinctness, had been listened to with greedy 
 ears, by the thick packed crowd who had forced their way into 
 Mr. Bolton's hall, and a sort of groan was uttered at its con- 
 clusion which very plainly testified the deep interest which they 
 all took in the narrative, as well as the general persuasion that 
 what the speaker had uttered deserved the deepest attention. 
 
 Mr. Bolton was instantly aware of this fact ; and thoroughly 
 well knowing the self-willed temperament of the population, he 
 felt that, however absurd he believed their suspicions to be, it 
 would not do to attempt to extinguish them either by the voice 
 of authority, or by the reasonings of common sense. After the 
 pause of a moment he replied, " My good friends, I think you 
 all know me too well to believe that I should be less anxious to 
 discover the truth in this matter, than 3'ourselves. I should not 
 be doing my duty, however, if I concealed from you that I con- 
 sider you to be utterly wrong and mistaken in your suspicions. 
 I know William Rixley well, better, believe me, than it is pos- 
 sible you can do, and this knowlegde renders it, I may say, im- 
 possible for me to believe him guilty of the crime you all seem 
 disposed to lay to his charge ; for if this were not the case, I 
 feel sure that you would indignantly reject such an imputation,' 
 thrown as it is upon an absent boy who has no power to defend 
 himself." 
 
138 TfiE YOUNG nEIPtESS. 
 
 "We clon*fc want to be cruel or unjust towards man, woman, 
 or cliilcl," cried a voice from the furthest corner of the hall, 
 " but neither would it be right to pass over such strange things 
 as we have heard without examinino: a little into them. I vote 
 that we should none of us believe the young fellow to be guilty 
 till such time as we have got proof against him." 
 
 "Agreed," cried John Cummings, in a voice that might have 
 been heard from the mast head of a man-of-war, "Ao-reed! 
 and the first thing to do by the way of getting at proof, is ex- 
 amining the body of the dead man. If he is found to have died 
 by the visitation of God, whj'' then, in God's name, let his body 
 be laid peaceably in the earth, and let us pray, like g'ood 
 Christians, for the peace of his soul. But if, on proper ex- 
 amination, things should turn out contrarj^ and that poison 
 should be found Avithin him, why in that case we must have a 
 proper coroner's inquest, and then after the jury shall have 
 heard all the particulars, we shall get a proper verdict against 
 the murderer, knov>'n or unknown." 
 
 "Ay, ay, no doubt of it," replied many voices in chorus. 
 
 "Then be it as you wish, my good friends," replied the 
 clergyman. "I hope and believe," he continued, "that j^ou 
 will find yourselves altogether mistaken in your suspicions, but 
 as this painful idea has evidently got possession of your minds, 
 it is best that you should be satisfied on the subject, even at the 
 cost of some inconvenience." 
 
 "And that is spoken like a reasonable gentleman," returned 
 Cummings, "and it is what we expected, and looked for, from 
 3'our reverence ; and I thank you. Sir, in the name of the parish, 
 and specially of all the sailors." 
 
 " But let me add one word to what I have already said," 
 resumed Mr. Bolton, " It is proper that you should all of you 
 know that the next of kin to the late Mr. Rixlcy is now in this 
 house. This gentleman was his own brother, and of course 
 nothing can be done in the business, either by you or by me, 
 without consulting him upon it." 
 
 " I won't be baulked in the examination of the body for all the 
 brothers on the ftice of the earth," said Cummings. "But we 
 don't want to do nothing in the dark; contrary-wise altogether, 
 so your reverence is vrelcome to tell just all that has passed 
 here to all whom it may concern, and the whole world beside, 
 so we will let you go. Sir, in peace and quiet, to make the 
 communication in any way as you may think fit, and mean- 
 while we will, some of us, be off to look after the doctor, and 
 
tnE YOUNG HEIRESS. 139 
 
 then, if his judgment is. not clear against it, we must summon 
 the coroner." 
 
 The invading party then elbowed and shouldered each other 
 out of the house, and Mr. Bolton joined the anxious party in tho 
 parlour, conscious that he had nothing' to tell them nt nil 
 calculated to remove any of the painful feelings, from which ho 
 knew they must be suffering. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 The siOGctaclc that s-reeted Mr. Bolton on re-enterinc^ the 
 jiarlour was by no means calculated to tranquillize the annoy- 
 ance and alarm, v;h:ch the scene in the hall had occasioned 
 him. 
 
 The first object on which his eyes rested was the figure of 
 Helen stretclied upon the sofa, her lips and cheeks ntterly 
 colourless, and. her eyes closed ; her uncle was standing at her 
 feet, gazing upon her death-like attitude and complexion, with a 
 look of mingled love and. alarm, that it was impossible to v.-it- 
 ness unmoved ; while poor Mrs. Bolton, with all a woman's 
 sympathy, and all a woman's terror, was unable to obtain even 
 the aid of a glass of water for her, the only exit from the parlour 
 being into the crowded hall, and opening the door which led to 
 it, would have been like invitino; further outrao;e and renewed 
 suffering. 
 
 "Oh! thank God you are come, Stephen!" she exclaimed. 
 "Are those dreadful people g-one? What is it they want? 
 What was it they said about William Kixley?" 
 
 "You shall know everything/' he replied, "as rapidly as I 
 can make mvsclf understood. But tell me first, what we can do 
 for tluat poor child. Is she still insensible? I could almost 
 say that I hoped it." 
 
 And then, without waiting for an answer, he again left the 
 room, speedily re-entering with water, and followed by a servant 
 with a bottle of vinegar. The application either of one or both 
 these remedies caused Helen to rouse herself, and open her eyes • 
 but they seemed to close themselves again in spite of her efforts. 
 The tears, however, which now began slowly to course each 
 
140 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 other down her clieeks, showed that she was no longer in- 
 sensible. 
 
 "What is it all about, Stephen?" again exclaimed Mrs. 
 Bolton, with very natural impatience. " Helen has been lying 
 just as 3'ou see her, only more death-like still ever since her 
 uncle brought her in; and he has been too much frightened 
 about her to be able to explain anything to me. Why have all 
 the fishermen rushed into our hall so rudely ? And why does 
 this poor child appear to be so dreadfully alarmed at seeing 
 them ? " 
 
 " She looks better now, Mr. Rixley," said the master of the 
 house, addressing his guest, while at the same time he took the 
 arm of his wife and passed it under his own. " I think we may 
 safely leave her with Sally now, and I wish very much to speak 
 to you," 
 
 The three then left the room together, and having entered 
 the little library and closed the door, Mr. Bolton redeemed the 
 promise he had given, by repeating, as succinctly as possible, 
 everything that had passed in the hall. 
 
 Mrs. Bolton felt both shocked and terrified. She pressed her 
 hand upon her forehead, but uttered not a word. Mr. Bixley, 
 too, remained silent for a minute or two after the statement was 
 made, and then said, "This is a very startling communication, 
 Mr. Bolton ; but T, as you must be aware, am quite unable to 
 judge of the truth, or even of the probability, of it. Have the 
 kindness to speak to me with entire frankness, my dear Sir, and 
 tell me at once whether you think this horrible suspicion has 
 any probability of truth in it." 
 
 "With the'^most perfect sincerity, Mr. Rixley, I answer you 
 that I do not," replied Mr. Bolton. " I think William Rixley 
 infinitely more likely to attempt his own life than that of his 
 father, although that father so very little deserved the name. I 
 have always known William to be warm-tempered and impetuous; 
 but if he had attacked his cruel father at all, it would have been 
 openly and in the face of day — not as a midnight assassin." 
 
 " I cannot help thinking," said Mr. Rixley, musingly, " that 
 poor Helen is of a different opinion." 
 
 " Good Heaven, Sir ! " cried Mr. Bolton, indignantly, " how is 
 it possible you can have conceived such an idea? Let me im- 
 plore you," he added, " to conceal it from her, for most truly do 
 I believe that her love for this brother is siich as to make such 
 a suspicion a death-blow to her. She not only loves, but 
 positively reverences him; and I have often heard her say 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 141 
 
 that she tboug'hfc William was born with a sort of impossi- 
 bility of doino- anything wrong. And upon my honour I have 
 often, when I have heard liei" say this, been greatly inclined to 
 anfree with her. And so I am still, ]\Ir. Rixloy." 
 
 " Well, Sir," returned Mr. Rixley, quietly, '' you and Helen 
 must certainly be much better qualified to form an opinion of 
 this unfortunate boy than I can be. In truth, I have never for 
 a moment dreamed of forming any opinion of him at all. All I 
 meant to say was, that there was a sort of agony expressed by 
 the countenance of Helen the moment before she fainted, which 
 I could understand perfectly if anything caused her to believe it 
 possible that tliis much-loved, brother was guilty of the crime 
 laid to his charge ; but which remains, in my opinion, perfectly 
 unaccountable if she did not." 
 
 " I am sorry that you should have conceived such an idea," 
 returned Mr. Bolton, " because I should greatly wish that you 
 should do justice to the fine qualities of both these young 
 people. However, it is infinitely more important that you 
 should judge Helen rightly than her brother, for with him, 
 poor fellow, it certainly cannot be expected that you should ever 
 have much intercourse; and. as to Helen, who will, I hope, my 
 deal' Sir, be constantly under your own eye, I can feel no serious 
 misgivings as to your making any mistakes about her. Her 
 nature is as clear and as pure as crystal; and you will find no 
 difficulty, when you know her better, in understanding every- 
 thing that is passing in her heart. But all such speculations 
 are equally useless and ill-timed at this moment. I hope, Sir, 
 that you agree with me in thinking that our best course must 
 be to let these blundering sailors have their way about the ex- 
 amination ? " 
 
 "Assuredly!" replied Mr. Rixley. "I much doubt, indeed, 
 whether anything* that we could either of us do or say would 
 have influence enough to prevent it. But besides all other 
 annoyances, my dear Mr. Bolton," added his new acquaintance, 
 " you will have to endure me ; for I cannot take this dear child 
 away, nor should I, to say the truth, like to go myself, till this 
 painful question has been set at rest." 
 
 His friendly host very earnestly and very sincerely assured 
 him that the painful question, as he most justly called it, would 
 be greatly more painful still, had he not the very important 
 assistance and support of his presence. " But, to tell you the 
 truth," continued Mr. Bolton, " I am very greatly inclined to 
 make lio'ht of all the big words we have heard this morning. 
 
142 THE YOUXG HEIRESS. 
 
 Not tliafc I ai all doubt the sincerity of the zeal and alTection 
 expressed for j'our brother by that stalwart son of Neptune, 
 whose exordium you listened to before you took charg-e of poor 
 Helen, I am quite sure he was sincere, and himself believed 
 every word he said. But I think you will find that he is mis- 
 taken, and that the result of the examination will be that the 
 late Mr. Rixley Beauchamp died a natural death." 
 
 " I most earnestly wish it may prove so, for many reasons," 
 replied Mr. Bixiey; " but I do not agree with you in expecting 
 ifc." 
 
 " May I ask you, my dear Sir," returned the curate of 
 Crumpton, in an accent that betokened considerable surprise, 
 " what reason you have for thinking so? " 
 
 "Indeed you may, and, indeed, too, I will answer with all 
 siucerit}'," returned his companion, " though I am quite aware 
 that I can give no very plausible reason for the faith that is in 
 me. I think, however, that the primal cause for my adopting 
 it, arose from the effect that man's statement had on poor Helen. 
 My eye was upon her at the moment his words reached her 
 ears ; and I do not tiiink I shall ever forget her look of 
 agony." 
 
 " But do you not think that the mere fact of her hearing 
 it stated that her father was murdered may account for her 
 emotion ? " 
 
 " No, Mr. Bolton, I do not," was the reply. " But add to it," 
 he continued, " the still more dreadful fact that her brother was 
 strongly suspected of being the assassin, and then all the misery 
 expressed in that innocent and most lovely young* face is per- 
 fectly natural, perfectly intelligible." 
 
 " I think the accusation alone is quite sufficient to account for 
 the emotion jou witnessed, without supposing that she believed 
 it to be just," replied Mr. Bolton. " Don't you think so, my 
 dear? " he added, turning to his wife. 
 
 Mr. Bixley watched her in silence for a minute or two, and 
 then said, "Will you forgive me, my dear Mrs. Bolton, if I beg 
 you to reply to your husband's question? Not that the opinion 
 of either of us can be of the least real importance in the busi- 
 ness, or signify to any of the individuals concerned in it. But 
 3'ou know dear Helen better than I do, and I should much like 
 to hear 3'our interpretation of the agonized emotion she betrayed. 
 Women, you know, are often said to be the keenest ob?ervers." 
 
 "I certainly will not refuse to answer you, Mr. Rixley," she 
 reialied, " though I would rather not have had the question 
 
THE YOUXG HEIRESS. 143 
 
 pressed upon rae, for it is a very painfal one. Had I, however, 
 nothing but my own acuteness to enlighten me, I certainly 
 should adopt my husband's opinion ; but I am sorry to say that 
 I have some reasons for thinking that 3'ou, my dear Sir, are 
 very likely to be right in your interpretation of Helen's feelings, 
 Vv'hen Mr. Bolton first brou^rht her home to me after her father's 
 death, she was in a state of such vehement agitation that I 
 really feared she was seized with fever, and was becoming 
 delirious. But not for a moment did she say anything which 
 could lead me to suppose that it was affliction for her father's 
 death vv^hich caused this. The only name she uttered was that 
 of her brother, and every hour of his leugthened absence seemed 
 to bring her an additional load of miserj-. At length I almost 
 scolded her for this violent grief about an absence, which was 
 not likely to endure louger than many of his former rambles 
 had done, and pointed this out to her, and then, after lookino* 
 piteously in my face for a moment, she threw her arms round 
 my neck, and with a fresh burst of tears sobbed out, ' Indeed, 
 indeed if that was all I should not be so miserable. It is not so 
 much his being away, though that is bad enough ! Bat it is 
 remembering all that happened before he went 1 ' And then she 
 endeavoured to describe to me the scene of which we had heard 
 before from Mrs. Lambert, and in which the barbarous father of 
 the unhappy boy insulted him in the presence of his sister by 
 the most unfeeling statement that words could convey respect- 
 ing his birth, and his abject condition. Bat as she went on 
 with her description of the agony aud despair into which this 
 most unexpected discovery had 2:)lunged her brother, it was per- 
 fectly evident that what rested the most painfully on her mind 
 was the boy's expressions of rage and hatred — for hatred was 
 the word she used — for the treatment he had received. In 
 short," continued Mrs, Bolton, shuddering as she spoke, "the 
 impression she left upon my mind by her description of 
 William's vehement resentment, joined to the agony I saw her 
 suffer, as she dwelt upon the circumstance of his having' ab- 
 sconded, do lead me very strongly to suspect that j'our inter- 
 pretation of her condact and feelings is less correct, my dear 
 Stephen, than that of Mr. Rixley." 
 
 " I had forgotten that Helen had witnessed that teriible dis- 
 covery scene," said Mr. Bolton with an altered countenance. 
 "God grant th;it it may be found that there has been no 
 poisoning' in the case! Otherwise it is impossible to deny 
 that the coincidence is most unfortauate ! Poor Helen ! No 
 
I'il THE YOrXG HEIRESS. 
 
 wonder, if she had tin's dreadful idea in her head, that his 
 continued absence should be tlie cause of such severe suffevino- 
 to her!" 
 
 Meanwhile the zeal of the parties, wJio liad undcrfaken to 
 summon first the doctor and then the coroner, did not relax. 
 Tlie first object was speedil}^ accomplished. But the result of 
 this was too important to be recorded at the end of a chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Painful as the whole of this strano-e and most startllnor in. 
 vcstigation was to Mrs. Bolton, she never for a moment thought 
 of herself, or regretted that hospitality to the unhappy orphan, 
 which had so completely banished everything like tranquillity 
 I'rom their abode. 
 
 The state of poor Helen was indeed such as must have 
 awakened pity in natures fiir less prone to it than was that of 
 the kind and gentle Mrs. Bolton. But it would have been 
 better for the suffering girl, perhaps, if in addition to gentle 
 kindness, Mrs. Bolton had possessed more firmness of character. 
 
 The first symptom which Helen gave of having perfectly re- 
 covered from the faintness which had seized upon her, was 
 throwinor her arms round the neck of her o-ood hostess, and 
 fervently kissing her. The next was saying in a manner, so 
 imperative, as almost to approach the tone of authority, " ]\rrs, 
 Bolton, you must not try to prevent my knowing everything 
 that is going on. Every word that John Cunimings said in the 
 hall, before I fell down the stairs, I heard and I reme-inlie)\i\\cve- 
 fore, you see, it would be as vain as it would be unkind, if you 
 were to attempt keeping me in ignorance. I will not be kept 
 in ignorance, Mrs. Bolton. It would be quite in vain if you 
 were to try to do it, I would find means to leave the house. I 
 would indeed ! Nothing shall prevent my hearing of everything 
 that is done and everything that is discovered." 
 
 There was something so new and strange in the air of resolute 
 firmness with wldch the?e words were spoken by Helen, that 
 J\lrs. Bolton's presence of mind was completely overpowered by 
 it. 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. ' 145 
 
 "Yon sliall ! You shall ! Dear Helen," she replied. "Only 
 yoLi still look so very pale, that just for the present I am quite 
 sure tliat you ought to think of nothing but keeping yourself 
 quiet." 
 
 It was a very scornful sort of smile that curled the lips oi 
 Helen as she replied, " It would be quite as easy to make me sit 
 perfectly still with my hands before me, if my dress were in 
 flames, telling me that the fire would burn still more fiercely if 
 I moved. I will not deceive you, Mrs. Bolton, and don't you try 
 to deceive me. It will not answer, for I tuill know every- 
 thing ! " 
 
 Poor Helen had very magnificent eyes, a fact of which Mrs. 
 Bolton had never been so fully aware as at that moment, when 
 they were turned ujDon her \Yitli a bright intensity of wilfulness 
 that certainly would have suggested the idea of inciiDient fever 
 to a more experienced person ; but Mrs. Bolton's head was full 
 of her own preconceived, and by no means erroneous opinion, 
 that the imagination of the unhappy girl had already suggested 
 to her all that was most terrible as the possible result of the 
 inquiry which was at that moment going on at the Warren 
 House; and, therefore, instead of dispatching a messenger who 
 should bring the doctor with all possible haste to bleed her, she 
 yielded to wdiat was more like a command than a request, that 
 a servant should be dispatched to the Warren House, and 
 ordered to remain there till the result of the examination was 
 made known, and that the moment he had learnt what it was, 
 he should return and make it known to her. 
 
 For this result they had not long to wait. Nothing like pre- 
 cipitation, nothing like rashness, nothing in the least degree 
 resembling indifference, shortened the process ; but the case 
 was too clear to admit of hesitation in decidingf that the late 
 George Rixley Beaucharap had died, from the eflects of poison! 
 
 The still more important question, as to how the poison had 
 been administered, was still unsolved, and on this point the 
 eagerness of inquiry was, if possible, still more vehement than 
 concernino- the fact itself. 
 
 Mrs, Lambert had very earnestly besought permission to be 
 present during the examination, and this was granted. It was 
 not at that moment deemed necessary to have recourse to dis- 
 section ; for on examining* the tumbler, which stood on a tabl^ 
 close beside his bed, it was found to contain quite enough of ' 
 mixture with Avhich it had been filled to show that puiso' 
 been mixed with it, and no sooner was this fact distinct' 
 
 11 
 
146 • THE YOUNG HEIEESS. 
 
 by Mr. Foster, than every eye was turned towards Mrs. Lambert, 
 and almost every voice addressed some question to her, all how- 
 ever having the same object, namely to inquire if she thought 
 it possible that her unfortunate master had administered the 
 fatal dose to himself, or, if not, whether her suspicion could rest 
 on any individual as likely to have committed the crime. 
 
 She listened to them all, but seemed to wait till they were 
 Bilent, in order to reply ; and then she said, " I cannot wonder 
 that you should all turn to me to explain this dreadful mystery, 
 and if I cannot throw some light upon it, whom can we hope to 
 find who can ? I have not only lived in his family above a 
 dozen years, but have always been treated, both by him and his 
 children also, more like a friend than a servant. And yet," she 
 continued, after the pause of a moment or two, during which she 
 seemed meditating on the question that had been asked, " and 
 yet I feel that I am quite as unable to answer you as the greatest 
 stranger here. Some people have said that my master played 
 high when he was in London, and that he sometimes lost 
 large sums of money. Whether this were true or false, I have 
 no means whatever of knowing', I know, indeed, that he 
 sometimes came home from London in a good humour, and 
 sometimes in a very bad one ; but as to his being so unhappy as 
 to want to kill himself, I cannot say that any such thought ever 
 entered my head." 
 
 " And is there nobody, either young* or old, Sarah Lambert, 
 nobody in the whole world that you can think of, who was at 
 all likely to do such a deed? " said John Cummings, looking at 
 her sternly. 
 
 She only shook her head in reply, but in a way that evidently 
 showed she thought the question a very idle one. 
 
 " There is no use, my good woman, in your looking so very 
 disdainful about it," returned Cummings. " There will be other 
 folks, besides you or I either, w^ho will have to examine into 
 this matter ; and, may be, it may com.e into the heads of some 
 of 'em, that the conduct of the dead gentleman's son may be 
 worth inquiring into." 
 
 The face of Mrs. Lambert, as these words reached her ears, 
 became for a moment as red as scarlet; her dark eyes seemed to 
 emit an indignant flash, as she fixed them on the speaker; and 
 there was both, anger and scorn in the tone of her voice as she 
 replied, "As to the other folks you talk of, I don't know who 
 they may be; but this, I think, I can venture to say, John 
 Cummings, that yoa won't find another — man, woman, or child 
 
TEE YOUNG HEIRESS. 147 
 
 - — sinful enougli to utter such a thought as you have now spoken. 
 But I am ashamed of myself for thinking it ^yorth my -whi'.e to 
 answer you ; for there is, I dare say, a great deal more folly 
 than wickedness in your words, and I don't believe you would 
 find another who would think it worth while to listen to such 
 nonsense." 
 
 "For the matter of that, Mrs. Lambert," replied the man, 
 with a sneer, " I don't fancy that we should be likely to find 
 everybody exactly of your mind respecting that young gentle- 
 man. All the world may not think him such a beautiful fellow, 
 and such a spotless angel, as you do. His poor father himself, 
 for one, wasn't a bit blinded by his handsome looks; for I have 
 heard him say, scores of times, that he wished he had never seen 
 the light of day, for that there was no good in him." 
 
 " And because the father was an unnatural father, you take it 
 for granted that the son must be an unnatural son, do you ? " 
 returned Mrs. Lambert, trembling with passion, and advancing 
 her clenched fist towards him, as if it was her intention to knock 
 him down. 
 
 "Come, come, Sarah Lambert," said another of the sailors, 
 "don't you be after putting yourself in a passion. It's all very 
 natural that you should take the part of the pretty boy you 
 have nursed in any quarrel, or strife, that might chance to 
 come between the father and son, but that is no reason why 
 you should threaten to knock down John Cummings in that 
 fashion." 
 
 " I ain't much afraid of Sarah Lambert's fist," said Com- 
 modore Jack, with a very disdainful smile, "and, to say the 
 truth, I am not much afraid of her, and her anger, in any way; 
 for I am quite sure that no proper inquiries will be stopped by 
 it, and that is the business that we ought to be thinking of at 
 this present minute. I certainly shan't take upon me to say 
 that it was his young mis-begot son that murdered the squire ; 
 but for all that, it would be scarcely lawful, and by no means 
 wise, for any of us to forget what we have all heard down the 
 street yonder, concerning' the desperate quarrel that there was 
 between them. But for the matter of that, Sarah Lambert, you 
 imight all have quarrelled together for everlasting without any 
 of us taking heed of the matter, if it had not been for the fact of 
 his runniug away. What do you say to that, Mrs, Lambert? " 
 
 "I say," she replied, makiug a strong* effort to recover her" 
 Drdinary tranquil aspect, "I say that what you are pleased to 
 .all running away was no more than what he had done scores of 
 
 11—3 
 
14:8 THE YODXG HEIRESS. 
 
 times before. Nobody could ever accuse Master William of 
 nesrlectino* his school-work with Mr, Bolton, and he never would 
 have got a long walk at all, poor boy, if he had not done it by 
 ■what you are pleased to call running away. It was his common 
 practice, j\Ir. John Cummings, to set off sometimes before it was 
 light in the morning, that he might get a good walk before his 
 eio'ht o'clock breakfast." 
 
 " And was it his common practice to get out at the window, 
 letting himself down by means of his sheets? Was that his 
 common practice, Mrs. Lambert? " 
 
 Again the blood mounted to the temples of William's friendly 
 advocate, and she was about to make some angry rejoinder, 
 •when she checked herself, and said in her usual quiet manner, 
 "We are both of us very wrong, John Cummings, to dispute in 
 this way over the body of our dead master. It will not be our 
 task to say how, or by whose hands, this dreadful event has 
 been brought about. If the doctor is of opinion that our master's 
 death has been caused by poison, the solemn question as to the 
 hand by which it was administered must be inquired into by 
 those who are appointed by the law of the land for the purpose ; 
 and let us hope, for the sake of truth and justice, that those ap- 
 pointed to execute this task will be more cool-headed, and a 
 little less in a passion, than either you or I. However, without 
 any presumptuous wish to decide this question by my own 
 judgment, I must just observe, that at any rate I have a better 
 right to give an opinion about Master William than you can 
 possibly have, for I doubt if you ever exchanged two words with 
 him in the whole course of your life, whereas I have known 
 every thought and feeling of his heart for longer than he can 
 remember what his thoughts and feelings were himself." 
 
 " No doubt of it, Sarah Lambert," returned the Commodore, 
 " and it is for that very reason that, if I was upon the jury, I 
 should make a point of not listening to a single word you said. 
 It must be a greenhorn, indeed, who would trust to a mother, 
 or a nurse either, to pass judgment upon their darlings ! " 
 
 While this angry dialogue was going on in a distant part of 
 the room, Mr. Bolton and Mr. Foster, who were standing near 
 the bed, conversed together in a whisper upon the steps that 
 must be taken before the blackening corse which lay before 
 them should be consigned to earth. 
 
 On this point, however, there was no longer any room for 
 discussion. The indications of poison were too distinct to admit 
 of any doubt, and Mr. Bolton hastened to announce this iutel- 
 
THE YOUXG HEIRESS. 149 
 
 ligence to his guest, in order to receive his sanction, without 
 further delay, for summoning the coroner of the district. 
 
 Bat, before he reached his home, the result of Mr. Foster's 
 examination had already been communicated to Helen, and he 
 found his wife deeply lamenting her own want of firmness in 
 not keeping it from her at any risk ; for it was only too evident 
 that no irritation produced by opposition to her wishes could 
 have produced so terrible an effect as the compliance with them 
 had done; for the unhappy Helen ^vas already in a paroxysm of 
 raving frenzy, which it was terrible to contemplate or listen to. 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 It would be difEcult to say which of the three friends who 
 watched her, suffered the most. Her uncle, whose warm, 
 though new born, affection for her seemed that of a fond father, 
 rather than of a more distant relation, stood with his eyes fixed 
 upon her vehemently agitated face till tears bedewed his own. 
 Poor Mrs. Bolton grieved, not only with all the tender feelings 
 of a woman's heart, but she grieved too with all the bitterness 
 of repentance ; for might not all this agony have been spared 
 had Helen been sent away, as she ought to have been, before 
 the violent manner of her father's death had been ascertained ? 
 But probably it was poor Mr. Bolton himself Vv'ho suffered the 
 most severely, for Helen was at least unconscious of her own 
 misery ; but he could not deny to himself, whatever he might 
 do to others, that the pupil whom he had loved so affectionately, 
 and of whose character and acquirements he had been so boast- 
 fully proud, had made himself liable to the suspicion of having 
 murdered his own father, and that with so many fatal features 
 of probability, as to render it almost impossible, even for a friend 
 as partial as himself, to resist their influence. 
 
 But not even the unquestionable proof which had reached 
 him of the desperate provocation he had received, nor yet the 
 terribly strong coincidence of his absconding* within a few hours 
 probabl}', or even less, after the deed was done, not even tliis 
 would have sufficed to conquer his persuasion that the boy was 
 incapable of committmg such a crime, had it not been for the 
 desperate agony of his sister. 
 
150 IHE TOtJKG HEIRESS. 
 
 It was no longer possible to doubfc tbafc Helen believed bim 
 guilty of it; every word sbe uttered in her delirium jorovcd 
 that her mind was too fully possessed with this idea for her to 
 dwell for a moment on any other. 
 
 " Did I not bear bim sny the words ? " sbe cried, " Did I not 
 bear bim say that he could kill bim? And now be has done 
 it; now be has brought the dreadful curse npon himself!" 
 Sometimes she shrieked aloud in utter madness, "William! 
 William ! William ! Where are you ? Tell me where you are, 
 only tell me where you are, and I will come to you ! " 
 
 Meanwhile the necessary steps were taken, and the proper 
 legal routine followed, by which it was speedily declared that, 
 " the late George Rixley Beauchamp, Esquire, of Beauchamp 
 Park, in the County of Surrey, had been fourfd in his bed dead 
 from the effects of noison ; the same haviuq- been detected in 
 the intestines in amply sufficient quantity to cause death, and a 
 portion thereof having likewise been discovered mixed with the 
 liquid remaining in a glass tumbler placed beside the deceased, 
 and within reach of his hand ; but whether wilfully administered 
 by himself, or surreptitiously by another, there was no evidence 
 to show." 
 
 Such was the verdict recorded by the coroner, and such was 
 the conscientious belief of those who delivered the verdict ; but 
 there were others who maintained a different opinion, and who 
 scrupled not to declare their conviction that the drug had been 
 administered by the son of the deceased. 
 
 The warfare between John Cummings and Sarah Lambert on 
 this point did not cease, both remaining as firm in their respec- 
 tive opinions as they bad shown themselves during the scene 
 which had taken place in the dead man's room, when the cause 
 of bis death bad been ascertained by Mr. Foster. 
 
 Sarah Lambert had declared, before the people assembled in 
 the room on that occasion had separated, that those who were 
 wicked enough to accuse an innocent boy of such a dreadful 
 crime, would assuredly be made to blush for their folly, and 
 their sin; for though it was likely enough that the poor lad had 
 been out of the way of hearing what was going on at Crump- 
 ton, they would be sure to hear of bim before it was long, and 
 then be should come forward, and speak for himself, and put his 
 vile accusers to shame ! 
 
 Her deep sense of her own degraded position, now known 
 not only to Mr. and Mrs. Bolton, but doubtless to Helen's uncle 
 also, rendering the idea of presenting herself at the parsonage 
 
(THE YOUXG HEIEESS. l51 
 
 intolerable to her, and her longing Avisli to see tlie suffering sister 
 being thus rendered abortive, slie determined, either from a 
 miserable feeling of restlessness, or else from the real hope of 
 finding him, to set off herself in search of the brother. 
 
 After quietly sitting- in deep meditation for some minutes in 
 the sad and solitary school-room, she determined to go at once 
 to Falmouth, still thinking it probable that if he had really run 
 off, in the hope of finding some means of existence less distaste- 
 ful to him than what his father had proposed, he would be 
 more likely to seek it there, than by wandering far and wide 
 among villages where he was utterly unknown. 
 
 That she, at least, believed him innocent of the crime that 
 had been laid to his charge, was fully proved by the earnest zeal 
 with which she set out to find him ; for had it been otherwise, 
 she would most assuredly have done ever3^thing in her power to 
 facilitate his escape instead of impeding it. 
 
 To Falmouth therefore she went, and had not been much 
 above half an hour in the town before she learnt from perfectly 
 good authority, that William Rixley had sailed in a little cruis- 
 ing vessel, strongly suspected by some of its captain's most 
 intimate friends, of doing quite as much business in the smug- 
 gling line, as in any other. 
 
 " And to what port was the vessel bound ? " demanded Mrs. 
 Lambert, anxiously. 
 
 "Why as to that," replied the old nautical acquaintance to 
 whom she had addressed herself, " we don't none of us make 
 any particular inquiries when the ' Beautiful Polly' sets off upon 
 a cruise, as to vrhat port she intends to make, because it is not 
 always maybe, that the captain is quite certain upon that point 
 himself." 
 
 Mrs. Lambert paid for this confidential hint by the tolerant 
 smile that was expected from her ; and then, somehow or other, 
 made her way back again to the Warren House, weary enough 
 in limb, for she had walked a great part of the way, but appa- 
 rently more calm in spirit than when she set out. 
 
 She must have felt indeed that she had done all she could do 
 to find the unfortunate son of a most guilty father, in the hope 
 that his own testimony might suffice to clear him of all suspicion 
 of the crime of which he had been accused, and though she 
 had failed in this, she had at least the consolation of feeling, 
 tliat in all human probability ho was beyond the reach of any 
 present annoyance from the dreadful suspicion that attached to 
 him. 
 
152 THE YOUNG HEmESS. 
 
 There was now but one thing- left in the pLice where she had 
 pMSsed the last twelve years of her life to which her affections 
 clung; the thought of Helen being taken away to the distant 
 spot which was to be her future home without her once more 
 seeing her was dreadful, and yet there were moments when tlie 
 idea that this dearly loved child would enter upon life as the 
 wealthy heiress of her false, her cruel, her unnatural father, 
 produced a degree of happiness at her heart's core which 
 seemed to console her for everything she had suffered, or could 
 suJBfer. 
 
 Any one who had watched the bright flashing of her beau- 
 tiful and triumphant eye during these moments, would have 
 fancied they were contemplating a prond woman who had 
 accomplished the first and dearest object of her life. 
 
 But migrht she not see her at once ? Doubtless her own dis- 
 graceful story was already known to the uncle whose task it 
 would be to watch henceforward over the beautiful and wealthy 
 orphan who had no other protector left ; and ought not the 
 very first act of his protecting care be to remove her for 
 ever from the degradation of associating with her father's mis- 
 tress ? 
 
 " Shall I ask and be refused? Or shall I let her go without 
 making any effort to press her once more to my h-eart? " Such 
 were the questionings in which she passed a great portion of 
 the nigrht that followed her return from Falmouth ; but the 
 news which greeted her the next morning was of a nature to 
 make her forget all other misery, for she was told that Helen 
 was in a frenzy fever, and not expected to survive the day. 
 
 There was no room for any further doubt as to what she 
 should do. Mrs. Lambert, pale and haggard, rushed to the 
 parsonage, entered it by the door which led to the kitchen, and 
 spared the guardian friends of poor Helen the difiicult task of 
 deciding whether she should be admitted, or not, by making her 
 way to the room in which she had ah'eady seen her, without 
 speaking a word to any one. 
 
 On first entering the room it appeared to her to be perfectly 
 dark, and she only guessed she had not blundered by hearing a 
 low moaning sound that proceeded from the bed. But Almeria 
 Lambert was not a person to endure suspense of any kind. vSlie 
 approached the glimmering light which proceeded from the 
 nearly closed window shutters, and threw them open. 
 
 A terrible foreboding made her feel that she was about to 
 behold a dreadful spectacle j she thought that she might see 
 
THE TOUXG HEIRESS. 15 
 
 o 
 
 her darling' lying In the pangs of death before her ; but even 
 this could scarcely have been felt as more piteoasly sad than 
 the realitv that met her eve. 
 
 It was Helen! It mint be Helen, for it could be no one else, 
 who lay stretched before her; but it is difficult to do justice by 
 description to the change between what she was, and what she 
 had been. 
 
 She was lying on her back, with a wet napkin bound round 
 her forehead, but neither napkin, nor pillow, were more com- 
 pletel}' colourless than her face. She had been bled so copiously 
 that she had no longer strength to rave with the vehemence 
 which had preceded her present state, but there was no trace of 
 reason in the quick movement of her vacant eye, nor in the 
 ceaseless moanings which she uttered, sometimes articulately, 
 and sometimes not. Her dark brown hair lay scattered round 
 her in dishevelled curls, that hung down over the bed-clothes to 
 the very tips of her pale fingers, round which she incessantly 
 kept twisting it. The tone of her voice was completely altered, 
 and had a piteous trembling in it which gave the idea of exces- 
 sive weakness. 
 
 Mrs. Lambert stood for a moment at the bottom of the bed as 
 if transfixed, and then bending over her, she whispered, in a 
 voice almost as tremulous as her own, " And is this all that is 
 left of my child? Is this my beauteous Helen? Is this my 
 peerless heiress ? " And then covering her face with her liands, 
 she fell on her knees and rather groaned, than distinctly uttered 
 the words, " My God 1 I have sinned, and I am punished ! " 
 
 There was by the side of the bed which was furthest from the 
 door of entrance, a silent, motionless figure, which, in the 
 vehement agitation of Mrs. Lambert, had been perfectly 
 invisible, or, at any rate, perfectly unnoticed by her. It was 
 the quiet, suffering, sympathising Mrs. Bolton, wdio, fully per- 
 suaded that poor Helen was dying, had herself undertaken to 
 watch beside her, in preference to permitting any servant to 
 listen to her ravings, in which she uniformly declared her con- 
 viction that her father had died by the hand of her brother. 
 
 Whether the fact were so, or not, there was as yet no certain 
 evidence to show ; and Mrs. Bolton humanely, and wisely, 
 determined that the unfortunate young man should not be 
 robbed of the benefit of this doubt by the delirious accusations 
 of his wretched sister. 
 
 Mrs. Bolton now came forward, and, gently approaching the 
 unhappy intruder, begged her, in a whisper, to rise, and compose 
 
154 THE YOUXG HEEIESS. 
 
 herself. " Thongli we have little or no hope of saving her," 
 she said, " we are still enjoined by Mr. Foster to keep her per- 
 fectly quiet, that being, he assures us, the only possible chance 
 we can give her in aid of her youth, and fine constitution." 
 
 Mrs. Lambert said, nothing in reply, but she rose from her 
 knees, and fixing her eyes upon Helen, stood silently and 
 motionless before her. 
 
 Whether it were from seeing this figure suddenly placed 
 before her, or from being roused by the strong light, which the 
 opening of the shutters had let in upon the room, it "v^ould be 
 impossible to say; but certain it is, that the eyes of Helen, now 
 stedfastly fixed upon Mrs. Lambert, had more appearance of 
 consciousness of what was before them than had been perceptible 
 since her delirium began. 
 
 Yet still it was evident that she by no means very clearly 
 understood who it was who was looking at her so earnestly ; 
 but, by degrees, the vacant expression of her countenance 
 seemed to give way before a touch of memory, for the 
 unmeaning look of idiot indifference gradually became 
 changed into a contracted brow, and an expression of great 
 suffering. And presently she spoke, but it was in so weak a 
 whisper, that it required an eagerly attentive ear to understand 
 what she said. 
 
 " He told me so himself, Sarah Lambert, he did ! he did ! " 
 were the first words distinctly audible, and Mrs. Lambert, per- 
 ceiving she was recognised, changed her position, and placing 
 herself at the bedside, bent down and took her hand. 
 
 Bat though the action caused poor Helen to raise her eyes to 
 the face which bung over her, their vacant stare showed but too 
 plainly that the awakened intelligence, which had seemed to 
 beam from them for a moment, had passed away. 
 
 " I believe it is better not to speak to her," whispered Mrs. 
 Bolton; to which the nurse of many years made no other reply, 
 than again placing herself on her knees, and, though still 
 retainino; the hand she had taken, remainino" as motionless as a 
 statue. 
 
 But not so the poor patient. She presently gave symptoms 
 of being restless, and uneasy, still remaining stretched upon her 
 back, but turning her head from side to side upon the pillow 
 ■with a movement every moment increasing in rapidity. 
 " We have been wrong to disturb her," again whispered 
 Mrs. Bolton, "it is just what the doctor told us to avoid! 
 Let me beg of you to go down staii-s, Mrs. Lambert ! 1 
 
THE TOUifG HEIEESS. l55 
 
 promise you faithfully, that you shall be sent to, if there is the 
 least chano-e." 
 
 Mrs. Lambert felt that she dared not disobey, and gently 
 disengaging her hand from the burning fingers -which were 
 now grasping it tightly, she rose and noiselessly approached 
 the door. But this sufficed again to awaken the attention of 
 the poor sufferer, and with a sudden effort she raised herself in 
 the bed, and, stretching out her arms towards her nurse, 
 exclaimed distinctly, " That is Sarah Lambert ! and she is 
 going away from me again ! Cruel, cruel, Sarah ! I should 
 not have been ill, and obliged to lie here both night and day if 
 you had stayed with me ! You ought to have stayed with me, 
 Sarah Lambert! You know that you ought not to have gone 
 away from me ! " 
 
 This plaintive and almost sobbing remonstrance immediately 
 arrested Mrs. Lambert's steps, but it was to Mrs. Bolton that 
 she addressed herself, and not to Helen. 
 
 " She has recovered her senses," she said, in a low whisper. 
 "You cannot wish, madam, that I should leave her now ? " 
 
 " I know not what to think ! " replied poor Mrs. Bolton. 
 "Her seeing and knowing you may make her worse than 
 ever ! " 
 
 " Surely, Mrs. Bolton, when she opposes my going', you would 
 not insist upon it ? " 
 
 "I know not what to do!" reiterated the poor lady, " his 
 last words were, ' let her be kept perfectly quiet.' " 
 
 "Let Mr. Foster be instantly sent for," returned Mrs. 
 Lambert, almost in a voice of authority. "Trust me she 
 will not be the less quiet because I am near her. Send at once 
 for Mr. Foster, and let us have the assistance of his judgment. 
 I will stay v/ith her the while, as she wishes me to do, but I 
 will not converse with her." 
 
 And so saying, Mrs. Lambert, without waiting for any reply, 
 placed a chair close beside the bed, and seated herself in it. 
 
 While these few v/ords were passing between her ill-matched 
 attendants, the eyes of Helen were again closed, and she 
 remained for a moment perfectly still, upon observing which, 
 Mrs. Bolton said, "Perhaps if we leave her quite to herself she 
 will go to sleep." 
 
 It was immediately evident that these words were heard, and 
 understood by Helen, for her eyes were again opened, and, after 
 looking about her vaguely for a moment, she again fixed them 
 on Mrs. Lambert, and made an effort to reach her with her 
 
156 THE TOUXG HEIEESS. 
 
 hand ; nor was the effort vain. The watchful nurse centlj took 
 possession of that hand, and having* given it a gentle pressure, 
 almost fancied that she felt a gentle pressure in return. 
 
 Mrs. Bolton had already left the room to dispatch a messeno-er 
 for the doctor, whose advise she felt was more than ever needed ; 
 and then, Helen, after giving one lingering languid glance at 
 the face of her nurse, closed her eyes, and presently gave 
 evidence by her breathing, that she really had fallen asleep. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 Helen Rixley, or, begging the heiress's pardon, Helen 
 Beauchamp, like many another young creature, who has terri- 
 fied the liearts that cling to thera by appearing at the point of 
 death, rallied at the very moment when it appeared most certain 
 that all hope was gone, and very speedily made it evident that 
 whatever other perils might threaten, her death was not just at 
 present of the number. 
 
 Mr. Foster knew a great deal too well what he was about not 
 to take advantage of Mrs. Lambert's very evident influence over 
 his patient; but Mr. Bolton, who very plainly perceived that 
 her attendance upon Helen was extremely distasteful to her 
 uncle, had thought it right to hint this to Mr. Foster; but his 
 only reply was, " I should have given up the case, Mr. Bolton, 
 had you said this two days ago. The cause of Miss Beauchamp's 
 malady was mental ; and had not this favourite nurse come 
 forward to help me, I sincerely believe we should have lost 
 her." 
 
 " It is most unfortunate," returned Mr. Bolton, " that such 
 powerful reasons should exist to render her attendance ob- 
 jectionable ! " 
 
 " Certainly it is unfortunate," replied the doctor ; " and I 
 have been for years pretty neai'ly as well aware of this as I am 
 at present. Had the same suspicion been awakened in your 
 mind, Mr. Bolton," he continued, " I imagine that it would have 
 been your duty to interfere, with counsel at least, though you 
 might not have had authority, in order to get rid of her; but 
 my vocation was different. Moreover, I had abundant oppor- 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 157 
 
 tunlty for stud3ang' the real state of affairs at the Warren 
 House; and the resalfc of this was, my feeling- morally certain 
 that, thouo'h I mio^lit liave power to do mischief, I had none to 
 do good, as far at least as getting* rid of this decidedly ob- 
 jectionable attendant upon the young lady. But if I thought it 
 right to abstain from any such attempt, then, of course I must 
 think a contrary line of conduct infinitely more injudicious now; 
 for, in the first place, Helen is happily now so well protected as 
 to satisfy her most anxious friends as to her safety; and, in 
 the next, the question has been, in my opinion, one of life or 
 death; so that I only conceived myself free to act in my 
 medical capacity." 
 
 " Assuredly, Mr. Foster," replied the curate of Crumpton ; 
 " and I should have blamed you greatly had you acted other- 
 wise. But now that, thank God, tliis desperate state of things 
 no longer continues, we may certainly, without scruple, comply 
 with the wish of her uncle, that the attendance of Mrs. Lambert 
 should be dispensed with." 
 
 " Well, Sir," rejoined Mr. Foster, " I thank God, as you do, 
 that the question is no longer a medical one ; and, therefore, 
 of course, I have nothing* to do with it." 
 
 It was, in short, very evident that the office of dismissing 
 Mrs. Lambert was one which the village doctor did not wish 
 to take upon himself; neither did it appear that the clergy- 
 man of the parish was at all inclined to perform it personally, 
 for he asked his gentle little wife if she did not think it would 
 be more suitable and less offensive for her to hint that their 
 small house, being rather more than full, her departure w^ould 
 be convenient? But his gentle little w^ife demurred; she did 
 not like the commission ; but she suggested that Mr. Rixley 
 might make it known that he washed to hasten his departure : 
 and she proniised that if he did this, she would undertake 
 to tell Mrs. Lambert that they all thought her separation 
 from Helen ought not to be put off till the very last 
 moment, lest the agitation arising from it might render her 
 less able to undertake the journey. 
 
 This device answered completely ; Mrs. Lambert adopted 
 the proposal quite as eagerly as it was made. It was very 
 evident that she, too, dreaded the moment, and that, too, for 
 herself as well as for Helen, for her lip trembled as she 
 talked of it. 
 
 "Yes!" she said, "it is a trial — a trial for us both! For 
 me, it matters not. But for her, it must be made as easy as 
 
158 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 possible. She shall not know that she is seeing me for the 
 last time." 
 
 "Indeed, Mrs. Lambert, if j'Oq can manage that," replied 
 Mrs. Bolton, "it \Till be savinof her from ereat suffering^. I 
 never saw a young person so strongly attached to a nurse, 
 as she is to you." 
 
 "Yes. There has been for a good many years a strong 
 attachment between us," returned the other, with dry and 
 forced composure. " It is not probable," she added, " that any 
 one should even guess how much I have loved her; and as 
 to their knowing it, that is a good deal less likely still." 
 
 She sat silent for a few minutes, covering her face with 
 both her hands ; and when she looked u]d again, the whole 
 expression of her features was changed. It was almost im- 
 possible that any face could display less of tenderness, or 
 speak more intelligibly of unconquerable firmness of purpose, 
 than hers did at that moment. 
 
 Had she objected to parting with Helen, instead of so 
 readily agreeing to it, Mrs. Bolton could not have looked at 
 her at that moment without alarm, for the least observant 
 eye could not fail in perceiving- that to ivill and to do were 
 not in her case very likely to be separated. 
 
 This conversation took place in the room in which Helen 
 slept; and the moment had been selected by Mrs. Bolton as 
 being safe from any interruption from her, because she had 
 left it to accept her uncle's invitation to take a short airing 
 upon the lawn, supported by his arm. She had done this 
 twice before, and had seemed the better for it. 
 
 And now Mrs. Bolton rose, very greatly comforted at having 
 performed her task so eflectnally. 
 
 " We must not let her walk too long," said she, looking out of 
 the window. 
 
 " Is she there ? " said the discarded nurse, in a voice so 
 strange, that it made Mrs. Bolton start, as if she had suddenly 
 heard that of an interloper, whom she did not know. 
 
 " Yes," replied she, " Helen is walking on the lawn. Her 
 uncle is very kind and tiioughtful; but women make the best 
 nurses, Mrs. Lambert." And with these words she left the 
 room. 
 
 For half a moment the suffering being she left in it remained 
 stationary between the door and the window; but she trembled, 
 as she stood, from head to foot^and then, with what seemed 
 a desperate effort, she approached that open window, and, 
 
THE YOUNG HEIIIESS. 150 
 
 concealing herself behind its cartain, looked out upon the 
 lawn. 
 
 Mrs. Bolton had reported truly. Helen was there, her arm 
 resting upon that of her -uncle, with the air of one who wanted 
 support ; but she was looking up at him affectionately, and there 
 was a smile upon her countenance. 
 
 "Helen! my beautiful Helen! my lovely, gifted, high-born, 
 wealthy heiress ! you shall be the honoured bride of the rich 
 and the noble ! No tyrant voice, no tyrant glance, shall ever 
 crush thee more ! " 
 
 As she murmured these words she clasped her hands together, 
 letting the curtain she had held hef^ve lier fall aside. The 
 moving drapery caught the eye of Helen, and she looked up, 
 smiled, and nodded affectionately, and then passed on, " It is 
 over!" whispered Almeria Lambert to her heart " The rest 
 will be very easy ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXin. 
 
 On re-entering the house Helen declared that her walk had 
 done her much good, that she felt a great deal better, and that 
 she should like very much to take her tea in the parlour — an 
 announcement which was received with great satisfaction by 
 both host and hostess, who met her at the door. There was a 
 general proiest, however, against her mounting to her room to 
 deposit her bonnet and shawl; and she, therefore, passed on into 
 the parlour, and was carefully placed on the sofa by her watch- 
 ful friends. It was declared on all sides, however, that, not- 
 withstanding her evident improvement, she must retire early to 
 rest; to which she duitfully agreed, though declaring at the 
 same time that she really felt " almost quite well again." 
 
 When the servant removed the tea-tray, she wdiispered a few 
 words in the ear of her mistress, who immediately got up, and 
 followed her out of the room. In the hall, she found Mrs. 
 Lambert, in her bonnet and shawl, waiting for her. 
 
 "Are you going out, Mrs. Lambert?" said she; "Miss 
 Helen will be going to bed immediatelv." 
 
IGO THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 " May I speak to you for ono moment in the library, 
 madam ? " returneil the nurse. 
 
 Mrs. BoUon, remembering what had passed between them a 
 few hours before, immediately guessed her purpose; and though 
 half- frightened by its sudddenness, and by her fears as to its 
 effect upon Helen, she still experienced a feeling of relief, from 
 her conviction that the task she had so much dreaded was very 
 nearly accompL'shed. Her only reply to the request of Mrs. 
 Lambert was opening the door of the library, and entering' the 
 room. 
 
 Mrs. Lambert followed her, and closed the door. " I have 
 thought it best, madam," she said, " to act at once upon your 
 suggestion. The sooner Miss Beauchamp leaves this place, the 
 better. She has a pang to suffer, but it must be borne ; and the 
 sooner it comes, the sooner it will bo over. I have taken the 
 liberty of using the writing materials which I found in Miss 
 Beauchamp's room ; and after you left me there, I wrote this 
 letter to her. You are perfectly at liberty to read it, madam, 
 and to show it to her uncle, and to Mr. Bolton, before it is 
 delivered to her. I should recommend her not receiving it till 
 to-morrow morning; but when she goes to bed, and expresses 
 surprise, perhaps, at not finding me in her room to undress her, 
 I think it will be best to tell her that T had received a 
 messnge from a person I wanted to see on business, and that 
 I should probably be detained too late to return to the 
 parsonage to-night. This will send her to bed without any 
 suspicion that she has seen me for the last time; and the 
 longer the possibility of our meeting again is permitted to 
 remain with her, the better ; at least, till her health and 
 strength are completely restored. — And in my judgment," 
 added the unhappy woman, with a faltering accent, strangely 
 unlike her usual manner of speaking, " in my judgment, it 
 would be much better for her if she could be permitted to 
 live and die without knowing that she had ever suffered the 
 degradation of loving, and being loved by one unworthy to 
 approach her." 
 
 " Your judgment respecting everything connected with 
 Helen ought to be listened to with great attention," replied 
 Mrs. Bolton, with all the quick, kind sympathy of a 
 woman's heart; nor ought it to be recorded against the 
 spotless wife and happy mother, as a sin, though she laid 
 her hand wath a friendly pressure on the arm of the trembling 
 woman before her as she said it. 
 
THE YOUXG HEIRESS. 161 
 
 Had there been less of desperate sternness in the condition 
 into which Mrs. Lambert bad screwed her own spirit, she mio-ht 
 have been tempted to kneel before the gentle being, who so 
 evidently pitied sufferings which she never had, nor ever could 
 feel ; but, as it was, she only turned her head aside^ and 
 remained silent for a moment, and then said, " Here is the 
 letter, madam. If you think it will assist the purpose w^hich 
 her friends have in view, you will give it to her : if not, destroy 
 it, if you please, and say to her on the subject of my dis- 
 appearance whatever may appear most judicious to yourself, 
 and to those who act with you." 
 
 Having said this, she bowed her head, and left the room with 
 a rapid step, as if to escape further parley. 
 
 Mrs, Bolton's first act of obedience to her wishes, was putting 
 the unread letter in her pocket, and returning with an air of so 
 much composure to the parlour, that Helen, who was listening 
 smilingly to her uncle's description of what he called his rather 
 ugly daughter and his very ill-behaved son, did not even per- 
 ceive her entrance. 
 
 Bat she was not permitted to amuse herself in this manner 
 long, before it was voted, in a committee of the whole tea- 
 table, that it was high time for her to go to bed. Her very 
 docile compliance was a proof, perhaps, that she thought so 
 too ; and, leaning on the arm of her uncle, preceded by a 
 candle in the hand of her kind hostess, she mounted t!ie stairs 
 to her room. 
 
 "Where is Sarah Lambert?" were the first words she 
 uttered on enteringf it. 
 
 " We must do without her to-night, my dear Helen," 
 replied Mrs. Bolton, " for she has been sent for from the 
 Warren House by some person who wished to speak to her 
 on business. We shall be able to do without her ; shall we 
 not, dearest ? " 
 
 " Indeed, my dear Mrs. Bolton," replied Helen, " everybody 
 in your house is so very kind to me, that I must be a very 
 whimsical girl if I fancied that I wanted anybody out of it." 
 And in truth, all the little thoughtful attentions which she 
 had of late received from her faithful nurse were now very 
 ably performed by good Mrs. Bolton herself, and the * Good 
 nights ! ' exchanged between them at parting were equally 
 cordial on both sides. 
 
 This more than hospitable attention was repeated on the 
 following morning, and then poor Helen, despite a strong 
 
 12 
 
162 THE YOUKG HEIRESS. 
 
 wish not to betray any sucli feeling, certainly did look as if 
 she wondered why Sarah Lambert did not present herself. 
 
 " I am sure you are wondermg, Helen, that your nurse is not 
 come back again to look after you ; but I suspect that some- 
 thing unexpected has happened, which has detained her, for 
 she has written to you instead of coming." 
 
 Helen took the 'letter from the hand of Mrs. Bolton, but 
 looked more surprised than alarmed at receiving it. 
 
 "Will you read it now, dear, or after breakfast?" said 
 Mrs. Bolton. "The two gentlemen are waiting for us at the 
 breakfast-table, but it will not hurt them to wait a little 
 longer, if you wish to read your letter before you go down." 
 
 "Let me follow you, dearest Mrs. Bolton; may T?" 
 returned Helen. "Perhaps she may have heard something 
 about William." 
 
 Though this explanation for her wishing to read the letter 
 in private was neither very explicit nor very satisfactory, it 
 was listened to as if it were both, and Mrs. Bolton left her. 
 
 Scarcely had she closed the door behind her, before the 
 letter was opened. It was as follows : — 
 
 "I hope, my dearest child, that your judgment will accord 
 with mine in approving what I am about to do. We need 
 not tell each other, Helen, that William is the great object that 
 occupies our thoughts, and, therefore, you will not think any 
 apology necessary for my running away from you — (even at 
 the moment previous to your departure) — when I tell you 
 that I tJiinh I may be able to trace him, if I set about the 
 task in person. But, if I decide on doing this, I have not a 
 moment to lose. It is not very likely that I should be able to 
 give you constant, or even frequent information of my ex- 
 pedition, for I do not intend to confine my search to one country 
 only ; but, whenever it is possible for me to write to you, I will 
 do so : and, should a lono-er interval occur than such an enter- 
 prise may reasonably account for, why then, my dearest chi-ld, 
 you may mourn for your faithful nurse as for one no longer to 
 be counted among the living. But let us hope that I may still 
 be useful to you, and that, through my means, the brother so 
 justly dear to you may be induced to return to the land of his 
 birth, where I know, as well as you do, my dear child, that he 
 will never want a friend as long as you remain alive in ifc. And 
 now, dearest Helen, I must say farewell. I have undertaken a 
 difficult enterprise, bat my courage is strengthened by my con- 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 1G3 
 
 victloii that you will be often with me in spirit, and that, whether 
 I live or die, yon will still continue to love your affectionate and 
 
 faithful nurse, 
 
 " Sakau Lambert." 
 
 Tliis letter, temperately and carefully as it was written, was 
 not read by Helen without strong emotion — much stronger, 
 certainly, than was desirable for an invalid, whose nerves had 
 been already so severely shaken; but, nevertheless, the three 
 friends to whom she communicated its contents, congratulated 
 themselves, and each other, that the strangely-situated 5'oung- 
 creature, for whom they were so deeply interested, had passed 
 so well through one of the difficult and very trying moments from 
 wdiich all their tender care could not entirely protect her ; nor 
 could they, either of them, refuse to acknowledge a sentiment 
 in which a strange mixture of gratitude, and even of esteem, 
 was mixed with the feeling of earnest reprobation which led 
 them to hope that they might never hear of Sarah Lambert 
 
 agam. 
 
 As to Helen herself, she suffered infinitely less than she would 
 have done, had not an almost superstitious feeling of confidence 
 in the wisdom and perseverance of her nurse led her to 
 anticipate the happiest results from the efforts she was about 
 to make for the recovery of William. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIY. 
 
 How far this statement of Mrs. Lambert's intentions contained 
 the record of her real projects, or how far it might have been 
 made for the purpose of satisfactorily accounting to Helen for 
 her absence, may be seen hereafter ; at any rate, it had the 
 happiest effect on the spirits of the invalid, for not only did it 
 completely tranquillize her mind under the heavy affliction of 
 parting with her nurse, but it created more cheering hopes 
 respecting her brother than she had felt since she had first 
 heard of his absence. 
 
 Her confidence in the judgment and the firm affection of 
 Sarah Lambert, was unbounded j and she could scarcely be said 
 
 •JO „ 
 
1G4j the young IIEiEESS. 
 
 to feci any doubt either as to her success in finding Inm, or in 
 her power of assisting him afterwards. " Her first object will 
 be to bring us together again," thought Helen. " But yet — if 
 it would be best not — if it would be dangerous for my poor 
 William to come to me, why then she will watch over him till 
 the danger is over." 
 
 This was her next thought ; and dreadful as was the pain 
 occasioned by the dark suspicion which led to this after thought, 
 it was immeasurably softened by the idea that he would soon 
 have Sarah with him. So healing, in truth, was this hope, 
 that though it could not chase away the feeling that the fright- 
 ful accusation uttered by Cummings mirjld be true, it gave birth 
 to a whole host of reasons for believing that it was false; and 
 one of the brightest blessings of Helen's age is the strong pro- 
 pensity to believe pretty nearly everything that we wish should 
 be true. 
 
 In this state of things the departure of Helen with her uncle 
 was robbed of almost all the melancholy features which must 
 have attended it, had no such hope as that suggested by the 
 letter of Mrs. Lambert reached her. As it was, there was, 
 despite all the painful and agitating circumstances through 
 which she had recently passed, a considerable mixture of that 
 delightful buoyancy, made up of present novelty and future 
 hope, which in early youth gives brightness to almost every- 
 thing we look upon. 
 
 The result of this upon her companion was most happy also, 
 for more than once it had happened to him, when gazing with 
 newly-awakened affection upon her lovely face, to feel a painful 
 doubt as to the probability of her feeling unhappy, and ill at 
 ease, from being so suddenly removed from all that was familiar 
 and dear to her, and placed amidst a family of strangers. 
 
 But there was nothing now in the manner of Helen to justify 
 such miso-ivino-s. She had been ill, and now she felt well 
 again; she had been desperately terrified, and now her terrors 
 were soothed ; her life had hitherto been as destitute of any- 
 thing like real freedom as that of a squirrel, whose abounding 
 activity can take it no inch beyond the unvaried routine of its 
 unmeaning scamper; and now every glance showed her some- 
 thing new, and every word spoken by her kind companion made 
 her look forward to future scenes more new and more interest- 
 ing still. 
 
 In short, instead of being fatigued or in any way injured by 
 her rapid journey to London, she was very greatly the better for 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 165 
 
 if, and when she entered the little drawlnof-room oFlier uncle in 
 Davies Street, the family group she found there were almost 
 startled at seeing the tall and lovely girl who entered among 
 them, instead of the sickly, melancholy-looking child they ex- 
 pected. 
 
 This family group consisted of the still lovely Mrs. Rixley, 
 her son Henry, and her daughter Anne. 
 
 There were certainly many circumstances connected with this 
 newly-found relative, which tended to give a feeling of restraint 
 and awkwardness to their meeting. In the first place she was 
 the child of a near relative who had never been known to the 
 two younger Rixlej's, and scarcely to their mother either, but as 
 a declared and inveterate enemy. In the next, the fact was 
 patent among them that had this stranger young lady been out 
 of the way, the noble property, of \vhich she, poor child, had 
 never heard till within the last miserable few weeks, but of 
 which they had certainly been accustomed to hear a good deal, 
 would have been their own. 
 
 It cannot be denied that these facts, well established, and 
 clearly remembered, were not calculated to make them feel 
 quite as affectionate, as they were curious concerning her. But 
 a lovely young face is decidedly a very fascinating object. 
 There is no denying it, and in this case, as in a million more 
 upon record, all foregone conclusions were forgotten as they 
 looked at her; and a very few seconds sufficed to make her 
 reception all that her kind uncle wished it to be. 
 
 As to the impressions produced on Helen herself, they were 
 quite as favourable towards the wished-for result of mutually 
 kind feeling as those of her newly-found relatives ; nay, perhaps, 
 young as she was, there was more of wisdom as to the source of 
 their formation than could be easily j)ointcd out in those she had 
 inspired. For it was not beauty that had captivated her. Not, 
 indeed, that her cousin Anne at all deserved the epithet of 
 "ugly," which had been bestowed on her by her father. 
 
 Anne Rixley was not ugly, but neither was she beautiful; nor 
 was her brother handsome. Their mother, indeed, might still 
 fairly be described as both, or either ; but the beauty of forty- 
 five is not so lovely in the eyes of fourteen, as it may appear to 
 those of riper judgment. 
 
 No ! It was not the beauty of her kinsfolk which had 
 captivated Helen; but nevertheless she was captivated. 
 
 In the countenance of Mrs. Rixley there was as charming 
 a mixture of goodness, and intelligence, as could well be ex- 
 
IGG THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 pvossecl by linr.-ifin features; nobody who bad eyes capable of 
 detecting- cither,' could feel a doubt upon the subject. In the 
 youniLT, fresh, guileless ph3'siognomy of Anne might be read with 
 equal facility all that makes youth and innocence most lovable, 
 while there was something in the fine broad forehead that gave 
 goodly promise of what was ripening within. And as to Hemy, 
 although a grave old Don might have been likely to detect 
 rather a superabundant quantity of latent sauciness, Helen 
 only saw a look of animation and light-heartedness that 
 seemed to promise very pleasant companionship. In short, 
 within a very few minntes after these very near relations, but 
 very perfect strangers, had been introduced to each other, they 
 were in a fair way of becoming excellent friends. 
 
 w V? Vi* ^ ^ 4F 
 
 There was of course a great deal of business to be got through 
 before Helen's present manner of life could be decided on ; but 
 though many things were to be attended to, there was no diffi- 
 culty in the arrangement of any of them, nor is it necessary to 
 rehearse the details of these arrangements. Mr. Rixley was 
 appointed personal guardian to tlie young heiress, and as his 
 small London house could not accommodate her, and the male 
 and female servant a2:)pointed to attend her, it was finally settled 
 that her uncle should give up his London curacy, and, very 
 greatly to the delight of the countr^^-bred Helen, that the whole 
 family should take up their residence at Beauch.amp Park. The 
 chief, perhaps the only objection to this arrangement, arose from 
 the difficulty of obtaining j/inz-s/M'??^ masters for the heiress at the 
 distance of forty miles from London. 
 
 If the conversation by which this knotty point was finally 
 settled, be given to the reader, it may enlighten him a little as 
 to the terms on which Helen and her newly-found family lived 
 together. This conversation took place the morning after she 
 had been taken to make a first visit to the noble mansion which 
 was to be her future home. 
 
 "I am very glad, dear Helen," said her uncle kindlj'-, " that 
 the house and grounds of Beauchamp Park please you so 
 greatly. I should have been sadly disappointed, if you had not 
 liked the place." 
 
 "Like it. Uncle Eixley ! " returned Helen, throwing up both 
 hands and eyes in astonishment at his phrase. "Did you 
 really think it possible in your heart that I should not like 
 it?" 
 
 "Possible ? Yes certainly, Helen, I thought it was possible. 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. . 1G7 
 
 Yoii have seemed to be so much amused by all the fine sights we 
 have been showing yon in London, that I should have been but 
 little surprised to hear you say that you should not like living at 
 Beauchamp Park at all," replied her uncle. 
 
 " But I don't want to live in the sight-seeing places, Uncle 
 Rixley," returned Helen, laughing; "should you really think it 
 a good plan for us all to take a house next door to the Museum, 
 so that we might conveniently run in and out there three or 
 four times a day ? " 
 
 "Not exactly that, Helen," he replied with^ great good 
 humour, " but there is a long interval between living next door 
 to one favourite exhibition, and being at forty miles distant from 
 all. However, there may be greater objections than that. 
 How are we to get proper finishing masters for you, young 
 lady ? " 
 
 " Oh uncle ! uncle ! don't finish me ! " she exclaimed, clasping 
 her hands, and looking beseechingly in his face. " I do assure 
 you beforehand, that it would never answ^er ! I know that I am 
 not a sort of person that can ever be finished. I have read a 
 great deal about a finished education, and I am quite certain 
 that it would not do for me." 
 
 " But you draw so well, Helen, and are so very fond of it," 
 said her aunt, "that I should have thought you would have 
 liked nothing so well as having a good master." 
 
 " Perhaps Helen thinks that she has been too well taught 
 already to require any new master," said Henry, smiling. 
 
 "I do not know whether you say that as a joke. Cousin 
 Henry," she replied, " but if you say it in earnest, I can tell 
 you that you are quite right. If I were to live a thousand 
 years I should never like to remember that I ever had draw- 
 ing lessons from anybody, except my mamma. I know that 
 I was not very old when she died, very little more than 
 twelve, but that does not signify. I am quite certain that 
 nobody can ever teach me as well as she taught me. You look 
 as if you were ready to laugh again. Cousin Henry, and I dare 
 say you think me a very conceited girl for boasting so much 
 about my mother. But ray mamma really w^as quite out of the 
 common way as to the power of teaching. It was not only draw- 
 ing, but music, and French, and Italian, and everything. My 
 mamma was brought up as a governess, or a teacher at a school, 
 whichever came in her way first. Slie has told me all about it 
 over and over again. Dear, dear mamma! She thought it 
 might be useful to me in case I might ever be obliged to main- 
 
168 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 tain myself in tlie same way ! I don't believe she ever heard 
 of Beauchamp Park in ber life, and sure I am. that she never 
 tboug^ht it would belonor to me. But as tbino-s have turned out, 
 I really don't think there is any good reason for my trying to 
 make myself into a little girl again. I don't think I should 
 learn anything but naughtiness. I should hate my masters, and 
 try, very likely, to make Henry laugh at them, instead of 
 laughing at me, for you may be very sure I should not think 
 them so clever as my mamma." 
 
 Mr. Rixley very patiently, and very willingly, let her run on 
 thus, for he wished to know her thoroughly before he decided 
 the important question, whether it would be best to use the 
 authority that was vested in him, in order that the next year or 
 two might be so employed, as to supply the educational defi- 
 ciencies of those which had intervened since her mother's death, 
 or to yield to her wishes, which it was easy to see would be 
 somewhat peremptorily pronounced, and suffer her to be happy 
 her own way. 
 
 He was determined, however, that, if jDOSsible, he would 
 decide on nothing hastily, for he felt that the duty he had to 
 discharge was an important one. 
 
 After the silence of a moment he said, " How then, my dear 
 Helen, would you propose, yourself, to occupy the time that has 
 yet to elapse before you can take your place in society as a 
 woman ? " 
 
 Helen's bright eye was raised to his face with sudden quick- 
 ness, and she replied, " I would read, read, read ! " 
 
 " Bravo, Helen ! " exclaimed her Cousin Henry, clapping his 
 hands, " I don't think she is quite a fool, after all. I have a 
 great notion myself that if the younger part of the divine sex 
 were, either from whim, or wisdom, to read a little more, and 
 study accomplishments a little less, it might be better for all 
 parties concerned." 
 
 "If YOU have such a notion. Cousin Henry," she replied, with 
 a good deal of comic solemnity, " I presume that my uncle will 
 feel no further doubt upon the subject. The question is settled ; 
 is it not? dear uncle! dear aunt! say that the question is 
 settled, and that we shall all go and live together at 
 Beauchamp Park." The pair she addressed looked at her, 
 and looked at each other in a way that certainly did not seem 
 to threaten any very vehement opposition to her wishes; but as 
 the answer was delayed, probably because each was waiting for 
 the other to speak first, Helen rose from her chair, and bound- 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 169 
 
 ing across the room to her uncle, put her arms around his neck, 
 find whispered in his ear, " Was not my grandmamma Rixley, 
 whose maiden name was Beauchamp, born and bred there ? " 
 
 " She has gained her caase, ladies and gentlemen," said her 
 uncle, returning her caress. "You may all pack up your pro- 
 perties. Beauchamp Park must be our home till this self-willed 
 young lady bestows it with her own hand upon a master." 
 
 "Thank you! oh, thank you! thank you!" cried the 
 delighted girl. " Shall we not, all of us, feel more happy iu 
 that beautiful large place, than jammed into this narrow little 
 street ? You and I, Anne, will have one whole garden entirely 
 to ourselves. Won't we have flowers by the bushel ? " 
 
 Upon being thus appealed to, Anne, who had sat profoundly 
 silent, while profoundly listening, stood up to meet her cousin, 
 who she saw was approaching her, and receiving on her fair 
 rosy cheek the cordial kiss that was offered her, exclaimed in 
 accents of the most cordial delight, " Oh, Helen, dear ! you have 
 made me so very happy ! To live at Beauchamp Park ! To 
 live there for years, perhaps ! I feel as if I were dreaming, 
 and that it was all too wild and delightful to be true." 
 
 " Charming," cried Helen, gaily repeating her kiss. " But 
 what says my dear gentle aunt to it?" she added, playfully 
 approaching Mrs. Rixley, with her hands joined, beseechingly. 
 
 " I must answer like my happy-looking girl here, I think," 
 returned her aunt. " The scheme would appear to me perfect, 
 were it not a little too splendid to seem true." 
 
 " Ay, there's the rub," said Mr. Rixley, gently shaking his 
 head. " The allowance made for you by the Court of Chancery, 
 Helen, is two thousand a year, and a very noble allowance it is. 
 But I greatly doubt if it will be found sufficient to support such 
 an establishment as would be suitable for Beauchamp Park." 
 
 " Then let us all make up our minds, dear uncle, to live at 
 Beaucharai^ Park with an establishment not suitable to it. I 
 am quite sure that we should not be one bit the less happy for 
 doing so. An establishment means servants, and carriages, and 
 horses, does it not ? " 
 
 " Exactly so, Helen," he repliecl. 
 
 " Well then, we must do without horses and carriages, and 
 manage so cleverly as not to want many servants. I will be 
 your lady's maid, Anne, if you will be mine. Shall we ? " 
 
 "I can dress hair," returned Anne, joyfully clappino- her 
 hands. 
 
 "And I can iron beautifully," returned Helen, with equal 
 
170 THE YOtJXG nEIIlESS. 
 
 glee, " and as to my dear aunt," she continued iu a more grave 
 and business-like tone, " she can take her own factotum Martha 
 with her, and her own cook too, and her own nice neat footman, 
 and so 3'ou see, we shall not want anything but a housemaid to 
 dust and sweep the rooms a little, for to be sure it is a very 
 large house." 
 
 " Yes, it certainly is a large house," returned Mr. Rixley, 
 smiling. "But you have not provided for your equipage. Miss 
 Beauchamp. What sort of carriage do you propose to have? " 
 
 " Why, Mr. Rixley, as far as I myself am concerned, I should 
 prefer a donkey for the present ; and as I know that donkeys 
 are neither very troublesome nor expensive, I think we may 
 afford to keep another for Anne; and then I think that we two 
 should be as independent, and as well able to explore all the 
 country round us, quite as much as prudent j'oung ladies ought 
 to desire. As to my aunt, and you, uncle, if I might have my 
 own way, and that we should not find it too extravagant, I 
 should like to have *a comfortable little open carriage, so light 
 that it might be drawm by a pony, like Mr. Bolton's, you know, 
 uncle. And as to ray Cousin Henry, if he will be very agreeable 
 and very obedient, Anne and I will give him leave to follow our 
 donkeys with a stick in his hand, to keep them in order." 
 
 " Upon my word, Helen," said her uncle, who had listened to 
 her smilingly, but with a good deal of attention — " upon my 
 word, I think you seem to have a very fair notion of good 
 management; and if you are pretty tolerably in earnest in your 
 little sketch, I really think this rather startling scheme may 
 be put in execution without much danger of our disgracing 
 ourselves by running in debt; but young as j'ou are, my 
 dear girl, I am naistaken in you if j^ou cannot perceive, as 
 clearly as I do myself, that there would be something lamentably 
 disgraceful in an elderly clergyman, who, living very quietly, 
 and with the most strict economy, during his past life, should 
 suddenly place himself at the head of a splendid establish- 
 ment as the guardian of a wealthy ward, and then run her 
 into debt and difficulties in order to indulge his family by 
 letting them live in a fine house." 
 
 To which Helen, wdio, in her turn, had listened with 
 great attention, replied, "I do not believe. Uncle Rixley, 
 that you could 3'ourself shrink from such a scandal as this 
 with more terror and abhorrence than I should do." And 
 then she paused. The colour had mounted to her cheeks, 
 and she had uttered the words with something more 
 
THE YOtJXG HEIKESS. 171 
 
 tlian gravity; the term solemnity would describe her manner 
 better. 
 
 " Heaven forbid," she resumed, " that I should ever bring dis- 
 grace or difficulty ujDon you in any way." 
 
 The effect which the words of Mr. Rixley had produced was 
 certainly greater than he intended ; and he resumed, in a lighter 
 tone, " Nay, dearest Helen, do not look so frightened ! I really 
 believe that we may do all you propose, and a little more, 
 perhaps, without any risk of outrunning the income allowed 
 3'ou. I am but a poor man in comparison to my late brother ; 
 but the income we spent in Davies Street will come in aid 
 of your allowance at Beauchamp Park. But remember that 
 there must be no mistake. It is your establishment, my 
 dear, and not mine, which is about to be monie there. It 
 must be Miss Beauchamp's house, remember, and not Mr. 
 Rixley's." 
 
 "Nay! do not burden my young head so heavily!" replied 
 Helen, laughing. " Let there be no division between thy 
 house and my house. Let it be for all of us, ' our house at 
 home.' " 
 
 "So it shall, my dear child!" said Mrs. Rixley, justly 
 appreciating the feeling which had brought a tear to the 
 eye and a flush to the cheek of Helen; "and I am very 
 sanguine in my belief that 'our house at home' will be a 
 very happy one." 
 
 " May I," said Henry, suddenly starting up, and placing him- 
 self immediately before Helen, with a solemn reverence — " may 
 I say one little word for myself at this propitious moment ? 
 May I venture to petition for permission to fish and to shoot 
 occasionally within your domain? " 
 
 Helen returned liis salute with a very dignified bow, and 
 replied gracefully, extending her hand towards his father, 
 " Tliat gentleman. Sir, is my raan-of-basiness : it is his per- 
 mission you must seek for, and not mine. Nor can you be 
 offended by this reference, young gentleman, when I tell you 
 that it i.s my intention never to do anything without obtain- 
 ing it myself. 
 
172 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 No farther discussion was necessary to confirm the decision 
 arrived at in this half-playful conversation. Had all those 
 who had assisted at it been as grave in their demeanour as 
 the Council of the Propaganda, they could not have been more 
 in earnest in wishingf to chano;e their residence from Davies 
 Street to Beauchamp Park. 
 
 Nor, in sober earnest, was there the least imprudence in 
 their doing so. An establishment prepared conscientiously for 
 a girl of fourteen, is a very different affair from what the 
 same individual might reasonably require some half-dozen years 
 afterwards ; and not only her guardian, but her guardian's 
 family, were so perfectly well aware of this, that while greatly 
 enjoying the idea of a long sojourn in so agreeable a residence, 
 there was not one of them who would not have shrunk from, 
 and rejected, any j^roject for placing themselves ^^ro tempore 
 in a station and style which was not properly their own. 
 
 Helen's programme, however, was considerably improved 
 upon and enlarged. 
 
 Instead of the one-horse chair, " like Mr. Bolton's," they had 
 a one-horse car, which, in very pleasant Irish fashion, could con- 
 tain them all. Beyond the allowance entrusted to her guardian 
 for maintenance of the heiress, a very sufficient sum was allotted 
 for keeping up the place in general, and the beautiful gardens 
 in particular — an arrangement which very happily enabled the 
 ladies of the party to indulge themselves with a safe conscience 
 in all the luxury that lawns and shrubberies, fruits and flowers, 
 could give. 
 
 There had been so much of common sense, and of something 
 more than common decision, in the manner in which Helen had 
 put her veto upon the pursuit of accomplishments, that Mr. 
 Rixley, after discussing the question with his wife, decided that 
 it would be better to let her have her own way in this matter, 
 illustrating his opinion by a parody, showing that — 
 
 Those who arc taught agahist their will, 
 Kcmain in native ignorance still. 
 
 To which his wife had replied, "I believe so;" adding, more- 
 
THE YOUXG HEIRESS. 173 
 
 over, that the native ignorance of Helen seemed of a quality that 
 might be preferred by many to all the artistic accomplishments 
 tliat could be taught her, " Her sketches," continued Mrs. 
 Rixley, " are more like pictures left upon her memory, than 
 drawings made according to rule ; and as to her music, both 
 in singing and playing, there is something much more like in- 
 spiration than art. So that, on the whole, I am very decidedly 
 of your opinion, that we had better let her have her own way." 
 
 So, from that time forward, Helen Beauchamp heard no more 
 about masters. 
 
 But there were other points of her education, concerning 
 which her guardian uncle felt a good deal of interest. Her 
 own definition of the system she thought necessarj^, contained in 
 the words, "read, read, read," had struck him as not precisely 
 devoid of reason, but as being, nevertheless, rather too indefinite 
 to be quite satisfactory. He accordingly took an opportunity, 
 when they were tcte-d-tete together, of asking her (after lie had 
 quoted her own words to her) whether her '^re.icl, read, ready* 
 was meant to be indiscriminately applied to every book that 
 came in her way. 
 
 " Not exactly that, uncle," she replied; "for I would avoid, if 
 I could, ever reading anything that was very silly or very 
 wicked. It would be such loss of time." 
 
 " It might be worse than that, Helen," replied Mr. Rixley. 
 " You might read what would be injurious to you." 
 
 " Perhaps ; bat I don't think it very likely," she replied. 
 
 " Why not ? " said he, " I assure you, my dear child, that 
 people who read indiscriminately every book that comes in their 
 way, run a great risk of meeting with what they had better 
 avoid." 
 
 " In the way of silliness, or of wickedness, uncle ? " asked 
 Helen. 
 
 " Both, my dear, both," was the reply. 
 
 "I don't feel afraid of it," she replied; "for I don't think, if 
 the reading silly books would make me silly, there could be 
 much mischief in that, for there must be a sympathising silli- 
 ness here," touching her forehead, " already .And as to wicked 
 books, I think that in the first place they are not very likely to 
 come in my way ; and if they did, I think I should put them 
 out of it." 
 
 " Yes, I am sure you would, if they were of that species which 
 carries evil legibly marked upon it. Danger to you from such 
 as these, I can easily believe would not be ri^ront. It is where 
 
174 THE YOTJXG HEIRT-SS. 
 
 the mischief is more concealed that danger lies. Very per- 
 severing and very promiscuous readers can scarcely hope to 
 escape occasionally getting hold of reasonings that may be more 
 SjDecious than sound." 
 
 " Yes, Uncle Rixle}^," replied Helen, while an expression of 
 deep thoughtfulness took possession of her beautiful young 
 features, "I think so too. But then I cannot help thinking, 
 also, that our own opinions, and our own feelings about what is 
 right or wrong, would be of little worth, and little utility to us, 
 if we adopted them only because we had found the like in a 
 book that we have been told by our friends is a good book. It 
 would be very easy for us, certainly, to learn by rote the pages 
 upon which these thoughts and opinions are inscribed; but 
 having done so, I do not feel that I should have any right 
 to call such thoughts and opinions my own. It seems to me, 
 that one must think, and think, and think, a great deal before 
 we can honestly say that we have got an opinion about any- 
 thing." 
 
 " Then why do you conceive it to be so necessary to read, 
 read, read, my dear Helen, if you believe that it is only by the 
 process of thinking that you can arrive at the truth ? " inquired 
 her uncle. 
 
 "I hav'n't said tliaf^'Uncle Rixley," replied Helen with quick- 
 ness. " Our thoughts would be in the state of the sleeping 
 beauty in the fairy tale, if they were never awakened. Every 
 book one reads, if it be worth reading at all, awakens our 
 thoughts, and sets them busily to work. If it be a statement of 
 facts, we weigh, as it were, the value of them, and pass judgment 
 upon the actors, and in doing this, you know, we actually do 
 form opinions — we actually may be said to think. If our book 
 gives us theories, of course we begin thinking again directly, to 
 find out v/hether we can receive them as true. And if the book 
 be imaginative, oh ! then do we not enjoy ourselves, and feel as 
 if we were born into another new world, perhaps almost as 
 beautiful as that in which we live, and in some respects more 
 beautiful still." 
 
 Her uncle looked at her beautiful animated fnce with a great 
 deal of affection and some little surprise, and said to her, but by 
 no means in a tone offensively inquisitorial, " "Will 3'ou tell me, 
 Helen, how it has happened that, living so much out of the 
 reach of educated society as you must have done, you should 
 at an unusually early age have acquired, as you evidently 
 have done, habits of reading and of thinking by no means 
 
THE YOUNG HEffiESS. 175 
 
 very common among' young ladies, even when they have all 
 appliances and means to boot? Tell me, dear child, how you 
 contrived to learn all that you seem to know ? " 
 
 " Dear, dear. Uncle Rixley," returned Helen, colouring' 
 violentl}', " do not let me take you in, by telling- you that I 
 am bold enough to think of countless thousands of things 
 that I know nothing about I believe in my heart that I 
 hioiu less than almost any body in the world ; and the chief 
 thing that has convinced me of my own ignorance has been the 
 reading every sort of book that I could g-et hold of. Now, you 
 know, uncle, that one cannot read any books at all without find- 
 ing out that the people who wrote them understood all the 
 things, however difficult or mj^sterious, about which, they 
 wrote, or at least, that they honestly believe in their own 
 hearts that they do ; while I only feel as I read and read, 
 that as yet I know nothing ! But I don't suppose that my 
 mind is old enough to have got all its strength yet ; and I 
 hope the time will come when I may in my turn honestly 
 be able to say to myself I know this, or I know that. The 
 only people that I think I should ever be inclined to envy 
 are those who know, really hioiu, more than others ; and that 
 is my great notion about being in heaven. Uncle Kixle}'." 
 
 "And my notion about you, my dear Helen," he replied, "is 
 that you have been in the habit of thinking too largely, if I 
 may so use the word, for your age. I suspect that you. have 
 spent too many hours alone, my dear child." 
 
 "I don't know, uncle. I have been often very happy when 
 alone," she answered. " Since mamma died," she continued, 
 " I should have been very badly off, if I could not have 
 amused myself with my books and my thoughts. My dear 
 good Sarah Lambert was almost always very busy about the 
 house, and my only other companion" — and here she stopped 
 abruptly ; the bright blood mounted to her cheeks, she fixed her 
 eyes upon the ground, and an air of stiff reserve seemed to take 
 possession of her, as different as possible from her usual manner 
 when conversinsf with her uncle. 
 
 He looked at her for a moment, both with surprise and pain ; 
 but during that moment it suddenly occurred to him, that 
 although several weeks had elapsed since she first became a 
 member of his famih', the name of William had never been 
 mentioned in her hearing. This silence had arisen on his 
 part, and on that of his family also, entirely from con- 
 sideration for her feelings. He knew how tremendously she 
 
176 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 had j^uffered from his suddea disappearance, and had taught 
 his family to be as cautious as himself in avoiding" every 
 allusion to a subject which, notwithstanding the rapid re- 
 covery of her health, might, he feared, be still too agitating 
 for hei' to enter upon without suffering. 
 
 But he now fancied that he saw in her manner a sudden air 
 of restraint, when thus evidently about to allade to her 
 brother, which seemed to proceed from a fear least his name 
 might not be freely spoken before him. 
 
 Determined at once to remove this impression, if indeed it 
 really existed, he said, affectionately taking her hand, "your 
 only other companion, dear Helen, was your brother William, 
 of whom we all earnestly hope that we shall soon hear 
 tidings — he must, indeed, have been your best companion, 
 then — what were you going to say about him, Helen ? " 
 " My dear, dear uncle," sobbed the poor girl, throwing her 
 arms around his neck, " I thought you meant that I was 
 never to hear his name, and that I was never to speak of him 
 asfain ! 
 
 " How greatly then have you mistaken us all ! " he eagerly 
 replied. " Believe me, Helen, our only reason for not naming 
 him was the fear least your spirits were not yet sufEciently re- 
 covered from all the agitation you underwent at Crumpton to 
 make it prudent to allude to it as yet." 
 
 "Your speaking to me as you do now. Uncle Rixley," said 
 Helen, holding his hand caressingly between hers, " will do 
 more towards restoring me to all my former health and 
 strength than anything else in the world! You have been so 
 very kind to me from the first moment I saw you — and you 
 have all, every one of you, been so very kind to me, that I should 
 like to live with you without having a single secret from you in 
 the world ! But this could never be if I might not talk to you 
 about William. I will not do it very much either, that is, 
 before you have seen and know him yourselves, because it is 
 impossible that an^'thing I could say could make you understand 
 what sort of a person he is, and without that, all I could say 
 about him would only sound like nonsense to you. For I do 
 not believe there is any body in the world like him. My 
 mamma had a great collection of beautiful engravings, 
 portraits of all sorts of distinguished people, but not one of 
 the whole set could be compared to my brother William, either 
 for handsomeness, or for that noble air of pride and courage, 
 that made him look so much like one of the famous heroes 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 177 
 
 one reads of in history. I do assnve yon, Uncle Rixley," she 
 added, after a short pause, during which she closed her eyes 
 as if turning' their speculating- power inwards, " that he was the 
 handsomest and cleverest person I ever saw, and I should say 
 that he was the kindest and the best too, were it not that I 
 liave sometimes seen him, at least I saw him once, give way to 
 very violent passion. That moment was very terrible. I can- 
 not forget it. I am afraid I never shall forget it ! But though 
 his temper was certainly very quick and fiery, I never was really 
 frightened at his violence but once." 
 
 In saying this Helen became extremely pale, and her uncle 
 felt that, notvv^ithstanding her rapid recovery from the fright- 
 ful fever that had seemed to threaten her life, her nerves were 
 still in much too excitable a state to make it prudent to continue 
 a conversation which t.ffected her so deeply. 
 
 " Your strong affection for your brother goes further towards 
 convincing me that he must have great and good qualities, 
 Helen, than any description of him could do. But we can 
 neither of us do him any good by recurring to the painful 
 scene to which you have just alluded, and let us therefore 
 be wise enough to avoid discussing it. You may be very 
 sure, my dear love, that as soon as any intelligence respect- 
 ing his movements reaches Mrs. Lambert, it will be forwarded 
 immediately to you ; and from all I have heard of her, she is 
 not a person likely to relax in her efforts to discover him. Ifc 
 strikes me, Helen, that the most reasonable interpretation to 
 put upon his absence is, that being conscious himself of the un- 
 seemly violence which he manifested upon the painful occasion 
 you have mentioned, he thought it better to withdraw himself 
 for a time, trusting to his talents, of which he must be con- 
 scions, for support, than to run the risk of being ag'ain irritated 
 beyond his patience. And, perhaps, my dear child, he was 
 right. If this be so, and it certainly is very reasonable to hope 
 it, we may some day have the pleasure of seeing him return, to 
 look for his dear sister; and the position in which he will find 
 you, Helen, will speedily turn all his sorrow into joy. But, for 
 the present, let us all resolve not to torment ourselves by idle 
 conjecture." 
 
 Helen listened to him as if her life hung upon the w^ords 
 he uttered. But these words, though both reasonable and 
 soothing, did not reach the point to which all her thoughts 
 were directed. She would have given a finger, could she 
 
 13 
 
178 THE YOUNG HEHIESS. 
 
 have conveyed to her uncle's mmd all the thoughts which, 
 for the hast six or seven weeks, had been incessantly at work 
 within her own, provided only that, having done so, she might 
 have heard him declare decidedly, and without restraint, 
 whether he thought it within the reach of moral possibility 
 that her brother William could be guilty of the crime that 
 had been imputed to him. 
 
 But upon this occasion, and at one or two subsequent op- 
 portunities that she had met, or made, when she employed all 
 the skill she possessed in order to make her uncle talk freely to 
 her about hira, she so completely failed, that at length she 
 resolutely determined never to make the same attempt again, 
 till some event had occurred or some information had reached 
 them, which m^ust of necessity prevent her uncle, so kindly and 
 flatteringly confidential to her on all other subjects, from being 
 so mysteriously silent on this. 
 
 Her keeping this resolution — and she did keep it strictly, in- 
 cluding every member of the family in her reserve — was so far 
 beneficial, both to herself and to them, that it spared her the 
 painful embarrassment of inventing opportunities of recurring 
 to the painful theme, and it spared them the equally-painful task 
 of seekino: to avoid it. 
 
 To the Rixley family, this was really an unmixed good ; for, 
 as far as they knew, there was no disadvantage of any kind to 
 set asrainst it. But the case was different with Helen. It is 
 true, indeed, that her constant intercourse with the family 
 into which she was so affectionately adopted was no longer 
 embarrassed by her perpetually looking out for opportunities 
 to make them talk on the only subject they wished to avoid. 
 But this advantage did not come unmixed to Helen; for the 
 finding that she could not talk about William, and the dread- 
 ful accusation that had been brought against him, only made 
 her think of him, and of it, the more : and the consequence of 
 this was, that the recollection of him, and everything con- 
 nected with him, and with her early life, frequently made a 
 melancholy theme for her secret meditations, and in the midst 
 of all the cheerful hilarity inevitably produced by her very 
 happy position, as well as by her age and natural disposition, 
 she was often seen musing, with an expression of painful anxiety 
 upon her beautiful features, which distressed, as much as it 
 puzzled, those around her. 
 
 Of Mrs. Lambert, she, fur many months, heard uothing; but 
 
TPIE YOUNG IIEIKESS. 179 
 
 at length, a letter arrived from her, adJressccl to Mr. Ilixle}-, 
 which was as follows : — 
 
 " Kevekend and honoured Sm, 
 
 "I have faithfully kept the promise I gave to seek 
 tidings of William, commonly called Rixley (the natural son of 
 your late brother, Mr. Rixley Beauchamp), by every means in 
 my power ; but my success has been very limited, T know not 
 where he actually is, nor where he is at all likely to be; but I. 
 have ascertained, beyond a doubt, that he had sailed from the 
 coast of England before it was possible that tidings of any of 
 the events which followed his departure from the Warren House 
 could have readied him ; and this perfectly accounts for his 
 lengthened absence. Knowing, as I do, the estimable character, 
 and the great abilities of this unfortunate J^oung man, I cannot 
 doubt but that he will, without difhcult}^, be able to maintain 
 himself, let him go where he will ; and those who best love 
 him will not only find comfort from this consideration, but from 
 remembering that his leaving home in the sudden and clandestine 
 manner that we know he did, was more than excusable in him. 
 Few people, in fact, if they knew what he had really suffered in 
 that home, could doubt the wisdom and propriety of his leaving 
 it. — And as to the cruel accusation that was made against him, 
 no reasonable person could give credit to what is thus wildly 
 asserted without a shadow of proof I address myself to you, 
 reverend and honoured Sir, in preference to the ever-dear young 
 lady, your niece and ward, because, after much thinking on the 
 subject, I have convinced myself that, had I the power of renew- 
 ing my former familiar intercourse with her, it would be my 
 duty not to avail myself of it, inasmuch, as it would be more ad- 
 vantageous to her that I should not do it. Had my former 
 intercourse with her been merely that of a servant, I should be 
 proud and happy to wait upon her in that capacity still. But 
 many circumstances rendered this impossible in the house of her 
 father; and were I again near her, I might find it difiicult, if 
 not impossible, to behave to Miss Beauchamp in the way that 
 her servants ought to behave to her. I sha.ll serve her better at 
 a distance, by endeavouring to find her brother. Have the 
 kindness, Sir, to present my duty to her, and tell her that 
 the great object of my life shall be to bring back her noble- 
 hearted brother to his country. Have the kindness, Sir, to tell 
 her, also, to make her generous heart quite easy as to my means 
 of living. The small house and garden left to me by my mother 
 
 13—3 
 
180 THE TOUXG HEIPtESS. 
 
 has been pnvcliasecl, at a great price, by the shipping interest at 
 Falmouth, in consequence of its vicinity to the harbour. I 
 remain, \vith profound duty and respect, both your and her 
 obedient servant, 
 
 " Sarah Lambeet." 
 
 The first perusal of this letter produced torrents of tears from 
 Helen ; but, after allowing them to flow without interrujDtion for 
 some minutes, her uncle checked tliem, by saying, "You should 
 not weep so bitterly, dear Helen, because a person whom you 
 love has acted from a sense of duty, instead of being influenced 
 by any other motive. Mrs. Lambert; is right, Helen, and I feel 
 both respect and gratitude towards her for pursuing a line of 
 conduct that, I am quite sure, must be painful to her, solely 
 because her good, clear judgment tells her that it is right. I 
 honour her for her conduct." 
 
 " Then I am quite sure that I ought to honour her too," 
 said poor Helen, hanging her head and looking as if it were 
 easier to say what ought to be done, than to do it. 
 
 "It would be scarcely reasonable at this moment to expect 
 that you should approve her conduct," resumed her uncle, 
 " because it must of necessity give you pain. But you will 
 judge her more reasonably when j'ou are older. She says 
 most truly that the terms upon which you have hitherto 
 lived together, are not such as could be adopted with pro- 
 priety by Miss Beauchamj^. Your relations have claims upon 
 yon as well as your old servant, dear Helen, and a little sober 
 reflection will soon make you understand that Mrs. Lambert is 
 right." 
 
 "If you say it, and if she thinks it too, uncle, I am already 
 quite sure of it — I only wish that doing right was not so very 
 painful ! " she replied. 
 
 Mr. Rixley was too wise to lead her into any further dis- 
 cussion on the subject; and Helen w^as too wise to let him, or 
 .anyone else, perceive how difficult she found it to convert Helen 
 Rixley, into Miss Beauchamp. 
 
THE YOUNG IIEIKESS. 181 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 On the whole, however, it would have been well nigh im- 
 possible to have devised a better course than that taken by Mrs. 
 Lambert to complete the transition of Helen Rixley of the 
 Warren House, to Helen Beauchamp of Beauchamp Park. That 
 it was painful was certain, but there was no mixture either of 
 reproach, or repentance in her feelings, and moreover there was 
 a vague hope at the bottom of her young heart, that the time 
 might come when her situation would be sufficiently indepen- 
 dent of circumstances and usages, to enable her once again to 
 press Sarah Lambert to her heart without feeling that she was 
 doing an injury to herself, or to anybody else. 
 
 The wound made by her separation from William was of a 
 very different kind ; but she never alluded to it in any way, for 
 she was, somehow or other, quite aware that it would not be 
 healed by family discussion, for that the subject was one of the 
 very few upon which those around her could not sympathise 
 with her feelino-s. 
 
 And thus it came to pass that neither Mrs. Lambert, nor 
 AVilliam were any more mentioned among them, but never- 
 theless they were not forgotten by Helen. Her meditations 
 respecting them, however, were, so to speak, of a different 
 quality. The image of Mrs. Lambert never rose to her 
 memory without creating a feeling of affectionate childlike 
 tenderness, and had the object of this very natural feeling not 
 withdrawn herself, it might for ever have been kept alive in 
 the heart of her nursling, and would have been a source of great 
 pleasure to her, had she been permitted to prove her grateful 
 and affectionate feelings by such acts of liberality as her 
 generous temper, and ample means would have led her to 
 perform. But as it was, the recollection of this dearly beloved 
 nurse gradually melted as it were into the mass of all other 
 childish memories of things past, and if Sarah Lambert was no 
 longer a source of happiness to her, the recollection of her did 
 not become a source of sufferino*. 
 
 But far different was the impression left upon her mind by 
 the loss of William. He alone of all the human beings she had 
 ever known had ever been, properly speaking, her companion. 
 
162 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 Thay Lad cli.scor.rsed toq-cther of things vastly beyond the com- 
 prehension of elthci", but nevertheless this converse had been the 
 most precious recreation that Helen had ever known, and though 
 she had of late heard it perpetually proclaimed, either overtl3'-or 
 covertly, that she was beautiful, intelligent and charming, in all 
 manner of ways, the only thing that really awakened a feeling 
 of vanity within her, was the recollection of having seen her 
 brother William close many a volume in which he was interested 
 in order to converse with her. 
 
 Had this been all that remained upon her memory of the days 
 that were gone, her thoughts might have dwelt upon it both 
 with pride and pleasure. Bat unfortunately that was not all. 
 She remembered the agony she had so often seen him suffer, not 
 from the unkindness of his brutal father — for from his babyhood 
 he had been too much accustomed to this, to heed it — but from 
 the insulting tone of degradation in which it was his custom, 
 and evidently his pleasure, to address him. She remembered 
 how she had seen the warm young blood rush to his cheek upon 
 these occasions, and then forsake it till he looked both ghastly 
 pale, and fearfully indignant. 
 
 And even had this been all it would not have mattered much, 
 for it might only have served to I'emind her that their being 
 orphans was a dispensation of providence which could not 
 reasonably in their case be lamented as a misfortune. 
 
 But it was in vain that she endeavoured to remember this, 
 and this alone. Her father's violent death, and the great im- 
 probability of its being the consequence of his ow'n act, as far at 
 least as she had the power of judging-, forced upon her the 
 horrible belief that he had been murdered. But beyond this, it 
 would be in vain to attempt to follow her reasonings. Every- 
 thing was vague, nay, everything was contradictory. 
 
 She felt at her heart's core that the base and ciniel insults 
 which had been heaped upon William, and upon William's 
 mother, in the hearing both of herself and Sarah Lambert, 
 were such as might explain, though they could not justify a 
 degree of indignation, and of rage, which might have led to 
 horrible results; but just as her reasonings had reached this 
 point, she remembered, also, with a rush of compunction and 
 remorse, that wrung torturing tears from her eyes, that of 
 every human being she had ever known, heard, or read of, her 
 brother William was the last v/hose noble nature was likely to 
 be so overpowered by rage as to make him cajDable of the most 
 awful crime of which human nature could be guilty. 
 
The young heiress. 183 
 
 These painful reveries lasted longer than any one domesticaied 
 with Helen could have believed possible, for from a very early 
 period of her domestication in her uncle's family she had, as if 
 by instinct, become aware that, notwithstanding the gentle and 
 even cautious manner with which they listened to her expres- 
 sions of wonder and regret at not receiving' any letter from 
 Sarah Lambert, they did not share her regret upon the subject. 
 
 Having once made this remark, everything which followed 
 strengthened it; and though she could not, from her total 
 ignorance of the facts, do them anything at all approaching 
 to justice while meditating upon the causes of this seemingly 
 cold indifference, she immediately resolved that she would not 
 make herself troublesome by alluding to feelings in which they 
 did not share. 
 
 This deficiency in sympathy was very nearly as visible on the 
 subject of her brother, as in the case of her nurse, and the same 
 resolution on her part was the result. Helen, for her age, had 
 very great command of herself, and therefore not any one of her 
 new family, notwithstanding their constantly affectionate com- 
 munion with her, had any notion how many of her night 
 thoughts were occupied by meditations concerning this lost 
 brother; yet nevertheless her health, her beauty, her intelli- 
 gence, went on improving, and at seventeen, the eventful 
 period to which we must now transport her, it would have 
 been difficult to trace either in her appearance or manners, any 
 trace of either objectionable associations, or defective education. 
 
 And yet on this latter point she had had some very strange 
 notions of her own, for though when transplanted into her 
 uncle's family she was still young enough to have profited 
 by the attendance of masters, if she would have submitted to 
 it, she so resolutely resisted all the arguments used to induce 
 her to do so, that the attempt was soon given up as hopeless,^ 
 and Helen remained to the end of her days without receiving-* 
 any more instructions in the shape of lessons, than she had 
 brought with her from the Warren House. 
 
 However, she read largely, and thought much; and this 
 prevented her being quite as much behindhand in mental de- 
 velopment as many persons acquainted with her early history 
 might have expected. 
 
 Neither were the advantages which she gained in respect to 
 society by her exchanging Crumpton Warren House for 
 Beauchamp Park at all lost upon her, either as a matter of 
 pleasure or profit. 
 
ISi THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 Notbinf^ could be more kind or more judicious tban tbc 
 conduct of ber uncle and aunt towards ber. She was certainly 
 not one of tbose admirable youug ladies wbo bave no will of 
 tbeir own — Helen very decidedly bad a will of ber own — but 
 as sbe was not at all obstinate, and by no means very un- 
 reasonable, everytbing went on smootbl}'-, and notbing in tbe 
 least degree approaciiing a dispute ever occurred between them. 
 On tbe wbole, tberefore, my beroine was a very bappy girl, 
 althougb, at tbe bottom of ber beart, sbe bad a sorrow, wbich, 
 if it did not actually rankle and torment ber, was never quite 
 forgotten. • 
 
 CH.4PTER XXVII. 
 
 It bappened on a certain morning in tbe springtide of tbe 
 year, that Helen, wbo was ever tbe earliest riser of tbc 
 family, was returning from one of ber long solitary morning 
 walks, wbicli bad taken ber considerably beyond tbe boundaries 
 of ber own beautiful park, when sbe saw ber Cousin Henry 
 sitting in very melancboly and Jaques-like fasbion on tbe root 
 of a venerable thorn, wbicb spread its silver awning over the 
 only bit of open brierless turf to be found within tbe sbelter of 
 the tbick copse tbrougb wbicb sbe was passing. 
 
 Her ligbt step bad brougbt ber very near bim befor be per- 
 ceived ber, but wben be did, be started as violently as if be bad 
 seen a gbost. 
 
 " Have I friglitened you, Henry? " said sbe, laugbing. 
 
 " I suppose it would disgrace my noble courage did I say 
 yes," be replied ; " but I sliould disgrace my sincerity if I said 
 no." 
 
 " I bave friglitened you, actually frigbtened you tben, bave 
 I? " said sbe. " This will be sometbino- to boast of." 
 
 " Not mucb, Helen. I believe a mouse might easily bave 
 acbieved as mucb," said he. 
 
 " Shall I guess wbat you were tbinking of," sbe returned, as 
 be rose up, and joined ber. 
 
 " You may, an if you will, cousin," returned Henry, with a 
 very melancboly smile. 
 
 *' Very well, then, so I will. You were tbinking of your 
 
THE TOUXG HEIRESS, 185 
 
 pony, and your fishing", and your waltzing with Mary Jackson ; 
 •while, in the midst of all these beautiful visions, the spectre of 
 your Oxford gown and cap to be put on next week, so com- 
 2:)]etely appalled your spirit as to throw you very nearly into a 
 state of insensibility, from which my approach aroused you 
 with very startling, not to say terrifying, effect." 
 
 " Yes, that was it, Cousin Helen," said he, gravely. 
 
 " But why should this produce a more painful effect upon 
 you now, dear Henrj^, than it has ever done before ? " 
 
 "As you seem determined to bring me to confession, I will 
 answer this question, too, though it is a searching one," he 
 replied. " The reason is this, Helen, I have hitherto lived a 
 very happy, because a very thoughtless life. I have enjoyed 
 going to College, and I have enjoyed returning home — to our 
 ' hapiiy house at hoine,^ dear Helen. But now the case is altered. 
 Thoufrht will come — must come — sooner or latter, to us all, I 
 suppose you do not know, for I dare say my faithful Anne has 
 never told you, that I very greatly dislike the profession which 
 my good father tells me is the only one that is open to me. I 
 dislike, for many reasons, the idea of going into the church. I 
 do not think I am fitted for it in any way, and I do think I am 
 fitted for other thinofs. I would rather a thousand times be sent 
 on the most dangerous mission that they could find for me in 
 Indin, than take holy orders. I am fit for the one, and if I 
 should be shot, there would be no great harm done, and poor 
 Anne would be a few thousand pounds the richer, but to be a 
 clergyman I am not fit ; and yet, you know, I am to set off on 
 Mondny expressly for the purpose of taking my degree, and, 
 after that, a very few weeks more will see me a clergyman." 
 
 Helen was painccl. It was evident that he was very much in 
 earnest, and the misfortune of which he complained was not one 
 for wliich it was very easy to find a remedy. She walked on 
 beside him in silence for a minute or two after he had ceased to 
 speak, and then she said, " Have you ever confessed to your 
 father, Henry, how much you dislike the plan he has laid down 
 for you ? " 
 
 " Yes, Helen. I have done so as earnestly as it was in my 
 power to do it." 
 
 " And how did he receive your remonstrance ? " 
 
 " With a look of despair that it is painful to me to remember," 
 he replied. " He implored me not to make him feel that he had 
 been guilty of a crime in marrying without having sufficient 
 means to provide for his children according to their wishes. In 
 
186 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 short, I had rather do the deed at once than offer any further 
 opposition to his wishes." 
 
 " You are a dear good fellow, Henry ! It would be a sin to 
 try to shake such a resolution as that," replied Helen. " But 
 though oi:)position to so excellent a father would be very pain- 
 ful, and might perhaps be very wrong, I can see no mischief, nor 
 any danger of it from delay. Take my advice in this, Henry, as 
 you often have done in lesser matters. Return to Oxford and 
 take your degree, and exert all your faculties to make it a 
 creditable one. The doing this cannot fail of being- advantageous 
 to yon, let your future walk be what it may. When you have 
 achieved this, ask your father frankly to give you a little breath- 
 ing time before you take orders." 
 
 Henry took a deep breath. "Even that," he said, " would be 
 a great relief" 
 
 " Then I am very glad I suggested it to you," said Helen, 
 kindly. " I am quite sure that I can have done no harm by 
 that. But tell me," she added, " have you never spoken as 
 freely to dear Anne as you have now done to me on this sub- 
 ject?" 
 
 " Oh ! yes. A hundred times, I am afraid, or rather more," 
 he replied. 
 
 "Then how comes it that you have neither of j^ou ever alluded 
 to the subject when talking to me ? You may have been right 
 in abstaining from it with your father, but surely there could 
 have been no harm in 3'our confiding your troubles to me." 
 
 "I am not sure of that, dear Helen," he replied, "nor is 
 Anne, either, for we have often discussed the point together; 
 and, at last, we both agreed that it would be a bad return for 
 all the happiness we have owed to you, if we took it into our 
 heads to prove our friendship by pouring forth all our miseries 
 upon you. No, dear Helen, if you had not cross-examined me 
 so cleverly, you would never have learnt what a rebellious heart 
 was hid under my seeming conformity." 
 
 "Do not say so, Henry!" she replied, affectionately. "I 
 would much rather owe my knowledge of your position, which I 
 certainly never understood before — I would much rather owe it 
 to your confidence in my discretion than to my own skill in 
 cross-examination." 
 
 " And in sober earnest, Helen, j'ou do owe it to my confidence 
 in you," he replied ; " nor would you have been so long with- 
 out knowing all that I have now told you, but for the reason I 
 have already stated to you. Anne has repeatedly asked me to 
 
THE YOUxNG HEIRESS. 18? 
 
 let her tell you all oui' troubles, but I have always ended sncli 
 discussions by conTincing her that it was very wanton cruelty 
 to make you uncomfortable about it, as it was totally out of 3^ our 
 power to do us any good. However, I honestly confess that I 
 have changed my mind upon the subject, for I think it will be a 
 great comfort to Anne, when I am gone, to know that she may 
 converse with you on this subject, as on all others, without re- 
 straint. And see ! Here she comes as if on purpose to meet 
 us. I should not be much surprised if she were to guess wdiat 
 we were talking about so very earnestly." 
 
 " We are waiting breakfast for you Helen," said Anne, as she 
 approached them. " But what are you two in such solemn con- 
 versation about ? " 
 
 "I have followed your advice at last, Anne," replied her 
 brother. " Helen knows all the disobedient struggles of my 
 rebellious spirit, and when I am gone back to Oxford she will 
 listen as kindly and as patiently to your lamentations over me, 
 as she has now been doing to mine." 
 
 " That I am sure she will, if you have been really explaining 
 everything to her, and it will be the greatest possible comfort 
 to me to have a dear friendly ear open to receive my moans and 
 groans — for I really am very miserable about you, Henry." 
 
 " It is possible, young as she is," replied he, " that she may do 
 something more than listen to your moans and groans, for she 
 has been already giving me counsel that has brought an- im- 
 mensity of comfort with it. But there stands my father at the 
 breakfast-room window, not looking impatient, for that is not in 
 his nature, but decidedly looking very hungry." 
 
 Anne was quite right in prognosticating great comfort and 
 consolation from the removal of all restraint from her intercourse 
 with her young cousin, but this could not put off the melancholy 
 day of Henry's departure, or prevent the sad impression left 
 upon her heart by the parting look he gave her, while listening 
 to the gay expression of his father's hope, that the next time he 
 left them would be to receive ordination from their good friend 
 the Bishop. 
 
 * # ^ • • 
 
 # « # • • 
 
188 THE YOL'XG UEII^ESS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 It must not be supposed, though nothing has been hitherto 
 said on the snlijcct, that the beautifal heiress of Bcauchamp 
 Park had been permitted to attain the age of seventeen years 
 without having made some acquaintance with her neighbours. 
 
 During the first year or two of her residence on the domain 
 she had so strangely inherited, her guardian uncle, who was 
 really conscientious almost to excess, avoided the hospitable ad- 
 vances of the neighbourhood; not from an unsocial temper, but 
 because he felt that he should not like to receive hospitality 
 without returning it, and that this return could only be made at 
 the expense of Helen, who was as yet too young either to make 
 or receive dinner visits. 
 
 But Miss Beauchamp was rather a precocious, and rather a 
 self-willed young lady, and by the time she had reached her 
 sixteenth birthday she had not only made up her mind upon 
 the subject of family visiting in general, but very resolutely 
 determined to take the management of the business into her own 
 hands. 
 
 Not all her little efforts, and they had not been sparingly 
 repeated, could prevent her uncle from betraying in various 
 ways, that he had not forgotten that neither the house nor the 
 revenue which supported it were his own. The consciousness 
 that such were his feelings was a great annoyance to Helen, but 
 she quietly made up her mind to endure it till she should be as 
 tall as lier aunt ; nor had she very long to wait for this much- 
 coveted dignity of appearance, and when her sixteenth birthday 
 arrived, she took care to make this evident, by requesting that 
 they might both be measured against the library door, when the 
 fact of her not only having reached, but surpassed this desired 
 standard, was most satisfactorily proved to the whole family. 
 
 " Then, now, I suppose, I can no longer be accounted a 
 child ? " said Helen, addressing herself to her aunt. 
 
 " No, truly, Helen, I think you look almost as old as your 
 grown-up cousin Anne," replied Mrs. Rixley, with great sin- 
 cerity. 
 
 *' And you, undo ? Do you think I look like a child ? " she 
 
TEE YOUNG HEIRESS. 189 
 
 said, addressing Mr. Rixley, in a tone that liad more of earnest 
 than jest in it, 
 
 " No, Helen," be answered, with equal gravifc}^ " you certainly 
 do not." 
 
 " Nor do I any longer feel like a child. The last few years of 
 iny life, have, I think, produced the effect of many years upon 
 me," returned Helen, thoughtfully. 
 
 " I doubt it not," replied her uncle. " The changes which 
 have happened to you during that interval, have been quite 
 enough to produce this effect; and moreover, Helen, you are, I 
 suspect, rather addicted to meditation, and this is a temperament 
 which makes us feel old." 
 
 " That accounts for it, uncle ! That accounts for all the busy 
 thoughts that I feel working within me," returned Helen, 
 laughing. " Do not be frightened if I tell you that these busy 
 thoughts suggest to me the idea that I should like for us all to 
 see a little more of our neighbours. They all, as far as I have 
 been able to judge, appear inclined to be very civil to us, but as 
 you do not choose to dine out anywhere, it is of course im- 
 possible for me to know much about it. I do not mean to say 
 that I wish to dine out myself just yet, I should be quite con- 
 tented to wait another whole year before I do that ; but if you 
 would ask some of those we like best to dine here, we should 
 soon become better acquainted with them, you know, and they 
 would begin again to ask you to dine with them in return ; and 
 then all sorts of sociable meetings would be set going among 
 us, and if I am to live here always, I think I shall find it very 
 dull if I don't know any of my neighbours. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Rixley looked at each other with something a 
 little like dismay. There was just enough of truth and reason 
 in the young lady's remonstrance to make it difficult to answer 
 her. Her uncle, however, like a sensible man as he was, took 
 the right way, for he immediately told the truth. 
 
 " We are not rich enough, Helen," said he, " to visit the 
 principal families within visiting distance, upon terms of 
 equality. Have you forgotten the discussion we had together 
 on this subject before we finally decided that we might all 
 venture to live here together during your minority? Have you 
 forgotten the style of establishment which you recommended in 
 order to enable us to do so without imprudence ? " 
 
 " No, Uncle Rixley, I have not forgotten one word of that 
 discussion; nor shall I ever forget the kindness which induced 
 you to yield to my wishes, though the doing so was in so great 
 
190 THE YOUKG nElRESS. 
 
 a degree ix) banish you from society. But the state of the case 
 is different now, and I begin to know you so well, that I feel 
 certain that you will feel many more scruples about my having 
 no society than about your all being deprived of it yourselves." 
 
 He looked furtively at his wife, and smiled. " There might 
 be something in tbat," he said, "were it not that the friendly 
 attentions of our neighbours have by no means relaxed so much 
 as we had reason to expect they might have done upon dis- 
 covery that we were not diners out." 
 
 " But I do not like that their attentions should relax at all," 
 said Helen, " and I tbink -it would be bad management on my 
 part were I to begin my career by living as a stranger among 
 those whom I ought to make my friends." 
 
 " But how is it to be avoided, Helen ? Everything in the way 
 of expenditure goes smoothly now, but it would be very much 
 the reverse if you entered upon a system of receiving dinner 
 compan}'-," returned her uncle. 
 
 "I know it, Uncle Rixley," she replied. "But I know also 
 that an additional thousand a year would enable us to do this 
 without any imprudence at all ; and this thousand a year, if 
 added to my savings, could never be of such advantage, or such 
 pleasure to me, as the spending it now, in the manner I propose, 
 nor do I think it at all likely that this addition wonld not be 
 made to my allowance, if the reason for its being asked for were 
 explained." 
 
 Whether it \vere the wisdom or the wilfulness of this re- 
 monstrance which did most in obtaining its success may be 
 doubtful, but it is certain that no further opposition was offered 
 to the hospitable wishes of the j'oung heiress. The increased 
 allowance was asked for, and immediately granted, and very 
 little time was lost before her sociable projects were in full 
 activity ; the car was changed for a very respectable barouche, 
 which, either as an open carriage or a close one, could convey 
 the whole party. A butler, too, worthy of Beauchamp Park, 
 was added to their establishment, together with sundry other 
 minor appurtenances necessary to the projected alteration in 
 the family proceedings. 
 
 The prognostic of Helen respecting the facility of speedily in- 
 creasing the frequency of their intercourse with their neighbours 
 proved perfectly correct; and this was doubtless rendered more 
 easy by the explicit avowal of the motives which led the 
 Beauchamp Park family to wish for it. 
 
 The beautiful girl, who had hitherto only been occasionally 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 191 
 
 seen during a morning visit, now always took her place on lier 
 uncle's right hand at table, and lier manner of assisting her 
 aunt in receiving their guests in the drawing-room was soon 
 spoken of in the neighbourhood as the perfection of youthful 
 grace, and lad3'-like demeanour. 
 
 But Helen was quite as self-willed in the limits she placed to 
 her own share of these neighbourly sociabilities, as she had been 
 in establishing them. She positively, absolutely, and stedfastly, 
 refused to dine in company anywhere but at home ; and though 
 this resolution was almost clamorously combated by every 
 family in the neighbourhood, and with especially earnest 
 eloquence where there were grown-up sons, the pretty heiress 
 only gave a smiling "no" in return; but ail this might have 
 been fairly recorded by the well-known line : — 
 
 " 0-t she rejects, but never once offends." 
 
 Few themes are more fertile to memorialists of my stamp 
 than a well varied set of *' country neighbours," but I do not 
 mean to indulge in it now. There was to be found in a circle 
 of about fourteen miles diameter round Beauchamp Park about 
 the usual proportion of talent and inanit}^ warm hearts and 
 cold ones, sense and nonsense, worth and worthlessness, and 
 though the individual specimens of each class might be easily 
 sketched, so as not to mimic humanity too abominably, I do not 
 mean to indulge myself by making the attempt. I may indeed 
 have occasion to allude to some of them subsequently, but as 
 there was only one family who were of any real importance to 
 my narrative at this time, I shall for the present restrict my 
 descriptions to them. 
 
 The name of this family wa§ Harrington, and it consisted of 
 father, mother, two daughters, and one son, or more correctly of 
 one sou, and two daughters, for the young man was not only the 
 only son, and the heir expectant of a splendid property known 
 by the name of Specdhurst Abbey, but he was also the senior of 
 his sisters by several years. 
 
 It was with this family— ^and this family only — that Helen 
 had already, by means of pretty frequent morning visitings, and 
 an occasional pony car excursion, formed something like an 
 intimate acquaintance. 
 
 But it must not be taken for granted, that the above 
 mentioned only son had much to do with all this, for the fact 
 is, that at the time at which we have arrived, George Harring- 
 ton scarcely knew any of the Beauchamp Park family by sight. 
 
192 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 Ifc was not only as being the son of bis father that this young 
 man was heir to Speedhursfc Abbey, and its acres, but as the 
 eldest, and indeed the only nephew of his father's elder brother. 
 This uncle had been a childless widower for the last twenty 
 years, and it was at a time when the father of George was the 
 happy father of three sons, instead of one, that he had con- 
 sented to the earnest and not unreasonable petition of his 
 bi'other to make over to his care the boy who was to inherit his 
 property. 
 
 For fifteen years after this transfer was made, not one of all 
 the individuals concerned in it had ever been permitted to feel a 
 regret on the subject, for a more amiable, reasonable, or con- 
 siderate old man than the owner of Speedhurt Abbey never 
 existed, and if the first object of his life was to make his future 
 heii' all that an English gentleman ought to be, and the very 
 happiest boy in the world besides, the second very evidently was, 
 to arrange the intercourse between the two families in such a 
 manner as to prevent the parents of George from ever feeling, 
 or fancying', that they had given away their son. 
 
 But within six months after George had taken a very 
 brilliant degree at Cambridge, and set off, with a celebrated 
 geologist for his companion, to make his first tour upon the 
 continent, the two fine lads who had prevented his being pain- 
 fully missed at home became the heroes of one of the most 
 appalling calamities on record, having been both drowned when 
 bathinof, within si^'ht of their father. 
 
 The eldest son returned to England immediately, and it was 
 to his father's house he then went, as to his future home. It 
 was a tremendous sacrifice that the venerable owner of Speed- 
 hurst then offered to make, for no father ever loved a son more 
 devotedly than he loved his heir; but George's father would 
 not hear of it, and so truly was he in earnest in wishing that the 
 Abbey should still be his son's home, that he was permitted to 
 have his way, and it was still only as a visitor that George 
 occasionally passed a few days with his family. 
 
 But it had so happened that some of their intimate morning 
 meetings with the Beauchamp Park family had taken place 
 when he was with them, and though he had once been in his 
 mother's drawing-room when the Rixley family, accompanied 
 by Helen, entered it, he felt himself at liberty, being a total 
 stranger to them all, to leave the room as they came into it, for 
 his horse had been for some time pawing the gravel at the 
 door. 
 
THE YOUNG HEIEESP. 103 
 
 The only observation lie made upon them amounted to two 
 questions which he asked his mother on returning from Ijis 
 ride. 
 
 " My groom told me that those were the Beauchamp Park 
 people who were coming* in, as I went out. That girl in the 
 straw bonnet is pretty-looking, isn't she ? Is that the heiress, 
 mother ? " said he. 
 
 " Yes, and yes," replied his mother. " The first of 3'our 
 questions you would have been able to answer for yourself, if 
 you had not been in such a violent hurry." 
 
 " Don't scold, dear mammy ! It was my horse who was in a 
 hurry, and not I. I thought she looked very pretty," he replied, 
 
 "Pretty, George!" exclaimed his eldest sister. "I should 
 think you must be the first person who ever applied such an 
 epithet to such a face. Helen Beauchamp is by far the most 
 beautiful person that I ever saw." 
 
 "Really Jane? Then I flatter myself that I shall ere long 
 have an opportunity of atoning for my abrupt departure by 
 being permitted to look at her at my leisure." 
 
 "You have not much chance of being able to perform this 
 act of penance," said his sister Agnes, " for she never hns 
 dined out yet, and she is not to begin till she is seventeen." 
 
 " You don't mean to tell me that the tall, graceful creature 
 who passed by me this morning when I was stationed at the 
 door in act to fly, you don't mean to to tell me, Agnes, that 
 she is still in the school-room ? " he replied. 
 
 " I will not answer for her being always in the school-room, 
 for I do not think her education is conducted at all in a tyran- 
 nical style, moreover I doubt if she ever had a governess in her 
 life," returned his sister; "but nevertheless it is a certain fact 
 that she is still so far treated as a child, as not to dine out with 
 the family. However, I don't suppose this will last for ever, for 
 it is evident that they are preparing to be more sociable than 
 they were on first coming here, and this is doubtless the pre- 
 paration for her coming out." 
 
 " Which coming out, I presume, you all consider as an event 
 of immense importance to the neighbourhood," said the young 
 man, laughing. " The letting loose a beauty and an heiress in 
 such a quiet little neighbourhood as this, will be something 
 worth watching." 
 
 " The Beauchanrip Park family will never choose to make 
 themselves very conspicuous, I think, in any way," said Mrs. 
 Harrington. " They are all of them rational, and perfectly 
 
 14 
 
194 THE YOUXG HEIEESS. 
 
 nnalTectecl, and the more they mix with the neighbourhood, the 
 better Avill it be for us aU." 
 
 This was all that George Harrington had ever seen or known 
 of the fiiraily at Beauchamp Park at the i^eriod when Helen 
 completed her seventeenth year. 
 
 This birth day was an epocb wbicli she herself had fixed upon 
 as one that was to be very important to her, and so it was; for 
 •with the same quiet steadiness with which she had, in fact, 
 regulated the movements of the Kixley family from the time she 
 first became a member of it, she succeeded in obtaining the 
 position and the influence in the household wdiich for some 
 time past it had been her especial object to gain. 
 
 I am quite aw^are that I am not presenting my heroine in a 
 very flattering light to my readers, but if I have not disguised 
 the fact of her being self-willed, I must observe that there wero 
 many excuses for her. 
 
 Her situation was, in many respects, very peculiar. She wag 
 quite conscious that she was well-born (in the common meaning 
 of the phrase), and very wealthy. She w^as also perfectly aware 
 that she had a fair chance of becoming as well-looking as young 
 ladies in general; nor had she any misgivings, notwithstanding 
 the irregular style of her education, concerning her having also 
 a fair proportion, both of intellect and information. But she 
 was conscious, too, that, notwithstanding all these advantages, 
 her position was, in many respects, a false and a painful one. 
 She knew, for the circumstance had been more than once dis- 
 cussed before her, that her existence had been perfectly unknown 
 to her uncle's family till the dreadful catastrophe arrived which 
 had made them personally acquainted, and she could not, there- 
 fore, but be conscious, that w4ien Mr. Rixley came to attend his 
 brother's funeral, he came, presuming himself to be his heir. 
 
 She appeared amongst them, therefore, not only as a stranger, 
 but as one wlio had blighted all their hopes. 
 
 The manner in which she had been received among them was 
 such as, under any circumstances, must have won her affection, 
 but the peculiar state of the case made this conduct justly appear 
 to her as noble as it was kind. 
 
 This statement may not at first sight seem to account very 
 satisfactorily for her so speedily determining to have her own 
 way among them ; but, for so young an observer, she show^ed 
 considerable acuteness in the rapidity with which she discovered 
 that if she wished that they should be benefited in any pecuniary 
 way by her remaining wdth them, it must be achieved by her 
 
THE YOUNG HEffiESS. 195 
 
 having lier way, and not by the Rixley family having tlieirs. 
 Having made this discovery, and by degrees also the more 
 painful one, that their circumstances were snch as to render 
 attention to this point of great importance to them, she very 
 soon determined what her line of conduct should be; and the 
 excellent judgment with which she arranged her plans, and the 
 steady perseverance with which she adhered to them, must be 
 received in atonement for the unbending pertinacity with which 
 she refused to listen to the occasional remonstrances of her 
 uncle when he fancied that she was in danger of exceeding the 
 liberal allowance of the Court of Chancery. But, in point of 
 fact, Helen knew what she was about a great deal better than 
 her uncle did. 
 
 •^\y^~.'^y^-^^. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 A FEW days after Henry Rixley's departure for College, 
 which happened at no great distance from the eventful da}^ on 
 which Helen completed her seventeenth year, she once again 
 lingered in the breakfast-room after the morning meal was con- 
 cluded, and upon her Cousin Anne's making a movement as if 
 to leave the room, she stopped her, saying', " Wait for me one 
 moment, Anne, and we will go to my room together, but I want 
 first to say a few words to my uncle and aunt upon business." 
 
 On hearing these words, Mr. Rixley, who had also risen to 
 leave the room, resumed his chair, saying, " At your orders, fair 
 niece. What have you to say to us ? " 
 
 " Very little, dear uncle, if you approve my proposal, but a 
 good deal by way of convincing you that I am right, if you 
 should happen to think that I am wrong," said Helen. 
 
 " Then I shall certainly contradict you at first setting out, 
 for I like to hear you plead," replied her uncle, laughing. 
 
 " I shall bless 3'ou very heartily if upon this particular 
 occasion you will dispense with all pleading, and yield to my 
 wishes. It is not at all an imaginative theme, and if we talk 
 about it all day we shall find no amusement in it, dear uncle," 
 replied Helen, gravely, "but I mean that my project shall con- 
 tain something better, for I flatter myself that it will be useful 
 
196 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 — useful to me, dear aunt — yes, very useful, as part of my 
 education. In short, I greatly wish that you would permit me 
 to be my own housekeeper." 
 
 The silence of a moment followed this unexpected proposal. 
 Had Helen's auditors been less convinced of her rectitude of 
 principle, and steadiness of conduct, this silence might have 
 lasted longer, or have ended diflferently ; but as it was, the 
 voices of both her uncle and aunt were heard at the same 
 moment uttering nearly the same words, for they were both 
 equally eager to assure her that they saw no objection whatever 
 to her proposal, and that they perfectly agreed with her in 
 thinking that the sooner she learnt the value, and the use of 
 money, the better would be her chance of subsequently managing 
 her own affairs judiciously. 
 
 " Ever the same ; ever indulgent, and confiding," exclaimed 
 Helen, and thereupon she kissed them both with the playful 
 eagerness of a happy child ; but tears came into her eyes the 
 moment after, as she added, " God forbid that I should ever 
 give you cause to repent your confidence in me ! " 
 
 The day on which Helen comi^leted her seventeenth year was 
 the fourth birthday which she had had to celebrate since she 
 had taken up her residence at Beauchamp Park. On occasion 
 of the three first a very modest \itt\e fete had been given, at the 
 suggestion of Mr. Rixley, to the half dozen servants which con- 
 stituted their little household, and the something was repeated 
 on the present, which afforded, as Mr. Rixley observed, a very 
 convenient opportunity for announcing that the young mistress 
 of the mansion was, from that time forward, to assume the 
 executive reins of management herself; an announcement which 
 would probably have been received with more surprise, had not 
 the beautiful features of Helen already assumed a cast of more 
 thoughtfulness than is common at her age. 
 
 In truth, poor Helen had long ago begun to feel too acutely, 
 and to think too deeply, not to have lost that airy gaiety of 
 aspect which constitutes so large a portion of what is called, 
 strangely enough, " La heautS du Diahle.'' Her heaute was of a 
 different order, and had she been seven-and-twenty, instead of 
 seventeen, she could not have received the dutiful bows and 
 courtesies of her household with more sober, though gentle 
 dignity, than she did on this occasion; and never probably 
 did a young creature so early and so suddenly assume the 
 m;inagemeut of a family with so little apparent assumption of 
 authority or so much efficient exercise of it. 
 
THE YOUXG HEIRESS. l97 
 
 Fortunately for Helen's comfort, and for Helen's projects, her 
 Uncle Rixley was not a man to adhere to an engagement to the 
 sound and break it to the sense. She had taken care to make it 
 very clearly understood that the portion of their joint income 
 which had come from him should make no part of the sum over 
 which she desired to have control. At first, he had objected to 
 this, telling her that in that case she might find it after all im- 
 possible to be, as she wished, her own housekeeper, for that a 
 part of their joint expenses had hitherto been paid by him. 
 
 " Of that," she replied, " I am quite aware, my dear uncle, 
 and a part of the expenses may be paid by you still. You must 
 not forget that my allowance has been increased on the plea of 
 my going into company more. But after all. Uncle Rixley, I 
 think we are essentially a very domestic family, and the increase 
 which 3^ou have asked for, and obtained, will suffice, if I mistake 
 not, for all the increased visitings we shall wish for ; that is, 
 provided my aunt and you will make no objection to paying the 
 wages of Amy, who has belonged to you all so long that I am 
 quite certain she would accept wages from nobody else." 
 
 " Very well, my dear, that is very kindly thought of, and may 
 be easily managed. But what sum do you propose I should 
 pay you for the maintenance of myself and my family ? " 
 
 Helen coloured a little, and looked somewhat embarrassed, 
 but after the silence of a moment she recovered herself, and 
 said, " I had hoped, dear uncle, that you would kindly have 
 consented to become my guests till some reason should arise 
 which might cause us to be separated." 
 
 " I will not say I thank you for such a wish, my dear Helen, 
 because I believe we are on both sides too thoroughly convinced 
 that we all mutually love each other for it to be necessary for 
 either party to return thanks for a proof of it. But, on the con- 
 trary, I must reproach you with a want of judgment, Helen, 
 and a deficiency of common sense, that rather surprises me." 
 
 " Yes, yes ! I see it all ! " exclaimed Helen, quickly, and 
 colouring more vividly than before. " You are quite right, and 
 I was quite wrong. Forgive me, Uncle Rixley ! It was a 
 blunder, and I beg 3-our pardon for my want of thoughtfulness. 
 You shall pay each of you, if you approve it, at the rate of 
 one hundred a-year ; and the pony that you ride, and that Henry 
 rides when he is at home, shall be kept entirely at your expense, 
 if you approve it." 
 
 Mr. Rixley paused for a little while before he answered, and 
 then he said, "That will be leaving me a very rick man, Helen. 
 
198 THE YOUXG HEITvESS. 
 
 However, so let it be. We must all look forward to the time, 
 probably at no very distant date, when you will have a partner 
 to assist you in the disposal of your superfluous wealth ; and, 
 meanwhile, I consent to the terms you have dictated, because I 
 feel quite certain that no way of spending your present income 
 would give you more pleasure." 
 
 This was the last financial conversation which ever took 
 place between the uncle and niece, as long as the young lady 
 continued a minor ; one reason for which was, that it would 
 have been extremely difficult for either party to have found 
 anything very interesting to say on the subject to the other. It 
 was, indeed, impossible that any housekeeping, on any scale, 
 could have gone on with more satisfactory regularity : no one 
 ever heard of any bills; no people were ever served by more 
 obsequious tradesmen. The servants were alert, obedient, and 
 attentive ; and the whole establishment went on with the 
 regularity of a well-ordered machine, the springs of which 
 were both out of sisrht and out of hearing:. 
 
 But with all this excellent good management, the enlarged 
 hospitalities of Beauchamp Park did not display themselves 
 with quite as much splendour as the Rixley family had ex- 
 pected. Whether this was, or was not, a disappointment to the 
 gay-hearted Anne may be doubtful; but to her father and 
 mother it unquestionably came in the shape of a very agreeable 
 surprise. They had now been domesticated with Helen for 
 some years, and they had become sufficiently acquainted with 
 her character during that time, to have convinced themselves 
 that she was a girl of no ordinaiy ability ; but, nevertheless, 
 they were very far from understanding the peculiarities of her 
 disposition. 
 
 They had by no means suspected her of being likely to fall 
 into any very objectionable expenses for the sake of indulging a 
 taste for dissipation, or a taste for parade ; but they certainly 
 did think that her anxiety to become the mistress of her own 
 house arose from a wish to receive more companj'-, and accept 
 more invitations, than her careful guardian had hitherto thought 
 it prudent to do. 
 
 But they speedily found that they were mistaken, and that 
 her proceedings had much more the appearance of increased 
 economy than of increased extravagance. This increased 
 econom}^ however, was not displayed in any branch of ex- 
 penditure which could affect the comfort of the famil}^, or of 
 the household; in all such respects her only object seemed to 
 
THE tOUNG HEIRESS!. l09 
 
 be to follow scrupulously the esamjple which her aunt had set 
 
 her. 
 
 Bat Helen was vastly more enterprising and speculative than 
 they suspected in her management of the acres reserved as the 
 home farm, and which consisted of some rich and highly-con- 
 ditioned pastures, besides the park, which surronnded the house, 
 and which park, almost from time immemorial, as her grey- 
 headed bailiff assured her, had been kept pretty nearly sacred to 
 the fine herd of deer for which it was celebrated. This grey- 
 headed bailiflP had held his office too long to be dismissed 
 without reluctance, and too long to be retained with 
 utility. But Helen found means to settle this difficulty greatly 
 to the satisfoction, as well as to the benefit, of all parties, for 
 she settled the pretty cottage, in which he and his old wife had 
 long resided, upon them as long as both or either should live, 
 together with an annuity equal in amount to his yearly wages ; 
 and then she dismissed him with no more harshness than was 
 contained in the observation that he had worked long enough 
 to deserve a comfortable provision without working any more. 
 
 This arrangement was really too reasonable not to be ap- 
 proved of by all parties ; but when it was followed by the 
 announcement that the deer were to be sold, and the land let 
 for grazing, a vast variety of observations followed : and, more- 
 over, the promptitude with which this measure was carried into 
 effect, caused a good many people to suspect that either the 
 3'oung heiress herself, or some of her friends for her, were 
 determined to turn the place to profit. 
 
 But all this was done with such a systematic avoidance of 
 discussion about it on the part of Helen, that, notwithstanding 
 the very delightful and very perfect harmony which existed 
 between them all, there was not any one of the Rixley family 
 v/ho had any knowledge of what her motive could be for robbing 
 the place both of dignity and beaut}'-, and that for the sake of 
 gaining money, which it was very evident she could not want, 
 and which it was very evident she did not spend. 
 
 It was, however, almost impossible for the Rixley family not 
 to suppose, however little their previous knowledge of her had 
 led to such a conclusion, that Helen was avaricious ; and they 
 certainly did suppose it, though there was so much in her general 
 conduct and apparent disposition to make them think otherwise. 
 But facts, as we all know, are stubborn things ; and unquestion- 
 ably there were many facts which led to this conclusion. 
 
 In the first place, her wish to become her own housekeeper 
 
200 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 sliowcd a decided fncUnalion to obtain the control of money ; 
 and although at first it might have been supposed that this wish 
 was created rather by the desire of spending money, than of 
 saving it, the results showed very clearly that this was not the 
 case. It is true, indeed, that she contrived, somehow or other, 
 that they should mix more freely with the neighbours, whose 
 society they really liked, than they had ever done before ; but 
 this was not achieved by means of giving costly entertainments ; 
 for although Helen very frequently invited two or three favourite 
 neighbours to dine with her, nearly a year had elapsed since she 
 had become mistress of her house, without her ever having 
 received what among country neighbours is called a " dinner 
 party." 
 
 There was another symptom of Helen's dislike to costly ex- 
 penditure in her dress. Upon their first taking up their abode 
 at the Park, it had been agreed between Mr. Rixley and his 
 wife, that Helen should receive a yearly stipend of one hundred 
 pounds for her dress. She had appeared somewhat startled at 
 the large amount; however, she made no objection to receiving 
 it, but, on the contrary, seemed to enjoy the power it gave her 
 of buying pretty things exceedingly. Moreover, it very rarely 
 happened that she bought one pretty thing without bu3'ing two, 
 for it was only by this contriv^ance that she could make her 
 friend Anne look as smart as herself — a point upon which she 
 appeared at that time to be very particular. 
 
 But all this was altered now ; she very rarely gave her Cousin 
 Anne anything that Avas much worth having ; and as to her 
 own dress, if it had not been that the marked simplicity of her 
 attire seemed to become her so particularly that she might have 
 been suspected of coquetry for adopting it, she might have been 
 said to be the most economically dressed heiress in the world. 
 
 There was yet another point upon which her tender care of 
 money became evident, exactly at the time when she first began 
 to have considerable power over that variously valued article. 
 When Helen first took up her residence at Beauchamp Park, 
 there w^as no feature in her new neighbourhood which seemed 
 to inspire her with so much interest as the condition of the 
 poor, and often did she deny to herself, and perhaps to Anne 
 too, the indulgence of a new bonnet, in order to purchase a new 
 blanket for a poor neighbour. 
 
 Now, although this had never been done ostentatiously, it had 
 never been done mysteriously, and everybody, therefore, said 
 that "pretty Miss Beauchamp seemed likely to be very free 
 
THE YOUNG HEIEESS. 201 
 
 witli her money," but nobody could say this any longer now; for 
 pretty Miss Beaucbamp, very decidedly, ^Yas not free with her 
 mone}'. Yet nevertheless she could never be said either to 
 forget her poor neighbours ; on the contrary, she seemed to 
 keep them in her memory in a way which was too constant, and 
 too resolutely active, to be at all agreeable to her servants. 
 
 Her alms, before she became her own housekeeper, had con- 
 sisted chiefly of donations from her own private purse ; but now 
 the privy purse was spared, and the hungry ^oart of the village 
 population were invited to appear in the servants' hall twice 
 a-week, where she very punctually gave them the meeting, and 
 presented them such a proportion of well-prepared soup, or well- 
 preserved fragments, as might be spared without any sin against 
 economy. 
 
 Now certainly all this did look as if the heiress was learning 
 to love money, and this love of money is not a species of affection 
 which is contemplated with any very tender feelings by lookers 
 on, even when they feel within themselves something like sym- 
 pathy with it. 
 
 But, somehow or other, Helen, though she used but little 
 caution in the manifestation of this weakness, seemed to escape 
 the feeling of dislike which it generally inspires; for, to say the 
 truth, nobody seemed to dislike her, notwithstanding her 
 peculiarities; and considering the limited number of her ac- 
 qnaintance, a good many people really appeared to be very 
 fond of her. 
 
 As to her own relations they were probably partial, for not- 
 withstanding their having such excellent opportunities for seeing 
 all her faults, it would have been difiBcult to make any one of 
 them confess that she had any. 
 
 Neither did her "standing" in the neighbourhood appear to 
 SLifTer in any important degree from her pertinacious averseness 
 to dinner parties, handsome carriages, fine dresses, or stately 
 deer. 
 
 The intercourse between the Beauchamp Park and the Har- 
 rington families had jDccome not only frequent, but intimate in 
 no common degree ; for the elders of the two houses suited each 
 other particularly well, and the two young ladies at Beauchamp 
 Park, and the t\vo young ladies at The Oaks (the residence of 
 Mr. Harrington), might almost have been quoted as two pair of 
 double cherries, so closely affectionate was the union between 
 them. 
 
 Nor were these the only neighbours with whom the Rixley 
 
202 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 family, and Helen, liad conti'acted a degree of intimacy winch 
 bad ripened into friendship. Sir William and Lady Knighton, 
 who lived at the distance only of a mile from the park gates, 
 though not in the same parish, together with their numerous 
 progeny, were among those who lived with them on terms more 
 resembling a friendship of long standing than an almost new 
 acquaintance ; moreover, there was a rather antiquated bachelor 
 of the name of Phelps, who was nearer to them still, and who 
 from various causes, one doubtless being the convenient vicinity 
 of his residence, was more frequenfly a guest at the Park than 
 any other individual. 
 
 ISTo great dinners, nor costly receptions of any kind, were 
 found necessary to keep up a constant intercourse between theso 
 friendly neighbours ; and the Beauchamp Park family were, for 
 the present, perfectly well contented without extending their 
 intimacies any further. 
 
 It may seem, perhaps, a little strange, but so it was, that of 
 all these intimacies, notwithstanding my double-cherry simile, 
 the most intimate was that which existed between old Mr. 
 Phelps and my young heroine. How this came to pass it 
 might be tedious to relate in detail, for the circumstances 
 which led to it w^ere very trivial. Mr. Phelps dined exactly 
 at the same rather early hour as the family at the Park, and 
 durino; the fair weather months of the year this led to a loncj 
 afternoon walk, or a long afternoon lounge on the garden seats 
 of the Beauchamp shrubberies,.for those who had nothing else to 
 do that they liked better. 
 
 Now Mr, Rixley liked an after dinner nap better ; and Mrs. 
 Rixley had for years set this portion of her existence apart (when 
 not very particularly engaged) to the reading a daily news- 
 paper. 
 
 Anne Rixley, though not a distinguished musician by nature, 
 was greatly desirous to become one by practice, and this was the 
 interval which, whenever it was in her power, she liked to 
 devote to this object; and thus Helen was left at perfect liberty 
 to dispose of herself as she liked, a privilege which she valued 
 greatly, and that she did so value it was not a secret to any- 
 body. 
 
 Many of these precious hours were spent, as may easily be 
 imagined, in reading ; for much of Helen's very miscellaneous 
 reading was of a kind that could best be enjoyed alone. Dnring 
 the short days of the year this luxury was indulged in within 
 the shelter of her own dressing-room ; but in the longer and 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 203 
 
 warmer clays of the year, her study was chosen from among the 
 quietest and prettiest retreats of her ample gardens. 
 
 It was once, twice, and again, that while thus enjoying her- 
 self, her greatly valued old neighbour, Mr. Phelps, had found I'.er 
 cut, and very decidedly disturbed her in her favourite occupation. 
 And for the once or twice, perhaps, she was not only disturbed, 
 but in a small degree vexed at the interruption; for she had 
 loved to think herself alone, when she looked round upon the 
 fair and tranquil spot she had chosen, and as quite beyond Iho 
 reach of interruption. 
 
 Fortunately for her, however, her temper was too sweet, and 
 her manner too gentle, for the intruder to discover that she was 
 annoyed by his approach, and therefore the third time came. 
 And then their conversation began by the seemingly common- 
 place question, " What are you reading ? " 
 
 Bat her answer did more towards convertingf them from 
 neighbours into friends than it was probably any other answer 
 of the same length could have done, and yet it only consisted in 
 her telling him the title of the book she iield in her hand. The 
 book was a newly-published work on electricity, and its probable 
 influence in many cases where no such influence is suspected. 
 
 Now in these blessed latter days there is nothing very ex- 
 traordinary in a young girl getting hold of a book upon 
 electricity, and reading it ; so it could not be this fact which 
 so much struck Mr. Phelps. The fact that did strike him was, 
 that in all his pleasant intimate intercourse with the family at 
 the Park, he had never heard a single word drop from Mr. 
 Rixley, or from any member of the family, which had led him 
 to guess that natural science was among the subjects to which 
 their reading hours were devoted. 
 
 And this remark was neither hastily made, nor ill-founded. 
 Mr. Rixley was not only an accomplished classical scholar, he 
 v/as also a deeply-read historian ; but accident, or inclination, or 
 both, had led him throughout his life much more to literature 
 than to science ; and the consequence of this naturally was, that 
 his family also were more literary than scientific. 
 
 Exactly the contrary of this was the case with Mr. Bolton; 
 and, as great part of Helen's education, such as it was, had been 
 received from him, it naturally followed that she had, in some 
 degree, acquired his opinions respecting what is the most in- 
 teresting occupation for the human intellect. 
 
 But she had sufficient quickness to perceive that her ideas on 
 this subject differed essentially from those of her uncle and his 
 
204 THE YOUKG HEIRESS. 
 
 fi^mily, and sufficient tact not to obtrude her love for scientific 
 nibbling upon those who had no appetite for it ; a sort of for- 
 bearance which it was the more easy for her to practise, because 
 she had vastly more sympathy with their favourite studies than 
 they had with hers. 
 
 With her new old friend, Mr. Phelps, the case was very 
 similar. He half worshipped, half idolized, good poetry, as a 
 sort of inspiration that was " light from Heaven ; " but he dived 
 and delved into the depths of science with the devoted and the 
 hopeful industry of an Australian digger ; feeling deeply con- 
 vinced the while, that if any means exists by which man can 
 improve his condition here below, or learn to guess wiiat might 
 await him in ages yet to come, we must look for them in the 
 direction of natural science. 
 
 Now Mr. Phelps, being one of the most kind-hearted and 
 social-tempered old bachelors in the world, had thought himself 
 exceedingly fortunate in the acquisition of such very near, and 
 such ver}'- agreeable neighbours as those at Beauchamp Park. 
 The absence of all pretence and nffectation among them delighted 
 him, and he was much too wise a man to run the risk of wcaken- 
 inn- the cordial liking which so evidently existed between them, 
 by endeavouring to lead the conversation to subjects which it 
 was evident to him could not be interesting to them. 
 
 But, nevertheless, he would have dearly liked to cultivate a 
 taste for his own favourite pursuits among them, could he have 
 discerned the least germ of inclination for it in any of them. 
 
 The hope of this, however, he had long abandoned ; for the 
 only one of the party to whom nature had given a propensity to 
 peep into her mysteries was one of the last in the world to 
 obtrude her own speculations upon companions whose sjDecula- 
 tions were evidently directed elsewhere. 
 
 But this little adventure of the title-page led to sundry dis- 
 coveries, that were exceedingly interesting to both the parties 
 concerned in it; and it required a wonderfully short time to 
 establish between the old gentleman and the young lady a sort 
 of sympathetic cordiality, which soon ripened into a friendship 
 that truly deserved the epithet of confidential ; and the con- 
 sequence of this was, that poor Helen soon found herself pouring 
 out all the secrets of her heart to old Mr. Phelps, with a degree 
 of ahandon greater than she had ever indulged in since she had 
 lost the companionship of her brother. 
 
 There were, doubtless, other reasons for this, besides the fact 
 that they both loved to talk, and to think, of things in Heaven, 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 205 
 
 and things on eavUi, and things unJei' the earth ; and amongst 
 these other reasons may be counted the fact, that the subject 
 upon whicli her heart was most deeply interested, namely, 
 the fate of her brother, and all the mysteries concerning him, 
 was one upon which, for a multitude of reasons, she never could 
 converse freely, either with her uncle or any of liis family. 
 
 All this, however, was arrived at with a little less rapidity 
 than I have used in recounting it; but the friendship of Mr 
 Phelps was so soon to be resorted to by Helen, in an affair in 
 which the most confidential secrecy was required, that it was 
 necessary to explain to the reader how it came to pass that such 
 a feeling had so speedily been brought into existence between 
 my young heroine and her aged neighbour. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 Henry Rixley, though probably without any very sanguine 
 hope of an ultimate change in his destiny, had eagerly wel- 
 comed the temporary relief afforded by following his friend 
 Helen's advice to delay the ceremony of ordination as long as 
 possible. 
 
 The taking any step that led irretrievably towards his 
 devoting himself to a profession for which he felt himself 
 both unfitted and disinclined, was terrible to him. 
 
 There was so much of genuine truth, and of sound common 
 sense, iu the judgment that he thus passsed upon himself, that 
 Helen, who was the only member of his own family to whom 
 he had opened his heart on the subject, felt no scruples of con- 
 science in continuing her counsel in favour of delay ; but it 
 would have been difiicult for Henry to have persevered in it, 
 without at once confessing his own hope of ultimate escape 
 from what he so greatly wished to avoid, had it not been for 
 the lucky accident of his having been proposed by his tutor as 
 the travelling companion of a young man of high rank, who 
 had, like Henry himself, just taken a very respectable degree. 
 
 This well-timed proposal was, in every respect, too advanta- 
 geous to be declined, and the plotting cousins were, for the pre- 
 sent at least, very pleasantly relieved from the painful task of 
 
206 THE YOUNG HEUIESS. 
 
 eiicleavo living to avoid an event -wliicli was pressing onwhvds 
 towards them too rapidly for any very reasonable hope that 
 temporary delay might enable them to escape it. 
 
 But now, everything seemed going on well. Very few young 
 ladies under eighteen have ever suffered more from anxiety to 
 achieve an important piece of business, in which love had no 
 concern, than Helen had done, in order to discover some means 
 of saving her Cousin Henry from a destiny which he dreaded, 
 and which, she was fully persuaded, would never have threatened 
 him, had she herself never been born! 
 
 This, certainly, was a painful situation, and it was made more 
 so b}'' her conviction — and a very well-founded conviction it was 
 — that no argument which it was in her power to use would 
 induce her uncle to consent to her pledging herself to purchase 
 a commission for her cousin, as soon as she should come of 
 age. 
 
 It was under these circumstances that she had asked for an 
 increase of income, and for permission to regulate the expendi- 
 ture of it herself; and it was with the very sanguine, but not 
 very reasonable hope of being able to save from this income the 
 sum necessary to the purchase of a commission for him, that the 
 young heiress made a dehut as a housekeeper with such extreme 
 economy. 
 
 It can hardly be said that she was disappointed at the result 
 of her economical contrivances ; for, what with the profits of 
 her careful flirming, together with the fruits of her strict econ- 
 omy, she found herself in possession of a sum that almost startled 
 her by the largeness of its amount; but yet it was not enough ; 
 for Henry had despairingly told her what the price of a desir- 
 able commission might be, and the time now peremptorily fixed 
 by his father for his ordination was drawing very near, and she 
 was on the very eve of proposing to him that an i^zdesirable 
 commission should be bought, rather than that he should take 
 the irrevocable step, when all her anxieties were suddenly brought 
 to a most happy conclusion by the appoiutraer.t of her delighted 
 cousin as a travelling' tutor. 
 
 The news of this appointment was very joyfully hailed by 
 the whole family, but not either of them had the least idea how 
 very much the joy of Helen exceeded theirS; had they guessed 
 it, they would probably have guessed also that some very tender 
 sentiment must have been at work within her to cause such 
 strong emotion; but, if they had, their guessing then would 
 have been most egregiously wrong, for the feelings and anxieties 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 207 
 
 of tlie young Helen concerning her Cousin Henry were infinitely 
 more like those of an affectionate mother, than of an enamoured 
 maid ; and so full was her heart of the joy which this appoint- 
 ment occasioned her, that she at length indulged herself, by 
 confiding the weighty secret of all her plots and plans to Mr. 
 Phelps. 
 
 " And why did you not tell me of all this before ? " said the 
 old gentleman, who perfectly vtcU knew that he was more in her 
 confidence than any other person. 
 
 "Because I knew that if I did tell, you would offer to 
 help me with money," replied Helen, with unflinching- sin- 
 cerity. 
 
 " And if I had done so. Miss ISTelly," replied the old man, 
 looking reproachfully at her, " what harm would it have done 
 you ? " 
 
 "The very great harm of obliging me to refuse an offered 
 kindness from you," she replied, 
 
 "And wherefore should you have thought it necessary to 
 refuse such an accommodation from me ? " returned Mr. Phelps, 
 somewhat sternly. 
 
 "Because I feel that in requesting permission as I have 
 done, to take into my own young hands, the management of the 
 money allowed for my maintenance, and for the keeping in 
 proper order the house and grounds where we are permitted to 
 reside, I have pledged myself to my most dear and confiding* 
 uncle to act with the most careful discretion, and to the very best 
 of my poor judgment, so as to prevent his ever having cause to 
 repent the confidence he has placed in me." 
 
 "Perfectly right, Miss Beauchamp! I doubt if any minor 
 could have answered more discreetl3\ But I must beg you to 
 answer another question. Why should my being permitted to 
 assist you in a very praiseworthy object, be considered by you as 
 objectionable?" returned Mr. Phelps. 
 
 " It would have appeared objectionable to me," replied Helen, 
 demurely, " because my borrowing money from a neighbour, 
 before I could legally give any security for the repayment of it, 
 even though it was for the purpose of bujang a commission 
 for a young gentleman, would not, according to the best 
 of ray poor judgment, have been acting with careful discre- 
 tion." 
 
 Mr. Phelps could not conceal a smile, but he held up a 
 threatening finger and he shook his head. 
 
 " Mark my words, Helen Beauchamp ! " said he, " if you turn 
 
208 THE YOUNG nEIEESS. 
 
 out a lawyer upon my bands, it is not your boasting tbe dig'nity 
 of tbe gown, or tbe coif either, tbat shall prevent my giving 
 you up altoii-ether. A pretty account I should have to give of 
 myself did I, like other great men, keep a conscientiously true 
 diary of my thougbts, and feelings ! After making a touching 
 statement of my joy and thankfulness at having found an 
 unsophisticated young mind, full of energy and industry in tbe 
 pursuit of tbe stupendously vast — and stupendously minute — 
 trutbs of nature, I must go on to tell tbat tbe said young mind 
 bad, nevertbeless, a deplorable propensity towards special 
 pleading! Fie upon you, Helen! Fie upon you for having 
 thought all those business-like tbougbts and then acting upon 
 them!" 
 
 " And in my private diary," replied Helen, " I should have to 
 confess, tbat upon one occasion, when I thought I bad found 
 tbe most devoted lover of trutb in tbe world, I subsequently 
 discovered that tbe most striking feature in this candid indi- 
 vidual, was a tyrannical love of scolding, wbicb led him to find 
 fault with people, even when be knew they were perfectly right. 
 No doubt of it, Mr. Phelps, we are both of us very obstinate 
 tempers, so I think tbat for tbe preservation of our friendsbip, 
 wbicb is really very pleasant, the best plan will be for us 
 to agree to differ now and then, without quarrelling about 
 it." 
 
 " Well ! Miss Nelly ! I believe you are rigbt, so let us shake 
 bands, and agree to endure eacb other as long as we can." 
 
 The compact thus entered into was a lasting one, and one 
 effect of it was tbat Mr. Phelps was very soon in possession of 
 all Helen's secrets ; and the comfort and relief she found from 
 being able to express, at last, with perfect unreserve, all her 
 love, all her fears, and all her regrets about her brother, was 
 very great. She bad tbe certainty too tbat she was not giving 
 pain to tbe patient listener, to wbom she now, for tbe first time, 
 described all tbe fine qualities of ber brother, just as they ap- 
 peared to ber, and most assuredly the portrait she drew of him 
 was one well calculated to create a very strong interest for bim 
 in the beart of sucb a man as Mr. Phelps. 
 
 There was one, and only one secret wbicb sbe did not reveal 
 to bim. Sbe did not tell bim that there were moments when, 
 remembering tbe warm, tbe vehement, tbe ardent temper of ber 
 brother, tos-ether with the fearful treatment which be liad 
 received, — she did not tell Mr. Phelps tbat there were dreadful 
 moments, both by day and night, during wbicb, tbe horrible 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 209 
 
 idea tbat lie might have been gniUy of his father's death 
 recurred to her ! 
 
 And Helen v/as very wise in this, for herein Mr. Phelps 
 could have brought her neither help nor comfort. It would 
 have been much more easy for her to have imparted the vague 
 suspicion which so often tormented her existence, than to have 
 infused into the mind of her old friend, the species of antidote 
 which was always, more or less, producing a neutralizing effect 
 on her own heart, cither in the shape of doubt of the fact itself, 
 or of a feeling which she would not have recognised as justifi- 
 cation, but which was somewliat allied to it, and which arose 
 as she recalled the scene (never forgotten) in w^hich he had pro- 
 claimed to the boy the infamy of the mother whose memory he 
 so wished to reverence. 
 
 As to the other mystery which attached to Helen, namely, 
 that of having a fondly remembered, and devoted old servant:, 
 who, for some reason or other, kept herself too completely con- 
 cealed for it to be possible for any inquiry to discover her retreat, 
 she said nothing to her friend, Mr. Phelps, for she felt that it 
 would be difficult, if not impossible, to make him understand 
 how well she deserved the tender recollection she cherished of 
 her, while appearing so completely to forget her existence. As 
 to the real explanation of this mystery it was not in Helen's 
 power to give it, for she was herself as ignorant of it, as it was 
 possible Mr. Phelps could be. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 The economy of our young housekeeper was suffered to relax 
 a little after her cousin's appointment was finally settled, and, by 
 gentle degrees, she began to see a good deal more of her neigh- 
 bours. Tliis was not done, however, without a good deal of 
 prudent forethought, Mr. Phelps quietly assisting her in all lier 
 schemes, though keeping himself as completely out of sight, and 
 as carefully, as if their plotting together were for the purpose of 
 affecting some treason against the state. 
 
 But the old gentleman plainly perceived, that with all her 
 lawyer-like cleverness, she could not easily attain the object she 
 
 15 
 
210 . THE YOUNG IIEIPtESS. 
 
 hrid in view withonfc assistance ; and that af^sistance he deter- 
 mined to give her, though not at the cost of being, or seeming 
 to be a meddling busybody, which would in truth have been 
 acting a part very particularly foreign to his nature. But, 
 between them, they managed too well for there to be any 
 danger of this, and her excellent uncle, his admirable wife, 
 and amiable daughter, had no more suspicion that their well- 
 beloved Helen was every now and then buying a little three 
 per cent, consol-stock in the name of her cousin, Henry Rixley, 
 than that v.-hen she set out upon one of her tetc-a-icte rambles 
 with old Mr. Phelps, she discoursed with him on subjects which 
 led tliem to discuss a good many of those recondite things in 
 heaven and earth, which, as Hamlet very just observed to his 
 friend Horatio, were not dreamed of in their philosophy. But, 
 nevertheless, notwithstanding all this very decided eccentricity 
 on the part of my heroine, her neighbours seemed to take very 
 kindly to her, and to welcome her progressive steps towards 
 majority, and party-giving, with great satisfaction. 
 
 This increased sociability did not, however, bring the family 
 at Beauchamp Park into intimacy with any neighbours likely 
 to rival their friends the Harringtons in their affection ; and by 
 gentle degrees ifc certainly became evident that the heir of 
 Speedhurst Abbey was not the individual of that family who 
 was the least likely to declare that Helen Beauchamp was 
 " made up of every creature's best." 
 
 The person who first discovered this was his sister Agnes, 
 and as her opinion of Helen, allowing for the natural difference 
 between a young gentleman and a young lady on such a subject, 
 was in very excellent sympathy with his own, she watched all 
 the symptoms of his rapidly growing attachment with very 
 great satisfaction. 
 
 But she thought her own satisfaction in contemplating the 
 probable result of this, would be infinitely greater still, could 
 she bring him honestly to confess the fact that he was in love, 
 and in order to procure herself this greatly desired satisfaction, 
 she determined to invite him to a iete-a-tete ramble in search of 
 a wild flower, indigenous to the neighbourhood, which she 
 wished to transplant into her garden, and in the course of such 
 an expedition she thought she might easily lead the conversation 
 in such a direction as would produce the result she desired. 
 
 ISTothing could be more easy than to obtain the companion- 
 ship of her brother upon such an expedition; for he, too, was a 
 oardener. and loved to make experiments. 
 
THE YOUNG HEIEESS. 211 
 
 Their talk, as tliey set forth, was on tlie marvellous effects of 
 culture, and of the power granted to man not only of using, but 
 of improving the natural productions with which we are so 
 liberally surrounded. 
 
 "I often think," said George Harrington, "when I watch, 
 year after year, the improvements, nay, even the variations 
 which it is in the power of art to produce on vegetation, that 
 we are not j^et aware of all the power that has been bestowed on 
 ns, or, at any rate, that we do not use it." " Quite true ! " 
 replied his sister. " Your gardener at Speedhurst has shown me 
 flowers in the conservatory there that were as unlike any I ever 
 saw before, as if they' were new creations. And yet they were 
 all old acquaintances that had been subjected to a little clever 
 discipline." 
 
 " Does it never come into your head, Agnes," returned her 
 brother, " that if we took as much pains with education, and 
 ventured to be as experimental, we might do a good deal 
 towards eradicating some of our worst failings ? It would be 
 a good thing', wouldn't it, if we could weed out original sin?" 
 
 "Doubtless, but I suspect that we have no such power," 
 replied Agnes. " It would be like attempting* to revise 
 creation, and improve the work by our contrivances." 
 
 " Not more so than when we graft a peach upon an almond, 
 or a pippin upon a crab," returnecl George. 
 
 " I have often thought," he continued, " that the very puz- 
 zling question about the origin of evil might be solved by my 
 theory. The labours of the human brain, and their effect upon 
 the condition of man, are becoming more stupendous every day, 
 and it would be an impious, as well as a bold man, who should 
 fix a limit to them. It would have appeared quite as absurd a 
 hundred years ago to talk of sending a message under the water 
 from Dover to Calais, as it does now to talk of finding' out away 
 of makino' human beings understand that it would be more for 
 their interest, and gratification also, to do what was right, than 
 to do what was wrong." 
 
 " When you contrive to do that, brother George," replied 
 Agnes, laughing, " I shall be quite ready to allow that we may 
 toll the knell over orio-inal sin." And havino; said this, she 
 skipped off to climb the bank under which they were walking, 
 apparently for the purpose of examining some plants growing 
 on it, but in reality for the more important purpose of putting* 
 an end to her brother's discussion ; for if she let him pursue the 
 speculation upon which he was entering, she saw but little 
 
 15—2 
 
212 ~ THE YOUNG IIEIEESS. 
 
 cliance of her discoverlngf before they got home again, whether 
 he were in love with Helen Beauchamp or not. 
 
 After lingering, therefore, for a minute or two among the 
 brambles and weeds, amidst which she had placed herself, she 
 returned to the path by another active sprinL"*, and passing her 
 arm under that of her brother she contrived cleverly enough to 
 open the theme on which she was intent, without appearing too 
 suddenly to abandon that which had occupied them before, by 
 saying, " You never will persuade me, George, that any power, 
 but that of God direct, could make such a faultless creature as 
 my friend Helen Beauchamp. Education has had very little to 
 do, I think, in making her what she is." 
 
 The name of Helen Beauchamp being at that moment per- 
 fectly unexpected, it made the young man start so vehemently 
 that Agnes felt as if the question she was so anxious to ask was 
 already answered. And this was fortunate, for it did not appear 
 that she was likely to get any other answer, for they walked 
 on for several minutes in very perfect silence. But Agnes was 
 not quite satisfied, and renewed the attack by saying, " Why do 
 you not answer me, George? Do you think that education 
 could have made Helen what she is ? T don't mean in beauty, 
 but in intellect." 
 
 " I hardly remember what I said, Agnes," he replied, gravely; 
 "I was half jesting, I believe; but if you must have a serious 
 answer to your strange question, I must certainly confess, then, 
 in the instance you have named, Nature has had more to do 
 than education." 
 
 "I thought you could not deny that," rejoined his sister; 
 " Helen is an extraordinary sort of girl, isn't she ? " 
 
 " Yes, very," he replied, and again became silent, 
 
 "How can you be so very disagreeable, George?" said his 
 sister. " You must know how very much I love and admire her, 
 and unless you have some particularly good reason for it, I 
 really think it rather unkind that you will not indulge me by 
 hearing 3'ou talk a little about her. You must know perfectly 
 well that your opinion has great weight with me, and I should 
 not wish to select any one as my particular friend of whom you 
 had not a good opinion." 
 
 " I have not at all a bad opinion of Miss Beauchamp," replied 
 the young man, thrusting his hand into his coat-pocket, and 
 drawing forth his iDOcket-handkerchief, in consequence of which 
 manoeuvre his sister's arm, which rested upon his, fell unsup- 
 ported by her side, 
 
THE TOUXG HEffiESS. 213 
 
 " A bad opinion ! You liave not at all a bad opinion of Helen 
 Beaudiamp ! " repeated Agnes, very slowly. 
 
 " It is impossible to misunderstand such a phrase as that, 
 George ! " she added, after the pause of a moment, " and I am 
 very glad that we have had this conversation together before I 
 put in practice the thousand and one little schemes which I had 
 in my head for enabling us to see a great deal more of her. As 
 to your having a bad opinion of lier, I should not suppose there 
 was much chance of that, because it would be so difficult to fix 
 upon any thing upon which a bad opinion could be founded, and 
 you are not a person to found either a bad or a good opinion 
 upon nothing. But that may not be enough to prevent your 
 disliking her. Liking and disliking are almost ahvays invol- 
 untary, I believe, and have very little to do with the judg- 
 ment." 
 
 " And what have I said, Agnes, to make you suppose I dislike 
 her? " said her brother, speaking as distinctly as the necessity 
 of blowing his nose enabled him to do. 
 
 "Oh, quite enough," she replied, rather petulantly. "How- 
 ever it is quite right that you should make yourself understood, 
 because, Heaven knows, that we have not too much of your 
 company as it is, and I suppose we should have less still if we 
 were to gratify our own predilections by perpetually bringing 
 into your society a person you do not like. Jane likes Helen 
 Beauchamp quite as well as I do, but you may depend upon it, 
 dear George, we will neither of us indulge our liking at your 
 expense. You shall not be bored, when you are with us, by 
 meeting our favourites, instead of your own." 
 
 The wily young lady's device answered perfectly. This 
 promise of clearing the premises from the approach of Miss 
 Beauchamp, for the especial purpose of gratifying him, was 
 more than he could stand, and his next speech, beginning 
 with, 
 
 "Oh, Agnes, Agnes! How can you torture me so!" was 
 not brought to a conclusion till the well pleased sister had 
 received the agreeable assurance that if he did not marry 
 Helen Beauchamp, he should never marry at all. 
 
 The rest of their walk was exceedingly agreeable to them 
 both, for their conversation was wholly and solely on the subject 
 of Helen, her perfections, and their hopes; these delightful 
 hopes, being uttered with very comfortable confidence by the 
 sister, and with grateful diffidence by the brother, sufficed to 
 make them utterly forget the flight of time, nor might they 
 
214 THE YOUXG HEIRESS. 
 
 Imve either of them recollected such grovelling occnpatioiis as 
 dininof and dressins", had not the warmnof note of Helen's own 
 sonorous turret clock given them a hint that they had better 
 tarn round and walk home. 
 
 " I wish," said George Harrington, as he threw a tender 
 glance towards the splendid abode of his beloved, " I wish that 
 Helen was not such a rich heiress. Girls with small portions, 
 or with none at all, must look upon a declaration of love, and 
 an offer of marriage, in a very different light from an heiress. 
 There is no great compliment in a man's expressing a wish to 
 marr}'- a girl possessed of a magnificent mansion, and lots of 
 thousands a year — is there, Agnes ? " 
 
 " When a poor man expresses such a wish I grant that your 
 observation may have some weight," she replied, "nay, so truly 
 do I think so, that if j^ou were a poor man, George, instead of a 
 rich one, I should not desire to see this marriage take place as 
 ardentl}^ as I do now." 
 
 " I truly believe it, Agnes," said he. " But cannot 5"ou 
 fancy," he added, musingly, " how much more delightful it 
 would be for me to propose to Helen if she had not a farthing ? 
 She could not doubt the sincerity of my love, then, you know." 
 
 " Nor is she at all more likely to doubt it now," said his sister. ' 
 "The owner of Speedhurst Abbey, and its acres, is as little 
 likely to sell himself to a wife he does not like as a rich girl is 
 likely to accept him if he is disagreeable to her. In a well- 
 assorted marriage, brother George, a tolerable equality of con- 
 dition precludes the fear of interested motives on either side." 
 
 " True, dearest ! Most true ! " he gaily replied. " I should 
 be sorry to spend my good uncle's property in the purchase of a 
 wife, so if I get her, my Agnes, I will promise to take the good 
 the gods provide without grumbling." 
 
 But although George Harrington had thus candidly confessed 
 his tender passion to his sister Agnes, it was still some months 
 before he ventured to confess it to the fair Helen herself. She 
 was still very young, too young for it to be right for him to 
 make her a proposal, without having first obtained her uncle's 
 permission to do so ; and George Harrington preferred waiting 
 and watching with doubtful joy for occasional sj^mptoms of 
 partiality on her part, to the ofTeiing her his hand with the 
 formal sanction of her guardian, which at her age would seem 
 almost like a command to her to accept it. Moreover, as yet, 
 George Harrington had no home of his own to offer her, and 
 though nothing could be more convenient and proper than that 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 215 
 
 if he married a woman who was mistress of a splendid residence, 
 he should occupy it till he was in possession of his own, he still 
 felt a repugnance to asking for the immediate use of her pro- 
 perty while she was still so young- as to render her granting it 
 more the act of her guardian than of herself. 
 
 Meanwhile, the hours and days they passed together were 
 becoming more and more delightful to them both, and not even 
 the lover himself could feel an interval to be long which was 
 passed with so much hopeful happiness. 
 
 Daring the whole of this time, however, it must be remem- 
 bered that Miss Beauchamp had received no offer of marriage 
 from Mr. George Harrington. But she was in no way sur- 
 prised at this ; she felt very perfectly sure that he was not only 
 devotedly attached to her, but also that it was his intention to 
 offer her his hand as soon as he considered her old enough to 
 become his wife. And most thankful and happy did she feel as 
 she silently meditated on the destiny which awaited her. 
 
 It is certain that the early years of Helen had passed in a 
 manner to make her prematurely thoughtful, and it was v/ith 
 no light childish transitory feeling that she contemplated the 
 happy prospects which now seemed opening before her. 
 
 She still clung with devoted love and admiration to the 
 remembrance of what her brother was, before the last dreaded 
 scene which preceded her father's death ; but even while in the 
 very act of recalling all the high ability and all the noble 
 qualities he had manifested before the atrocious conduct and 
 base reproaches of his father had lashed him into the terrible 
 state of mind which she had witnessed, even while thinking of 
 all he had been to her then, she could not help feeling conscious 
 that the dreadful manner in which they had been separated 
 formed an epoch in her early history which it would be painful 
 to relate to George Harrington. 
 
 Nevertheless, she was fully determined that nothing should 
 be concealed from him, and that she never would become his 
 wife till every particular of her early position, so widely different 
 from that in which he now saw her, should have been made 
 known to him. 
 
 It would have been a pleasure, or, at least, a comfort, to 
 Helen, could this disclosure have been made immediately; but 
 she fancied that her volunteering this confidential narrative, 
 before he had given her any positive right to believe that it was 
 her duty to make it, would be exactly the reverse of the line 
 of conduct which she wished to pursue towards him; for it 
 
21 G THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 would at once sliow liim tliafc she coiislclerccl liim as licr future 
 liusbanci, though he had never yet formally declared his hope of 
 being so. 
 
 She might have spared herself a good deal of suffering had 
 she decided otherwise. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIT. 
 
 It chanced one fine summer evening, when Helen, her friend 
 Agnes, and young Harrington were sitting together on a garden 
 bench in Mr. Harrington's garden, that Agnes took it into her 
 head to amuse herself by relating to Helen the conversation, or 
 rather a part of the conversation, which she had held with her 
 brother about a year before, concerning the great drawback 
 which a large fortune, on the part of a young lady, offered to 
 the perfect happines of a love match. 
 
 "As how ? " demanded Helen, slightly colouring. 
 
 "Oh! for a deeply romantic reason," replied her friend. 
 " George says," continued Agnes, " that no man who falls in 
 love with a girl of large fortune can ever have the delight of 
 proving to her beyond the reach of doubt that he loves her for 
 herself alone." 
 
 " I do not agree with him," said Helen. " If indeed the 
 lover were in a station of life so much below that of his beloved 
 as to render a marriage between them incongruous, or in any 
 way degrading to the lady, I should then think that the best 
 and most honourable thing he could do would be to conquer his 
 tender passion as speedily as possible, for I do not think that 
 jiersons in different situations of life, or disproportioned and ill- 
 matched in any way, are at all likely to do well together as 
 man and wife." 
 
 " You are wrong, fair lady ! You are wrong ! " returned 
 George, very earnestly, " I can conceive nothing on eartli so 
 delightful — so perfectly enviable — as the situation of a j^oung 
 man possessed of a large fortune, falling in love with an adorable 
 girl who has none. There must be something- so very delight- 
 ful in giving this unquestionable proof of love — this indisputable 
 assurance that she is dearer than all the world beside ! I can 
 
THE YOUXG nEIRESS. 217 
 
 imngiiie no happiness superior to that. No man asking a rich 
 woman to many him can feel it ! " 
 
 " Oh yes ! I comprehend you perfectly," returned Helen, the 
 " celestial rosy red " still deepening on her cheek. " It is clear 
 that you are longing to enact the classic drama of the king and 
 the beggar girl, or the dairy-maid, or whatever she was. But 
 I think your theory very unphilosophical, Mr. Harrington. 
 Tliere is more of discord than of harmon}'' in your notion." 
 
 " You would not say so if you perfectly understood me, Miss 
 Beauchamp," returned George, eagerl}'. " My portionless angel 
 may have all the advantages your imagination can heap upon 
 her, save money. So far am I, indeed, from differing from you 
 as to the absolute necessity that there should be no strikino- 
 incongruity of position in marriage, that T don't believe there is 
 a man in the world who would shrink from forming a really 
 unsuitable connection more than I should do. I would far rather 
 remain single all my life than give my children a mother who 
 should in any way disgrace them. My theory, Miss Beauchamp, 
 about wishing for poverty in a wife may, perhaps, have some- 
 thing fanciful in it, and I certainly can imagine the possibility of 
 my getting over it. But Heaven keep me from falling in love 
 with a woman who should bring dishonour with her. I really 
 believe that if I were the hero of a romance, having a discovery 
 of that sort as its catastrophe, I should lose my senses." 
 
 This tirade being uttered to the lineal descendant of the fine 
 old race of Beauchamps, and the heir of its wide-spreadin"- 
 acres, as well as of its ancient name, was uttered as fearlessl/, 
 as it was vehemently ; and when Helen got up and walked away 
 with the air of a person who had listened to a discussion till it 
 had become wearisome, he might, perhaps, feel a little vexed at 
 himself for riding one of his hobbies to death ; but he little 
 guessed that he had sent a poisoned arrow to the heart of one 
 whom he would have died to protect from injury. 
 
 And yet a poisoned arrow could scarcely have given a sharper 
 pang to the heart of the unfortunate Helen than the words he 
 had spoken. 
 
 That the brother she so dearly loved was the offspring of 
 shame, would have, of itself, sufficed to make the words she°had 
 listened to, sound like a note of warning, giving her notice to 
 beware before she permitted herself to love too well one who 
 might shrink from all affinity with the being who, with the ex- 
 ception of her mother, she hud hitherto loved better than any 
 other in the world. Bat, nlaa ! this was uofc all. Perhaps it 
 
218 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 was, now, as &he hung over a rose-bush, appearing to admire its 
 redundant blossoms, that Helen felfc, for the first time, all the 
 horror of believing it possible that this dear — this most fondly- 
 loved — brother had been guilty of a crime more terrible, if it 
 were possible, than that of the first murder. 
 
 Poor George Harrington, blushing like a school-boy at the 
 idea of having wearied his lady love by his prosing, approached 
 her, laughingly, and seizing playfully upon her hand, which she 
 had extended as if to gather a flower, he exclaimed, " No, 
 Helen! no! Point cle rose sans epines ; that is an established 
 fact, we all know. But you have already had your share of 
 epines while listening to my confession of faith about matri- 
 nionj'-, and now j^ou shall have a rose without any. All the 
 other thorns shall be for me." 
 
 And so saying, he gathered one or two of the very loveliest 
 buds he could find, and having at the imminent risk of excori- 
 ating his fingers, ran them resolutely up and down every stem, 
 he presented them to her. 
 
 She received them mechanically, and mechanically, too, turned 
 towards him as she did so. 
 
 Helen was not aware of the ghastly paleness of her own 
 cheek as she did this, but the sudden start he gave, and the 
 frightened expression of his eye as he looked at her, made her 
 at once feel conscious that her looks were betraying a portion of 
 the misery she was feeling at her heart. 
 
 " Helen ! you are suffering ! you are ill ! " he exclaimed, in an 
 agony of alarm. " You must sit down, Helen. You must let 
 me place you on the sofa. And without waiting for an answer, 
 which in truth she Avas in no state to give, he threw his arm 
 round her and almost carried her through the open window by 
 which they had passed from the drawing-room to the lawn. 
 
 Agnes, who had remained sitting on the garden-bench when 
 the unfortunate conversation had beg'an, plainly perceiving thnt 
 her brother was supporting Helen in a manner which he would 
 not have done had she been able to support herself, rushed into 
 the room after them, and was as much shocked as surprised at 
 finding her friend alarmingly pale, and evidently suffering, 
 though protesting, in a not very audible voice, that she was now 
 quite well again. 
 
 " No, Helen ! you are not well," exclaimed Agnes, as she 
 pressed the cl.'U'-cold hand of her friend. " And yet a few, a 
 very few minutes ago I thought I had never seen you looking 
 so well. You must have beeu very near fainting, dearest, or 
 
THE YOUXG HEIEESS. 21 9 
 
 you could not liave looked so gliastly pale as yon did when I 
 entered the room. Are you subject to fainting, Helen ? You 
 never told me of it." 
 
 " No, no, I am not subject to it," replied Helen, attempting 
 to smile, " but I certainly did feel very unwell just now. It is 
 quite gone off, however, and I sliall be perfectly well when I 
 get into the open carriage again, for my drive home. Will you 
 have the kindness to order it for me ?" 
 
 " What ! won't you stay till the evening with us, Helen, as 
 you promised ? " said her friend Agnes, looking greatly disap- 
 pointed. " Oh ! I had so much to say to you, and about such a 
 multitude of things ! Why should you not stay and get well 
 here, dearest?" 
 
 '" Oblige me, my deai'est Agnes," said Helen, languidly. " I 
 know so perfectly well how to manage my little nervous In- 
 firmities ! I had a very bad nervous fever once, and though I 
 have been getting better and stronger every year since I came 
 to the Park, I am not yet quite so strong a person as I hope to 
 be when I am older. But you must trust me to my own 
 management, Agnes. And if you will come and see me to- 
 morrow, you may depend upon it you will find me quite v/ell." 
 
 George Harrington had stood anxiously looking at her while 
 this discussion was taking place, and notwithstanding her pallid 
 cheek and shaking hand, he felt strongly tempted to think that 
 the malady which had seized upon her, was not caused by any 
 physical ailment, but was the result of some painful feeling 
 occasioned by the conversation in which they had been engaged. 
 
 It might be difQcult to say whether this idea lessened or 
 increased his anxiety. 
 
 His first object, however, was to indulge her in her wish of 
 returning home, and that without harassing her by any explana- 
 tions. The result of this feeling was his immediately leaving' 
 the room into which they had entered, for the purpose of causing 
 her carriage to drive to the door with as little delay as possible. 
 
 Helen was, in truth, very much in earnest in her wish to get 
 home, and she blessed the kindness and the sympathy which so 
 promptly enabled her to do so ; but the first hour that she 
 passed in the undisturbed solitude of her own chamber was a 
 very dreadful one. 
 
 It may very often happen, without any harshness on the part 
 of the commentator, that the first love of a young- lady under 
 twenty may be treated as a whim, a fancy that is not likely to 
 produce any very important consequence upon her future life. 
 
220 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 But it was not so with Helen Beanciiamp. Slie loved Gorge 
 llari'ington, and she knew she loved liira ; and, moreover, young 
 as she was, she knew herself too well to believe, to think, or to 
 hope, that she should ever live to conquer the feeling, or to sub- 
 stitute any other in the place of it. 
 
 The result of her first hour's meditation, therefore, was a deep 
 conviction that her destiny was blighted for life. Never before 
 liad the terrible suspicion which lay half smothered at the 
 bottom of her own heart appeared to her so fearfully well- 
 founded as it did during that miserable hour. But, neverthe- 
 less, in the midst of this misery, she was true to the first 
 affection of her heart, and could she by a wish have summoned 
 the unfortunate Willian Rixlev to her side, she would have done 
 it ; and when she had got him there, neither love, nor fear, 
 would, for a single moment, have caused her to turn away from 
 him. 
 
 As the consciousness of this rushed warmly to her heart 
 whilst she thought of him, she thanked God for saving her 
 from the baseness of loving any other better than she loved 
 him. 
 
 " George Harrington has so much to mnke him happy besides 
 my love !" thought she. " But what has William got ? He is, 
 and ever shall be, first, and dearest! But that is not now the 
 question before me," murmured poor Helen, as she remembered 
 all the recent scenes of her late happy life. " The worst of my 
 condition is that I can never a^'ain utter one sincrle word of 
 truth to poor George Harrington ! And he is so true himself! 
 So very, very true ! Here is my greatest misery. Were I to 
 tell him the frightful story exactly as it is, I can easily believe 
 that he would make light of it, and endeavour to persuade me 
 that he loves me well enough to wish to become my husband, 
 despite the sin and shame to which I am so nearly allied. And 
 so he does!" thought the miserable Helen, as the tears rolled 
 down her burning cheeks. " But is that a reason for my beguil- 
 ingf him into close alliance with what his nature shrinks from ?" 
 
 The answer which her heart and conscience deliberately gave 
 to this question, may be easily imagined, but it might not be so 
 easy for anyone to guess with what admirable self devotion 
 she finally resolved to lead him by gentle degrees faraway from 
 the belief, which she could not doubt he now cherished, of one 
 dav becomini*- her husband. 
 
 As to her ever marrying licrself, slie felt that, m her very 
 heart of hearts, to be impossible; aud the greatest comfort sho 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 221 
 
 had, was from believing that when he discovered this to be- her 
 determination respecting all others, he would be more easily 
 reconciled to his own disappointment. 
 
 The continued silence of Mrs. Lambert had suggested to Helen 
 the real truth, namely, that this faithful servant had actually set 
 off upon a wildly roving expedition in search of William; and 
 the length of time that had elapsed since their parting, rather 
 tended to persuade her that she had not abandoned all hope of 
 finding him, than that she had given up the search in despair. 
 
 But whether this conjecture were correct, or not, the terrible 
 fact that if George Harrington knew all the circumstances con- 
 nected with her, he would not select her as his wife, remained 
 the same, and the poor heiress felt, notwithstanding all the 
 wealth that had fallen upon her, that her lot was not a happy 
 
 one. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXin. 
 
 No two heads ever plotted together with more perfect S3'm- 
 pathy, and more perfect success, than those of Helen Beau- 
 champ, and her friend and counsellor Mr. Phelps. Not only 
 was the sum of money necessary for the purchase of the com- 
 mission, which was the object of her cousin's ambition, provided, 
 and safely lodged where it could be got at, on the shortest 
 possible notice, but the two plotters contrived between them, to 
 bring the subject of choosing a profession, on more than one 
 occasion, before the family conclave ; and it was amusing to 
 both of them to observe how skilfully the other contrived in the 
 most easy unpremeditated manner imaginable, to find an oppor- 
 tunity of remarking on the great advantage in every way, 
 of a man's beincj able to devote his talents and his enero-ies 
 in the direction that his inclination pointed out to him. 
 
 Mr. Phelps in particular, was exceedingly eloquent on the 
 subject, so much so, indeed, as to cause good Mr. Rixley to sigh 
 deeply as he replied, " Very true. Sir ! Very true ! There can 
 be no doubt of it. But it is unfortunately a point upon which it 
 but rarely happens, I suspect, that the person most deeply 
 concerned finds himself in a position which enables him to con- 
 
222 THE YOUNG HEIEESS. 
 
 suit his own inclination, instead of the means and convenience of 
 those who have to provide for him." 
 
 "I nm afraid so," replied Mr. Phelps. "But you agree with 
 me, Rixley, don't you, that where circumstances permit the 
 choice, it is a great blessing to the young aspirant for success of 
 some kind, when the direction in which it is to be sought can be 
 of his own selection." 
 
 " Certainly, certainly," was the cordial reply of Mr. Rixley ; 
 and it was not forgotten by those who heard him utter it. 
 
 And now, the great and important object of Helen's careful 
 economy being acheived, she very gently and quietly began to 
 relax in the practice of it. Anne, who from improving health 
 had grown into a fine, tall, handsome young woman, found her 
 wardrobe gradually improving from day to day, and what was, 
 if possible, still more agreeable, the occasions for displaying 
 her pretty things were multipl3'ing almost as fast as the pretty 
 things themselves. 
 
 But it was all done so quietly, and with such a total absence 
 of everything like ostentation, or display, that it appeared almost 
 like'the result of accident. 
 
 The effect of this change was very pleasantly felt throughout 
 the neighbourhood ; but somehow or other it was Anne Rixley, 
 and not Miss Beauchamp, who now seemed to be the favourite 
 belle of the neighbourhood, for although in real grace of form, 
 and beauty of feature, she was immeasurably inferior to her 
 cousin, the sort of clever system by which the young mistress 
 of the park contrived both at home and abroad, to put her for- 
 ward as the helle 'par excellence of the neighbourhood was very 
 skilful, and very effective. 
 
 She was really a very charming, animated, and perfectly 
 unafiected girl, and being an unwearied dancer, waltz player, and 
 charade performer, she speedily became a celebrated personage 
 in the neighbourhood, and, with the exception of poor George 
 Harrington's vote, would have been unanimously declared the 
 most captivating girl in it. 
 
 On the subject of the beautiful heiress herself, opinions varied 
 greatly. Everybody, old and j'oung, male and female, would 
 have agreed in declaring that she was very handsome, and very 
 elegant, and very obliging ; but one person would have said, 
 perhaps, that she was proud, and another might have hinted a 
 suspicion that she was not in good health. Some might have 
 confessed that they thought her over-studious for so young a 
 lady ; and many, if they had been quite sincere, would have cou- 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 223 
 
 fessed that they liked her cousin best, because she was more like 
 other people. 
 
 But of all the various individuals who, to say the truth, were 
 puzzled because they could not make out why it was that she 
 was not like other girls of her age, none were so painfully puzzled 
 as George Harrington, and his sister Agnes. Till that unfor- 
 tunate conversation took place upon the lawn, which left Helen 
 with the dreadful persuasion that an insurmountable obstacle 
 existed to her ever becoming the wife of the only man whom to 
 her fancy it was possible for her to love, both the brother and 
 sister had found especial delight in believing that they knew, 
 and understood her character thoroughly ; and often when 
 Agnes had espied some particularly strong proof of her 
 brother's devoted attachment to her friend, she had con- 
 gratulated both herself and him uj)on the perfect safety with 
 which he might rest all his hopes of happiness upon one whose 
 beautiful "transparency of character," made it so very easy a 
 task to guess what sort of wife she would make to a man to 
 whom she was attached. 
 
 There was such a total absence, in the character of Helen, of 
 everything' resembling affectation, or pretence of any kind, that 
 it seemed utterly impossible they could mistake, when they 
 ventured to believe that she was conscious that George loved 
 her, and conscious too, sweet soul, that she herself loved him. 
 
 But oh ! the heavy change? Where was all their happy con- 
 fidence now ? 
 
 The rapidly failing health of his uncle had long led him to 
 postpone the declaration of his attachment, and more than one 
 reason had contributed to confirm his opinion that this delay 
 was desirable. 
 
 The kind old man was, in truth, too evidently and too pain- 
 fnlly declining, to make it desirable that any event so full of joy 
 as his marriage with Helen, should be projected and decided 
 ot), when every month, every day, and almost every hour 
 might be expected to be the last of his adopted father's 
 life. 
 
 It was, indeed, less difficult than it had been, for him to leave 
 Speedhurst Abbey without feeling that his society was wished for 
 by its master, for the old man's memory, and almost his con- 
 sciousness, was failing him. But although this made it more 
 easy for him to be in her immediate neighbourhood, it was not a 
 fitting time to ask her to be his wife. 
 
 Moreover, Helen was now very nearly of age; and George 
 
224 THE YOUNG HEIEES?. 
 
 Harrington greatly preferred the idea of proposing himself to 
 her, instead of having to perform that ceremony to her uncle; 
 not to mention his great repugnance, "which has been alluded to 
 before, to the idea of proposing himself to a wealthy heiress, 
 while he was himself only an heir expectant. 
 
 All these reasons combined, made a short delay very evidently 
 desirable, and, till the fatal conversation related in the last 
 chapter, this delay was no drawback to their happiness. Each 
 party seemed to miderstand the other perfectly well, and each 
 was conscious that, happy as they were already, they were only 
 waiting for a favourable opportunity to be more happy still. 
 
 It would really have been difficult for even an acute observer 
 to point out any two persons less likely to wreck their happiness 
 by a misunderstanding ; but, nevertheless, it was a misunder- 
 standing that now came and placed such a bar between them, 
 as it was, in truth, very unlikely should be ever removed. 
 
 For what reasonable chance was there that Helen, who was 
 herself so greatly in earnest when she listened to the high-flown 
 language of George, should ever arrive at the conclusion that, in 
 the first place, he was more than half in jest when he burst into 
 magnanimous quotation, exclaiming, "And if it be a sin to covet 
 honour, I am the most offending soul alive?" or that, in the 
 next, if he had been ten times as much in earnest as she sup- 
 posed him to be, yet still that his earnestness would have melted 
 before his love like wax before the sun, if he had conceived the 
 very slightest idea of the untold mystery, the remembrance of 
 which now made her so miserable? 
 
 For a considerable time after the unlucky morning when she 
 had met him with so much happiness, and left him with a feel- 
 ing so very like despair, nothing worse occurred to the imagina- 
 tion, either of George Harrington or his sister, than that Helen 
 had over-fatigued herself the day before, which they had spent 
 at Beauchamp Park, and in the course of it had all walked 
 together to make some purchase at the neighbouring village, 
 the want of which had occurred to them while rambling along 
 the path which led to it, though the distance was somewhat 
 beyond the length of their usual walks. 
 
 But this interpretation did not last them long, for not all the 
 efforts of poor Helen could prevent their perceiving that she 
 was either seriously ill, or seriously unhappy, or both. There 
 was, too, an alteration in the tone of her manner towards 
 George, which, though so slight as to have been, perhaps, im- 
 perceptible to one less interested, was to him more painful than 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 225 
 
 it would be easy to describe; and infinitely the moi-e so, because 
 there was nothing in it which could justify the idea of her 
 being offended — for never, from the time they had first become 
 acquainted, had she shown herself so assiduous in her attentions 
 to his family, or so demonstrative of tender attention to his 
 sisters; while there was a sort of deferential gentleness in her 
 manner to him, that seemed to indicate a higher degree of 
 esteem and respect than a man so young could often bo 
 expected to inspire. It was, therefore, evident that Helen was 
 not offended. There was, in trutli, no ground either to hope or 
 fear it. No ; it was very clear that she was not offended, but it 
 was equally so that she was changed. Where was the bright 
 glance which was wont to beam upon him as he approached, 
 and which told him, even while her lips were silent, that he was 
 dear to her heart, and welcome to her eyes ? Where was that 
 bright glance now ? It was gone, put out, extinguished ! Had 
 there been, in any direction, the very slightest reason to sup- 
 pose she was offended with him, the condition of his mind would 
 have been very different. Conscious that every possible cause 
 of offence could be but imaginary, his heart and his hope would 
 have been sustained by the reasonable assurance that he should 
 sooner or later discover where the blunder lay, and the remov- 
 ing it would be a task so delightful as to overpay him for all he 
 had suffered. 
 
 But no grandmother, no venerable maiden aunt, ever be- 
 stowed more thoughtful care upon the object of her affectionate 
 partiality than Helen did to prove to the whole family of 
 Harrington, and to the unhappy George in particular, that 
 there was no family in the whole country side that she valued 
 so highly as she did theirs ; and, most decidedly, that there was 
 no individual who could compete, in her opinion, with him, in all 
 the best and highest qualities which give one man superiority 
 over another. 
 
 Yet, despite all this, she perfectly well managed to make him 
 understand that if he said, " Helen Beauchamp, will you marry 
 me ? " her answer would have been, " No, George Harrington, 
 I will not." 
 
 The poor young man was very wretched, and his sister 
 Agnes was very wretched, too ; for she felt that she had 
 deceived him, or, at least, that she had been the means of 
 leading him to deceive himself. But the subject was too 
 difficult, as well as too delicate, for her to enter upon ; and it 
 was decidedly a relief, both to her and to Helen, when an 
 
 16 
 
226 THE YOUNG HEIEESS. 
 
 express arrived from Specdhnrst Abbp^, bringing the startling 
 intelligence that his venerable uncle had perfectly recovered his 
 intelligence, and had expressed an earnest wish to see him. 
 
 Under no circumstances could compliance with this summons 
 have been delayed for an hour; and in less than half that time 
 both his father and himself were in the carriage which was to 
 convey them to Speedhurst. 
 
 It was consolatory to them both to find, on arriving there, 
 that they were not too late. Their venerable relative was not 
 only still alive, but still retained a much clearer use of his 
 mental faculties than he had manifested during many months 
 past. But it is needless to dwell on the melancholy scene, for 
 melancholy it was, and certainly not the less so because the 
 farewell which both father and son received from the dying 
 man manifested all the tender affection which had marked his 
 character through life. 
 
 The death of the venerable owner of Speedhurst Abbey took 
 place within tvv^enty-four hours of the arrival of his heir, who 
 was almost immediately left alone in the large and noble 
 mansion which was now become his own, for his father had 
 promised to return to his family as soon as the expected event, 
 aud the melancholy ceremony which must follow it, had taken 
 place. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 No man can enter upon the possession of a large property, 
 however long he may have been familiar with the idea that the 
 said property was some day to be his, without feeling that his 
 position is changed. He feels immediately that he has new 
 duties to perform, new occupations to employ him, and, if not a 
 new, a more pungent interest in almost every object that sur- 
 rounds him. And so it was, now, in the case of George 
 Harrington. 
 
 If he had been in other respects a happier man, he would 
 very probably have felt the solitude in which he was left by his 
 father's departure, immediately after the funeral, more painfully 
 than he now did. But he was conscious that there was nothing 
 
THE YOUXG HEIRESS. 227 
 
 of whicli he stood so niucli in need as solitary meditation on liis 
 own very singular position. 
 
 Though as far removed as it was well possible for a man to 
 be from the danger of believing himself beloved, when " there 
 was no such thing," and though during the last fev7 agitating* 
 weeks of his existence he had never been in the company of 
 Helen without feeling convinced when he left her that, notwith- 
 standing all the gentle kindness of her manner towards him, 
 she was fixedly determined never to become his wife, he had 
 still a strong, and, as it seemed, an involuntary persuasion at 
 the bottom of his heart, that she loved him. 
 
 But not even to his sister Agnes had he dared to dwell on this 
 belief ; for when he had once hinted it, she had shook her head, 
 saying, " I thought so once, George, nay, at the moment I would 
 have said that I was sure of it. But I can honestly say so no 
 longer. Ko woman, who loved, would so cautiously — so very 
 cautiously — avoid every possible chance of being for a moment 
 alone with the object of her choice, as Helen Beauchamp does, 
 to avoid being alone with you." 
 
 And as the unfortunate young man could by no possible 
 interpretation of signs and symptoms impugn the correctness of 
 this statement, he could only determine not to allude to any 
 such hope again ; but, nevertheless, he did not abandon it, or 
 rather he could not make it abandon him, for, to do him justice, 
 he really did endeavour to convince himself that he was mis- 
 taken. But in this he could not altogether succeed. 
 
 On this point, perhaps, as well as on many others, he had 
 ample time to meditate, during several weeks of solitary 
 residence at Speedhurst Abbey ; for though well known and 
 well beloved in the neighbourhood, he was still enough alone to 
 think, and think, and think, quite as much as was good for 
 him. 
 
 At length, during one of the long' reveries in which he was 
 wont to indulge under the shadows of his noble elms, it occurred 
 to him that although he had believed, and, in fact, did still be- 
 lieve that Helen had been fully aware of his attachment to her, 
 he had never yet addressed a formal proposal for her hand, either 
 to herself, or her uncle. It was possible, therefore — just pos- 
 sible — that she had not fully understood all his motives for the 
 delay. 
 
 The time had been, indeed, before the fatal change in her 
 manner towards him, when he felt persuaded that they had 
 undersiood each other perfectly ; but it was certainly possible — 
 16—2 
 
228 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 jusfc possible — that he might have been mistaken in thinking so, 
 and tl:at Helen might have been ofFendcd by his seeming to take 
 it for granted that because " of all the world he loved but her 
 alone," she must, as a matter of course, love him. 
 
 This hope, slight as it was, produced a feeling more nearly 
 akin to happiness than any he had known for many weeks, and 
 ifc rendered him so gay and light-hearted that he positively 
 laughed at himself for having contrived to produce a^Dredica- 
 ment wherein he should find himself rejoicing at the idea that 
 Helen Beauchamp was displeased with him. 
 
 Under these circumstances it took him not long to decide what 
 he should do. The post-bag, which left the Abbey that night, 
 contained the follovviug letter : — 
 
 " To Miss Beaucliamp. 
 
 " In sitting down to address you, my beloved Helen, I feel that 
 althoug'h I have much that is important to say to you, yet still 
 that I have nothing to say which is not well known to you 
 alread3^ For, is it new to 3"ou, Helen, that 3^ou arc dearer to 
 me than the breath of life ? Or is it unknown to you that my 
 only hope of happiness on earth is founded on the belief that you 
 have not been blind to the love you have inspired, and that 
 having seen it, you have not driven me from you in dis- 
 pleasure ? 
 
 " The melancholy state between death and life, in which my 
 poor uncle lingered during the last months of his existence, made 
 me feel that it was better to trust to our hearts to make their 
 feelings understood to each other, than seemingly to forget the 
 death-bed of my second father, while seeking to embellish and to 
 bless my own young life by asking the hand of the only woman 
 I can ever love. 
 
 " Bat the last sad scene of my dear uncle's life is closed, and 
 well I know that if he could look back on those he has left 
 behind him, his gentle spirit would rejoice to know that I was 
 seeking my happiness from one who, if she will accept the heart 
 and life I offer her, is so sure to bring goodness and happiness 
 to both. Not even Agnes shall know that I have thus written 
 till I have received j^our answer. 
 
 " ! Helen ! the power of a woman, truly loved, is very 
 great! Perhaps, dearest, you remember, as well as I do, 
 * the hours that we have spent when we have chid the hasty- 
 footed time for parting us ;* and if so, may you not laugh at me 
 when I tell you, that, till I receive your answer to this letter, I 
 
THE YOUxN'G HEIRESS. 229 
 
 sliall live in doubt find dread lest it may not be all my devoted 
 love leads me to wish for. 
 
 " Yours, Helen, 
 
 "Through life till death, 
 
 " George Harrington." 
 
 Mr. Harrington did not exaggerate his feelings when he 
 said, that he should live in doubt and dread till he received 
 Helen's answer to the above letter. He did not wait for it 
 long. The return of the post brought him the following reply 
 from Miss Beauchamp : — 
 
 "My valued Friend! — Permit me in this manner to address 
 you, even though my letter should not prove either what you 
 wish for, or expect. But I could address you in no other 
 manner, George Harrington, without falsifying my feelings. I 
 do, indeed, believe you to be my friend ; and 1 do, indeed, value 
 your friendship, and repay it with my own. And j'et, I cannot 
 consent to become your wife. You know, in part, the history of 
 my past life ; but there is much concerning it, which you do not 
 know, nor is it well possible, my good friend, that you ever 
 should; for the knowledge you lack consists, for the most part, 
 in such an acquaintance with the effect produced upon me by the 
 sudden and violent change in my circumstances, as it is quite 
 impossible should ever reach any heart and understanding but 
 my own. It must very rarely happen that two persons Avhosc 
 juxtaposition is such as ours appears to be at present, should 
 have passed the earlier years of their lives in a manner so 
 strikingly dissimilar! Yoio have always enjoyed the same 
 happy associations, and the same favourable inliuences that you 
 do at present; my position was very decidedly the reverse of 
 this ; and, depend upon it, that however truly and cordially wo 
 have liked each other, we are very likely to have deep-seated 
 and out-of-sight differences of feeling and o^Dinion on many 
 essential points, which, although they might never happen to 
 come forth and display themselves in any way which should 
 militate against all the sympathy and all the attachment 
 necessary for the foundation of very sincere friendship, might, 
 nevertheless, go far towards destroying the perfect harmony 
 which ought to subsist between man and wife. Nay, I will go 
 further, my good friend, and confess to you that, though I have 
 never heard you utter a sentiment which I did not think 
 becoming and laudable in you, I havo heard you express 
 
230 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 thong'lits and feelings which, to my own judgment, would be 
 very greatly the reverse in me. In a word, then, dear George 
 Harrington, I cannot consent to unite myself to you, because my 
 opinion is that such a marriage would be unsuitable ; and this 
 opinion of mine is so deeply rooted in my mind, and partakes so 
 much of the stubborn and immutable nature of matter of fact, 
 that any attempt on your part to change it could produce pain, 
 and pain only, but it never could produce conviction. Never- 
 theless, I would earnestly ask for the continuance of your good 
 opinion and friendship. Your present position is such as must, 
 of necessity, occupy too much of your time at your own home to 
 permit your presence as mnch as heretofore at that of your 
 father. This must, of course, be submitted to by all your friends, 
 and myself among the number ; but, I trust that nothing will 
 interfere to prevent my continuing to enjoy the society of your 
 family, Agnes and I have indulged in such constant walkings 
 and talkino-s too-ether, that I do not think we could either of us 
 easily give up the habit, 
 
 " Believe me, gratefully and sincerely, 
 " Your Friend, 
 
 " Helex Beauchamp." 
 
 The degree of suffering which it cost poor Helen to write this 
 letter could not easily be described in temperate language; but 
 it would have cost her more still could slie have guessed the 
 degree of misery into which it plunged George Harrington. 
 The more he studied it, the more pitiable did his state of mind 
 become; for while the refusal of his hand was so vague as to 
 suggest positively nothing which could be considered as a 
 reasonable cause for it, the tone of resolute firmness in which 
 it was announced, seemed to forbid all reasonable hope that a 
 purpose so expressed could ever be changed. 
 
 For a short — a very short — interval, his profound sorrow 
 seemed to feel relief from a sentiment of anger, which suddenly 
 arose within him. He was so deeply conscious, poor young 
 man, of the fulness and the sincerity of his love, and the perfect 
 devotion with which he would joyfully have been guided by her 
 on every point whereon it was possible they could differ, that he 
 felt there was as much injustice as cruelty, in refusing this love, . 
 because she deemed it possible they might some day differ in 
 opinion. 
 
 What cause had he ever given her for believing that she 
 might destroy her happiness if she trusted it to him, because 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 231 
 
 he might, perchance, contradict some of the theories she had 
 learned in her nursery at the Warren House ? What cause had 
 he ever given to justify her fearing his authority more than 
 she trusted his love ? While this very reasonable view of the 
 question which tortured him, held possession of his mind, his 
 drooping spirits were roused to anger, though not cheered into 
 hope ; and then, for a few short moments of passionate indig- 
 nation, he assured himself that it was a very lucky chance which 
 had led the lady to proclaim her intolerance of all opposition, 
 before it was too late for him to pi'ofit by it. 
 
 But this state of mind was more reasonable than lasting; for, 
 as he started up from the desponding attitude into v/hich he had 
 thrown himself on a sofa in his library, in order to sally forth 
 with renewed energy, to superintend some improvements which 
 were going on in the garden, he suddenly recollected for whose 
 sake it was that these improvements had been projected, and 
 such a sickly feeling of indifference came over him concerning 
 the embellishment of his garden, or of anything else belonging * 
 to him, that he reseated himself with a feeling of discourage- 
 ment that was most truly pitiable, and which might have gone 
 far towards convincing the over-scrupulous Helen that she had 
 better think twice before she sacrificed herself, and her lover, to 
 an over-wrought sense of honour, could his condition at that 
 moment have been made known to her ! But, as no mesmeric 
 agent was at hand to set in action the spiritual electric telegraph 
 of which we have heard such wonders, my unfortunate lovers 
 were doomed to be tormented by " the existence of a phantom 
 which might have been easily laid at rest by one or two simple 
 words of truth, uttered in due season. Instead of this, however, 
 the daily post brought, in due season, the following' letter from 
 Agnes Harrington, at the Oaks, to her brother, George Har- 
 rington, at Speedhurst Abbey. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 " My Dearest George, 
 
 " I have been earnestly endeavouring for some time to 
 convince myself that both you and I should be acting with much 
 more common sense if we separately and conjointly made up our 
 
232 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 minds to believe that we had both been mistaken in fancying 
 that Helen Beauchamp ever, for a moment, conceived the idea 
 of becoming j'our wife. As far as I am myself concerned, I had, 
 as I believe you know, pretty nearly reached this point of 
 wisdom before your last melancholy departure for the Abbey ; 
 and I have never, as j'ou can testify, named her in any of the 
 letters I have written to you since. Nay, so far has my opinion 
 concerning her indifference towards you been in any degree 
 changed or weakened, by what I have remarked since you left 
 us, that, had I never come to this decision before, I think I 
 should have reached it since. It is not that she has ever alluded 
 to you in any way that could either have created, or confirmed 
 such an idea, for, in truth, as far as I know, she has never 
 alluded to you at all; but since she became of age she seems to 
 be perpetually occupied by business ; and by what she says when 
 I laugh at her for pa^^ng so much attention herself to what 
 might easily be managed by her steward; she never replies to 
 me jestingly, but defends herself in good set terms, pointing out 
 very reasonably the decided advantage of understanding some- 
 thing of one's own affairs. Now this is much more like being a 
 sensible young woman, who knows when she is well off, and 
 wants nobody to help, than like being a young lady in love, 
 ready to make over her goods and chattels to her beloved. Nor 
 was this all. There were many other symptoms which all 
 tended to convince me that we were 2vrong in months long gone 
 by, when we flattered ourselves that in loving her, you was not 
 in any danger of loving in vain; and right when, during the 
 painful weeks which followed, we thought differently. It would, 
 however, be almost as difiBculfc, as useless, were I to attempt 
 recording all the trifling circumstances which have, one after 
 another, led me to feel certain that love and marriage had no 
 shai'e in her meditations. She had no such stuff in her thouo:hts. 
 But this assurance doubly sure, despite the disagreeable con- 
 clusion to which it had brought me, was greatly less tormenting 
 than the state of mind in which I find myself now, 
 
 " Perhaps I am wrong to appeal to you on the subject; yet I 
 cannot think so, for have wo not shared together both the joy 
 and the sorrow, which this most mysterious subject has brought 
 with it ? Why, then, should it be right for the confidence 
 between us to cease now ? Certain ifc is, indeed, that you have 
 written to her without telling me of it; but that is no reason, I 
 think, why I should conceal from you what has happened to me 
 since. 
 
THE tOUNG EEIEESS. 233 
 
 "I have never, as j'ou ^vell know, my dear Georg*e, in any- 
 way changed my conduct towards Helen, in consequence of her 
 m^'Sterlous change of manner towards you. From a very early 
 period of our acquaintance, I have loved her, and I love her still. 
 I have never ceased my visits to the Park, nor in any way 
 changed the manner of them. My habit has been to ask for 
 nobody but Helen, and very often I have not even asked for her, 
 but when the hall-door has been open, which is often the case in 
 fine weather, T have boldy made my way to her own snuggery, 
 without any inquiry at all, and never have failed to be received 
 with a kind welcome. I performed this same exploit j-esterday, 
 but the result was greatly unlike anything which had happened 
 to me before. Helen was, as usual, alone; and, as usual, seated 
 at her pretty little study-table, beside the window. She must 
 have been deeply occupied when I entered, for she evidently did 
 not hear the opening of the door behind her. She was sitting 
 with her elbow resting on the table, and supporting- her head 
 with her hand. She was aware of my approach, however, 
 before I reached her, and turning suddenly round upon me, ex- 
 hibited a face as pale as a snowdrop, and eyes which had very 
 evidently been recently employed in weeping. There was, 
 moreover, in the whole aspect of her sweet face, an expression 
 which I cannot recal even now, without feeling strongly disposed 
 to weep myself, for it spoke a whole volume of mental suffering ! 
 But this was not all that I saw, my good brother. On the desk 
 before her lay a letter from you. It was open, and so placed as 
 to have been evidently the object upon which her e^^es had been 
 fixed when I entered the room. She made a strong effort to 
 recover herself, and might have succeeded better, had she been 
 less anxious to succeed. She threw her arms round my neck, 
 and embraced me most affectionately, but I felt that she trembled 
 from head to food as she did so! I am certain that she im- 
 mediately recollected that your letter was lying very conspicu- 
 ously displayed upon her desk, for instead of installing me as 
 usual on the seat beside her, on the sofa, which she always 
 occupies, she threw her arm round me, and led me back towards 
 the door. 'Let us go into the east parlour, my dearest Agnes,' 
 said she, 'I know that my aunt and Anne are sitting there, and 
 they are longing to see you.' 
 
 " To resist this movement on her part was, of course, im- 
 possible, and, accordingly, I accompanied her to the east parlour, 
 and there I certainly found her aunt and cousin, who were, as 
 usual, extremely kind, and gave me a very cordial welcome ; 
 
234.' THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 but as to the longing that Miss Beanchamp talked oP, I certainly 
 saw no syraptoms of it. I speedily saw symptoms, howevoi*, ou 
 the face of my beautiful friend, that she was not quite at ease in 
 her mind concernino* the state in which she had left her writinfj- 
 desk, and the black-edged ejoistle so conspicuously exposed upon 
 it ; for, before we had been in the room two minutes, she slid 
 out of it again, but returned after an interval just about long 
 enough to permit of her locking up her letter and bathing her 
 beautiful eyes ; and, during the remainder of my visit, though 
 still very pale, she contrived, in a great degree, to recover her 
 usual manner, and talked of Lady this, and Miss that, and their 
 seedling geraniums, almost as gaily as if nothing had happened 
 to her. 
 
 " But something has happened to her, George Harrington ! 
 Something that has shaken her self-possessed soul to the very 
 centre ; and I expect you to tell me immediately what it is. 
 Why have you suddenly become so reserved towards me ? Why 
 have you written to her, when, in your very last letter to me, 
 you declare yourself to be devoted to your rural occupations, and 
 determined to think of nothing else ? Or why, if anything has 
 happened to make you change your mind, have you kept it secret 
 from me ? I should be less anxious on the subject, had it not 
 been made so very evident to me that, whatever has passed 
 between you, has been of a most painful nature. It is no light 
 thing that could have made Helen Beauchamp look as pale as a 
 mai'ble statue, and tremble when she embraced me, as if she had 
 been caught in some act of high treason, that not only put her 
 own life in peril, but the lives of all that are dearest to her into 
 peril also. What can you have written that should produce 
 such effects as these ? As you love me, brother, let not this 
 letter remain many hours unanswered ! 
 
 " Ever your loving sister, 
 
 " Agnes Harrington." 
 
 George Harrington did not obey this earnest injunction ; he 
 did not answer his sister's letter; but, as rapidly as railroad 
 speed could do it, he conveyed himself to the Oaks. 
 
 Whether he set forth upon this journey more in hope than in 
 fear, or more in fear than in hope, it would be difficult to say. 
 The letter which Helen had addressed to him, and which had 
 reached liim the day before that of his sister, had rendered him 
 as miserable as it was well possible for a man to be who has 
 nothing in his destiny to complain of, save the having becomo 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 23 
 
 D 
 
 practically convinced of the fact, that " the course of true love 
 never docs run smooth." But, in sober truth, this was quite 
 enougli to make him very' miserable — and very miserable, 
 accordingly, he was. 
 
 For there was, with all its gentleness, a tone of such decided 
 firmness in this cruel letter, as to make him feel that the doom 
 it announced was immutable ; and at the moment when the 
 above epistle from his sister was brought to him, he had a map 
 of Southern Europe before him, and Murray in his left hand, 
 while he traced out a tour of some few thousands of very 
 beautiful circuitous miles with his right, being fully determined 
 to leave England, and not return to it till he had in some degree 
 conquered the attachment which made him feel all the blessings 
 with which he was surrounded to be either indifferent or distaste- 
 ful to him. 
 
 But, utterly unintelligible as his sister's account of Helen 
 seemed to be, and utterly irreconcilable as it certainly was with 
 the calm and resolute tone of her letter, its immediate effect was 
 to overthrow all his foregone conclusions, and to make him 
 decide upon deferring his tour through the south of Europe, till 
 he had made one more attempt to solve the mysteries of Helen 
 Beauchamp's heart. 
 
 Notwithstanding her earnest entreaty for a tete-a-tete, the 
 personal appearance of her brother in the drawing-room at the 
 Oaks, surprised Agnes much less than it pleased her. 
 
 After recalling, with the most scrupulous accuracy, all that 
 had i^assed between herself and Helen, from the time that 
 George first began to pay her a.ny marked attention, she became 
 convinced that Miss Beauchamp had either voluntarily deceived 
 her, and her brother also ; or that she had involuntarily de- 
 ceived herself, and blighted all the happy prospects that seemed 
 opening before them by some misconstruction or blundering, 
 which might perhaps be easily set right, if the subject matter of 
 the blunder could only be discovered, and brought to a fair 
 examination. 
 
 That Agnes was quite right in so believing, the reader, who 
 has been let into the secret, is aware ; but it was not so easy a 
 matter, to make this truth evident to the parties most nearly 
 concerned. 
 
 The first thing that George heard, when, the cordial family 
 greetings being- over, he at length got Agnes to himself, w\is 
 that the Beauchamp Park family had just sent out cards 
 
236 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 tlirougliout the whole neighbourliooci, for a fancy ball, afc the 
 distance of a fortnight from the pi'esent time. 
 
 " A ball ! " exclaimed George. "Oh, Agnes! Agnes! How 
 cruelly have you deceived me ! Do you remember the portrait 
 you sent me in your last letter? The marble paleness! tlie 
 trembling limbs ! How can this be reconciled with the sending 
 out cards for a universal, fancy ball ?" 
 
 " Upon which part of my inteUigence do you mean to throw 
 a doubt, George?" returned Agnes, quietl3^ 
 
 "I know not!" he exclaimed, impatienth\ " Of course I 
 know notliinc:, and must believe whatever vou tell me with un- 
 doubting faith, because you desire that I should do so. But, 
 nevertheless, my common sense revolts against both j^our state- 
 ments being correct at one and the same time." 
 
 " It is not quite one and the same time," returned his sister. 
 " It is two days and a half since I sent off my letter to you, and 
 the card, inviting us to the fancy ball, only reached us this 
 morning^." 
 
 "Are you laughing at me, Agnes?" said her miserable look- 
 ing brother. " You are either very cruel, or very injudicious if 
 you are." 
 
 " I am quite as well aware of that, as you can be, George, and 
 quite as little inclined to try such an experiment, in order to 
 mend matters. In no case, I think, should I feel any propensity 
 to laugh at the strangely mysterious conduct of Helen Beau- 
 champ. Even if your haj^piness were not concerned in it, the 
 affection which I still retain for her is too sincere to permit my 
 making a jest at her inconsistencies." 
 
 This was said by Agnes in a way to prove that she was very 
 much in earnest, and not at all in jest, and it was with an air of 
 vexed repentance that her brother replied, " Forgive me ! I 
 did not mean it, Agnes, but I am almost too miserable to know 
 what I say ! " 
 
 " Perhaps, George, I might be more able to guess what has 
 been passing in her mind, if you would tell me the nature of the 
 letter that I saw on her writing-desk, when I found her in the 
 terrible state of agitation which I described to you," said Agnes. 
 
 "I will do more than that," he replied, "I will not only tell 
 you the nature of the letter, but show you both the letter itself, 
 and her answer to it." 
 
 And so saying, he drew both the epistles from his pocket-book, 
 and put them into her hand. 
 
THE YOUXG HEIEESS. 237 
 
 " May I usk you, George, before I read eitlier, what circura- 
 sfance, or vvliab new train of reasoning', ib was, which led you to 
 alter the resolution you had made to accept her marked change 
 of manner towards you, as a sign and signal that the intimacy 
 which had gradually grown up between us, was not intended by 
 Helen to pass the limit of friendship ? " 
 
 "Indeed you have a very fair right to ask the question, 
 Agnes, and I will answer you with perfect frankness. When 
 canvassino^ toa'ether all circumstances concernins^ the marked 
 change which we had both perceived in Miss Beauchamp's 
 manner to me, we both perfectly agreed in thinking that it 
 was intended to indicate an important and friendly caution to 
 me, for it said, as plainly as mannei' could say, ' So far shalt 
 thou go, and no further.' I need not recal to you that 
 wretched period, or remind you of all the misery I suffered. I 
 am quite sure you have not forgotten it. But in the solitude of 
 Speedhurst, Agnes, I went over all the old ground again, and 
 my memory was not good-natured enough to cheat me of any 
 single circumstance which went to prove that Helen Beauchamp 
 had no intention of becoming my wife. But in the midst of 
 these long and sad meditations, a very strange idea suggested 
 itself. In going over all the scenes which had passed between 
 US, both hopeful, and hopeless, it occurred to me that I had 
 never yet positively and explicitly proposed marriage to her." 
 
 "Nonsense! George," exclaimed Agnes, suddenly interrupt- 
 ing him. " Are you not creating a distinction where there is 
 no difference? Do you mean to tell me that you think Helen 
 had any doubt about your wish to marry her ?" 
 
 " I did not think so before her manner changed towards me," 
 replied her brother, "but, nevertheless, it is a certain fact that I 
 never did explicitly propose to her. "We used to talk of the 
 future, but never explicitly alluded to our being married ; the 
 reason for which was, as I thought she understood as well as 
 myself, that my poor dear uncle must die before ihxs, futiLre could 
 be reached." 
 
 " To be sure that was the reason!" cried Agnes, again inter- 
 rupting him, " and I feel not the slightest doubt that Helen at 
 that time understood it to be so as well as we did ourselves." 
 
 " It may be so," returned George, mournfully, " but I was 
 mad enough to hope that it was otherwise, when left alone, 
 Agnes, to my own imaginings, and I wrote to her accord in gl}"-, 
 making an explicit avowal of my love, and offer of my hand. 
 Her answer will show you, I think, why ib was that I felt as I 
 
238 THE YOUXG HEmESS. 
 
 read it, that it extinguislicd every hope for ever. And so it ought 
 to have done, as yoii \vill say when you have perused it ; jet^ 
 nevertheless, I am here a^fain with a feeliuo: of renewed iin- 
 certainty. Why should my letter have thrown her into the 
 state you describe ? This was, of course, the question which 
 immediately suggested itself, and the fact is, Agnes, that I am 
 come here solely in the hope of discovering why it was that she 
 looked so pale and so wretched while my letter lay before 
 her." 
 
 " 'Nov can I blame you for taking this step ; and still less can 
 I wonder at your being puzzled," replied Agnes. " But how are 
 we to understand this last commentary? How are we to inter- 
 pret this fancy ball invitation ? It cannot possibly appear one 
 half so extraordinary to you as it does to me, because you did 
 not see her as I saw her, when I so rashly broke in upon her, 
 and no description of mine can do justice to her manner and ap- 
 pearance then ! But let me see her answer, George. Let me 
 read it at once. It must have been written immediately upon 
 the receipt of that which I saw lying upon her desk, and surely 
 I must be able to find some trace in it of the suffering that was 
 so terribly visible on her features when she was in the act of 
 contemplating that to which it was an answer." 
 
 George waited not to reply, but instantly put the letter of 
 Helen in her hand. 
 
 " Shall I read it to you ? " he said. 
 
 " No, George, no ! " she replied. " Let me read it myself! " 
 
 Her brother left the painful document in her hands, and 
 silently watched her countenance as she perused it. 
 
 Having very deliberately gone through it once, she began 
 again at the beginning, and read it through a second time before 
 she uttered a word. She then replaced it in her brother's 
 hands, saying, "And I asked for this in the full hope that it 
 would throw some light upon the m^'stery ! " 
 
 "And you are disappointed, Agnes?" returned her brother, 
 with a melancholy smile. 
 
 " Disappointed ! " she repeated. " Why before I read that 
 letter everything was clear and plain, compared to what it is 
 now ! You offered your hand and she refused it, and though it 
 was not very easy to understand why she should do so, and at 
 the same time look so miserable about it, yet still, you know, it 
 was possible that she might be very sorry for old friendship's 
 sake that she did not feel inclined to marry, and, therefore, was 
 obliged to disappoint you. This was ^possible, though it might 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 239 
 
 have seemed to ns more cfiprlclous than rensonable. But this 
 explanation of her motives for refusing' you has much more of 
 mj'sccry than of caprice in it. What on earth can she mean by 
 saying- that she has heard you express thoughts and feelings 
 ■which though laudable in you, would be the reverse in her ? 
 And to what mysterious secrets can she allude, when she talks 
 of the associations of her former years? My dearest George, 
 you must think no more of her ! There must be some painful 
 history connected with her early years, and, perhaps, she is 
 only doing her duty when she refuses to become your v/ife. If 
 this be so, it is easy enough to account for the sujQTering which 
 this refusal has cost her, and she deserves our admiration and 
 affection more than ever. But let us not be less reasonable than 
 she is, my dear brother ! Absent yourself from us all, for a 
 time. Finish your continental travels, my dear George, and 
 change of scene, and your own good sense, will enable you to 
 forget this disappointment, and to look elsewhere for a wife. 
 There is not much chance, I should think, of your being equally 
 unfortunate a second time." 
 
 " It is possible I might be more so," he replied, with some- 
 thing like a bitter smile; "I might offer myself, sister Agnes, 
 to another, and I mig'ht be accepted." 
 
 " Very good, George. And now you are beginning to be 
 witty, I have good hopes that you will not break your heart. 
 But what say you to my travelling" project ? " 
 
 " The project certainly has its attractions, Agnes, and I may 
 think further of it; but not just at present, for I am doing a 
 good deal to the gardens at the Abbey, and I should not like to 
 leave England till I have accomplished the object I have in view. 
 Meanwhile, however, you will not be annoyed by any symptoms 
 of love-sickness on my part. Do you think, Agnes, that I shall 
 be included in the Beauchamp Park invitation ?" 
 
 " Of course you will, if you are still here," was her reply. 
 
 " And that I certainly will be," he returned, gaily. " I have 
 an immensity of curiosity on the subject." 
 
 "I am glad to hear you say so, for sorry indeed should I be 
 if this strange conduct on the part of Helen were to break up 
 the intercourse between the families. I love Helen dearly," 
 continued Agnes, with feeling', " and the being convinced, as 
 from her letter I think we must be, that her early years were 
 passed under very disadvantageous circumstances, will never 
 lead me to love her less. Whatever her former comiDanionships 
 may have been, I know what she herself is now ; and she must 
 
2-10 THE YOUNG HETTIESS. 
 
 hint at sometbinj^ worse than even vulgar relations, before I 
 shall give her up." 
 
 George Harrington listened to this with great satisfaction. 
 He, too, as well as his sister, was of opinion that when Helen 
 alluded to the disadvantages of her early years, she meant to 
 confess that she had lived among low-born relatives ; but, unlike 
 Agnes, he saw nothing sufficiently important in this to form a 
 lasting barrier between them ; on the contrary, indeed, from the 
 moment his sister suggested it, he devoutly prayed the gods that 
 it might be true, feeling something very like a comfortable 
 assurance at his heart that no such cause could keep them 
 asunder long. And yet George Harrington was far from being 
 indifferent to such considerations as had brought his sister to 
 the conclusion that, charming as Helen was in person, intellect, 
 and demeanoui', and highly as she was placed by fortune, she 
 might be, and doubtless was, unhappily situated with respect to 
 the connections with whom she had passed her early life. 
 
 This solution certainly appeared to him the most obvious, 
 amidst the darkness in which Helen's conduct had involved 
 him; and he very naturally determined to receive it as the true 
 one, and to act accordingly ; unless he subsequently saw reason 
 to believe that he and his sister also had failed to interpret 
 her mysterious letter aright. 
 
 Had he avowed this determination to A^nes in the same 
 words in which I have now expressed it, she would have agreed 
 with him most cordially as to the propriety of doing so ; and 
 yet nothing could be much less alike than the result which they 
 respectively contemplated. Agnes paused not a moment in 
 comlus: to the conclusion that if such were the fittincr inter- 
 pretation to be put upon Helen's letter, the obvious, and inevit- 
 able consequence was, that she never ought to become the wife 
 of her brother; while her brother, with equal distinctness and 
 rapidity, arrived at a conclusion which was precisely the re- 
 verse. 
 
 But here let me do George Harrington the justice to say that 
 it was not the influence of Helen's personal beauty which bribed 
 him to this decision ; neither was it by any means from eitiier 
 ignorance, or indifference, concerning the importance which 
 ought to be attached to the character, as well as the position, of 
 those with whom we are brought into connection by marriage. 
 He understood, and felt all this very sufficiently; as much so, 
 perhaps, as even Agnes herself; but he thought, and he was 
 quite right In thinking so, that he knew more of Helen than she 
 
THE YOUNG HEIKESS. 241 
 
 did ; he knew her temper, heart, and intellect better, It was 
 not that Ag'nes was either a careless or a dull observer. But 
 "the sweet passion of love" is made up of a multitude of 
 susceptibilities, some more, and some less sublime, but forming- 
 altogether a sort of spiritual electricit}^ which enables one 
 human mind to detect, and combine with, the occult qualities 
 of another, with a force that is often stronger than reason, 
 though in no wise contrary to it. 
 
 But at the same moment that he discovered this essential 
 difference of opinion between himself and his sister, he very 
 stedfastly determined not to communicate the discovery to her; 
 and here again he was very right. 
 
 There was, for the present at least, no chance whatever that 
 either party would be able to convict, or convince the other of 
 cri'or ; and discussion, therefore, must be worse than idle. So 
 there was no discussion between them on this point at all ; and 
 they both, fortunately, agreed in thinking, that in the interval 
 which was likely to take place before the young master of 
 Speedhurst Abbey set off to finish his continental tour, their 
 best course would be to alter nothinof in their outward demeanour 
 towards Helen ; to keep the secret of the offer, and its refusal, 
 entirely to their own hearts, and to reconcile themselves as 
 speedily as possible to taking the good the gods had provided, 
 without making themselves miserable about what was denied. 
 
 Perhaps George did not deserve quite all the credit his sister 
 gave him for the air of genuine resignation with which he 
 listened to this edict, and submitted to it; perhaps she was in 
 no degree aware of the pleasant effect she had produced on his 
 mind, by explaining so clearly and cleverly the probable cause 
 of Helen's refusal. It was with the most perfect sincerity that 
 he had acknowledged his conviction that her interpretation was 
 correct ; but he did not feel himself called upon to say how 
 much consolation he found from her description of poor Helen's 
 suffei-ing under the performance of the terrible duty she had 
 imposed upon herself. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 No disappointment awaited George Harrrington concerning 
 his invitation to the fancy bull about to be given at Bcauchamp 
 
 17 
 
242 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 Park. But, thougli very well pleased to receive it, he fell into 
 a very deep fit of very grave musing, upon the style and manner 
 in which he should make his appearance there. 
 
 His meditations were not confined to the style in which he 
 should decorate his person, or to that by which he should 
 regulate his manner. The first question was not without its 
 difficulties, but the second, as may easily be believed, was 
 infinitely more puzzling still. 
 
 George was no coxcomb, but, nevertheless, he was not wholly 
 ignorant of the fact that he was rather a handsome fellow, and 
 then visions of sundry very becoming costumes did certainly 
 come into his head, and even shot from thence to the point of 
 his pencil, causing the implement to sketch, with very brilliant 
 rapidity, Greeks, Turks, Figaros, and Hamlets. 
 
 But he suddenly stopped short in this agreeable occupation, 
 and tore the paper into atoms. " What an idiot I am !" he ex- 
 claimed, bitterly. " Do I hope to win her by the aid of my 
 tailor ? If I go at all, it shall be in my ordinary attire." 
 
 But the moment after, he found that there would be some- 
 thing very particularly marked, and, therefore, very particularly 
 wrong in this, and then, having manfully resolved that he would 
 wear the livery of Folly, in some form or other, but without 
 giving a thought to his looking well or ill in it, he began to fix 
 his thoughts with a good deal of anxiety upon the degree of 
 familiarity with which it would be proper that he should addres 
 her, either in his own character, or in any other that he might 
 take it into his head to assume. But, on this point, at least, he 
 had sufficient common sense, and sufficient consciousness of not 
 being' altogether sure of keeping a resolution if he made it, to 
 induce him to bring this particular cogitation to a conclusion, by 
 deciding that he would not make any resolution at all, but be 
 guided by his own feelings at the moment, inspired as they were 
 sure to be by her manner of receiving him. 
 
 But then came the important question as to whether he ought 
 or ought not to call at Beauchamp, after the corresjiondenco 
 which had taken place between himself and its fair mistress. 
 But, fortunately, this was a point upon which he could still call 
 his faithful Agnes to council, notwithstanding her perfectly 
 unsuspicious ignorance of the ultimate hope which lay nestling 
 at the bottom of his heart. 
 
 After the meditation of a minute or two, she gave it as her 
 opinion that if he intended to accept the invitation to the ball, 
 he ought to call upon the Beauchamp Park family before it took 
 
THE YOUNG nEIRESS. 243 
 
 place. George discreetly fixed his eyes upon the carpet when 
 this wished-for decision was prouomiced ; but the flush which 
 mounted to his forehead told his sister plainly enough, that lier 
 opinion on the subject had not been listened to without consider- 
 able emotion, which, she doubted not, was of a very painful 
 kind. 
 
 " I have vexed j'ou, my dearest George ! " said she, with true 
 sisterly feeling, though certainly with no great sympathy. 
 "But yon must pass the ordeal of a first meeting, at some time 
 or other; that is, if you accept her offered friendship. The 
 question, in my 02:)inion is, not whether you should make a 
 morning visit at the Park, before you present yourself at the 
 ball, for if you decide upon doing the last, you cannot m com- 
 mon civility avoid the former. The real question is, wh.elhcr 
 you have courage enough to meet Helen in society without 
 suffering more than she ought to see you suffer ; or whether it 
 would not be better for you to go abroad at once, and remain 
 beyond the reach of danger from meeting her again, till time 
 and your own good sense shall have enabled you to conquer 
 your unfortunate attachment." 
 
 George continued to keep his eyes fixed on the carpet as she 
 spoke, and when she had fi.nished, he drew out his pocket hand- 
 kerchief, and blew his nose, which produced a painful and com- 
 punctious feeling on the heart of his sister, for she fancied that 
 he was either weeping, or about to weep. 
 
 However, he almost immediately answered in a tolerably 
 cheerful voice, " Yes, Agnes, you are quite right. That is, in 
 truth, the real question. But there is, I think, always something 
 cow-ardly and contemptible in moving away under any circum- 
 stance, and though quite aware that I may have some disagree- 
 able scenes to encounter, I had rather endure whatever may 
 happen to me, than positively take to flight. — So I will ride over 
 to the Park to morrow morning, I think, and get the first 
 awkward meeting over as soon as possible." 
 
 " Shall I go with you, George?" said Agnes, in a tone that 
 showed plainly enough that she most sincerely pitied him. 
 
 " No, my dear Agnes," he replied, " I will get through it as 
 w^ell as I can ; but I suspect that ray part of the performance 
 will not be graceful enough for me to be anxious to exhibit 
 It." 
 
 Nothing more passed between them on the subject, nor did 
 Agnes even know when it was his purpose to perform this pain- 
 ful but necessary ceremony j she saw plainly enough that he had 
 
 17—2 
 
2-14 THE rouxa heiress. 
 
 no inclination to talk about it, and tliono;li she was a little sur- 
 prised at this reserve, she was determined to indulge liim, for 
 she felt persuaded that such an interview could not fail of being 
 intensely painful, and she pitied him most sincerel3\ 
 
 Yes, Agnes did pity her brother exceedingly ; but though she 
 wonld willingly have stood courageously beside him in more 
 jDcrilous encounters, she was, at the bottom of her heart, very 
 sincerely glad to escape this ; one reason for which assuredly 
 was, that she knew she could do him no good, and could only 
 have brou!2-ht with her to the meetiuGT an additional element of 
 embarrassment. 
 
 George prepared himself for the interview by very attentively 
 readinof the letter of Helen which he had received in answer to 
 liis own. Having fully accepted the rational interpretation of 
 Agnes as to the latent meaning of this letter, it no longer ap- 
 peared to him such a desperate document as it had done when 
 he first perused it ; yet still there was enough of stedfast pur- 
 pose in its tone to make his heart quail as he meditated on the 
 possibility of her fancying tliat it was her duty to adhere to the 
 resolution she had announced. 
 
 This sinking of the heart as he meditated on her taking sucli 
 a view of the question, was the strongest possible proof that he 
 did justice both to the rectitude, and the strength of Helen's 
 character. His best chance lay in the possibility of making her 
 feel that in her case, as in many others, there might be con- 
 flicting duties, and that the sending him to an early grave, with 
 a broken heart, might be a heavier sin, than permitting him to 
 ally himself, through her, with some individual, or individuals, 
 less perfect than herself. 
 
 During his leisurely pas-d-pas ride to Beauchamp Park, he 
 came very decidedly to the conclusion, however, that nothing 
 cjuld be so injurious to his cause as any attempt at present to 
 shake her resolution. Something, indeed, whispered to him that 
 the day might come (if the tone of their former intercourse 
 could be restored) when she, too, might think that she had over- 
 rated the importance of her early associations, for if they had 
 really produced any effect that could reasonably keep them 
 asunder, he must have made the discovery ere now j and to this 
 he was determined to trust. 
 
 As to the precise arrangement concerning the time and place 
 for their first meeting, his former familiar knowledge of her 
 daily routine of occupation enabled him to settle it very skil- 
 fully. He knew perfectly well that when the family separated 
 
THE TOUXG nEir.ES?. 245 
 
 after breakfast, Mr. Rixley invariably rotireJ to enjoy a peaceful 
 perusal of the daily paper in the library ; and as invariably did 
 Mrs. Rixley take her station in a peculiarly pleasant morning- 
 sitting-room, wherein she was sure to find, not only her favourite 
 sofa, her worsted work, and some half-dozen or so of the last- 
 arrived new books, but her daughter, also, who pretty constantly 
 employed the first hour or two after breakfast in practising all 
 the intricate new polkas and waltzes, by the bewitching influence 
 of which, she contrived to convert every party given in the 
 iicio-hbourhood into a dance. 
 
 Anne Rixley's style of playing these German fascinations 
 was really admirable, and her mother so well loved to listen to 
 her, that it must have been some very remarkable occurrence 
 wliich could have tempted her to give it up. 
 
 All this was perfectly well known to George Harrington, and, 
 therefore, without letting anybody into his confidence, besides 
 his groom, he found his horse precisely at ten o'clock in the 
 morning, not pawing the gravel before the door, but waiting for 
 him, both out of sight and out of hearing, just beyond the 
 precincts of the oak-sheltered paddock which surrounded the 
 house. 
 
 A very few minutes of sharp riding brought him to Beau- 
 champ Park, and having reached it unattended, he rode, as he 
 had often done before, into the stable-yard, and gave his horse to 
 one of the stable servants. He asked no questions concerning 
 the whereabouts of the family, but turned with neighbourly 
 license through a small door which led into the shrubberies. 
 
 Harrington knew perfectly well that Helen, in all human 
 probability, was in the conservatory, and, accordingly, ifc was 
 there he sought, and there he found her. She had heard his 
 step, and it may be that she knew it, too, before he became 
 visible, for when he entered and first caught sight of her, instead 
 of being as j)ale as Agnes had described her, the fair face was 
 blooming with as radiant a blush as ever dyed a virgin 
 cheek. 
 
 The first moment of meeting was doubtless one of pretty 
 severe trial to both of them ; but this first emotion was got 
 through very well, and very quietly, as far as outward appear- 
 ances could be trusted, on both sides ; this very desirable result 
 being the more easily obtained, because it was the stedfast pur- 
 pose of both that so it should be. 
 
 As far as this went, it mattered little how wide misfht be the 
 difference between the ultimate object of the lady and that of the 
 
216 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 geiiileman; aiid ifc mnst be confessed that tliis nUimatc differ- 
 eDCG was considerable ; that of the lady being to remain 
 michangeably Avilhin the lino of single blessedness which she 
 had marked out for herself; while that of the gentleman was to 
 " bide his time " with all the appearance of the most submissive 
 obedience, but never to abandon the hope of making her his wife 
 as long as they both sliould live, and live single. 
 
 Fortunately, however, there was no occasion for either of them 
 just then to enter upon the subject of their future intentions; 
 each thought, and thought very properly, that they had been 
 sufficiently explicit upon the subject already, and all embarrass- 
 ment, therefore, upon that score, was sjDared them. 
 
 After the usual mutual inquiries for their respective families 
 had been exchanged, the attention of George Harrington was 
 called to sundry alterations and improvements in the gardens, of 
 which, as he truly said, he had heard nothing, but which, 
 appeared, as far as he could judge, to be very ingenious in the 
 conception, and very promising as to the general effect of the 
 result. 
 
 " I am glad you think so," she replied, " for some of my 
 manoeuvres have been rather bold, and as I have consulted no 
 one but my uncle and the gardener, your approval is very satis- 
 factory. But we are not sufficiently advanced as yet to talk 
 rnucli about it. If you were not something of a gardener your- 
 self, Mr. Harrington, you would not have understood what we 
 are about so much as you appear to do. But do not talk of my 
 winter garden scheme- to Agnes, I mean to surprise." 
 
 George promised to be very discreet on the subject, and then 
 the conversation went on in the question and answer style very 
 glibly, till, at length, Helen said, " And now, Mr. Harrington, I 
 think I have told you all that I know about my plans, myself; 
 so I will take you to see my aunt and Anne." 
 
 "I shall be truly glad to see them, and your good uncle, 
 also," he replied. " It seems an age since I have bad that 
 pleasure." 
 
 And so saying, he followed her through a labyrinth of newly 
 marked-out walks, and flower-beds. But just as they were 
 about to leave the precincts of Helen's magnificent innovations, 
 which were divided from the lawn behind the house by a thick 
 shrubber}', he made a hasty step in advance, which brought him 
 before her as she walked on, when suddenly turning round, and 
 facing her, he gently laid two fingers on her arm, as if to make 
 her pause, and then said, " Helen ! Your will is law. It ought 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 247 
 
 to be so, and it shall be so ! Fear not that 3'on will be tovmcntcd 
 by me. I will teach myself to rejoice at being permitted to be 
 your friend." 
 
 Slie started \Yhen he first sto^Dped her, but recovered herself 
 immediately, and said, cheerfully, " I thank you, George Har- 
 rington; I thank you sincerely." 
 
 " And we are then to be as good friends, Helen, as if I 
 never had written you that letter?" said he, looking at her, 
 earnestly. 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " \vas her reply, uttered rapidly, and turning 
 aside her head, as if fearing to meet his e3^es. 
 
 He ventured, however, to hold out his hand, and she put hers 
 into it ; upon which, with the friendly and familiar action of a 
 brother, he drew her arm under his own, as he had often done 
 in days of yore, and walked, neither very slowly nor very rapidly, 
 towards the house, while he very demurely descanted the while 
 on the very extensive alterations she appeared to be making in 
 her gardens. 
 
 CHAPTEPt XXXVII. 
 
 While these very important, but very unguessed-at, occur- 
 rences were passing over Helen, her sincere liking and friend- 
 ship for Mr. Phelps continued without the slightest diminution; 
 neither had his sincere affection for her been in any degree 
 lessened, though he was very nearly as conscious as she was 
 herself that he was no longer fully in possession of her confi. 
 dence. But there does sometimes exist between human beiugs a 
 degree of sturdy obstinate esteem which nothing less weighty 
 than obvious matter of fact testimony can suffice to destroy, and 
 the esteem which old Mr. Phelps felt for Helen Beauchamp, was 
 of this quality. He was quite sure that she had something- on 
 her mind which affected her happiness, and weighed upon her 
 spirits, but as she evidently wished to conceal the cause from 
 him, he immediately came to the conclusion that the secret, 
 whatever it was, was not her own secret only, and this not only 
 exonerated her from all blame in his eyes, but gave him an 
 
248 THE VOUXG HEIRESS. 
 
 nrlditional renson for tliliildng that she certainly was " made up 
 of every \Yoman's best." 
 
 But Mr. Pliclps, when left in the dark, very naturally, like 
 all other sharp-witted people, felt a strong inclination to grope 
 his way out, and he soon fancied that he saw a glimmer of liglit 
 in the direction in w^hich probably most people would have 
 looked for it, namely, that in which the tender passion of love 
 was most likely to appear. 
 
 Now, whatever love passages had hitherto passed between 
 George Harrington and Helen Beauchamp, they had been, more 
 perhaps from the character of the individual than from any 
 systematic purpose on the part of either of them, entirely 
 invisible to all eyes save those of Agnes. 
 
 Mr. Phelps, in short, had no more idea that Helen was in 
 love with Geor£re Harrington, than that she was in love with 
 him. But still he thought she must be in love with some one, 
 for how else could he account for the change that had taken 
 place in her? Not, indeed, that she w^as in any material 
 respect changed towards him ; no ! There was the same unmis- 
 takable expression of pleasure in her sweet face every time that 
 he unexpectedly appeared before her ; but there was not that 
 fresh and brightly sustained interest while engaged with him, 
 either in literary or philosopliical discussion, that used to make 
 this loner tefe-a-tcte so deli^'htful. 
 
 More than once he had found it necessary to restate a dogma, 
 or repeat an argument, before she looked as if she fully under- 
 stood.him. Now this was quite new in their intercourse, and by 
 no means agreeable. But what was worse still, was the fact 
 that when, at length, she did appear to comprehend what ho 
 was talking about, she did not appear to take much interest in 
 it. And so at last the rational old gentleman came to the con- 
 clusion that Helen was in love. 
 
 Having reached this point, it -svas not very long before he 
 arrived at another, for he discovered, or fancied he had dis- 
 covered, that her Cousin Henry was the happy man. This dis- 
 covery certainly took off in his estimation a little of the beautiful 
 disinterestedness which he had so warmly admired in all her 
 economical ejBTorts before she became of age, in order to procui-e 
 for this highly favoured youth, the object of his first ambition. 
 But good Mr, Phelps soon felt ashamed of himself for thinking 
 she could have acted upon any motive more amiable than that of 
 gratifying this honourable ambition of the man she loved, and ho 
 determined to atone for this injustice by taking an early oppor- 
 
THE VOUXG HEIRESS. 249 
 
 fuiilf.y of delicately hinting' to licr that ho had discovered hci 
 secret, and greatly approved her choice. 
 
 An opportunity for doing this soon occurred, for a letter from 
 Henry, who had now been nearly a year abroad, arrived very 
 soon after the philosopher had made this acute discovery, 
 announcing" his return to England, and his hope of being" at 
 Boauchamp Park in a few days. 
 
 Tliis pleasant news was speedily circulated throughout the 
 neighbourhood, and the lucky chance which brought him back 
 in time for the fancy ball was wekMmed most cordially, especially 
 by all the young ladies, for Henry llixley was acknowledged to 
 be the best dancer in the county, and was on that, as well as on 
 many other accounts, so great a favourite, that the delightful 
 invitation itself had scarcely given more pleasure than did the 
 sudden announcement that he was to be a sharer in tlie 
 fete. 
 
 It so chanced that on the same day on which Henry's letter 
 announcing his arrival in England reached Beaucharap Park, 
 one of the large dinner parties, which were now very frequent 
 there, took place. Mr. Phelps was one of the guests, and hav- 
 ing heard the general burst of cordial satisfiiction Avith which 
 Mr. Rixley's announcement of this news was received at the 
 dinner-table, he took an opportunity, Avhen rambling tete-a-tete 
 with Helen on the follov>nno; mornino' throuofh her new flower- 
 garden, to revert to this circumstance, as a means of leading to 
 the subject upon which he was so anxious to speak to her 
 without reserve. 
 
 " What a very popular individual your Cousin Henry seems 
 to be 1" said the old gentleman, looking at her rather earnestly. 
 "He certainly was proclaimed by acclamation at your dinner- 
 table yesterday as the one thing needful to make a fancy ball 
 an epitome of perfect felicity." 
 
 If Mr. Phelps expected to see his companion blush upon 
 hearing this abrupt mention of her cousin's name, he was not 
 disappointed, for her beautiful face was instantly suffused with 
 the celestial ros^'-red which has been, rather arbitrarily, termed 
 " Love's proper hue." 
 
 " Dearest Henry ! " she eagerly exclaimed. " I thought yon 
 would remark it, Mr. Phelps. Oh ! If you knew what a 
 pleasure it is to me to think that he may still be prosperous 
 and happy, notwithstanding the heavy misfortune of my having 
 been born I But nobody c.in ever know — can ever understand 
 this ! Not even you, Mr. Phelps." 
 
250 THE YOUKG HEIRES?. 
 
 Mr. Phelps smiled aside, as lie marked the ingenious manner 
 ill which she contrived to confess the tender interest which slic 
 took in his prosperity, without compromising her maiden dignity 
 by pleading guilty to the " soft impeachment." He remained 
 silent for a moment, and then replied, taking her arm and pass- 
 ing it, in a confidential sort of manner, under his own, "Come, 
 oomc, Helen ! It is too late in the day for you and I, when we 
 are talking to each other tete-a-Ute, to say one thing, when wo 
 mean another. I know that you love Henry Rlxley, and that 
 you mean to marry him when he shall have tamed his vehement 
 military ardour by serving for a campaign or two ; I know this, 
 Helen, quite as well as if you had informed me of it with all the 
 solemnity of a most important avowal — so do not be foolish 
 enough to say NO about it, my dear child, for I tell you frankly 
 that I shall not believe yon." 
 
 Helen Beauchamp loved truth dearly. She loved it con- 
 scientiously, she loved it philosophically, and she loved it 
 habitually. But never w^as an untruth offered in a more 
 tempting form than that wdiicli was now presented for her 
 acceptance. She could not but fear, for she bad very good and 
 sufficient reason for fearing it, that many of her friends and 
 acquaintances had shrewdly suspected that the marked intimacy 
 between the Harrington family and her own would end by a 
 union between Speedhurst Abbey, and Beauchamp Park; and 
 the gossip, the wondering, and all the imaginative explanations, 
 likely to follow upon the discovery that everybody had been 
 mistaken, or at any rate that the affair was very mysteriously 
 broken off, formed no trifling addition to the suffering which 
 weighed so heavily upon her during this portion of her existence. 
 The possibility of getting clear of all this by permitting the 
 circulation of a different fable was a desperately strong tempta- 
 tion offered to her integrity; but, nevertheless, she would 
 probably have had courage to resist it, had her old friend 
 remained with her only one moment longer ; but perceiving that 
 she hesitated how to answer him, and believing he had put her 
 in a painful position by his abruptness, he suffered her arm to 
 drop as suddenly as he had taken it, and gaily saying, " I will 
 not torment you any more w-ith my discoveries just at present, 
 dear Helen," he bustled off into the shrubberies, and left her to 
 meditate upon the comparative value of truth and its opposite at 
 her leisure. 
 
THE YOUXG nEIRESS. 251 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 Two days after the clinner-party mentioned in the last cLapter, 
 Henry Rixley reached Beauchamp Park ; and, short of the 
 species of reception which Mr. Phelps had predicted for him, it 
 was pretty nearly impossible that he could have been more 
 affectionately welcomed. The first hour or two that they all 
 passed together w^as occupied by such a deluge of questions and 
 answers concerning where he had[ been since he left one place, 
 and what he had liked best when he got to another, that 
 nothing approaching grave and confidential talk had taken 
 place amongst them ; but early the next morning, very nearly 
 at the same hour at which Henry had communicated the 
 heaviest sorrow of his heart to his Cousin Helen some twenty 
 months before, they met again under the greenwood tree, and 
 being again tSte-cl-tete, the grateful young traveller eagerly 
 seized the opportunity of expressing all the gratitude he felt for 
 her kindness to him. 
 
 For Helen had not trusted to the regularity with which his 
 salary might be paid in order to satisfy herself that this very 
 happy interlude in his life's history was not dimmed by the want 
 of a little " needfu' cash." 
 
 "Had you been my own dear mother, Helen, yon could not 
 have been more thoughtful about my enjoyments ; and how you 
 could manage to time your generous gifts so happily must ever 
 be a mystery, for I do j)ositively declare that I never once par- 
 ticularly wished for a little extra cash, that I did not speedily 
 afterwards get a polite intimation that if I would be pleased to 
 draw on Messrs. So-and-So, I should be sure to get it. How 
 can I thank you as I ought to do for all your generous kindness 
 tome?" 
 
 " By not calling anything I have done by such a name, dear 
 Henry," she very gravely replied. "Though no great lawyer,. 
 I sufiiciently understand the omnipotent power of the law to be 
 aware that it is right and proper for me to possess this place, 
 and all the thousands a year that it brings with it, instead of 
 you, or your good father either. But this need not, and cannot 
 prevent my remembering, that had I never existed, all the 
 
252 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 ■\vef\Uh T now enjoy must Imvc been yours, for my faUicr had no 
 other heir. vSuch being tlie facts, Cousin Henry, it cnnnot bo 
 very difficult for you to understand that I do not feci entitled to 
 many thanks, merely because I find pleasure in now and then 
 preventing" j^our being inconvenienced by the want of a little 
 money. Besides, you must observe, if you please, that I run no 
 risk of doing mischief by permitting myself this indulgence, for 
 I happen to know, from the best possible authority, namel}'', 
 that of your father, that though jouv allowance has been a 
 small one, you have never run in debt at College. So no more 
 about gratitude — no more of that, Hal, if thou lovest me 1" 
 
 " I do love you, Helen, and I will not plague you with any 
 more thanks ; but j'ou will not scold me for telling you how 
 greatly I have enjoyed myself? I suppose," he added, with a 
 sigh, " I suppose that everything in this world is a mixture of 
 good and evil. For instance, 1 greatly doubt if any man could 
 have enjoj^ed the pleasure and excitement of travelling so keenly 
 as I have done, unless, like me, he knew that his future years 
 were to be sj^ent in a way that must render the recurrence of 
 such delightful excitement impossible. Bat the pleasure is not 
 over for me. I shall never forget what I have seen. — There is 
 a great comfort in that. What a beautiful world this is, Helen ! 
 You have no idea of the magnificence, the variety, the intense 
 loveliness of the various scenery and the various climates, 
 through which I have passed since I left England ; you don't 
 know what hhie means, when it is used to describe the colour of 
 an Italian sky; you don't, indeed, Helen ! Claude himself does 
 not dare to give it in all its splendour. Or perhaps his unguents 
 failed him." 
 
 Helen looked at him, and smiled. 
 
 " Don't laugh at me, Helen ! Don't fancy that I am trying 
 to cram you with travellers' tales, as full of lies as of wonders. 
 I will exaggerate nothing when I am talking to you of what I 
 have seen, but it will bo a great pleasure to describe it all. 
 Besides, the doing so will impress it on my memory, and hence- 
 forth, you know, that is the treasury on which I must draw for 
 the pleasure of enjoying fine scenery." 
 
 "And do you think the remembrance of what j^ou have seen 
 will suffice to gratify this passionate love of scenery for the rest 
 of your life ? " said Helen, again looking at him with a smile. 
 
 An expression of painful feeling passed across the young 
 man's features for a moment; but whatever might be its cause 
 he evidently made an effort to get rid of it, for he returned hia 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRES?. 253 
 
 cousin's smile, as he replied, '' I take the good the gods provide 
 7110, and do not mean now to quarrel with my destiny, even if I 
 liave never again the good fortune to pass the ' Herring Pond.' 
 Has my father been talking much since I went away about my 
 ordination ? Has he got his eye upon any particular curacy for 
 me, Helen ?" 
 
 " No, dear Henrj^, I am pretly sure he has not. We ought 
 all of us to do him the justice of believing that if he had the 
 power of placing you in a prof'ession that you felt more suited to, 
 he would be very glad to do it. He acknowledged this to Mr. 
 Phelps, the other day, when they were discussing the subject 
 together. No ! It is I who have fixed my mind on a particular 
 cure, and not my uncle," returned Helen. 
 
 " You 1 " exclaimed Henry, in an accent of surprise. " Of 
 course I ought to feel greatly flattered by your thinking of me 
 at all, but fixing upon a curacy for me, was one of the very last 
 waj's in which I should have expected j'ou to show it." 
 
 Helen did more than smile now ; she laughed outright. 
 
 Henry stared at her. 
 
 "My dear cousin," she said, endeavouring to recover her 
 gravity, " I fear you never will be a correct speaker, for it is 
 evident to me that you have no very clear idea of the nature of 
 the English language. If you were already in orders I should 
 be dreadfully alarmed at the idea of j'^our preaching, inasmuch 
 as you have just made it clearly evident that you do not know 
 the difference between curacy, and cure. I should say, particu- 
 larly in your case, that not even rectory and cure were synony- 
 mous, and surely curacy and cure must be wider apart still. No, 
 dear Henry, I have not been looking out for a curacy, but I 
 think I have found a cure for the malady that seemed to 
 threaten you, namely, that of endeavouring to force your 
 faculties into the performance of a task for which nature has 
 not fitted you. The remedy I prescribe for this, my dear 
 cousin, is your preparing 3'ourself with all convenient dispatch 
 to join your regiment, wdiich I am told is destined for service at 
 the Cape at no very distant period." 
 
 " My regiment! — Join my regiment ! What can you mean, 
 Helen Bcauchamp ? It is impossible you can be laughing at 
 me ! It is not like you." 
 
 " I hope not, Henry. No, dearest cousin, I am very greatly 
 in earnest in telling you, that, by and with the assistance of our 
 most kind friend Mr. Phelps, a commission has been secured for 
 you in one of the regiments which I remember your having 
 
254! THE TOUXG HEIPvESS. 
 
 named as the mosfc desirable. If you Imd come home at the 
 time you first talked of, which was six months ago, and before I 
 became of age, you would have found the commission ready for* 
 3'Ou ; for I beg to observe, friend Harry, that I am an excellent 
 manager — a little in the miser line now and then, perhaps, but 
 nobody has a right to complain of that, you know, if it amuses 
 me, and some of my saving tricks certainly did amuse me, 
 after you went away. It really is almost a pity,, as far as 
 I am concerned, that the necessity for them is over. How- 
 ever, this full-blown majority of mine is convenient in some 
 respects, because it has enabled me to deposit sufficient 
 money in the proper quarter to purchase on as rapidly as 
 maybe, till I have fairly made you major as well as myself. 
 And now tell me, does this please you, my dear disinherited 
 cousin ?" 
 
 Henry Rixley looked absolutely bewildered by this intelligence. 
 He gazed with a puzzled expression of countenance into the fair 
 face of his smiling companion, not exactly as if he thought she 
 was in jest, but yet as if he were afraid of permitting himself to 
 be too sure that she was in earnest. After standing immovably 
 still, with his eyes fixed upon her, for about a minute, he drew a 
 long sigh, which really sounded as if he were gaspjng* a little for 
 want of breatli, and pronounced the words, "And my father?" 
 
 " Fear nothing from that quarter, Henry," she replied, affect- 
 ionately pressing the arm upon which she was leaning. 
 " Everything is exactly as you would wish it there. Mr. Phelps 
 and I took good care to ascertain that, before we proceeded too 
 far in the business to involve ourselves in any domestic troubles 
 on that score. Everything is right in the home department. 
 Father, mother, sister, are all of one mind on the subject as 
 completely as heart can wish. If you are pleased, dearest 
 Henry, you will not find a single doubting, or dissentient voice 
 at home." 
 
 "Pleased! If I am pleased!" exclaimed poor Henry, in 
 almost uncontrollable agitation. " Oh, Helen ! Helen ! I wish 
 now that I had not taken so much pains to conceal from you all 
 I suffered at the idea o{ sitting down as a country curate for 
 life! If I had let you see only a tenth part of what I sufiercd 
 then, you would be more able to understand how great is the 
 happiness you have bestowed upon me now ! Shall I thank 
 you ? No ! The fullest, the most glowing expression of thanks 
 ever uttered by man would fall so short, so very short of what I 
 would wish to express at this moment, that I am positively 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 255 
 
 determined to make no attempt of the kind ! There is, how- 
 ever, one little remark which I will venture to make, though I 
 am sadly afraid that yonr woman's wit is not of a calibi^e to 
 enable you to comprehend it. You have once, and again, Cousin 
 Helen, hinted at the desperate wrong you did me when you took 
 the liberty of coming into the world. Now, setting aside the 
 fact, which has been repeatedly hinted to you, but to which you 
 have never appeared to pay any attention, that if you had never 
 been born, your father's estate would never have been mine, 
 setting aside this fact, I do implore you to believe me when I 
 declare that I would not give up the position in which you have 
 placed me, to become a landed gentleman with an estate ten times 
 the value of yours. For then it would have been my duty to 
 stay at home, and look after my acres, and my tenants; and 
 upon my word and honour, I think I would rather be a red 
 Indian, While now! But I will not describe this glorious noiu 
 further, than to say that it gives me everything' that I most 
 coveted on earth." 
 
 Helen had spoken very truly, when she said that her little 
 saving tricks had amused her; but had she suffered, and pretty 
 severel}^ too, in the performance of them, she would have 
 thought herself most araplj'' repaid for all she had done, by con- 
 templating the changed aspect of Henry Rixlc}^, and listening to 
 his own energetic description of his happiness. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXTX. 
 
 NoTHiXG could have been better timed than this return of 
 Henry, and the bright demonstration of his exceeding' happiness 
 which followed it ; for though Helen's high toned character 
 kept her from sinking into the degradation of pining sorrow, 
 because one precious hope had been disappointed, she did in 
 truth suffer from the disappointment more deeply than it would 
 have been easy for anyone to believe who only saw her in 
 society. 
 
 But Helen was not a person who lived for herself, and herself 
 only; the watching the gay spirits of Heury, the satisfaction of 
 
2-jG the vouxg heiress. 
 
 his fathei', the gmti'fiecl ambition of bis mother, and the ovei'- 
 flowing joy of bis gay-beartecl sister, seemed to restore her 
 again to bappiiiess, and the deligbtfal consciousness tbat she 
 liad the power of thus embellishing the existence of those she 
 h)ved, t:iught her to feci the value of ber wealth and her 
 independence greatly more than she h.ad ever done before. 
 
 With the sort of healthy strength of mind which made so 
 essential a feature of ber character, she welcomed this feeling 
 of satisfaction as an especial blessing, and wisely determined 
 to keep it in useful activity. She bad long ago made up her 
 mind as to the degree of retribution she should make to ber 
 cousins by the disposal of her property in case she never found 
 lier brother; but as she felt herself quite sure that she should 
 cling to the hope of bis being restored to her to the last hour 
 of her own existence, it was obvious to her common sense that 
 this resolution in their favour mis^bt be of little or no advan- 
 tage to them, whatever it might be to their heirs. The only 
 method, therefore, by which she could hope effectually to benefit 
 them, was by disposing of her noble income in such a way as 
 might be most likely to be advantageous to them. 
 
 She meditated on this matter for a long time before she 
 finally decided upon the system sbe should pursue. The 
 question stated broadly, might be divided into two propositions : 
 should she economize ber income, by contracting ber style of 
 living, for the purpose of bestowing upon ber cousins the 
 money so saved ? Or should she give them the advantages of 
 a splendid home as long as they remained with her, together 
 with all tlie other benefits, more easily understood than enumer- 
 ated, arising from the associations to which such a style of 
 living gives easy access? She finally decided (taking the 
 whole famih'-, herself included into the account), that the latter 
 method would be the best ; a decision which was rendered the 
 more reasonable by the obvious fact that if indeed ber brother 
 were ever restored to ber, the having regularly spent every 
 shilling of her income in the interval, would be no impediment 
 to her providing very nobly for her cousins afterw^ards, without 
 depriving herself of the dear power of providing very nobly for 
 him likewise. 
 
 All these business-like meditations did her good. Few occu- 
 pations perhaps are more hostile to tlie growth of green and 
 yellow melancholy, than a practical attention to the material 
 interests of life, especially when, as in the case of our fair 
 Helen, this practical attention is to bo bestowed upon the cxpcu-. 
 
THE TOUXG HEIRESS. 267 
 
 clltuve of a large income, instead of the thrifty management of 
 a small one. 
 
 Moreover it cannot be denied that Helen loved splendour. 
 She would, however, most certainly have conquered that love 
 with the same characteristic steadiness of purpose with which 
 she had done battle with another species of love of a more 
 insidious kind, had she not been very conscientiously persuaded 
 that it was the duty of every one possessed of a large income, 
 to spend it freely ; and therefore in deciding upon being as 
 sumptuous in her manner of living as her income would allow 
 her to be, she was acting perfectly in accordance with her sense 
 of duty. 
 
 She had read and thought too much on the subject of gra- 
 tuitous alms-giving to trust to that for the utility to her fellow 
 creatures which she was fully aware it was her duty to exer- 
 cise; and where this feeling is one of the main springs which 
 regulate expenditure, there is very little danger of such a degree 
 of profaseuess, as shall open a road to ruin. 
 
 From the day that Helen had first become her own house- 
 keeper, she had never upon any occasion made the subject of 
 her domestic finances a matter of discussion in the family. For 
 the first few months of this period, both her uncle and aunt had 
 felt a little anxious least her systematic avoidance of the 
 subject arose from her feeling* it to be a painful one. But the 
 very particularly quiet, and orderly way in which all things 
 proceeded under her rule, very soon set their kind hearts at ease 
 on this subject ; though until the carefully preserved secret of the 
 purchase of Henry's commission was disclosed, some few little 
 incongruities in her system were thought to be discernible; 
 when it was discovered, however, that all these had their begin- 
 ning and ending in the generous project of providing for him 
 in a way so happily accordant with his wishes, and his cha- 
 racter, her affectionate anxiety for his welfare was, if anythino-, 
 a less remarkable trait in their estimation, or at any rate a less 
 unexpected one, than the skilful and steady generalshij) by which 
 she had enabled herself to accomplish it. 
 
 "When, therefore, upon her coming of age, she assumed the 
 management of her large income, with the assistance only of 
 one honest man who was both bailiff and steward, without 
 making a single observation to any one, either on the pains or 
 the pleasures which this important epoch of her life brought 
 with it, no syrapton of alarm or anxiety of any sort was felt 
 either by her uncle or her aunt, although they had themselves 
 
 18 
 
258 THE YOUKG IIEIKESS. 
 
 endured no small simre of pecuniary embarrassment during great 
 part of tbeir marriage life, and were both of thein, probably in 
 consequence of this, of a somewhat nervous temperament respect- 
 ing money affairs; but the great a plomh of the young heiress 
 seemed to have cured all this, and they marked her well-regulated 
 — but often rather sumptuous — proceedings without fear or blame 
 of any kind. Mrs. Rixley indeed seemed to think that she very 
 satisfactorily summed up all the observations that could ration- 
 ally be made on the subject, by saying that "it was pretty 
 Helen's way." 
 
 Now in order to do "pretty Helen" full justice on this sub- 
 ject, it is necessary to remember that had she made it her habit 
 to have recourse to family conclaves and consultations, upon all 
 her projects, either of saving or of spending money, the result 
 would have inevitably been to bring an unceasing tax of grate- 
 ful thanks, and modest remonstrances, upon every member of 
 the Rixley family; for most certain it is, that their interest, or 
 their pleasure, was, in some shape or other, the real object of all 
 her most important manceuvrings. 
 
 Had no dear trembling hope of the return of her brother 
 been ever, and always alive in her heart (though never named, 
 or hinted at to any human being), she would have managed all 
 her affairs much more simply ; or rather, she would have let 
 them manage themselves; which they would have done in a 
 "very satisfactory manner, had no such hope existed. 
 
 But Helen's loving thoughtfulness for the family into which 
 she had been so affectionately grafted, did not confine itself to 
 the simple process of taking care that her pecuniary affairs 
 were ahvays in a healthy condition. Though the junior of her 
 cousin Anne by a year or two, she felt a watchful sort of 
 anxiety about all her little personal affairs, which she often 
 used to say herself had a very maternal character. 
 
 Those "fable not" w4io declare that many a celebrated beauty 
 owes as much of her renown to her name, and her modiste, as 
 to Nature. Anne Rixley certainly never deserved the epithet 
 of " urjly^^^ which her father a little in sport, had bestowed upon 
 lier; neither did she, strictly speaking, deserve that of beautiful, 
 which Avas now freel}' bestowed upon her by a large proiDortion 
 of the Beauchamp Park neighbourhood. 
 
 Now to this delusion, if it must be so called, Helen had very 
 greatly contributed in many ways, and if she had been ten 
 times the young lady's mamma, she could not more thoroughly 
 have enjoyed this result of her clever manceuvrings. 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 259 
 
 Anne Rixley was, however, in very sober trutli, a cLarming* 
 girl ; well-grown, with bright laughing eyes, dark hair that 
 curled naturally, a soft smooth skin, neither too pink nor t o 
 pale, and a beautiful set of teeth, which she displayed exactly 
 enough, and no more. In addition to all this, she was sweet- 
 tempered, light hearted, clever and animated, and with a flow 
 of good spirits which not only enlivened her own family, but 
 seemed to carry cheerfulness and enjoyment into every circle 
 she entered, 
 
 H^o wonder, then, that Anne' Eixley was declared to be a 
 lovely girl, although her features were neither regular, nor 
 strictly handsome. Helen Beauchamp was not altogether 
 ignorant of the fact that her cousin was less likely to be 
 called beautiful by an artist, than herself; but she was most 
 sincerely persuaded that beyond all comparison she was more 
 attractive : in fact, Helen herself admired her so greatly', that 
 the seeing her dressed to perfection, and shown off in every way 
 to the greatest possible advantage, was one of her favourite 
 occupations, and an unceasing source of pleasure and amuse- 
 ment to her. 
 
 Now it so happened that in the immediate neiglibourhocd of 
 Beauchamp Park there was but one mansion which could com- 
 pete in splendour with itself, but this one in some respects 
 decidedly excelled it. This rival mansion was honoured with 
 the aristocratic appellation of Rothewell Castle, and was 
 the autumn and early winter residence of its noble owner Lord 
 Bothewell. The family of this nobleman consisted of himself, 
 his lady, one daughter, and one only son ; and as such the 
 3'oung man was, of course, considered as a person of conside- 
 rable importance, not only in his family, but in the neigh- 
 bourhood, where he had been known and loved from a child, and 
 to which he was recently returned after a long absence, which 
 had been spent in wandering through pretty nearly every 
 country in Europe. 
 
 Previous to the return of this young man from the continent, 
 a great degree of intimacy had sprung up between Anne Bixley 
 and his sister, the Lady Honoria Curtis. The young ladies 
 were very nearly the same age, and had many points of 
 character in common, which very easil}^, and very naturally 
 led to their becoming- great friends. 
 
 Another circumstance which assisted to brino- about this 
 result was, that the two Harrington girls, vlio were also \evy 
 near for country neighbours, had neither of them the same 
 
 18—2 
 
260 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 joyous tone of cliaracber wlncli belonged to Anne Rixley and 
 her noblo friend, so that tliey naturally, and inevitably as it 
 were, formed two pair of Helena and Hermia-like confidants 
 among them — Lady Honoria and Anne forming one pair, Agnes 
 and Helen the other, while the reasonable Jane contentedly 
 submitted to be very happy without belonging to either, while 
 perpetually appealed to for her superior judgment by both. 
 
 The only daughter of a noble house can never be quite so 
 important a personage as the only son, nevertheless, Lady 
 Honoria Curtis was a very dearly beloved, and a very influential 
 individual, and during the long absence of her brother. Lord 
 Lympton, swayed the councils of Rothewell Castle with as little 
 opposition as he could himself have done. 
 
 The consequence of this was, that Rothewell Castle was 
 decidedly the gayest mansion in the country. Their dinner 
 parties, perhaps, were neither so frequent, nor so recherche, as 
 those at Beauchamp Park ; but their impromptu dances were at 
 least three to one, and they acted charades, and indulged in 
 petits jeux, with a degree of unwearied vivacity which never 
 could have been achieved had any one, save Lady Honoria, been 
 mistress of the ceremonies, or, more properly speaking, of the 
 sports and pastimes of Rothewell Castle. 
 
 The return of a gay young heir to such a home as this, was 
 naturally the signal for a multitude of fetes to be both given and 
 received by his family ; and, indeed, if he had been eaten up by 
 a shark while bathing in the Mediterranean, or buried in an 
 avalanche while crossing Mont Cenis, it is very probable that 
 our sober-minded Helen would never have sent out cards for a 
 fancy ball at Beauchamp Park, 
 
 Had the Rixley family not lost the inheritance which Helen 
 had persuaded herself would have descended to them had she 
 never came in their way to prevent it, she would very probably 
 never have become the plotting young schemer which she has 
 already shown herself; and this — far from unjust — imputation 
 was still further confirmed by the circumstances which I have 
 now to relate. 
 
 The intimate friendship which existed between Lady Honoria 
 Curtis and Anne Rixley, led to very frequent visits of a week or 
 ten days' duration of Anne at Rothe\vell Castle, and it was no 
 " malignant fate " which ordained that one of these visitations 
 was in progress when Lord Lympton returned to the castle from 
 his two years' ramble on the continent. 
 
 It had been arranged before this visit took place, that Miss 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 2G1 
 
 Beancliamp was to call for hev cousin on a day fixed among 
 them foi' her return. This engagement, very punctually kept 
 by Helen, brought lier to Rothewell Castle precisely at the 
 moment when this newly-arrived Lord Lympton was in the act 
 of teaching- her cousin Anne (and his own sister, of course, into 
 the bargain) some particularly beautiful new polka step. 
 
 It would be a useless, as well as perfectly vain attempt, were 
 I to endeavour to make my readers exactly comprehend every- 
 thing that Helen saw, or fancied she saw, during this, her own 
 first interview with the handsome young heir of Rothewell 
 Castle. Let it suffice that I assure them she did not think the 
 3^oung Lord Lympton in the least danger of falling in love with 
 herself. 
 
 Her drive home with her cousin was not a very talkative 
 one. Anne said but little, and seemed to take an unaccountable 
 degree of pleasure in looking* out of the carriage window j and 
 this of course gave Helen time to think. 
 
 And she did think. She thought a little then — and she 
 thought a good deal in the course of the next week or two — and 
 the consequence of all she thought and of all she saw was, that 
 she sent out invitations for the fancy ball which has been already 
 mentioned so repeatedly. 
 
 This plotting and scheming, like several other traits of 
 character which I have faithfully set down concerning Helen, 
 are, I am perfectly well aware, by no means befitting' a heroine; 
 but I cannot help it. The Helen I speak of was exactly such a 
 person as I describe, and my reader must judge her as leniently 
 as he can. 
 
 Certain it is, that from the time this said ball was decided 
 upon, Helen's thoughts had been fixed on the subject of Anne 
 E/ixley's costume with a degree of interest which it could hardly 
 have excited in her, had no object beyond her looking pretty 
 while she wore it been in her head. 
 
 I will not take upon me to decide whether a young lady is 
 justified in endeavouring to make her friend look beautiful with 
 all her milliner's might, for the express purpose of turning a 
 young gentleman's head thereby. Justified or not, however, 
 Helen certainly attained her object; for not only did her cousin 
 look more attractively bewitching than she had ever done in her 
 life before, but the young Lord Lympton thought so, quite as 
 much as Helen. 
 
 Au Teste, the ball was a very brilliant one in all respects, Miss 
 Beauchamp herself was not dressed in costume, and notwith- 
 
2G2 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 sfanding her fauUiess face and form she was decidedly one of the 
 least remarkable fig'ui'es that could have been pointed out among- 
 the 3'oung and the fair who adorned the assembly; neither did 
 the elaborate studies of costume produce any very satisfactory 
 result for George Harrington ; for though nothing could have 
 set off his handsome person to greater advantage than the dark 
 green and black chasseur's dress which he had chosen, Helen 
 Beauchamp was not at all more in love with him at the end of 
 the evening, than she was at the beginning of it. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 My narrative must now return to those with whom it began, 
 but from whom it has long been parted. 
 
 When the unfortunate Mrs. Lambert told Helen that it was 
 her purpose to seek William, and not to rest until she found 
 him, she very strictly spoke the truth ; and, moreover, she 
 adhered afterwards very faithfully to her promise. It has been 
 already stated that her inquiries among the sailors at Falmouth, 
 many of whom were of long standing acquaintance, had enabled 
 her to ascertain that William Rixley had sailed from that port, 
 on board a large boat which called itself a fishing smack, but 
 which was strongly susjoected by the intimate associates of its 
 owner, of occasionally. doing a little business in the more profit- 
 able line of smugo-liiicr. 
 
 As to the probable destination of the little vessel she could 
 learn absolutely nothing, but her captain had been long known 
 to her as the brother of a woman who had once lived as servant 
 with herself and her mother, while they were maintaining them- 
 selves by letting lodgings in Falmouth, After a few moments' 
 reflection, therefore, she determined on returning to the Warren 
 House for the purpose of removing from thence the trunks con- 
 taining her wearing apparel, and on establishing herself in a 
 lodofino" at Falmouth, till such time as the boat should return 
 thither, on board of which William Rixley had taken his 
 departure. Nor had she very long to wait before this happened 
 — the "Pretty Polly" again showing her saucy head in the 
 offing within about ten days after she had left it. Her old 
 acquaintance appeared rather shy, however, of answering her 
 
THE YOUNG HEIEESS. 263 
 
 questions; but wlietliev this reserve was the resnlfc of cf\ution on 
 liis own account, or on that of his hite passenger, she could not 
 for some time discover. It probably was the latter, for the 
 report of the 3'oung' man's liaving- murdered his father, had been 
 loudls' and widely circulated through Falmouth, and its neigh- 
 bourhood ; and it was, therefore, to remove this that she exerted 
 herself. 
 
 It was probably the deep sincerity with which she expressed 
 both lier own attachment to the unfortunate young man, and 
 her firm conviction that he was innocent of the dreadful crime of 
 wMiic'h he was accused, that at length g-ained her point, and led 
 the friendly smuggler to describe to her exactly the point at 
 which he had parted from "William. This was an out-of-the 
 way spot on the coast of Holland, and when, while thanking* 
 him for his information, she gave him to understand that it was 
 her purpose immediately to follow him, the blunt tar told her 
 that she did not know what she was talking* about, and that 
 nobody but a downright raving mad woman would ever take 
 such a wild notion into her head. 
 
 But Almeria Lambert was as well capable of proving herself 
 to be in her ri^-ht senses as most people, and, moreover, she had 
 little or no difficulty in convincing her old acquaintance that it 
 was in her power very amply to reward anyone who would 
 promptly and effectually assist her in the search she was upon. 
 
 Having achieved thus much, her subsequent steps were com- 
 paratively easy. 
 
 Her smuggling friend soon made her very plainly perceive 
 that if she had enough ready money at hand to prosecute the 
 search she was upon, her best plan would be to remain where 
 she was, and commission him, whose profession it was to 
 embrace from day to day whatever employment presented itself, 
 to set about the task for her. 
 
 That the man meant to do her errand fairly was sufficiently 
 proved by the terras which he himself proposed, and which 
 stipulated that not one farthing of the fifty pounds, which she 
 proposed to give for the recovery of her lost darling, should be 
 paid before he had been found. 
 
 This bargain was very quickly concluded ; the only objection 
 made to it by Mrs. Lambert being, that it might prove a very 
 unprofitable one to Joe Burton, the smuggler, if the search 
 lasted longer than ho expected, or if it finally failed altogether. 
 
 But this scruple was removed in a spirit as honest as that by 
 which it was dictated, by Joe Burton's assurance that he knew 
 
2Gi THE YOUNG HEmESS. 
 
 perfectly ^Yell what he was about. " There is not a sea-coast in 
 Europe that I don't know as well as you do your sampler, Mrs. 
 Lambert," said Joe, with the tone and manner of a man who 
 was by no means ashamed of his profession ; " and, moreover," 
 he added, with a good deal of self-complacency, " there is not a 
 nook nor a corner where I have not had dealings, and where I 
 have not got friends ; and so it would be, you may take my 
 word for it, if we were to go to war to-morrow, from one end of 
 Europe to the other." 
 
 This assurance perfectly satisfied Mrs. Lambert, whose infor- 
 mation respecting human affairs extended considerably beyond 
 her sampler. 
 
 Within two days after this bargain was concluded, the 
 " Pretty Polly " was again upon the high seas, and Mrs. 
 Lambert established in the occupation of a garret, in her own 
 house, in the town of Falmouth. 
 
 Her manner of life was veiy retired and quiet ; but she 
 affected nothing like concealment as to the object she had in 
 view, distinctly declaring that her purpose in practising a 
 greater degree of economy than her circumstances rendered 
 necessary, was to save money enough to enable her to prosecute 
 a search for the basely-maligned William E/ixley, which search 
 she would never abandon so long as she remained alive, and 
 that there was the least shadow of a hope that it might 
 eventually prove successful. 
 
 "No great time was lost after this compact Tsas concluded 
 before the wanderer was traced, by the sagacious and inde- 
 fatigable Joe Burton, till he finally discovered that he had 
 enlisted in a foot regiment on the very eve of its starting for the 
 Cape of Good Hope. 
 
 When this perfectly-correct information was reported to his 
 employer, Joe Burton received and pocketed the stipulated 
 reward with a well-pleased smile and an approving conscience; 
 for he naturally enough supposed that it was as well calculated 
 to set the good woman's mind at rest respecting William 
 E/ixley, as it was well possible any intelligence could do; for, 
 whether innocent or guilty of the dreadful crime of which he 
 stood accused, it clearly proved that he was very satisfactorily 
 out of reach of pursuit, and safe from all the painful con- 
 sequences which must have followed if he had been arrested. 
 
 Nor did Almeria Lambert give him reason to suppose, either 
 by look or word, that she was less completely satisfied by his 
 intellif^-ence than he supposed her to be ; and so they parted on 
 
THE YOUXG HEIRESS. 265 
 
 the very best terms possible ; the contented smuggler whistlmg 
 as he went, and the stedfast-purposed Almeria remaining alone 
 in her garret, and instantly becoming occupied with all the 
 practical details necessary to be taken into consideration before 
 she set out upon the expedition which was to enable her, with 
 as little delay as might, to follow the — Regiment of Infantry 
 to the Cape of Good Hope. Nor did slie lose an hour in setting 
 about it. But, notwithstanding all her eagerness to depart, she 
 would not have done so, even if a vessel had that hour been 
 ready to receive her, without first giving instructions to Mr. 
 Lucas, respecting his being- left in charge of the will which was 
 to bequeath her little wealth ; and, moreover, taking leave of 
 Mr. Bolton, whose pitying gentleness had left a deeper impres- 
 sion of compunction, as well as of gratitude, on the conscious 
 sinner's mind than could have been produced by the most 
 indignant reprobation that human lips ever uttered. 
 
 CHAPTER XLT. 
 
 Mrs. Lambert had never entered Crumpton Parsonage since 
 the day Helen left it. Two months had elapsed between that 
 day and the one she now selected for her farewell visit to it ; 
 and, much as she had silently and secretly suffered during' those 
 two months, she felt that the penance she was about to inflict 
 upon herself, by now going there, was harder to endure than all 
 the rest. 
 
 It happens, oftener than we think for, that the passion of 
 PRIDE makes as wild work in the human heart, and rules it with 
 as absolute a tyranny, as either love, hatred, or any other of the 
 fiercest passions which roar most loud, and thunder in the index. 
 Anyone who has often visited asylums for the insane, in com- 
 pany with a professional guide, able and willing to answer 
 questions concerning the causes of the various hallucinations 
 which have peopled the sad abode, must, I think, have been 
 surprised by the frequency with which the word "_2^Wc?e" is 
 uttered in reply to such questions. 
 
 Mrs. Lambert was certainly not insane, according to the 
 ordinary meaning of the word- bat yet, from a very early period 
 
2G6 THE YOUNG UEIRESS.. 
 
 of her life, tliere had been little enoiig-h of sanity in her coiidrict 
 whenever this master passion of her nature had been brought 
 into action. That she had some fine qualities cannot be denied ; 
 and of these, the total absence of that detestable species of 
 selfishness, which leads human beings to be too much occupied 
 about themselves and their own little individual comforts to 
 have any time or any interest left for those of others, was one. 
 From this engrossing, hateful, paltry little sin, Almeria Lambert 
 was wholly free. Moreover, had nature led her to be strongly 
 and devotedly affectionate to those whom she loved, and who she 
 believed loved her, and this to a degree which could lead her, as 
 in the case of her fatal attachment to her late master, to forget 
 even the dictates of her pride, as well as of her reason. She 
 was, too, notwithstanding her criminal life, still capable of dis- 
 cerning, and of duly appreciating, the purity and the holiness of 
 such beings as Mr. and Mrs. Bolton, and her conquering her 
 feelings of torturing shame, when now presenting hei'self before 
 them, ought not to be left out of the scanty catalogue of her 
 merits, because her motive for doing so was a good one, being 
 perfectly unselfish, and arising from her wish to give them all 
 the information she possessed herself respecting the unfortunate 
 young man on v»'hom they had bestowed so much kindness, and 
 for whom they had proved themselves so deeply interested. 
 
 Her painful task in thus presenting herself was, however, 
 rewarded by hearing more particulars respecting the situation 
 of Helen than she had dared to flatter herself she should ever 
 hear again ; for neither Mr. Bolton, nor his gentle-hearted wife 
 either could resist the silent but unmistakable appeal made to 
 them by the varying complexion and anxious eye of the unfor- 
 tunate woman, upon hearing the name of Helen pronounced. 
 
 Both Mr. and Mrs. Bolton had received frequent letters from 
 her, minutel}'' detailing all the pleasant features of her present 
 home; nor did they shrink from repeating to the painfully- 
 abashed beino- before them, the affectionate terms in which she 
 had been inquired for by the innocent girl whom she had so 
 lonof loved, even as a mother loves her child. She was more 
 cheered and soothed by this, than she would herself, an hour 
 before, have believed possible, and so greatly did it tend to 
 soften and to open her heart, that she not only told Mr. and 
 Mrs. Bolton all the intelligence she had been able to gather 
 resp)ecting William, but explained to them, before slie left the 
 parsonage, what her own projects were respecting following him 
 to the Cape. 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 267 
 
 Her auditors listened to her with great feeling and deep 
 interest; but Mr. Bolton shook his head as he did so, and when 
 she Imd finished the detail of what she intended to do, told her 
 candidly, though not without reluctance, that he feared she over- 
 rated her own strength, as well as the probabilities of ultimate 
 success in tlie undertaking. 
 
 But on this point he had no influence ; her resolution was not 
 to be shaken; and this speedily became so evident, notwith- 
 standing the extreme quietness of her manner while confessing 
 that she did not think she could be induced to alter her mind, 
 that Mr. Bolton changed his reasonable remonstrance into a 
 most friendly and earnest expression of his good wishes for her 
 success. 
 
 And so they parted ; Mrs. Lambert returning to Falmouth by 
 aid of the same fisherman's cart which had brought her to 
 Crnmpton, and the good clergyman and his wife wandering 
 down, arm in arm, to the sea-beach, moralizing on tlie strange 
 mixture of a'ood and evil so legible in the character of the unfor- 
 tunate woman who had just left them. 
 
 Early on the following day Mrs. Lambert paid a visit to j\[r. 
 Lucas, the attorney. It did not appear, however, that she had 
 any very particular business on which to consult him, as she 
 had entrusted the care of her house, and the important business 
 of letting it, to an old female friend, whom she well knew to bo 
 in all ways perfectly capable of executing the task to her satis- 
 faction. It seemed, indeed, that she now^ sought Mr. Lucas 
 rather to speak of past, than of present business, for what 
 passed between them was on this wise: — 
 
 " Good morning, Mrs. Lambert," said the friendly attorney, 
 upon her presenting herself in his office; " I hope you are better 
 than when I saw you last. That terrible business at the Warren 
 House almost killed you, I believe. I shall never forget your 
 looks when I came to the house to take the inventory with you, 
 a.nd put seals on the property! And no wonder, I am sure! It 
 was a most shocking affair altogether. Do walk in and sit 
 down," 
 
 Mrs. Lambert accepted the invitation, and placed herself in 
 the chair indicated, which was just in front of the desk at which 
 the attorney himself ^Yas writino-. " Have you heard of that 
 sweet pretty girl, the daughter ? " he continued. 
 
 "Yes, Sir," quietly replied Mrs. Lambert, "I have heard 
 very excellent news of lier. I have heard that she is well, and 
 finds a very happy home in the family of her uncle." 
 
268 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 " And is ifc true, Mrs. Lambert, that she is come into such a 
 monstrous fine fortune by the death of her father ?" said he. 
 
 " Yes, Sir, ili is perfectly true," she replied, with a slight 
 aus'mentation of colour, and a tone that seemed to have some 
 touch of pride in it. " Miss Beauchamp, I am told, is one of the 
 fines;t fortunes of any young- lady in England." 
 
 " So I hear," rejoined the attorney. " It must have come upon 
 jj-ou as a great surprise, Mrs. Lambert, after so many years of 
 service, to find out that your master was of a different name, 
 and in such a very different situation of life from what you 
 supposed." 
 
 " Yes, indeed. Sir," she returned, " it was a great surprise 
 to us all, and to no one more than to the dear young lady 
 herself" 
 
 " I daresay," rejoined Mr. Lucas, " that it will not be very 
 long before we hear of your joining her again. You have 
 been a good and faithful servant to her, and her mother before 
 her." 
 
 " If I had nothing but my own pleasure to consult, there 
 would be no duty I could so gladly undertake as that of personal 
 attendant upon Miss Beauchamp," said Mrs. Lambert, earnestly, 
 but in a voice of perfect composure. "But I believe. Sir," she 
 continued, " that it falls to the lot of very few to be able, with- 
 out self-reproach, to do exactly the thing they like best. I am 
 very strongly persuaded. Sir, that it is my duty to seek for my 
 late master's unfortunate son, for the purpose of telling him of 
 the vile and most false reports that have been circulated against 
 him, and of inducing him to return to his native land. Never 
 were a brother and sister more tenderly attached to each other 
 than Master William and Miss Helen ; and the fine fortune she 
 has inherited will enable her to provide for him very handsomely 
 without injuring herself." 
 
 "And you really mean to set out upon a voyage round the 
 world in search of him, Mrs. Lambert?" said the attorne}^, 
 looking at her with great atonishment. 
 
 " Yes, Sir, I do," was her succinct reply. 
 
 " But, my dear, good woman," he rejoined, " you ought to 
 think a good deal about it, before you set out upon such an 
 expedition as this. I have a great respect for you, Mrs. 
 Lambert, fori believe you to be a very excellent person, and I 
 should think I really committed a great sin if I saw you set out 
 upon such a scheme as this without advising you against it. 
 Think about it, Mrs. Lambert — think about it." 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 269 
 
 " I have done little or nothing else bnfc think about it, Sir, 
 from the time I found he was gone, to this present hour ; and 
 the more I have thought, the more entirely convinced I have 
 become that it is my duty to follow hira, and bring him back," 
 she replied. 
 
 " But has it never occurred to you, in all this thinking, that 
 you may do the unfortunate young man considerably more harm 
 than good, if you succeed in finding hira, and bringing him back 
 to this country with you ? The circumstantial evidence ag'ainst 
 hira, is very strong, Mrs. Lambert." 
 
 " Is it possible, Sir, that you are one of those who suspect 
 William E,ixley of having murdered his father ? " returned 
 Mrs. Lambert, her eyes flashing, and her pale face suddenly 
 becoming crimson, with what appeared to be a burst of uncon- 
 trollable passion. 
 
 "I have no wish to anger you, Mrs. Lambert," returned the 
 lawyer, gently, " on the contrary, I do assure you that I feel 
 very true respect for your warm attachment to these young 
 people, to both of whora, I have heard, you have been a most 
 faithful nurs'e, and useful friend in all ways. But I am sure 
 you have good sense enough to be aware that I am much more 
 likely to understand the deg'ree of suspicion which rests against 
 William Rixley than you are." 
 
 " No, Mr. Lucas. No, Sir," returned Mrs. Lambert, 
 vehemently. "I am not, and never can be aware that any- 
 one is so capable of forming a just opinion concerning William 
 Rixley as I am. His sister, with all her love, and all her con- 
 fidence in hira, is much too young to have the power of judging 
 character; and though, of course, she would turn with abhor- 
 rent disbelief from the wicked slander, she might not be able to 
 give such reason for her disbelief as I could do. Have I not 
 known the boy from his infancy? And do I not know this 
 most wicked charge against him to be something so absolutely 
 contrary to his nature as to render the belief of it impossible ?" 
 
 " Who then do you suspect of this terrible deed ? " said Mr. 
 Lucas. 
 
 " Indeed, Sir, I suspect no one," she replied, " and, if I did, I 
 should certainly be very reluctant to say so, after the proof just 
 given by so reasonable a gentleman as yourself, of the ease with 
 which a word maybe received as truth, which rests upon nothing 
 but the most vague suspicion." 
 
 "Trae! very true!" replied Mr. Lucas. " It is much easier 
 to throw suspicion oa an innocent individual than to remove it, 
 
270 * THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 for it sticks like birdlime. Thei^e is one snsj)icion, however, 
 which I know has come into the heads of several of our town's 
 people, wlio knew a good deal of youi' late master's odd ways," 
 continued the attorney, with a look which seemed to show that 
 he was meditating- deep matters. 
 
 "And what is that, Sir, if I may be so bold as to ask ? " said 
 Mrs, Lambert, respectfully. 
 
 "Yes, certainl}^, you may ask," replied Mr. Lucas, "and I 
 see no reason why I should not answer you. I have heard more 
 than one hint a pretty strong suspicion that it was the poisoned 
 q-entleman's own hand which administered the deadly draught. 
 What is your opinion upon the likelihood of such a suggestion 
 as that, Mrs. Lambert ? " 
 
 It was a minute or more before this question received an 
 answer, yet it did not appear that the person to whom it was 
 addressed, listened to it either with much emotion or surprise. 
 Her eyes, however, which during the former part of the dialogue 
 had been prett^'' constantly fixed on the face of Mr. Lucas, now 
 changed their direction, and fixed themselves upon the ground. 
 
 " Why do you not answer me, Mrs. Lambert? " said Mr. 
 Lucas. " You can do no harm to anybody, you know, by 
 throwing suspicion in that direction." 
 
 " Neither can I do any good. Sir," she replied. 
 
 " But, indeed, it may do good by removing it from the inno- 
 cent," said the lawyer. 
 
 "If I really and positively knew that my late master had 
 destro^'ed himself," she rejoined, "I own that I should not 
 hesitate to throw the imputation on his memory ; but I am 
 very far from being able to say that I know it." 
 
 " Well ! well ; for the present it certainly matters little to 
 anj'body whether you have any suspicion or not, for the poor 
 boy William is not very likely to be found, I take it, even by 
 you, my good woman, persevering as I doubt not you will be in 
 your search for him." 
 
 " In that. Sir, I trust you will be mistaken," she replied ; 
 " and if I should be the happy means of restoring William to 
 his sister and his country, I shall feel little, or rather no doubt 
 as to his being able to prove his innocence. There is an old and 
 a vulgar saying, Sir, which I daresay you have heard, ^Murder 
 ivill out !' And if my late master really was murdered, we may 
 be very sure that God will make it know-n in his own good 
 time; nor will I believe that the iimoccnt will be made to suffer 
 for the guilty." 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 271 
 
 " AUogeiher ifc certainl}'' is a most m3-sterIous business, and 
 the chances in favour of its being bis own work appear greatly 
 more probable from the previous strangeness of his conduct in 
 concealing his real name, and circumstances," said Mr, Lucas, 
 risino" from his own chair in order to aive his visitor a hint that 
 be was busy, and that it was time she should rise from hers. 
 
 This hint was immediate!}^ attended to, Mrs. Lambert w^as on 
 lier feet in a moment. 
 
 " Is there anything in the way of business that I can do for 
 5^ou before you leave the town?" said Mr. Lucas, cordially, as 
 she was preparing to take her leave. 
 
 "J^othing more than what you have already kindlj'- done," 
 was her reply. "The w^ill w^iich I made. Sir, just before all 
 this dreadful business happened, is in your hands," she con- 
 tinued, " and I will beg of you to take care of it for me. If you 
 remember, Sir, it was sealed up in your presence as soon as it 
 was executed, together Avith a letter addressed to our good 
 clergyman, Mr. Bolton. If I return you will be pleased to 
 restore this packet to me in the state in which I gave it to you; 
 but should you hear that I am dead, I will beg of you, Sir, to 
 break the seal of it immediatelv, and deliver the letter it con- 
 tains according to the address, with as little delay as possible. 
 And as to the will, Sir, jou know that will speak for itself" 
 
 Mr. Lucas very cordially shook hands with her, uttering 
 many friendly wishes for her safe return ; but promising that 
 her instructions should be carefully remembered, and faithfully 
 attended to in any case. And Mrs. Lambert, took her leave 
 with great respect, and many expressions of gratitude. 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 It would not be easy to imagine a situation move miserably 
 forlorn than that of Almeria Lambert, while thus preparing, 
 utterly alone, nnd unsupported by any human spirit but her 
 own, for a long and perilous voyage, the result of which was so 
 wildly uncertain, and cheered by hopes so vague, as almost to 
 defy her efforts to give them any form approacb.ing probability. 
 
 But her stedfast; purpose was not to bo shaken by any such 
 considerations as these j on the contrary, the- call thus made 
 
272 THE YOUNG HEIEESS. 
 
 upon her courage and endurance seemed to awaken lier to new 
 life, and to renew all the original energy of her character. 
 
 But desperately resolute as was the purpose which thus sent 
 her forth in search of the unfortunate William Rixley, she could 
 scarcely have undertaken it effectually had not a singularly well- 
 timed piece of good fortune befallen her, which did, in fact, 
 render an expedition possible, which without it must have been 
 pretty evidently the reverse even to her excited and over-wrought 
 mind. 
 
 The house in Falmouth, which she had inherited from her 
 mother, had, contiguous to it, about half an acre of ground, 
 which had hitherto been both pleasant and profitable as a 
 garden, but which was now unexpectedly become a very 
 valuable morsel of the earth's surface. 
 
 The quarter of the town in which the house was situated was 
 by no means a particularly agreeable one, for it was at no 
 great distance from the very busiest part of the sailors' quarter, 
 and consequently noisily near the port. 
 
 It chanced that two speculating individuals happened at 
 nearly one and the same time to conceive the idea, that, in con- 
 sequence of the rapidly-increasing business, great profit might 
 be realized by erecting warehouses on this rare bit of unoccupied 
 freehold ground, and proposals for the purchase of it were 
 made to Mrs. Lambert on a certain Monday morning about 
 ten o'clock. 
 
 To these proposals she very discreetly replied that they 
 should receive an answer on the followino* morihno'. Before 
 mid-day, however, of the same eventful Monday, another pro- 
 posal, precisely of a similar nature, reached her from another 
 quarter, to which she returned a similar reply ; and then she 
 tied on her bonnet and pinned on her shawl, and set forth to 
 consult Mr. Ringwood, the banker, a kind-hearted and sharp- 
 witted old gentleman, who had been a kind friend both to her 
 and her mother upon more occasions than one, and who now, on 
 hearing the proposal of the first applicant, nodded his head and 
 rubbed his hands, with an air of very considerable satisfaction. 
 
 But when his visitor resumed her narrative, and proceeded to 
 state that in the course of an hour or two she had received a 
 similar proposal from a second speculator, Mr. Ring wood 
 uttered a long whistle, which the intelligent Mrs. Lambert 
 immediately felt must mean something more than met the ear. 
 
 "You must tell them both, my dear, good wonu\n, that you 
 do nob intend to sell your garden by private contract to any- 
 
THE YOUXG inmnss. 273 
 
 body," wevQ the first worJs to wliicli Mr. Ringwood gave Utter- 
 ance. 
 
 No one, ^\•llen consulting nnother, could be more perfectly 
 Avell-disposed to follow the advice they asked for, than was Mrs. 
 Lambert upon this occasion, nevertheless, she Tentured to say, 
 " I am quite sure, Mr. Ringwood, that you will tell me to do 
 what will be best for my interest ; but I must not conceal from 
 you that the sale of this unexpectedly available lit of property 
 would be very convenient to me." 
 
 "Would it, indeed, Mrs. Lambert?" he replied, joyfully. 
 " That's all the better, and I am heartily glad to hear it, 
 because money that is wanted is worth ten times as much as 
 money that is not. But you must not sell your garden by private 
 contract for all that." 
 
 "But how then shall I be able to manage it?" she replied, 
 anxiously. 
 
 "Write a short civil little note to both the parties," said Mr. 
 Ringwood, "and tell them both exactly in the same words that 
 the property is about to be sold by auction." 
 
 "But how shall I be able to manage that. Sir?" returned 
 the eager Mrs. Lambert, looking a good deal annoyed. "I 
 happen to Avant the money immediately'', Mr. Ringwood, and I 
 believe it takes a long time to g'et an auction over, and to settle 
 evervthino;." 
 
 " I am sorry you are in such a violent hurry, my good friend," 
 replied the banker. " Bat will you give me three days? I 
 don't mean, observe, to undertake that I will get an auction 
 over in three days, but I will undertake within that time to 
 obtain sufiicient information to enable you to judg'e whether it 
 would not be worth your while to wait a little." 
 
 This was spoken with so much earnest kindness, that Mrs. 
 Lambert, though greatly annoyed at the idea of delay, could not 
 refuse her compliance ; and she was rewarded for her good 
 behaviour by receiving a message from her old friend, early on 
 the second day, desiring to see her. 
 
 His report was a very pleasant one, but it astonished, as 
 much as it pleased her, for he told her tliat he had ascertained 
 from sources that might be relied upon, that for sundry com- 
 mercial reasons, into which it would be useless to enter at laro-e, 
 her garden, and her house, too, were likely to become a very 
 valuable property. "Tell me," he added, "what are your 
 reasons for wishing to have the money directly ?" 
 
 Mrs. Lambert looked for a moment soinev/hat embarrassed, 
 
 10 
 
274 THE YOrXCl IIETEESS. 
 
 fov ns yet she had niaclG no mention of her pivjectcl voj^age to 
 j\Ir. Ringwood. She knew that he had much kind and tVicndly 
 i'eeling towards her, bnt she knew, also, that he \Yas a very 
 sober-minded reasonable sort of man, and she thought, not, 
 perhaps, without some reason, that he miglit consider it liis 
 duty to dissuade her from undertaking an enterprize, of which 
 all could see the dangers and difliculties, while none but herself 
 could comprehend the motives, and feelings, which led her to 
 undertake it. 
 
 Nor was she at all mistaken as to the result she anticipated 
 from her avowal. Mr. Ringwood certainly did feel, and did 
 express a good deal of astonishment when she told him, in 
 answer to his question, that her reason for wishing to be put in 
 immediate possession of whatever money her little freehold pro- 
 perty might produce, was, that she was immediately going to set 
 sail for the Cape of Good Hope. 
 
 No very long discussion, however, followed upon the wisdom 
 of this measure after he had listened to the announcement of it ; 
 for Mr, Ring wood was a man of observation and discernment, 
 and he speedily perceived that, whether the resolution of his old 
 accqualutance were wise, or not, it was immutable. 
 
 It required, therefore, but little meditation on the subject to 
 make him aware, that with such a project firmly fixed upon, 
 Mrs. Lambert was quite right in wishing to be put in possession 
 of the money in question before she set out to execute it. There 
 was a great deal of kindness shown in the zealous manner in 
 which, as soon as he felt her purpose to be a fixed one, he set 
 himself to think in what manner he could most effectually assist 
 her in the accomplishment of it. Like everbody else in Falmouth, 
 and its neighbourhood, he had heard of the terrible suspicion 
 thrown upon William Rlxley, and as he now listened to the 
 earnest, and almost passionate declaration of his being Incapable 
 of the crime attributed to him, uttered by the person wdio, 
 perhaps, of all living, had most reason to believe herself capable 
 of forming a correct judgment of his character, he could not but 
 feel that if rash, she was decidedly righteous in seeking him 
 out, and bringing him for\vard to brave the charge, and to dis- 
 prove it. 
 
 Mr. RIngwood was too much a man of business to find any 
 difficnltv in so arranirlnL!' matters as to o-iiard the enterprisinsT 
 woman from any danger of being involved in pecuniary diffi- 
 culties: but, nevertheless, he had become so fully aware of tiie 
 probable value of her property that he was determined not to 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 275 
 
 make the sale of it a hasty transaction. It was, tlierefore, 
 finally arranged between them, that he should from time to time 
 honour her drafts upon him, she leaving him fnll power to dis- 
 pose of her property according to liis own judgment and dis- 
 cretion ; and liaving legally invested him with full powers to act 
 for lier, she lost not an hour more in preparing herself for her 
 strangely adventurous expedition. 
 
 Notwithstanding all the desolate loneliness of her situation, 
 notwithstanding the dangers, the fatigues, the anxiety of the 
 enterprise she had undertaken, and all the miserable uncertainty 
 as to its result — which she never for a moment permitted her- 
 self to forget — she was conscious of a feeling almost approach- 
 ing to enjoyment as she seated herself as much apart as might 
 be from all the bustle on the deck : and in silence, and alone, 
 looked out upon that one of all the mysteries of creation which 
 is the most distinctly divided from all the rest; and she felt 
 as if she herself were now divided from all the scenes in which 
 she had suffered. 
 
 " Is it not possible that I may in some degree forget ? " 
 thought she. " Is it not possible that the distinctness of all the 
 torturing scenes I have passed through may in some degree 
 wear away ? " There w^as luxmy, positive luxury, in the 
 thought that this might he 'possible; and as she rolled her large 
 camlet cloak around her, contriving so to place herself as to see 
 nothing but the waves on which she floated, she felt a sensation 
 infinitely more like calmness of spirit than any she had ex- 
 perienced since the hour in which her destroyer had first 
 informed her that he had fallen in love with a beautiful young 
 lady, and was about to marry her. 
 
 It is not my purpose, however, minutely to follow the progress 
 of Mrs. Lambert from Falmouth Harbour to the Cape of Good 
 Hope. It proved, on her arrival there, that the information she 
 had received, respecting the regiment of infantry, was perfectly 
 correct. The said regiment had arrived at the Cape only a few 
 niontb.s before she reached it herself; but it was met by orders 
 there which caused it to re-embark to India; and bej^ond this 
 she could learn nothing, save that it was expected to be im- 
 mediately engaged on very active service. 
 
 That this intelligence was a disappointment is most certain, 
 though she was in some degree prepared for it, by the surmises, 
 at least, if not by the positive information of the captain with 
 whom she had sailed from Falmouth. 
 
 Her joy would, indeed, have been great, had she overtaken 
 19—2 
 
276 THE I'OUNG HEHlEgS. 
 
 the unfortanate fugitive at that point ; but it was not so to be. 
 She had the great satisfaction, however, of learning that the 
 regiment, into which she knew from good authority that 
 William had enlisted, had arrived at the Cape with a clean bill 
 of health ; and departed again for its ultimate destination, a few 
 weeks only before her arrival there. She found, also, that the 
 letter of credit w^hich she brought with her from the Falmouth 
 banker was not only available for the purpose of immediately 
 replenishing her purse, but enabled her to obtain a very con- 
 siderable sum of money, if she should need it, from a corre- 
 spondent resident in the settlement to which the regiment she 
 was pursuing was said to be destined. 
 
 Once again, therefore, the adventurous woman found herself 
 on the high seas, with a still unconquered spirit, and with hopes 
 of ultimate success in her quest, rather increased than lessened 
 by the experience she had gained, and the information she had 
 acquired, since her pilgrimage began. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 The second voyage was got over as resolutely as the first; 
 but at the termination of it she again found, poor soul, that the 
 object of her search was as much as ever beyond her reach. 
 Yet, still, the tidings she received, though full of present disap- 
 pointment, were by no means such as to suggest the abandon- 
 ment of her enterprize; on the contrary, she again heard that 
 William's regiment had completed its long voyage very satis- 
 factorily, and had been marched, together with other troops, 
 upon a very important expedition into the interior. 
 
 Had Mrs. Lambert's object been an ordinary object, and if the 
 quest she was upon had been undertaken merely from the wish 
 of being re-united to an object of affection, this delay in the 
 accomplishment of her affectionate wish of meeting him would 
 have been felt as a heavier misfortune than it was at present. 
 
 But her objects were, in truth, of a more important character, 
 and the knowing that the regiment, in which it was so perfectly 
 well ascertained that he had enlisted, had actually been ordered 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 277 
 
 upon an expedition, wliicli was not likely to be very speedily 
 terminiitecl, safficed to restore her to all the practical ever^^-day 
 steadiness of mind, which made so remarkable a feature in her 
 character. 
 
 It may, perhaps, be doubted whether, after the first feeling of 
 disappointment at not immediately seeing him was over, she 
 did not almost rejoice at the delay, for it gave her time to 
 revolve, at leisure, all the various schemes which had sug- 
 gested themselves for the pur230se of releasing the unfortunate 
 young man from the engagement into which he had so rashly 
 entered, and for restoring him to his sister, and his country. 
 
 The great improvement in the state of her own finances, 
 made her feel very comfortably confidant that she should be 
 easily able to purchase his discharge; but she felt, also, that 
 even after this should have been accomplished, her difiiculties 
 would not be over. Had it not been for the frightful accusation 
 which had been brought against him, her future plans would 
 have arranged themselves readily enough, for all which would 
 in that case have seemed necessary for his future well-doing, 
 would have been easily within her power to achieve; it would 
 only have been necessary to liberate him from his military 
 thraldom, convey him back to Europe, and inform his sister of 
 his arrival there, in order to secure to him the certainty of a 
 happy destiny. 
 
 But how was this dreadful accusation to be met ? Even pre- 
 suming that he had at his command the most satisfactory proofs 
 of his own innocence, the very fact of such a charge having been 
 brought against him, would, as she very justly thought, be pro- 
 ductive of so much pain, both to the brother and sister, as to 
 render the success of her efforts to reunite them, almost a doubt- 
 ful good. 
 
 After many very painful hours bestowed upon meditating upon 
 these difiSculties, Mrs. Lambert, at length, came to the conclusion 
 at which sundry wise people have arrived before her, namely, 
 that it would be best to spare herself the pain of debating the 
 question as to what she would do, under circumstances which 
 she could neither, foresee, nor control ; and having come to this 
 conclusion she very quietly, rationalh'', and successfully set her- 
 self to arrano-e her affairs in such a manner as might enable her 
 to act with promptitude whenever William should be sufficiently 
 within her reach to benefit by her means of serving* him. 
 
 She soon obtained all the necessary information respecting 
 the purchase of his discharge, and found that on this point she 
 
278 THE YOUNG HEmESS. 
 
 was not likely to encounter any worse difficulty than a little 
 delay. As to her money concerns, all was smooth and easy 
 enough in that quarter, and all this being- achieved, she estab- 
 lished herself as an inmate in the family of a very respectable 
 English settler, and screwed her courage to the task of waiting 
 jDatientl}', 
 
 But this waiting' was a considerably longer business than she 
 hnd calculated upon, yet, nevertheless, she bore it admirably. 
 She had been long ago taught to endure resolutely, what she 
 had brought upon herself wilfully, and these lessons were very 
 useful to her now. 
 
 The expedition upon which the English troops were now 
 engaged was not only important, but of a nature as tedious and 
 uncertain, as it was dangerous. From week to week, and occa- 
 sionally almost from day to day, intelligence arrived, sometimes 
 good, sometimes bad, but for mnny months nothing at all 
 definitive was known concerning the success of the expedition. 
 The matter at issue w^as one of considerable importance, as on it 
 depended either the acquisition, or the loss of territory, which 
 ■was considered on all sides to be of great importance. At 
 length, however, the doubtful affair arrived at the conclusion 
 to which British arms are the most accustomed, and a complete 
 and very important victory was announced to the English 
 authorities, as the result of the struggle. 
 
 The news, of course, was received with all natural triumph, 
 and becoming joy ; but by degrees it was rumoured that the 
 victory had not been obtained without heavy loss of life on both 
 sides, and havinof lonof remained doubtful, had been achieved, at 
 last, by one of those desperate displays of resolute valour which 
 are never called for, and never put in action, without appalling 
 loss on both sides. 
 
 The listening to all this was a process of fearful suffering to 
 the unfortunate Almeria Lambert, and to render her agonising 
 anxiety more acute still, she had to listen day by day to state- 
 ments all tending to prove that the regiment into which 
 William had enlisted had been distinguished both by its bravery 
 and its heavy loss. 
 
 At length, however, this regiment, as well as several others, 
 were re-called to head-quarters, and then followed the anxious 
 business of obtaining a correct list of the names of those who 
 had fallen. This list w^as a fearfully long one ; but the name of 
 William Rixley did not appear in it. This fact of itself seemed 
 for a time to bring enough of comfort to atone f-M' mncli 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 279 
 
 that she had suffered ; but she had still the difficult task before 
 her of ascertaining where and how a private of the name of 
 William Rixley could be found. In this difficult task she was 
 assisted by the*^ friendly offices of an English family, with whom' 
 she bad become acquainted, and whose daughter, being on the 
 eve of marriage with an officer of the same regiment, was able 
 to make the necessary inquiries ; to please his beloved one, the 
 young man took the trouble of procuring a roll-call, such as it 
 was before the regiment w^ent on this last service, and such as 
 it was afterwards. 
 
 It was with a trembling hand that poor Mrs. Lambert 
 received this proof of her young friend's influence, as well as of 
 her kindness ; and so conscious did she at that moment become 
 of her own weakness, that she begged permission to retain the 
 documents till she could examine them alone. 
 
 Great was her surprise, as well as her disappointment, upon 
 discovering that the name she sought w^as in neither of these 
 two lists. Was it possible, then, that she had been altogether 
 misinformed and deceived from the period of her earliest 
 inquiries ? Such obviously seemed to be the fact, for the 
 accuracy of these official papers could not be doubted. She 
 recurred to the quarter from whence she had received the 
 intelligence that William Rixley had enlisted, and it was one 
 that it would have been very difficult for her to doubt. It 
 might be, indeed, that he had died on the passage, or had 
 deserted either at the Cape of Good Hope or after his arrival in 
 India. But on both these points she obtained such satisfactory 
 assurances that no such event had happened, as to leave her 
 perfectly at a loss to conjecture the cause of the discrepancy 
 between actual facts and former evidence. 
 
 Her situation, poor woman, now became infinitely more pain- 
 ful to her feelings than she had ever felt it before since her 
 departure from England. All that was before her now was a 
 dark blank, without a ray of hope, or even the doubtful light of 
 a vague and feeble uncertainty to sustain her. 
 
 There was a moment when she was not very far from deciding 
 that the best course now left her was self-destruction ; but 
 despite her resolute temper and constitutional courage, she 
 shrunk from the "end-all" which has tempted so man}' miser- 
 able beings of a somewhat similar temperament. 
 
 For several weeks after her researches had brought her to 
 the miserable conclusion that all she had done, and all she had 
 suffered, in tlic h(MDc of saving poor William from the con- 
 
280 THE YOUXG HErnESS. 
 
 scqnonces of his ill-timed flight had been ntlerly useless to him, 
 slie remained in a state of such profound discouragement that 
 all things future, and present, too, seemed matters of utter indif- 
 ference to her. Tlie results of the late splendid and most im- 
 portant victor}', which was the theme of every tongue, were 
 never dwelt upon in her hearing without causing her a feeliug 
 of desolate disappointment almost too painful to bear ; and 
 it was probably this consciousness, rather than any real longing 
 for her native land, which made her suddenly resolve to take 
 her passage in the next vessel that was bound to England. 
 
 Her preparations for this sad homew^ard voyage were not 
 very elaborate, nor had she long to wait for a vessel bound to 
 the land to which it was her purpose to go, though without the 
 slightest hope, poor soul, of finding herself less miserable there 
 than she was sure to be everywhere else. The idea, the hope, 
 the confident expectation of serving and saving the friendless 
 and penniless William Rixley, had been to her what the soul is 
 to the body ; and now she had lost it, the idea of dying, and 
 being buried and forgotten, was the only one from which she 
 did not turn with weariness and disgust. 
 
 Perhaps, if her feelings of apathy and discouragement had 
 been less intense, she might not have shrunk, as she now did, 
 from the idea of self-destruction. But as it was, she arrano-ed 
 all things for her homeward vo3'age, and heard the day fixed 
 for her departure, with the consciousness of that sort of relief 
 which is almost always found to attend a change of suffering. 
 
 The family which I have already mentioned as having, with 
 friendly and active kindness, obtained for her the information 
 she was so anxious to receive, and the result of which had so 
 fatally blighted all her hopes, had never wearied in their kind 
 attempts to soothe and comfort her. Her aspect, all faded as it 
 was, could not easily be contemplated without interest ; and the 
 total absence of all querulous complainings under a disappoint- 
 ment which had so evidently destroyed every hope that mado 
 life valuable, could not be witnessed without pity. 
 
 This- interest and this pity showed itself in many acts of 
 friendly attention, all of which were proffered so quietly, that 
 they were often accepted because there was less exertion neces- 
 sary for the accepting than the refusing them. One of these 
 liabifcual acts of kindness was the running up of the pretty 
 young bride elect to the rooms which Mrs. Lambert inhabited in 
 the neighbouring house, and taking her as a prisoner to their 
 family tea-table. 
 
THE YOUXG HEIRESS. 281 
 
 This babifc liad for a long time been very precious to Mrs, 
 Lambert, because it ensm^ed her meeting" the military adorer of 
 her young friend, from whom she ho2')ed to receive intelligence 
 of WiUiam. Nor did tlie friendly habifc ceaso when this long 
 cherished hope was crushed by the intelligence that no one of 
 the name of William Rixley had belonged to the corps since il 
 had quitted England. 
 
 Only two or three days now remained before the vessel was 
 to sail, on board of which she had secured her passage ; and the 
 gentle Lucy Wilmot failed not, though she left her lover in her 
 mother's drawing-room, to go as usual for their evening guest. 
 
 As Lucy and her companion entered the room together, they 
 found Captain Burney in the act of relating some anecdote with 
 great animation, and it was, moreover, evidently listened to with 
 great interest by her father and mother. 
 
 "What is that ^^ou are telling them. Captain Burney?" 
 cried Lucy Wilmot, eagerty. " We must not lose that story, 
 whatever it is, for I am sure it is something exceedingly inter- 
 esting." 
 
 " Yes, it is," replied her mother, as she extended her hand to 
 welcome her pale and silent guest; " and I think it will amuse 
 Mrs. L?imbert, too, for, as Burney relates the story, it is a per- 
 fect romance." 
 
 The little party then reseated themselves, and Captain 
 Burney recommenced his narrative. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 *'Once upon a time the noblest country in the world, which I 
 scarcely need tell you was called England, was engaged in a 
 very long and difficult warfare with another mighty country at 
 a very considerable distance from itself" 
 
 ^ " Oh ! goodness, Richard Barney, do not begin so ! " exclaimed 
 his betrothed, " or we shall have the whole history of England 
 and its dependencies to listen to, before we come to the particular 
 bit of romance that mamma has promised us." 
 
 " I am afraid you are a very impatient young lady ! " said her 
 lover, looking at her with an aspect of great alarm. " How- 
 ever, for the present, I suppose my wisest coarse will be to 
 
282 " THE YorxG heieess. 
 
 indulge yon. I Nvill, therefore, cashier my narrative of its very 
 instructive preface, and state to you nt once the dramatic 
 anecdote for whch you appear so impatient. When we all 
 marclied off in such violent haste, as you may perhaps remem- 
 ber, Miss Lucy, with the desperate determination of either 
 thoroughly routing the confounded hordes which were rushing 
 forward to overwhelm us, or to leave our bodies with them for 
 booty, one part of our force consisted of the recently arrived 
 — Regiment, concerning which our good Mrs, Lambert here, 
 was at one time so much interested. They had a monstrous large 
 lot of new recruits among them, and our most experienced 
 oflScers were very far from being greatly delighted by the 
 parade display of these new arrivals. No choice was left them, 
 however, so off we set, bag and baggage, raw recruits and worn- 
 out veterans, rather thankful than not upon the whole, upon 
 having a line of marching men, of which we could not examine 
 the accoutrements of the van and the rear at one and the same 
 moment; an advantage which we have not always possessed, 
 3'ou know, in some of our sorties. You have heard enough, 
 dearly beloved," added the young man, shaking his head, as if 
 conscious of having already dilated sufficiently on the subject, 
 " of our exploits on this occasion, but you could not have heard 
 before this mornino* of the most grallant deed that has been 
 recorded for man}'- a day, for it was only late last night that the 
 party concerned in it got back to head-quarters. There would 
 be no use in my describing all the 'minor particulars to you, for 
 unless you had seen a little fighting in the bush with your own 
 ej-es, it would be impossible to make you comprehend it. But 
 the upshot of the affair is this : — our favourite old veteran. 
 Captain Maclogan, one of the bravest fellows in the service, had 
 been rash enough to follow a lot of rascally natives, who had 
 got possession of the colours, right across a brook that would 
 have swamped any fellow less like a giant than himself His 
 mcA, a score of them, at the very least, seemed ready to follow 
 him, bu.t not one of the set got half across the stream before their 
 discretion sent them back again. The old hero, however, was 
 not doom..! to die in a ditch by himself, for in the very nick of 
 time a stalwart young- private of another company, seeing how 
 the case stood, bethought him cleverly enough that there might 
 be a better way of getting across a brook than wading through 
 it, and thereupon, after pausing for an instant, as they say, to 
 reconnoitre the ground, he took a vigorous run and cleared the 
 stream at one noble le.«p. As to what happened after, it is 
 
?" 
 
 THE YOUNG HEEIESS. 283 
 
 absolutely necessary to he^v Captain Maclogan himself describe 
 it, in order either to understand or believe the dauntless courao-e 
 displayed by the yomig" fellow Avhen he overtook the part}'. And 
 it is certain that the said young- fellow gives as fine an account 
 of the old fellow, as the old fellow does of him, and the best 
 proof that they both speak the truth is, that the colours have 
 been marched back to the reg-iment in the highest style possible, 
 being only a very little draggled, and a very little torn." 
 
 "And what have they done to reward the young soldier? 
 said Lucy. 
 
 " Why, there is some little doubt and difficulty about that," 
 replied Captain Burney, " for the young man is wounded, and, 
 therefore, the making him a corporal, or a sergeant, or anything 
 of that sort is out of the question, because the brave veteran, 
 ■whose life he has saved, will not permit his being taken to the 
 hospital, and, therefore, instead of promotion, Captain Maclogan 
 has obtained his dischargee, and has taken him to his own lodo-. 
 ings, where he is nursing' him as if he were his own son." 
 
 " And so he oug-ht !" exclaimed Mrs. Wilmot, addincr, 
 " Your story really is a beautiful story. Captain Burney. 
 Fancy a young fellow, with his musket to carry, too, taking* 
 such a leap as that, just for the slight hope of saving another 
 man's life, and with such a terrible good chance of losing his 
 own ! " 
 
 " It was a fine action," said Lucy's father, " a very fice 
 action. I hope the young man is not badly wounded ?" 
 
 " No, not badly," was the reply; "it is only a flesh wound on 
 the right arm, but he will not be able to draw his sword again 
 for a week or two." 
 
 " Was this young man belonging to the — Regiment, which 
 has recently arrived from Europe ? " said Mrs. Lambert. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," replied the young officer, "and if there were a 
 few more in it like him, they would soon acquire a name that 
 would make their raw recruits forgotten." 
 
 " Do you happen to have heard his name, Sir ? " rejoined 
 Mrs. Lambert. 
 
 " Do I happen to have heard it, my good lady ! It would 
 have been a very strange hap if I had not," replied Captain 
 Burney, " for I don't believe that a single minute of ih.Q day 
 passes in which it is not repeated by some one or other. His 
 name is William Maukice." 
 
 Mrs. Lambert bowed very civilly in return fur this informa- 
 
284 THE YOrXG HEIRESS. 
 
 lion ; and she slglied, too, poor soul, for there vjas a well-known 
 name, which, if ifc had greeted her ear at that moment, would 
 have almost seemed to repay her for all she had endured. 
 
 The next evening was the last she had to pass with her new, 
 but kind-hearted, friends, before she was to embark upon her 
 weary homeward voyage to England. When she entered the 
 family sitting-room, she found them again engaged in listening 
 to further particulars respecting the same adventure which had 
 been discussed the evening before. 
 
 Captain Burney was now, however, recounting what he had 
 heard at the mess, respecting the future prospects of the 
 wounded soldier ; and these prospects, as he stated them, ap- 
 peared to be fully as romantic as the adventure which led to 
 them. 
 
 Captain Maclogan, he said, was a bachelor, on the shady side 
 of fifty, of good connections, and of ea?y fortune; and it was 
 currently reported that he declared it to be his intention to pur- 
 chase a commission for his preserver, with as little loss of time 
 as possible. 
 
 This report had, of course, created great interest and curiosity 
 for the fortunate individual whose youthful prowess had been 
 exerted in the service of one who was able to requite it so nobl}-. 
 " It is quite the f\\shion, I can assure you, among the oflScers to 
 go and call upon the young fellow ; and, of course, I have gone 
 among the rest : and there he is, lying on Captain Maclogan's 
 sofa, wrapped up in the old Scotchman's handsome dressing- 
 gown, and looking no more like a common soldier than I to 
 Hercules." 
 
 " What does he look like ? " said Lucy, laughing. 
 
 " Why, that is exactly the most curious thing of all," replied 
 Burney ; " for I do assure you, without the slightest exaggera- 
 tion, that he looks, and, what is more, that he speaks, too, 
 exactly like a well-educated gentleman." 
 
 " That is very odd," said Lucy. 
 
 "Very odd, indeed," said her father, smiling; and adding, 
 with an admonitory shake of the head, " Burney ! my dear 
 fellow ! you are romantic." 
 
 "Not an atom of it, upon my life and honour !" returned the 
 younf man, eao^erlv. "If you will let me, Mr. Wilmot, I will 
 briu'T him here some evening, when the doctor has dismissed 
 him; and when you see him, and converse with him, I feel 
 certain that you will agree with me." 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 285 
 
 " Ask him to describe his person," said Mrs. Lambert, in a 
 low whisper, to Lucj. 
 
 The request was immediately complied with, 
 
 "Tell us exactly what he is like in appearance, Captain' 
 Burney," said the J^oung lady, with the authority of a fiancee. 
 
 " He is like an extremely handsome young man, Miss Lucy — • 
 so handsome, that I will give you leave to declare, when you see 
 him, which I am quite sure will be the truth, that you never saw 
 any man so handsome before. He is under twenty ; but he is 
 very tall, and as athletic as any man of his age ought to be, 
 though you Avould call him a slight young man at the first 
 glance, on account of his great height. His features are per- 
 fectly well formed ; his mouth and teeth peculiarly handsome ; 
 his complexion clear, but rather dark than florid ; and his hair, 
 Avhich, though not black, is very near it, curls naturally, but so 
 close to his head as not in any degree to conceal its very 
 peculiarly beautful and intellectual formation. However, by far 
 the handsomest, as well as the most peculiar features in his 
 face, are his eyes, which, notwithstanding his dark complexion 
 and hair, are of the very lightest blue, although the eye-lashes, 
 which are very long, and coraj)letely black, give a general effect 
 to his countenance, which might deceive one into thinking that 
 he had dark eyes." 
 
 While Captain Burney was rapidly and eagerly giving this 
 description, Mrs. Lambert kept her eyes immovably fixed upon 
 him, with an expression that was perfectly indescribable; for ifc 
 varied from moment to moment; at one time seeming to express 
 the most vehement and concentrated anger, and in the next, 
 beaming upon him with a look of such deep affection, that one 
 miofht have fancied her first movement would be to enfold him 
 in her arms, and press him to her heart. 
 
 The moment he had finished, she stood up, and, walking round 
 the table to the chair he occupied, she stood before it, and fixing- 
 her large eyes sternly upon him, she said, " You have, either by 
 some secret means, which I know not how to trace, obtained a 
 description of his person, or else you have seen him yourself 1" 
 
 " To be sure, I have seen him myself, my good lady ! " 
 returned the young man, laughing, and looking at her with an 
 expression of drollery which seemed to indicate a considerable 
 degree of amusement in contemplating her sublimely-tragic 
 demeanour. " What is there so very extraordinary in my hav- 
 ing seen him ?" 
 
 "Nothing!" she replied, evidently endeavouring to compose 
 
286 THE YOUNG HEIEESS. 
 
 liersclf, " nothing ! If you could but tell me that his name was 
 Rixley ! " 
 
 " But I can't tell you that, Mrs. Lambert," replied the young 
 man, " for he has told us all that his name is jMaurice." 
 
 '• May he not, from some motive or. other, have changed his 
 name?" suggested Mr. Wilmot. 
 
 " Yes ! " exclaimed Mrs. Lambert, vehemently ; " for many, 
 many reasons he might have done it ! " And as she said this, 
 she trembled so violently from head to foot, that Lucy, spring- 
 ing from her chair, hastily pushed it towards her ; while Captain 
 Burney, seizing her by the arm, placed her in it ; a very well- 
 timed act of kindness; for, without it, the unfortunate Mrs. 
 Lambert would unquestionably have measured her length upon 
 the floor. • 
 
 A few moments, however, sufficed not only to restore the 
 fainting woman to life and reason, but to suggest to the by- 
 standers a probable, and very satisfactory solution of the 
 mystery wliicli had produced so vehement an effect upon her. 
 
 ."I will bet anything you please that the young man has 
 changed his name," said one. 
 
 " It is the most likely thing in the world ! " exclaimed 
 another. 
 
 "It is exactly what happens nine times out of ten," said 
 Captain Burney, " when a lad takes a freak for enlisting which 
 he thinks would not be approved at home." 
 
 And Lucy gently whispered in the ear of her protegee, " Do 
 not let your hoj)es overpower your strength, dear Mrs. Lambert, 
 after enduring despair so patiently." 
 
 "You are right, my dear child ! " replied Mrs. Lambert, with 
 suddenl3^-recovered firmness; " I, at this moment, feel as sure as 
 if I had already seen him, that William Rixley is found! — You 
 do not know, you cannot guess, all the consolation which this 
 persuasion brings with it ! " 
 
 She was silent for a few moments, and every one present was 
 too much occupied and interested in watching the effect of tins 
 newly-born hope on the countenance and in the demeanour of 
 the altered being before them, to disturb her meditations. 
 
 At length, she said, with the propitiating smile which had so 
 rarely visited her features since she had been parted from her 
 nurslings, " It is to Captain Burney I must now look for pro- 
 curing me the means of meeting William. An unknown poor 
 woman might probably be refused admittance by the servants of 
 the gentleman who lias afforded my dear boy an asylum. — Will 
 
THE TOUKG HEIRESS. 287 
 
 you contrive, Sir, to procure me admittauce ? Miss Luc}'' shall 
 thank you for it, if you ^vill." 
 
 " Yes, Mrs. Lambert, I will contrive it," replied Captain 
 Barney, gaily. " The only difficulty that I see in the business 
 being respecting the time at which your introduction shall take 
 place. I don't think we can attempt it to-night, because I know 
 that Captain Maclogan is to have one or two of the officers with 
 him to-night, who were almost as anxious as you are to be intro- 
 duced to our young hero, William Maurice." 
 
 "Well, then," returned Mrs. Lambert, with a sigh, "I must 
 wait as patiently as I can for to-morrow ! " 
 
 " And yet I am afraid that the delay may be very incon- 
 venient to you, Mrs. Lambert," he replied, " on account of the 
 early hour at which the English -bound vessel sails to-morrow. 
 You will scarcely be able to satisfy yourself on the question of 
 his identity before you ought to be on board." 
 
 " I do not mean to go on board at all. Captain Burney," 
 replied Mrs. Lambert, in a tone of the most undoubting 
 decision. 
 
 " Do you, indeed, trust so implicitly to ray description ? " 
 said Burney, in a tone of mingled interest and surprise. " If I 
 have in any way deceived you, Mrs. Lambert, I should never 
 forgive myself." 
 
 " ISTo, no, no, you have not deceived me," said she, looking at 
 him with a very friendly smile, "neither have you been 'deceived 
 yourself, my dear young gentleman. You saw him, such as he 
 is, and you described him with admirable exactness, exactl}' as 
 you saw him. I do not believe that anj'one could paint in 
 words such a portrait as you have given us of William from 
 fancy. You have seen him, Captain Burney, and you have seen 
 him here; and that is enough to make me lay my head upon 
 my pillow, and sleep better than I have slept for many a weary 
 month." 
 
 " But j^our passage-money, Mrs. Lambert ? Will you not 
 endeavour to get back your passage-money ? " 
 
 "No, Captain Barney," she replied, "I do assure you, that 
 my passage-money is of no consequence. Perhaps, Sir, I am 
 richer than you think for — at any rate, I am a great deal richer 
 than William will expect me to be; and I have so much to 
 think of just at this moment, that I must beg of you not to 
 mention the passage-money." 
 
 All this was said with a look and manner so perfectly unlike 
 anything they had ever witnessed in her before, that there was 
 
288 THE YOUXG HEIRESS. 
 
 not a single hicllvidual in the pavfcy who did not feel a sort of 
 vague suspicion that she was seized with fever, and was already 
 becoming lighfc-lieaded. 
 
 Mrs. Wilmotcame to her, and gently taking her hand, pressed 
 her fingers upon her pulse. 
 
 Mrs. Lambert looked up into her face with a smile, but did 
 not interrupt tlie operation. " You think I am delirious, my 
 dear lady," said she, very quietly, " and it is very possible that 
 ray head may be very strongly affected by this sudden change 
 from despair to something which I feel to be stronger than hope. 
 But do not be alarmed for me. People never, I believe, suffer 
 seriously in their health from being too happy." 
 
 " That is very true, Mrs. Lambert," said the good man of the 
 house, in a voice that carried authority with it. "But if happi- 
 ness is not likely to injure health, disappointment may. You 
 must excuse me for being' so peremptory, Burney, but I will not 
 let Mrs. Lambert go to bed till this question of the young man's 
 identity is settled upon surer evidence than your animated 
 description. You must go immediately to Captain Maclogan, 
 and state the case exactly as it stands, not forgetting this good 
 lady's intended departure to-morrow ; having done this, ask him, 
 with my com^^liments, whether he will permit you to bring her 
 to the room occupied by the wounded soldier. One glance will 
 suffice to settle the question, so he will not be disturbed for more 
 than a minute, if our poor friend's hopeful fancy has deluded her. 
 And if she is right in her notion, Captain Maclogan will, doubt- 
 less, be as glad as any of us to procure for his 'protegee the great 
 comfort of seeing an old acquaintance." 
 
 " I will do your errand without wasting a single moment in 
 unnecessary formalities," replied the young man, springing 
 towards the door, which was closed behind him before the 
 trembling Mrs. Lambert appeared to be fully aware of the 
 nature of his embassy. 
 
 " What is he gone to do?" said she, looking anxiously in the 
 face of Lucv, who was affectionately hano-ino* over her. " Is he 
 going to tell him that they have found out his real name ? Do 
 not let him say that ! If he choose to have his name known, 
 he would have told it himself, you know." 
 
 " No, no, dear Mrs. Lambert," replied Luc}'-, " Burney is not 
 going to say anything about his name. He is only going to 
 ask leave for you to go there to satisfy yourself, by looking at 
 him, whether you are right in fancying' that he is the young 
 man for whom you are so mach interested." 
 
THE YOUNG HEmESS, 289 
 
 " And you think it possible that I may see him to-nioht ? " 
 cried Mrs. Lambert, starting from her chair, and appearino-, as 
 if by magic, to recover all the strength and firmness of her 
 character. 
 
 " I am not often so pitifully weak as I must have appeared to 
 you to-night, Mrs. Wilmot," she continued. " It was the sicken- 
 ing feeling of uncertainty which overwhelmed me. Is the 
 distance long ? " she continued, fixing her eyes with a sort of 
 resolute steadiness on the door, as if determined to seize the 
 answer, which the messenger would bring, even before he could 
 deliver it. 
 
 " IS'ot ten steps," replied Mr. Wilmot, contemplating her 
 tall figure, her firm demeanour, and her fine eager eye, with 
 great interest, 
 
 "Biirney will be here in a moment, and before five more have 
 passed over you, all your doubts will be solved." 
 
 Mrs. Lambert was clad exactly as if sitting in her own 
 apartment, save that she had a large shawl over her shoulders. 
 She now prepared herself for her expedition, by wrapping this 
 shawl over her head, while at the same moment she advanced 
 towards the door, and stationed herself beside it in such a 
 manner as not to impede its opening. " At least, sit down, 
 Mrs. Lambert," said Lucy, kindly, and at the same time placing 
 a chair for her beside the door. 
 
 But before she could either accept or decline it, Captain 
 Burney, re-appeared, and upon her laying her hand upon his, 
 while she raised her speaking eyes to his face, he replied to the 
 perfectly intelligible inquiry by taking her arm, and passing it 
 under his own, while he nodded to the rest of the party, exclami- 
 ing, " Old Maclogan is a trump ! He says the good lady shall 
 be as welcome as flowers in May." 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 Mrs. Lambert made no attempt to speak during the short 
 and rapid walk, which took her from the dwelling of Mr. 
 Wilmot to that of Captain Maclogan, and yet she felt as if ono 
 20 
 
29G THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 sliort question might enable lier to learn all she sought to 
 know; but she had literally no breath to utter it. And for 
 some reason or other, Captain Burney was as silent as herself, so 
 that when they stood before the door of the apartment, at which 
 her companion stopped, and knocked, the words "come in!" 
 which were uttered in return, causing the trembling woman as 
 vehement an emotion as the word " fire ! " might have done 
 had she been tied at a stake to be shot. 
 
 The movement by which Captain Burney obeyed this com- 
 mand was not a slow one, for in the next instant Almeria 
 Lambert stood within a few feet of a sofa upon which lay a 
 lengthy individual, whose head was in such deep shadow, and 
 the features so nearly concealed by the cushions, and by the hand 
 on which he was leaning, that it was not the first glance which 
 sufficed, as she had predicted, to satisfy all her doubts in a 
 moment. 
 
 But if the recumbent figure was in a great degree concealed 
 from sight, it was not prevented from seeing, and while Mrs. 
 Lambert was bending forward to ascertain, if possible, who it 
 was that thus lay stretched before her, she suddenly found her- 
 self very firmly encircled by the tight grasp of a stalwart left 
 arm, and her name pronounced in accents which made it quite 
 unnecessary that any further discovery should take place. 
 
 It would be both a difficult and unnecessary task, to attempt 
 describing the feelings of either party at this recognition. To 
 poor William it was scarcely less welcome than to the enter- 
 prizing woman, who had dared, and endured so much to 
 obtain it. 
 
 The grateful, warm-hearted Captain Maclogan, who had been 
 still in his dining-room, and alone, when Burney called upon 
 him, not only granted the mysterious old lady's request for an 
 interview, but determined to enjoy the discovery scene that was 
 likely to follow upon it, without destroying the fine effect of it 
 by giving his young guest any hint of what was about to 
 happen. Had his well-beloved preserver been less safely 
 advanced towards recovery from all inflammatory effi^cts from 
 his wound, the grateful veteran would not have thus indulged 
 his taste for romance ; but as it was, he knew there would be 
 no danger, and thought there might be much interest from the 
 scene. Nor was he disappointed, for it is rare that tw^o human 
 beings, not bound together by the ties of blood, or the tender 
 passion, could meet with such evident symptoms of delight on 
 both sides. 
 
THE YOUXG HEIRESS. 291 
 
 "It is \'oui' moilicv, Williiim," said tlie old officer, adv.iiicing 
 after the tirst accolades were over, to ^\elconie his stately-looking 
 guest with both his hands. " I am sure," he added, " that she 
 is your mother, first, because she has found you out with such 
 true maternal instinct; and, secondly, because she is just such 
 a tinely formed and commanding-looking mother as you ought 
 to have." 
 
 William remained silent for a moment, as not knowing well 
 how to answer ; but Mrs. Lambert quickly spared him from all 
 embarrassment on the subject, by saying, "No, Sir ! I am not 
 his mother, I am only his nurse; but* circumstances have 
 endeared us to each other with an affection which I cannot 
 think would have been much stronger had the tie between us 
 been such as you, Sir, imagined it to be." 
 
 "And I doubt not he deserved all your love, my good woman," 
 replied Captain Maclogau, " and I don't find any difficulty 
 in believing that the case is exactly as you say, and that jou 
 love the saucy fellow as well as if you were his mother, for to 
 let you into a secret, by speaking a little honest truth, I am 
 beginning, to love him m^'self very much as if he were my own 
 son." 
 
 When Captain Burney and Mrs. Lambert entered the room, 
 they had found Captain Maclogan and William tete-a-tete ; and, 
 now, having so satisfactorily performed his mission, Lucy's 
 lover seemed to think that his presence might be more welcome 
 elsewhere ; he, therefore, nodded a good-humoured farewell 
 towards the sofa, where the nurse and nursling were now seated 
 side by side, and left the room, saying, as he paused a moment 
 to shake hands with its master, "They must have plenty to say 
 to each other, I daresay." 
 
 This thoughtful hint was immediately seized, and acted upon 
 by the kind-hearted Captain Maclogan, who instantly prepared 
 to leave the room, saying, " You must both of you excuse my 
 taking myself off", for I have an engagement down stairs, but I 
 hope you will both make yourselves comfortable, and this good 
 lady will make tea for you, William." 
 
 And in the next moment the long-revered Sarah Lambert, 
 and her dear boy William, were once again in full and free 
 communion together. 
 
 They had both of them much to say,. and much to relate; but 
 they were far from being equally unreserved iii their communi- 
 cations. AYilHam, with the most perfect frankness, confessed 
 that the rage into which his father's taunting and cruel treat- 
 
 20—: 
 
 q 
 
292 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 ment bad tlirown liim, led him to resolve tliat lie would leave 
 liis home, and see wliethei' the stranger "svorld would treat hhn 
 as harsiily as his own father had done. 
 
 "The leaving iny dear, dear Helen," said he, "was terrible to 
 think of; but I felt afraid of myself, Sarah Lambert, and I 
 thought that I might run the risk of giving her more pain by 
 staying than by going-. And the leaving' 3-0U, too, my dear and 
 always kind friend, was dreadful, too ; but not iDoth these 
 sorrows together, nor 3'et the fear of all the destitute misery 
 which lay before me. appeared so terrible in my eyes as the 
 thought of living under the i^oof of a man ^vho called himself 
 my father, and who could speak in such terms of my unhappy 
 mother ! In short, Sarah Lambert, right or wrong, I suddenly 
 made up my mind to endure my condition at the Warren House 
 no longer. You know all the rest of my adventures, which, 
 perhaps, you think may have ended better than 1 deserved. 
 And now then, tell me how it comes to pass that I have the 
 immense happiness of seeing you here ? Where have 3'ou left 
 my darling Helen? How comes it that you have left her, and 
 . . . . her father?" 
 
 " I should keep you up all night, my dear boy, if I attempted 
 to answer all these questions at full length, and 3^ou are looking 
 a little too pale to make that a prudent measure," she replied. 
 " And yet, William," she added, " I have much to tell that I am 
 most anxious you should hear immediately, as it may be likely 
 to influence your own projects very essentially. The event which 
 I must first communicate is that which has led to all the rest. 
 Your father is dead, William ! " 
 
 "Dead! Mrs, Lambert? My father dead!" exclaimed the 
 young man, the happy calm of his aspect being metamorphosed 
 into a look of horror. " Whv, I left him a few short months 
 ago triumphant in health, and rampant in strength, and the 
 imcontrolled power of using it ! Dead ! I cannot believe it. 
 What could cause the death of such a man as that ? I never 
 saw a human beingf who in health and strength could be com- 
 pared to him." 
 
 " Nevertheless, he is dead, William," she replied, in a tone of 
 forced composure. 
 
 "But how did he die, Sarah Lambert?" reiterated William. 
 " Tell me all the circumstances — all the particulars about it. I 
 think it will be long before I shall bring myself to believe that 
 this most unlikely event has come to pass. Dead ! Sarah ? 
 Actually dead ? If, indeed, this be really so, tell me how did it 
 
TUL; YOUXCt HEIRES?. 293 
 
 come to pass? Was it an accident? Had his wild boaliiig* 
 anything to do with it?" 
 
 " I shonld have thought, William," replied ^Irs, Lambert, 
 quietly, " that jouv first anxiety would have been for Helen. Is 
 not my having left her, as it should seem, alone, more extra- 
 ordinary than the death of any mortal man, let him have been 
 as healthy as he might ?" 
 
 "True! Gracious heaven! W^hat was he tome, compared 
 to Helen ? But as to my fancying that you left her alone, don't 
 you know, Sarah Lambert, that it is as impossible for me to sus- 
 pect it as for you to do it? No, no ! I am not afraid of j^our 
 having left Helen alone — moreover, I daresay I can gues.s 
 where she is. It is the kindness of the dear good Boltons 
 which left you at liberty to look after the runawajM Have I 
 not guessed rightly, Sarah ? " 
 
 "Quite rightly, in believing' firmly in their constant kindness, 
 my dear boy. But you have a strange tale to listen to, William. 
 I will preface it, however, by telling j^ou, at once, that you have 
 no need to be anxious about j^onr sister. She has inherited a 
 very noble fortune from her father, and is living under the pro- 
 tection of an excellent family, who were her father's near 
 relations." 
 
 "Was my father really very rich, Sarah Lambert?" said 
 William, looking at her with an air of great surprise, and a 
 little as if he doubted the correctness of her information. 
 
 " Do you call the having an income of above eight thousand 
 a-year, being rich ? " was her reply. 
 
 "Eight thousand a-j-ear ! Do you know, Sarah, tliat the 
 seeing 3^ou sitting there, close before me, when I have been so 
 lately thinking that we should never, never meet again — t!ie 
 seeing 3-ou there, and the hearing you make such very extra- 
 ordinary statements, by way of giving me a narrative of facts, 
 makes me feel very suspicious about the state of my head, I 
 know I was delirious the night after I received my wound, for 
 the surgeon told me so, and, upon my word, I am beginning to 
 suspect that I am falling back into the same condition agvain." 
 
 " No, my dear boy ! There is no delirium either on your side 
 or mine. Your father's whole life was a wild and wickel 
 romance, William, and his living in the humble style, which he 
 did at the Warren House, was a part of it." 
 
 "But in his will, then, he disclosed his real condition, and 
 confessed that Helen was his heiress r" said he, 
 
 "He did," ^^he replied. 
 
291^ THE YOUNG IIEITIESS, • 
 
 '■ And did he nnine me in Lis v.'ill, Mrs. Lanibcit ? " demanded 
 tlie yoimg suldier, but in an accent which spoke more of scorn 
 than of hope. 
 
 "No, William ! he did not," was the reply. 
 
 " I rejoice to hear it ! Truly and heartily do I rejoice," 
 rejoined the young man, witli a look and tone that most honestly 
 proclaimed his sincerit3\ "It would have galled me," he added, 
 " had it been my fate to go through life living upon a bequest 
 from a man I had injured by thinking w^orse of him than he 
 deserved. I shall have no such burden upon my conscience 
 now ; and, trust me, Sarah Lambert, I shall work my way 
 throuo-h life with a liofhter heart for it." 
 
 " I can easily believe that possible, my dear boy," was her 
 reply. 
 
 "And you, Sarah? What did this rich man do for you, in 
 return for your having so carefully watched over his neglected 
 heiress," 
 
 " In that matter, William, my conscience may rest as tran- 
 quilly as yours," she replied, almost with a smile. " In truth," 
 she added, after the pause of a moment, " I should have been by 
 no means well pleased if I had found that he had provided 
 liberally for me in his will." 
 
 " But how have you contrived to get here, my dear, faithful, 
 tender-hearted Sarah Lambert ? " he resumed. " I came here 
 at the Queen's cost ; but I believe those who come at their 
 own, have a heavy sum to pay. How did yon contrive to 
 manage this, my dear old friend r " 
 
 " I did not make the voyage in a very expensive style, 
 William," she replied. " Moreover, I am myself become, by a 
 lucky chance, considerably more wealthy than I was when you 
 ran away from me ; I will explain how this happened when we 
 are more at leisure. But before I bid you good night, my dear 
 boy, you must tell me why it was that you took it into j'-our 
 head to change your name? You little guessed when jovl did 
 it, my dear William, the miserable heart-breaking disappoint- 
 ment of which it would be the cause to your poor nurse." 
 
 " Had I guessed that it would have produced any such effect, 
 I would not have done it," he replied, "but as no such objection 
 suggested itself, my reason for it seemed a very good one. You 
 know, I believe, that in the last interview which I ever had 
 with my father, he infoimed me, in no very soothing terms, that 
 I had no right to his name ?" 
 
 "I know it! I know it!" returned Mrs. Lambert, her brow 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 295 
 
 contrncted into a frown, wln'cli spoke more sympathy for the 
 snffering produced by that scene than any words could have 
 done. 
 
 "Then, can you wonder that in ray very soul I swore T never 
 would be known by it," he replied. " It was part of the tempta- 
 tion to the step I took." 
 
 " And w' hy did yon choose the name of Maurice, my dear 
 WiUinm?" 
 
 " You do not know that it was the name of my poor mother, 
 OP you would scarcely ask that question," he replied, 
 
 " Indeed, I should not ! I never heard her name. How did 
 it become known to you ?" said she. 
 
 The young man remained silent for a moment. His eyes 
 were full of tears, and his heart of emotion, too strong to permit 
 his answering immediately. At length, he said, " I have two 
 little books, Mrs. Lambert ; her name, ' Selina Maurice,' is 
 written in both. They were put into my hands, and given to 
 me, by that most angelic of human beings, Helen's mother. 
 ' Keep these little books, dear William,' she said, ' and love them 
 for your mother's sake. That is her name written by her own 
 hand, and, of course, you will love it, my dear boy ! ' That 
 angel woman, Mrs. Lambert, could not have been much more 
 happy than my unfortunate mother ! If I were wretch enough 
 to forget all her tender, pitying kindness to myself, methinks I 
 should still remember the tone of voice in which she said ' love 
 them for your mother's sake!' I did not understand it then, 
 but I do now ; and can you wonder that at a moment when my 
 unnatural father gave me so clearly to understand that I had 
 no claim upon his protection, and no right to his name, I should 
 deeply swear in my heart that I would no longer be supported 
 by his niggard alms, nor ever acknowledge any other appella- 
 tion than what I derived from my unfortunate mother?" 
 
 " No, dearest William ! " she earnestly replied, " I neither 
 blame nor wonder ; nay, now that my sufferings in consequence 
 of it are over, I go much further, for I very greatly approve and 
 applaud the resolution you have taken. Adhere to it, my dear 
 boy, firmly, and carefully, too. Let us both forget for the 
 future that we have ever, in any way, been linked with a name 
 which we can neither of us ever recal without pain." 
 
 " Agreed ! " replied William, eagerly. " Were it not still 
 borne by my darling Helen, I would hug myself in the hope 
 that I should never hear it pi'onounced again." 
 
 "And you may hug yourself iu that hope still, William," 
 
296 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 returned Mrs. Lambert, " for your dear Helen no longer bears 
 it. Among the other disclosures made by your father's will, we 
 learnt that bis name was Beanchamp ; and it is by that name 
 you will have to address your sister when you meet — till such 
 time, at least, as she shall have changed it by marriage." 
 
 " I will never address her by any name, Sarali Lambert, till 
 she shall have heard that which I now bear pronounced with 
 honour ! Dearly as I love her, I would rather die without ever 
 beholding her sweet face again than appear before her as the 
 wretched refuse of her father's vices, with no claim upon her 
 affection and esteem save that of my abject poverty." 
 
 These words were uttered not with vehemence, but with a 
 stedfast sternness of purpose that made his old friend at once 
 aware that he would keep his word. 
 
 She did not immediately reply to him, but sat for a few 
 moments with her head bent down, and her face covered by her 
 hands, as if in deep meditation. 
 
 At length she said, — " Perhaps you are right, William 
 Maurice ! And yet, only a few short minutes ago, the most 
 earnest wish of my heart was that I should find means to bring 
 you and your sister together with as little delay as possible ! 
 But I honour your pride, for it is of a noble quality, and I 
 honour your self-reliance, which is fully justified by the opening 
 of your unaided career. So be it, then, dearest William ! so 
 be it! Your meeting will be of more unmixed happiness if it 
 be waited for till she shall have heard you spoken of as I have 
 already heard you spoken of here." 
 
 " Alas ! dear Sarah Lambert," replied the young man, 
 smiling, " how can I reasonably hope for such another happy 
 chance as that to which this lucky scratch is owing ?" 
 
 " And I may say alas ! also, my dear bo}'', as I think of the 
 perilous nature of the warfare in which you are engaged, and 
 the too frequent chances you are likely to have of proving that 
 your heart, and your arm, too, are more likely to be useful in 
 the strife than those of most men," she replied. 
 
 " That is only because there have been many moments in my 
 young life, though you knew it not, my dear Sarah, when I 
 would very gladly have risked its sudden termination against 
 a very slight glimmer of hope that I might change my miser- 
 ably degraded condition! But if I should have the blessed luck 
 to get hits and honour, in consequence of the sudden fit of rage 
 which led to my escapade from the Warren House, what a 
 superlatively lucky fellow I ought to consider myself I If my 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 297 
 
 , if Mr. Rixley, as he called himself, had happened to die 
 
 thenig-ht before he insulted my mother's memory, instead of the 
 night after, I should never have saved dear old Maclogan's life, 
 but have remained to become a pensioner on the bounty of my 
 rich sister ! I thank heaven for my well-timed fit of fury ! " ' 
 
 " Well-tijied ! " thought Mrs. Lambert, with a stifled groan. 
 " So timed, thoa poor unconscious boy, as to have brought upon 
 thy innocent head the imputation of having' murdered him ! " 
 
 But her face was again covered with her hands, and William 
 saw not its expression. 
 
 In the next moment, however, she had completely recovered 
 herself, and it was with a perfectly tranquil accent that she said, 
 as she rose from her chair, " We must be prudent, dearest ! 
 You have too much colour in your cheeks, now, instead of too 
 little ! Good night ! good night ! To-morrow we will contrive 
 to meet ao;ain." 
 
 He wrung her hand affectionately — and so they parted. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 That such a yonth as we have described William Maurice, in 
 such a country as India, and under such circumstances as those 
 in which we left him at the end of the last chapter— that such 
 a one should speedily become not only an officer but a very dis- 
 tinguished one, can surprise no one. 
 
 The interest of his grateful, warm-hearted, and somewhat 
 influential old friend. Captain Maclogan, was not without its 
 use, for many a daring act, and many a brave deed, the fame of 
 which might have reached the Horse Guards but slowly, 
 without his zealous activity in assisting its transmission, were 
 all made to tell very effectually in his favour. 
 
 No soldier of fortune could, indeed, have more in his favour 
 than the hitherto seemingly ill-starred William Maurice. A 
 frame of very remarkable strength and activity ; health, which 
 neither fatigue nor climate had apparently any power to affect; 
 the dauntless courage, which is only found when constitutional 
 
298 THE VOUXG HEIHESS. 
 
 fearlessness is united ^Yitll great moral firmness ; and that 
 ardent desire for fiirae wliicli, in liis jorofession, at least, can 
 scarcely be classed as 'that last infirmity of noble minds,' for 
 which Milton bespeaks indulgence, rather than applause ; all 
 these qualities together, joined to brilliant intelligence, and an 
 almost irresistible charm of person and manner, produced, 
 during the next half-dozen years of his life, a result, the par- 
 ticulars of which m-ust be g:iven hereafter. 
 
 But, before we thus leave him to fight his way to fortune, one 
 short conversation between himself and his umwhile nurse must 
 be recorded. 
 
 Not many weeks had elapsed, after these strangely-paired 
 friends had been re-united, before William was sufficiently 
 recovered from his wound to permit his following Captain 
 Maclogan upon another bush-fighting expedition, as a volun- 
 teer. 
 
 Almeria Lambert was not the sort of woman likely to 
 dissuade him from such an enterprize; on the contrary, she 
 felt quite as strongly as he himself could do, that danger must 
 be the element through w^iich alone he could hope to rise to 
 distinction, and that if the ardent hope which glowed within 
 him, of obliterating the disgrace of his birth, by the nobleness 
 of his life, could ever be acheived, it was only to be done by 
 his own individual efibrts, for not all that his sister could bestow 
 on him, if it amounted to the donation of half her estate, could 
 place him before the eyes of his fellow-creatures in the position 
 he wished to occupy. 
 
 This conviction was so equally strong in the minds of both, 
 that nothing like argument, and scarcely anything like dis- 
 cussion, took place between them on the subject. Till she had 
 seen William, as she now saw him, with the path to fame and 
 honour visibly open before his eyes, the utmost extent of her 
 hopes had seemed to be limited to finding and to keeping him in 
 safety from the terrible dangers which threatened him in con- 
 sequence of the suspicions thrown upon him by his father's 
 death. 
 
 But now, her hope and her ambition went much further. No 
 one living knew so well as herself what was really the quality 
 of his mind, and the strength of his character ; and this know- 
 ledge, joined to the circumstances in which she had found him, 
 fully justified the opinion at which she speedily arrived, that 
 she should bo doing him better service by permitting him to 
 pursue the career which happy accident had opened to him, 
 
•Jilt: VOUXG HEIUESS. 209 
 
 tiian even by rcstormg- liim to the protection of his vreaUliy 
 
 sister. 
 
 For a moment she thouglit there might be a middle course, 
 and that the affection and assistance of Helen might be made 
 to ease, without impeding his career; but tlie energy with 
 which William pleaded for the privilege of entire freedom from 
 all dependence upon his father's bequeathed wealth, even though 
 it should reach him through the hands of his beloved Helen, 
 obtained its object, and Almeria Lambert consented to indulge 
 him by keeping his very existence a secret, on condition that he 
 would promise that she herself should never Jose sight of 
 
 Jam. 
 
 To the giving this promise, he made no sort of objection, 
 provided, as he told her, langhingly, that her phrase was not to 
 he quite literally interpreted. 
 
 " For instance," said he, " I should be decidedly averse, my 
 dearest Saran Lambert, to you being an eye-witness to my 
 exploits, whenever it shall happen that I am engaged, sword in 
 hand in slicing and slashing my way through the bush, and the 
 red-skinnned defenders thereof." 
 
 This protest was uttered with a smile ; and therefore it was 
 with an effort to return the smile that Mrs. Lambert answered it. 
 
 "No! William; No. I do not mean to follow to the bush, 
 but, nevertheless, my demand may be more literally interpreted 
 than yon may be inclined to think reasonable. Wherever it is 
 possible I may be useful to you, I shall be more than ready, 
 more than willing, to follow you in person. Nothing that life 
 has left could make me feel so nearly happy as being near you, 
 and with you, when my being so could be of use, or comfort. 
 But the never losing siglit of you, for which I petition, has a 
 different meaning. For many reasons of interest, many worldly 
 reasons, my dear William, it is very desirable, and very import- 
 ant that I should be made acquainted with every step that you 
 may take in life, before it is absolutely made. I do not mean 
 about your falling in love, or marrying, or anything of that 
 kind. In all such cases, I think you would be the best judge; 
 but what I particularly allude to is change of residence. Oii\j 
 promise me, that while I remain alive you will never return to 
 Europe without me, and then I shall be fully satisfied." 
 
 "And is that really all that you want me to promise?" he 
 replied. "Well then, I do promise it, my dear old nurse; but a 
 pretty sort of fellow you must think me, to fancy I would run 
 off, and leave you behind ! " 
 
300 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 " No, no, no ! " she replied. " Bat the time may come 
 AVilliam, when leave of absence might make your return to 
 England the most natural thing possible, ^YitllOut your being 
 accompanied by me. But this must never happen. Eememher! 
 Never ! " 
 
 Such a promise was then gravely and affectionately given by 
 the young soldier; and Mrs. Lambert declared herself perfectly 
 satisfied, and sufficiently at ease in spirit concerning him to 
 enable her to resume again her functions of attending to all his 
 wishes, and forestalino- all his wants, which she did with as 
 much quiet thoughtfulness, and business-like regularity, as if 
 she had still been the honne of the Warren House. 
 
 It was not, however, quite without a feeling of repugnance, 
 that William found himself altogether dependant for his daily 
 bread upon the bounty of his ci-devant nurse; and this feeling* 
 would have been deeper, and more painful still, if he had been 
 less capable of understanding the devoted affection of his bene- 
 ffictress. Not many w^ords, however, passed between them on 
 the subject, before they both seemed to forget that there could 
 be any mixture of pain in the circumstances of their union. 
 Once, and once only, William uttered an exclamation, expressive 
 of mortification and regret, upon seeing her return to the lodg- 
 ings they occupied together, with the materials necessary for 
 furnishing his rather defective wardrobe, with sundry articles 
 of which he very desirably stood in need. 
 
 Her only answer at the moment was given by a few silent 
 tears ; and as this was not a weakness which often came upon 
 her, it struck him the more forcibly. "My dearest Sarah Lam- 
 bert ! " he exclaimed, " I never saw you weep before.- What have 
 I said that could so pain you? " 
 
 "Nothing, William! " she replied, "nothing of w^hich I have 
 any right to complain. Nor do I complain, dearest! I only 
 lament that I can never hope yoa to feel as if I were worthy of 
 being* your mother! " 
 
 This was the first and the last discussion that ever took place 
 between them respecting the pecuniary relation in which they 
 stood to each other, but it sufficed to remove all uneasy feeling.s 
 on the subject from both. 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 301 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 We must now return to Beaucliamp Park, reminding our 
 readers that the narrative, since we left it, has been retrospec- 
 tive, and that an interval of rather more than six years had 
 elapsed between the period at which we left William Maurice, 
 at the end of the last chapter, and that at which we had arrived 
 when we dropped the thread of his sister's story, in order to 
 follow him in his bold effort to escape from a tyranny at home 
 too painful to be endured. 
 
 When we left Helen, in order to follow her brother, she had 
 nearly reached her twenty-second birthday, and had just given 
 a very brilliant fancy ball, partly to please her well-beloved 
 cousin Henry, but principally, it must be confessed, for the 
 purpose of dressing her cousin Anne to her heart's content, in 
 order to prove to the already captivated Lord Lympton that she 
 could look still more lovely, and still more irresistibly enchant- 
 ing, than he had ever j^et seen her. 
 
 Nor had Helen any reason to doubt the successful effect of 
 this very feminine manoeuvre ; for, considerably ere the waxen 
 tapers had began to fade before the light of day, the young 
 man had very explicitly declared to his fascinating- partner, that 
 he neither would, nor could, live without her; and she, on her 
 part (being, to confess the truth, as heartily in love as himself) 
 had very sweetly assured him that she had not the least wish 
 that he should make the experiment; provided always, that the 
 papas and mammas on both sides made no particular objection to 
 the course he seemed to prefer. 
 
 Had the amiable young nobleman been somewhat less of a 
 spoiled son and heir, it is possible that the advantages attending 
 a more brilliant connection might have occurred to his parents; 
 but, as it was, his earnest assurances that he never could love 
 any other woman as much as he loved Anne E/ixley, was 
 received as being so perfectly unanswerable a refutation to all 
 objections, that preparations for the marriage were set about 
 with as little delay as possible. Most certainly there can be no 
 instance on record in which the course of true love ran more 
 smooth, or was enlivened by a more brilliant atmosphere around 
 it; for not only E-othewell Castle and Beauchamp Park became 
 animated from garret to cellar with joyous preparations for the 
 
302 THE YOUNG HEIEESS. 
 
 ^vc(lcllu2•, but tlie whole neioflibonvlioocl becfime more or less 
 enlivened by it ; for all the party-giving portion of the popula- 
 tion seemed to think it a duty incumbent upon them to give 
 either a fine dinner or a fine dance, for the express purpose of 
 giving the happy J'oung couple an opportunity of making 
 love before the eyes of their friends and acquaintance. 
 
 And then came the bright and brilliant wedding; and then 
 the delightful little tour upon the Continent, and the happy 
 return to dear, beautiful Rothewell Castle, where one wing had 
 been splendidly fitted up for the young couple, who were to 
 make it their home whenever it pleased them so to do. 
 
 All this happiness was not Avitnessed, even by my sober- 
 minded heroine, without as much sympathy as sufliced to make 
 her happy too ; as happy, at least, as she thought she ever 
 could be in this lower world of ours. And assuredlv, notwith- 
 standing the sorrow and disappointment which had fallen upon 
 her, there was much in her situation to bring ha|)piness to such 
 a mind as hers. 
 
 She had learnt to be quietly and comfortably aware, that the 
 untoward accident of her having been born had not proved of 
 any very serious injury to her nncle's famil}'-, and this was a 
 great comfort to her. She might even, perhaps, have taught 
 herself to feel happy still, had it not been for the long and 
 frequent visits of George Harrington at the house of his father. 
 But these visits were very hostile to her peace. He always 
 spoke of Speedhurst Abbey, indeed, as a residence he greatly 
 admired, and for which he felt much partial attachment; never- 
 theless, it was clearly evident that he liked his father's little 
 parsonage belter; for it rarely happened that he ever came 
 there with the avowed intention of staying one week, without 
 remaining for three "^r four ; na}^, even when, asnotunfrequently 
 happened, either hib mother or his father, accompanied by one 
 of his sisters, had established themselves at Speedhurst, as his 
 guests, their visit seldom came to an end without his galloping 
 across the country in the interval, to inquire concerning the 
 health and welfare of those who had been left at home. 
 
 Helen neither was, nor could be insensible to all this, any 
 more than she was to the enduring sentiment in her own 
 bosom which taught her to understand it; but she gravely 
 schooled herself into the belief that time would cure tliem both 
 of the weakness of wishing for an union against which thero 
 were obstacles insurmountable, and which, though they might 
 bo concfuled, could never bo removed. 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 303 
 
 Poor Helen! all tliis time slie strove bard to be reasonable, 
 and sometimes, though not always, enjoyed tlie consolation of 
 believing that she was so ; but yet she might very easily have 
 been convinced of the reverse, had some happy accident led to a 
 discussion of any subject approaching the bugbear vision which 
 kept them asunder. 
 
 But months and months vrent on, without any such lucky 
 accident occurring, and without their advancing a single inch 
 on either side towards a better understanding of each other. 
 
 Her valued old friend, Mr. Phelps, too, found all his philoso- 
 phical speculations completely at fault. He had quite abandoned 
 his notion that she was in love with her Cousin Henry, from 
 the time that he had witnessed the joyous sympathy with which 
 she entered into his feelings when his regiment was ordered to 
 Ireland ; but he only gave up tliis idea to make room for 
 another. If Helen was not in love with her cousin, sho 
 certainly must be in love with George Harrington. But, if so, 
 why did she not marry him ? As to George Harrington's being 
 in love with her, he had long ago made up his mind on that 
 point; foi'; in the first place, he considered this result of their 
 frequent meetings as inevitable, and, in the next, he had seen 
 with his eyes, and understood with his heart, quite enough to 
 convince him that there was no room for doubt on that point. 
 
 But he was doomed, good man, to be puzzled for a while 
 longer ; for, though the frequent and very delightful companion- 
 ship between himself and the fair mistress of Beauchamp Park 
 continued to be enjoyed by them both as much as ever, there 
 never was the least approach made on either side towards 
 explaining the mystery. 
 
 This state of things tormented him considerably, and he had 
 very nearly made up his mind to ask her in good set terms why 
 she did not marry George Harrington, when several circum- 
 stances occurred which led him to think that it might be as well 
 to delay this direct mode of exammation a little longer. 
 
 Henry Rixley had not been many months quartered in 
 Ireland when the regiment of Guards to which he was 
 attached was recalled to England ; and, soon afterwards, a 
 short leave of absence was accorded him, for the purpose of 
 paying a visit to his family. 
 
 One of the devices which George Harrington put in action, in 
 order the more rationally to account for his so frequently for- 
 e;\king his om'u splendid residence, while he occupied the 
 identical little apartment in his father's house, which had been 
 
304 ■ THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 allotted to him in his boyhood, was the mixing himself as much 
 as possible in all the visiting in his fatlier*s neighbonvliood, and 
 promoting, by every means in his power, the frequency oF these 
 neighbourly meetings. 
 
 The hope, nay, pretty nearly the certainty, of meeting Helen 
 upon these occasions was, of course, his primal motive for this ; 
 but it was not the only one, as was made evident by the readiness 
 with which he accepted invitations for many dinner-parties to 
 which no ladies were admitted. The real state of the case was, 
 that his existence was so positively painfal to him when he was 
 too far distant to feel that the passing day, or the coming 
 morrow, might be cheered by seeing her, if only during the 
 fast-fleeting moments of a morning visit, that the avoiding it 
 was the end and object of all he did. 
 
 The only individual of his family who had any suspicion of 
 this was his sister Agnes; but it was rarely that he indulg'ed 
 himself in speaking of Helen even to her. The hearing her 
 repeat her conviction that her simple-mannered, but very puz- 
 zlino", fi'iend still loved him, disturbed his tranquillity more than 
 it consoled him, for his own heart perpetually told him that it 
 was so, notwithstanding the cruel steadiness with which she 
 checked every attempt he made to resume the tone of their 
 former intercourse. 
 
 His only source of steady hope lay in his persuasion, that if 
 she did not love him she loved no one else ; and that time might 
 teach her to feel that she was not wise in sacrificing a well- 
 tried affection for such vague reasonings as she had given him 
 reason to believe had dictated her refusal of his hand. 
 
 Meanwhile he contrived to make his frequent abode at the 
 Parsonage assume a sort of systematic shape, which saved him 
 the trouble of periodically accounting for it. He hired stables 
 for coach and saddle-horses, and converted a ci-devant tithe-barn 
 into a coach-house : having acliieved which, he discovered that 
 both his mother and sisters found so much comfort from the 
 arrangement, that he could not bear to think of depriving them 
 of it. 
 
 Helen saw all this, and understood it, too ; but still the 
 miserable feeling rested heavily upon her heart, that no attach- 
 ment could ever atone to such a man as George Harrington for 
 ft)rming* an alliance, any circumstance of which could be con- 
 sidered as deirradinsr to him. 
 
 It is true that six long years had passed since her separation 
 from her dear unhappy brother; and that during that long 
 
THE YOUXa HEIRESS. 305 
 
 interval she had never even been comforted or terrified bj hear- 
 ing of him. She remembered, also, for her uncle had deemed it 
 best to check her restless efforts to obtain tidings of him, by 
 making her, in some degree, acquainted with the result of the 
 inquest held on her ftither's body, and of the suspicions that the 
 flight of her brother had fixed upon him, which, though she 
 totally disbelieved, she still remembered; — but she felt in every 
 fibre of her heart that he was her brother, her fondly-loved 
 brother, still ; nor could even the love of Georgfe Harrino-ton 
 tempt her to endure the idea of placing herself in a position 
 which might teach her to dread receiving tidings of him. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 Things were in this state when Henry Rixley returned from 
 Ireland to Beauchamp Park. He had always been a favourite 
 in the neighbourhood ; nor was he at all likely to be less so 
 now, for every month that had passed over him since his destiny 
 had been changed from what he greatly dreaded to what he 
 greatly wished, had tended to improve him in many ways. 
 
 He was very nearly as tali in stature, and as stalwart in 
 limb, as his uncle of the Warren House; and this, indeed, 
 seemed to be the t3^pe of all the male descendants of the Rixley 
 race. Is^othing, therefore, was so favourable to their comeliness 
 as a little military drilling and deportment; and Henry, who, 
 when he had left his home, was only considered as a fine well- 
 grown youth, returned to it with the aspect and carriage of a 
 military-looking and distinguished gentleman. 
 
 His sister's noble marriage, too, had certainly helped to make 
 him an important personage in the neighbourhood ; and the 
 hunting-parties, dinner-parties, and dancing-parties given in 
 honour of his return were rather more numerous than could be 
 conveniently accommodated within the space of the three weeks 
 during which he was to remain at home. 
 
 Had Anne Rixley been Anne Rixley still, there can be no 
 doubt that Helen Beauchamp would have seized this occasion, 
 as joyfully as she had previously done all others of the same 
 kind, to promote every opportunity of obtaining for her petted 
 cousin the amusements which she was so well fitted both to 
 
 21 
 
306 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 embellish and enjoy. But Lady Lympton wanted no sucli aid ; 
 she was herself become the autocratic fete-qaeen of the whole 
 neighbourhood ; and though she would joyfully have admitted 
 her Cousin Helen as an ally, she had no want of her as a prime 
 minister, the Lady Honoria Curtis being as capable as she was 
 willing to fill the oflBce. 
 
 And thus it happened that my sober-minded heroine was not 
 unfrequently permitted to stay at home and read to her rheu- 
 matic aunt, without being accused of anything worse than 
 excessive kindness and inconceivable self-denial. 
 
 Kind she certainly was, but self-denying she was not. Had 
 she at this time learnt from good authority that George Har- 
 rinofton was about to leave the neio-hbourhood with no intention 
 of returning to it, she might probably have felt a pang at her 
 heart which she might have been puzzled to explain to herself 
 satisfactorily, for she was scarcely aware, perhaps, how much 
 of interest, if not of positive pleasure, was given to her existence 
 by frequently seeing him. But the meeting him at a fine dinner- 
 party, or at a crowded ball, gave her no pleasure whatever ; 
 for in such scenes she was often inclined to reproach herself for 
 not feeling as happy as she ought to be. 
 
 When she remembered her childhood, and the many painful 
 scenes and the many painful privations attending it, and com- 
 pared her present brilliant position with what had preceded it, 
 her heart reproached her with want of gratitude to heaven for 
 the blessings she now enjoyed. 
 
 And yet it was the memory of this hard and comfortless 
 childhood that furnished the images upon which her solitary 
 thoughts were most apt to dwell : and even when her heart was 
 aching from the conviction that she could never become the wife 
 of Georofe Harrington without forfeiting her own esteem, and 
 deserving to forfeiting his also — even then, the bitterest pang 
 which accompanied the thought of her brother arose from the 
 idea that she might live and die without ever beholding him 
 
 again ! 
 
 And it was in such moments as these that she felt it was 
 better for her, when her aunt had dismissed her for the night, to 
 sit in her own room and weep alone, than to deck her face in 
 smiles, and parade a ball-room. 
 
 Henry Rixley, however, was not the only gay recruit who 
 contributed at this time to enliven the neighbourhood. Sir 
 Richard Knighton, the son and successor of the late baronet of 
 Knighton Hall, had recently fixed his bachelor residence there ; 
 
THE YOUNG HEIEESS. 307 
 
 and at tine time that Henry returned to BeancTiamp Park Lis 
 house Avas enlivened by a party of J^onng men, whom its owner 
 had brought down with him from London, to enjoy for a week 
 or two the field-sports, for which the neighbourhood was 
 celebrated. 
 
 Of course, wherever there was a ball or a hunt, Sir Richard 
 Knighton and his three gay guests were sure to be present ; 
 but the dinners with which they were regaled were enjoyed at 
 the mansion of their hospitable host, who declared his party too 
 large to be led out on foraging expeditions, without risking the 
 imputation of taking unfair advantage of their numbers, for the 
 purpose of laying waste the country. 
 
 The bachelors dinners at Knighton Hall, however, were 
 repeated often enough to bring his guests sufficiently well 
 acquainted with the gentlemen of the neighbourhood, to pre- 
 vent their being looked upon or treated as strangers by any ot 
 his friends. 
 
 The festivities of the neighbourhood, however, Vvcre by no 
 means confined during this time to hunting, shooting, and 
 dining; on the contrary, a sudden mania for dancing seemed to 
 seize all the young ladies in the vicinity of Knighton Hall ; and 
 the male part of the population were well pleased to content the 
 females by indulging them, while they propitiated the favour of 
 the party at Knighton Hall at one and the same time. 
 
 It was on the morning after the first of these well-timed 
 dancing-parties that a quiet tete-a-tete between Helen and her 
 Aunt Rixley was interrupted by the arrival of the two Miss 
 Harringtons and their brother, who had rode over, as Jana 
 Harrington declared, for the express purpose of assuring Miss 
 Beauchamp that she had lost by far the most agreeable party 
 that had ever been given in the country by so foolishly choosing 
 to stay at home the evening before, 
 
 " Has not your Cousin Henry told you what a perfect ball it 
 was ?" demanded Jane Harrington, eagerly. 
 
 " Not yet, dear Jane," replied Helen, " for I have not seen 
 him. He set off* to Rothewell Castle before I was up, and as he 
 is not returned yet, I presume he went to breakfast there." 
 
 "And very right, too," replied the young lady, joyously chip- 
 ping her hands, " I will bet you what you like that he is gone 
 there on purpose to make Lady Lympton give a ball before this 
 glorious constellation has left our hemisphere. Just fancy four 
 superbly handsome young unmarried men in one house! And 
 all such divine dancers, too ! Just fancy, dearest Mrs. Rixley, 
 21—2 
 
308 THE YOUXG HEIRESS. 
 
 the effect likely to bs produced by such a plienomeuon in a 
 quiet neighbourhood like this ! " 
 
 "Among the hearts of the young ladies, my dear?" said Mrs. 
 Rlxley, laughing. " Is that what you mean ? " 
 
 " Yes, to bs sure it is, my dear lady ! " replied Jane, g'^iily, 
 '■ and by way of a sign and symptom of the said effect, just look 
 at Agues. She began to blush, as I daresay you observed, the 
 very first moment that I mentioned the Knighton Hall heroes, 
 and her cheeks have been going on crescendo ever since. Just 
 ask her, dear Helen, what she thinks of the magnificent Colonel 
 somebody, that she danced with twice, besides the cotillon. Or 
 of the exquisitely elegant and enchantingly languishing Captain 
 what's-his-name, who not only honoured her by devoting him- 
 self throughout an interminable polka to her service, but did her 
 the still greater honour of directing his lorgnette towards her to 
 the infinite advantag'e of her complexion during the supper, for 
 she blushed, then, very much, as she blushes now," 
 
 " Whatever happened to me at this famous ball must have 
 been less overpowering in its effects than what happened tliere 
 to you, Jane," replied her sister, rather gravely, "for it i3 
 evident that something or other has completely turned vour 
 head." 
 
 " Upon my word, j'oung ladies," said Mrs. Rixley, laughing, 
 " I begin very seriously to regret that I did not drive Helen 
 away from me. My only complaint against her is, that she is 
 rather too reasonable for her age, and this defect might, very 
 probably, have been cured if she had accepted Mrs, Wilcox's 
 invitation for last night. But do let me hear your opinion of 
 these brilliant strano-ers, Mr, Harrin2:ton," 
 
 " I must understand what you require of me before I answer 
 you, Mrs. Rixley," replied Mr. Harrington, assuming a look of 
 profound meditation. "Do 3'ou ask my opinion of their intel- 
 lects, their acquirements, their manners, their persons, or their 
 dress?" 
 
 " Your catalogue of qualities reaches a climax, Mr, Harring- 
 ton, and let me hear you answer to the last, and most important 
 article first. How did you like their dress ? " demanded the old 
 lady, solemnly, 
 
 "Unimpeachable! " ho re^Dlied, in the same tone. 
 
 " Now, then, go on to the rest," said she.. " It does not 
 matter so much, certainly, but, nevertheless, we must of course 
 feal interested in every particular concerning those who have 
 produced such conquering effects by their presence." 
 
THE YOUNG HEIKESS. 309 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Rixley ! do not langli at us so uiimerclfLilly ! " 
 said Jane Hai'iington, looking a little ashamed of her ecstasies, 
 " but let George tell you in sober matter-of-fact style if the 
 party assembled at Mrs. Wilcox's last night was not greatly 
 enlivened by the presence of Sir Richard Knighton, and his 
 three bachelor guests." 
 
 " The difficulty lies in treating such matters-of-fact with 
 sobriety," replied George. " However," he added, " I will, in 
 all my best, obey you, madam. Of Sir Richard Knighton him- 
 self I need say nothing-, for you have the pleasure of knowing- 
 him already. Of the three guests that he has now brought 
 down to enliven his bachelor solitude, I should say, speaking 
 collectively, that they seem to have been selected for the pur- 
 pose of displaying the striking- effect of contrast. The least 
 invidious way of classing them as first, second, and third, will be 
 by taking the eldest as number one, and so on. I must begin, 
 therefore, with the gentleman called Hackwood — Captain 
 Hackwood, I think Knighton called him. He is still a young 
 man, certainly not more than four or five and thirty, and is, I 
 daresay, generally considered as handsome ; but no one, I should 
 imagine, could ever have thought him so handsome as he 
 evidently thinks himself. This is a disadvantage to him ; at 
 least, it appeared so to me. What was your opinion upon this 
 point, Agnes ?" 
 
 " I do beg to assure you all, relatives and friends, that I did 
 not consider Captain Hackwood's demeanour with sufficient 
 attention to discover whether he thought himself handsome or 
 not," replied Agnes, earnestly. 
 
 " Your attention, perhaps, was engaged elsewhere, my dear," 
 said the old lady, looking- rather mischievous. 
 
 The tell-tale cheeks of poor Agnes again excited a smile from 
 her sister, but she only shook her head, and said nothing. 
 
 " The next in review," resumed Mr. Harrington, " was, if I 
 mistake not, called Spencer, but I know nothing as to his rank 
 or title, for I only heard Knighton call him ' Spencer,' and 
 nothing- more. Of him, I think, I may fairly say, that he 
 neither was handsome nor thought himself so, but he seemed 
 to be possessed of a degree of vivacity which knew no bounds. 
 It repeatedly appeared to me that he was dancing with two or 
 three ladies at once, and if I may judge from the smiles, or 
 rather, I should say, the laughter, with which his various 
 partners rejilied to all he said, his wit must have been as brisk 
 as his heels." 
 
310 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 " And now then for the third portrait, George," said his 
 ehlest sister, with a furtive glance at Agnes. 
 
 " Yes, Jane; I will endeavour to give the third portrait also, 
 but it is by no means so easy a task as what has gone before it. 
 The name of the third gentleman, ladies, is Maurice, Colonel 
 Maurice, and most assuredly he is as little like the other two as 
 it is well possible to imagine. I scarcely know why it is, that I 
 feel persuaded of his being younger than either of the others, 
 for his complexion, which must always have been rather the 
 reverse of fair, is now evidently sunburnt, and not only has he 
 the title of Colonel, but he decidedly looks like a man that has 
 seen service. K'evertheless, I do not think he can be more than 
 seven or eig'ht and twent)'-. He is superbly tall, and, in ray 
 estimation, superbly handsome also. And here I feel that I 
 must stop short, because I am quite at a loss to explain, or even 
 to express, the sort of impression he has made upon me. I have 
 a conviction, which is certainly anything but reasonable, con- 
 siderinof that I know no more of him than I do of the man in 
 the moon, but, nevertheless, I have a strong conviction that he 
 is — to speak in plain prose — worth meeting again." 
 
 *' And is that all you can say of him after so magnificent a 
 preface ? " said Jane. 
 
 "No," replied her brother. "I can say something more for 
 him. I can say that I should like Miss Beauchamp to see 
 him. I should like to hear her opinion of him." 
 
 These words produced a strangely different impression upon 
 Helen herself, and upon her friend Agnes. The first thought of 
 Agnes might be rendered thus — "Well! I suppose he is cured 
 at last ! If he were not, he could scarcely wish to set her upon . 
 a deliberate examination of the person and manners of Colonel 
 Maurice ! " 
 
 Whereas the first thought of Helen might be thus expressed. 
 "Alas! Not all my reserve, not all my care has prevented him 
 from knowinof that I love him still !" 
 
 The visit did not last much longer, for both the sisters were 
 fully bent upon making- many other visits ; partly for the pur- 
 pose of learning what other people thought about all that had 
 occupied their own thoughts so much, and partly in the hope of 
 learning that the delightful party of the previous evening was 
 likely to be assembled somewhere or other at no distant date, 
 and at no distant spot. 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 311 
 
 CHAPTER XLTX. 
 
 The two Miss Harringtons were not tlie only persons who 
 admired the guests at Knighton Hall sufficiently to desire to see 
 raore of them ; and the consequence of this was, as they had 
 hoped, that many more very delightful balls followed that 
 which had first introduced them to the neighbourhood. 
 
 Nor did Helen feel at all disposed to be less hospitable on this 
 occasion than she was wont to be on all others ; on the contrary, 
 she did not listen to George Harrinofton's more than once 
 repeated expressions of admiration respecting the much=talked- 
 of Colonel Maurice, without feeling considerable curiosity to see 
 him. 
 
 She had decided upon gratifying this very natural feeling 
 at Rothewell Castle, where her Cousin Anne, as usual, had 
 taken measures for the gayest entertainment which had as yet 
 been given to the strangers. The fete was to begin by charades, 
 in the arrangement of which Lady Lyrapton was considered as 
 unrivalled, and to conclude with dancing ; and so attractive was 
 this programme, that not only Helen, but her invalid aunt also, 
 decided upon being present on the occasion. 
 
 But destiny is stronger even than woman's will, and, there- 
 fore, they were not present, for on the morning of the festival 
 Mr. Rixley broke his arm, by a fall from his horse, and though 
 no alarming symptoms followed the accident, his faithful 
 woman-kind would not leave him, and thus it happened that 
 this bright constellation came, blazed, and passed away, without 
 either Helen or her aunt having been present upon any single 
 occasion when it was visible. 
 
 There was certainly something like a feeling of regret in the 
 mind of my heroine when she heard that the party was broken 
 up, and that George Harrington was gone to Speedhust Abbey, 
 accompanied by Colonel Maurice. 
 
 George Harrington assuredly did not leave the neighbourhood 
 without making a farewell call at Beauchamp Park, and he 
 came, too, accompanied by this new friend; but as ill-luck would 
 have it (as the familiar phrase expresses such mishaps), its fair 
 bnt unlucky lady was wandering away with Mr. Phelps and her 
 
312 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 Cousin Henry, at too great a distance from the house to be 
 recalled by the messenger whom her aunt dispatched to look 
 for her. 
 
 Helen had fully intended to see this Colonel Maurice before 
 lie left the neighbourhood, for the terms in which she had heard 
 George Harrington speak of him had awakened a deeper feeling 
 than mere curiositj^ George Harrington was by no means apt 
 to run into sudden intimacy with anyone, and she had already 
 heard enough of the terms on which they appeared to be 
 together, to make her feel very deeply persuaded that he must 
 be an individual of no common stamp. 
 
 The hearing of their setting off iete-ci-tete for Speedhurst 
 Abbey added condiderably to this persuasion, as well as to her 
 disappointment at not having seen him, and she felt, rather 
 justly perhaps, angry with herself for giving way as she had 
 done to her growing dislike of gay society, to which she very 
 fairly attributed it. 
 
 It was with even more pleasure than usual that she welcomed 
 a visit from Jane and Aefnes, the mornino" after their brother's 
 departure, for instead of feeling inclined to quiz them for their 
 unceasing rhapsodies in praise of the marvellous stranger, who 
 had created so unusual a sensation in the neighbourhood, she 
 was now anxious to hear all they had to say about him, and, 
 contrary to custom, led to the subject herself, by saying, " And 
 so, dear friends, your brother has carried off captive this 
 wondrous hero of whom I have heard so much." 
 
 But instead of replying in the same gay strain, Agnes only 
 sighed, while Jane answered in a sort of matter-of-fact, and not 
 very well pleased tone, " Do not let us talk any more about him, 
 dear Helen ! I, for one, have talked of him, I am afraid, a 
 great deal too much." 
 
 " Then, at any rate, do not talk of him any more ! " returned 
 Agnes, with considerably less than her usual gentleness of 
 manner. 
 
 " You need not alarm j^ourself, Agnes," said Jane, demurely. 
 " I have not the least intention of talking of him at all. But 
 we have agreed, you know, not to begin noiv having any secrets 
 concealed from Helen, because we never have had an}'-, so, if you 
 please, you must not interrupt me while I tell her what has just 
 happened," 
 
 " Upon condition that you never tell anybody else, I have no 
 objection to your telling Helen," said Agnes : " I should have 
 no more idea of keeping a secret from her than I should of 
 
THE TOUXG HEIRESS. 313 
 
 keeping ifc from you, Jane, for I love her quite as well as if she 
 were my own sister. Oiily she must promise not to teaze me 
 about it afterwards." 
 
 "I do promise!" replied Helen, gaily, but blushing at the 
 same time like a clove carnation at this allusion to sisterhood. 
 "But pray make haste! I am all im]3atience. What is this 
 secret about ? " 
 
 " About love and marriage, of course, Helen," replied Jane 
 Harrington, laughing, " How can girls have any other 
 secrets ? " 
 
 " Halte-Ia ! " interrupted Agnes, holding up her finger, and 
 shaking her head. " Your preface, Jane, is calculated to 
 deceive Helen in a most important particular. This secret, 
 as far as it concerns me, has no more to do with marriage than 
 with murder." 
 
 " I should be sorry to deceive Helen in any way," returned 
 Jane. "Nevertheless, my tale has much more to do with 
 marriage than with murder. Captain Hackwood never pro- 
 posed to murder you, Agnes. At least, I never heard that he 
 had said anything about it as yet. But he did propose to marry 
 you." 
 
 " After a fortnight's acquaintance ! " cried Helen, with a 
 gesture of astonishment. 
 
 " Yes, Helen, exactly so," replied her friend, in an accent 
 which expressed very perfect sympathy with the feeling mani- 
 fested by that gesture. 
 
 "Oh, yes, that is all very true," said Jane, with a look that 
 seemed to express superior wisdom, " but nothing could be more 
 evident than that he really was most devotedly attached — and it 
 was evident from his proposals, too, that he would have been an 
 excellent match." 
 
 " Excellent match ! Fie upon you, Jane," exclaimed her 
 sister, "I wonder how you would have liked to make an 
 excellent match with a man of whom you knew absolutely 
 nothing." 
 
 "Well, Agnes, nobody has blamed you for refusing him. 
 Only, you know, it is impossible to deny that other people 
 besides this unfortunate Captain Hackwood, may fall in love in 
 a very short space of time." 
 
 "Yes, Jane, that is quite true. Only, in general, people do 
 not venture to propose marriage after the acquaintance of a few 
 days," said Helen. 
 
 " Pray do not think that I wanted Agnes to marry him ! 
 
o 
 
 14 THE YOUNG IIEIEESS. 
 
 Nothing* conld be further from my thoughts, I hope that if she 
 ever marries at all, it will be some one that she really loves," 
 returned Jane, "and in that case," she added, "I should not feel 
 inclined to be at all severe upon her, even if I found out that 
 she, too, had fallen in love before she had known the happy man 
 for a fortnight," 
 
 " Let us look at your new g'arden, Helen ! " said Agnes 
 Harrington, suddenly starting up, and going to the window, 
 
 " You want to see my new garden ?" replied Helen. " Well, 
 then, I will take you to see it. But it does not lie in that 
 direction, dear friend ! I should have thought, Agnes, that you 
 knew the geography of Beauchamp Park better, than to look 
 for the flower-gardens in that direction." 
 
 " Agnes is very stupid sometimes, and not only forgets her 
 geography, but her chronology, too, occasionally." 
 
 Helen had soon enveloped herself in her ever-ready garden 
 costume, and the three young ladies set out to explore conserva- 
 tories, and examine exotics. But the only person who, upon 
 this occasion, seemed to take any real interest in the business, 
 was Jane Harrington, and she speedily got into very earnest 
 conversation with the head-gardener, who was an old acquaint- 
 ance, and not unfrequently the generous bestower of half a 
 dozen ultra-precious flower-seeds. 
 
 This left the two friends j;ar excellence, to all 'intents and pur- 
 poses, tete-a-tete, and the}'', neither of them, seemed disposed to 
 lose the opportunity of exchanging a few words in a more 
 serious tone than accorded with the temper of the lively 
 Jane, 
 
 " Tell me, my dearest Agnes, what is it that Jane seems so 
 bent upon tormenting you about ?" said Helen. " Did this per- 
 fect stranger really and seriously propose to you ? " 
 
 "Yes, indeed, did he," replied Agnes, "but it is very dis- 
 agreeable to me to confess it, even to you ; for it is next to 
 impossible that you should not suppose me guilty of giving very 
 extraordinary encouragement," 
 
 " Let it be next to impossible," replied Helen, affectionately, 
 " provided you do not suspect its being so. I know you too 
 well, Agnes," she added, " not to be quite aware that this 
 Captain Hackwood's presumption was no fault of yours. But 
 do tell me, dearest, did it not make your brother very angry ? " 
 
 "Yes, truly, did it ! I have rarely seen him look so gravely 
 displeased at anything," replied Agnes, " and I strongly suspect 
 tJiat this very sudden fancy of his, for returning to Specdhurst, 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 315 
 
 exactly at the time when we all so much desired to have him 
 here, originated in his wish to avoid encountering' Captain 
 Hackwood again. When George dislikes a person, I know of 
 old that he finds it a difficult task to be civil, and in this case, 
 the difficulty must be increased, you know, by there not being 
 any very ostensible cause of offence. Entre nous, I certainly 
 love George all the better for being in a rage with any man 
 who could suppose that I should be ready to accept him as my ' 
 husband upon the acquaintance of a few days ; but, neverthe- 
 less, I have no doubt in the world that the man thought he was 
 paying me a prodigious compliment, instead of being imper- 
 tinent. However, it is quite as well, perhaps, that George 
 should take himself off." 
 
 " Perhaps it is," replied Helen. And after a moment's pause, 
 she added, "But it seems that he did not go alone ? He appears 
 to have fallen into a fit of friendship as suddenly as the 
 unfortunate Captain fell into a fit of love." 
 
 "You don't mean to blame George for inviting such a man 
 as Colonel Maurice to visit him, do you, Helen?" returned 
 Agnes, colouring. 
 
 " Blame him ? Good heavens, Agnes, no ! " responded Helen, 
 in rather an indignant tone, and with a flushing cheek, which 
 seemed to reflect that of her friend. 
 
 " If you had not shut yourself up, as you have done, since all 
 our gaieties have been going on," said Agnes, " you might have 
 had an opportunity of judging for yourself, as to Colonel 
 M^rice's claims to the honour of an invitation, even to Speed- 
 hurst Abbey. I very much wish that you had seen him, 
 Helen." 
 
 " I wish so, too, my dear," replied her friend, with a quiet 
 smile, which had a little the air of quizzing her vehemence. 
 
 " If you think it extraordinary that George should have 
 invited this gentleman to his house, you will find it still more 
 so, I imagine, when I tell you that now, for the first time since 
 he has been in possession of the property, George has made the 
 notable discovery, that he has been over-negligent of the duties 
 of hospitality towards his uncle's old friends and neighbours, 
 and that he has invited my father, mother, sister, and myself, to 
 come to him next week for a fortnight, in order to assist him in 
 obliterating the character which he fears he has acquired, of 
 being a churlish neighbour." 
 
 " I am very glad to hear it," said Heler, with great sincerity ; 
 for it had more than once occurrcil to her tl^nt he was not 
 
316 THE YOUNG HEIRESS, 
 
 exactly fulfillin^^' the duties of his station, by so constantly 
 absenting" himself from his property and his dependants; and if 
 something like a consciousness that she was herself the cause of 
 this, might bring with it a feeling that was not altogether pain- 
 ful, she, nevertheless, heard of his making this effort with 
 pleasure, and the accent with which she had spoken made this 
 so evident, that Agnes quite forgave the symptoms of quizzing 
 which had preceded it, and the farewell kiss that was exchanged 
 between them was as cordial on both sides as long years of 
 friendship could make it. 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 There are probably but few human actions which may not 
 be traced to mixed motives, though one among them may 
 have settled a wavering balance, and been the final cause of the 
 act. And so it was in the case of this sudden resolution on the 
 part of George Harrington. He really did think that he had 
 not been sufficiently sociable in his intercourse with his Speed- 
 hurst neighbours; and he really did dislike the idea of again 
 encountering the consummate puppyism and audacity of Captain 
 Hackwood; moreover, he had never before met any man whose 
 acquaintance he so much wished to cultivate as he did tliat«of 
 Colonel Maurice; but the final and immediate cause of the 
 resolution he had taken, was the having heard from Sir 
 Richard Knighton, that his friend Hackwood had promised to 
 remain with him for some weeks longer, for the purpose of 
 superintending the training of a young horse, preparatory to 
 his making his dehiU at the approaching races, which annually 
 took place in the neighbourhood. 
 
 Now, if anyone had hinted to George Harrington that it was 
 possible his sister Agnes might change her mind, and end by 
 accepting the man she had so promptly refused, he would have 
 been excessively indignant at such a supposition ; yet, neverthe- 
 less, it is certain that he did not like her remaining where she 
 would, in all probability, meet him frequently, and it was this 
 which first suggested the idea of opening his own house in a 
 more hospitiible style than he had yet done since he came into 
 possession of it. 
 
THE rorxG -nErREss, 317 
 
 Ifc is not necessary that we sliould follow George Harrington 
 and his party to Spsedhurst Abbey, in order to assure ourselves 
 that the honours of that handsome and well-conducted mansion 
 were well performed; neither have we any pages to spare for a 
 description of the quiet, it' not very happy days which Helen 
 passed during the absence of the whole Harrington family from 
 her neighbourhood; but after the Speedhurst party was broken 
 up, several circumstances occurred which must be related as 
 essential to the progress of my narrative. 
 
 Helen and Agnes were not only sociable neighbours when 
 within reach of each other, but very regular correspondents 
 when they were separated, and there was no want, therefore, of 
 many a pleasant document dispatched from Speedhurst Abbey 
 to Beauchamp Park, redolent of gay doings, and of happy com- 
 panionships. 
 
 The letters of my heroine, in return, were, it must be con- 
 fessed, infinitely less amusing ; for Helen had little or nothing 
 to relate beyond the completion of some garden structure or 
 the propitious birth of a seedling geranium. 
 
 It is certain that, from causes either well understood or mis- 
 understood, the frequent near neighbourhood of George Harring- 
 ton and Helen Beauchamp was a doubtful blessing to them both ; 
 nevertheless, it is certain, also, that the hours of my heroine 
 passed with less of hope, and more of heaviness, when all pos- 
 sibility of her meeting the man whose hand she had refused 
 was beyond her reach, than when every sun that rose brought 
 with it the possibility that she miglit see him before it set. 
 
 It was not, therefore, without a sensation, which a good deal 
 resembled pleasure, that she listened to her maid's news, while 
 her long tresses were under the brush ; for that news went the 
 pleasant length of declaring that the family at the Oaks were 
 expected to return on the morrow, and that the young squire of 
 Speedhurst was coming with them. 
 
 It boots not to tell how many times Helen turned her head 
 upon the pillow, before she went to sleep that night, but it is 
 alDSolutely necessary to my narrative that I should mention, 
 that Mr. George Harrington called at the Park at an unusually 
 early hour on the following day, and omitting the ordinary- 
 ceremony of asking for Mrs. Rixley, inquired if Miss Beau- 
 champ were at home, and upon being answered in the affirm- 
 ative, sent in his name, with a request that he might see her 
 immediately. 
 
 There was something' sufficiently unusual in the form of this 
 
318 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 message to cause a slight paliDitation of the heart to the lady of 
 the mansion; she answered, however, with great apparent com- 
 posure, that she should be glad to see him, and in the next 
 moment he entered her morning sitting-room. 
 
 " You must forgive my want of ceremony, my dear Miss 
 Beauchamp," he said ; " but I have news to tell you that I feel 
 sure will be interesting to you ; and as my tidings are for the 
 present to be kept secret from the world in general, I have 
 ventured to make my way to you in the most direct manner 
 possible." 
 
 She shook hands with him in the way she had carefully taught 
 herself, and which was the very perfection of neighbourly 
 friendliness, and nothing either less or more. 
 
 " I am quite sure that your tidings are pleasant tidings," she 
 said, "by your manner of announcing them; so pray sit down, 
 and tell me what they are." 
 
 "I know you love Agnes," he replied, "and the friendship 
 between you is not of yesterday; you will not be greatly sur- 
 prised, therefore, when I tell you that I come, commissioned by 
 herself, to tell you that she is going to be married — bat not to 
 Captain Hackwood, Miss Beauchamp." 
 
 "Of that I am very sure, for reasons that shall be name- 
 less," replied Helen; "but I will venture to go still further 
 than that, Mr. Harrington ; " she added, " I would venture 
 a little bet, that I could guess, not only who ifc is not, but who 
 it is." 
 
 "Indeed!" he exclaimed; "that surprises me a little, I 
 confess ; for when you last saw Agnes, I very much doubt it 
 she could have told as much herself." 
 
 " Very likely not," said Helen, laughing ; " but lookers-on, 
 you know, sometimes — . The proverb is somewhat musty, but 
 there is truth in it." 
 
 "Assuredl}^ there is," he replied; "only in this case it does 
 not apply, fair lady ; for if T am not greatly mistaken, you never 
 ivere a looker-on. I am tolerably sure, moreover, that you never 
 saw the gentleman in question." 
 
 " That may be very true," returned Helen, " and yet I may 
 be able to make good my boast. Eyes are not the only means 
 by which we can become acquainted with individuals." 
 
 " Then, perhaps, Agnes was not so heart-whole as I fancied 
 when I took her away ? " rejoined Mr. Harrington. " Perhaps 
 you heard her speak of the person to whom j^ou allude ? " 
 
 " Scarcely, Mr. Harrington," replied Helen, earnestly, fearful 
 
THE YOUNG HEIKESS. 319 
 
 she sbonid do her friend injustice ; "but I have heard you speak 
 of him." 
 
 " Yes, you have," he replied ; " I remember it. I remember 
 thinking that j'on would agree with me in my judgment of him. 
 And I think so still, Miss Beauchamp ; and it is for that reason 
 that I think also that the news I bring you is good news. Yes, 
 you are quite right. My sister Agnes is engaged to be married 
 to Colonel Maurice." 
 
 " It is good news tome!" replied Helen, with deep feeling. 
 "The heart of Agnes is no common heart; and it is more 
 than mere pleasure, it is happiness to me to know that her 
 choice has fallen upon a man that you can speak of as you did 
 of this Colonel Maurice." 
 
 " And, believe me, it is a source of happiness to me, too, Miss 
 Beauchamp," replied Mr. Harrington ; " and I trust I do not 
 flatter myself in believing that, when you shall have become 
 acquainted with him, your own judgment will justify my opinion 
 — my personal opinion of him. I am sure, it will," he added, 
 with a slight augmentation of colour, which gave additional 
 earnestness to his words ; " but yet, Miss Beauchamp, 3^our 
 indulgence must go further still before you will be able fully to 
 approve this marriage for my sister." 
 
 " I understand you," she replied, smiling. " The sister of 
 Speedhurst Abbey ought, perhaps, (ought in one sense) to 
 expect a larger settlement than this young soldier may have to 
 offer. And yet the rank he has so early attained looks as if he 
 had influential friends." 
 
 " ISTo ; that is not it. In the first place, he does not owe his 
 rank to any influential friends, but solely, using his own modest 
 phrase, to his own good luck in the service," replied Harring- 
 ton ; "and as to his power of making a settlement," he added, 
 " that has nothing to do with it either. I know he told me that 
 he was enabled, by a recent legacy from his earliest military 
 friend, to ofier a very respectable sum for that purpose. But 
 no ! the difficulty does not lie there, Helen; and I have a pain- 
 ful misgiving that, when I name it, you will consider it as a much 
 more important objection than I do. I am a positive coward 
 about it, for I declare to you that I dread the expression of your 
 face upon hearing it." 
 
 "Nonsense, Mr Harrington ! I am sure you cannot be in 
 earnest," she replied, laughing. "You must be quite sure, I 
 should think, that a man beloved by Agnes, and approved by 
 you, cannot be in much danger of appearing objectionable to me." 
 
320 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 " You are all kindness," said he, " and I listen with full con- 
 fidence to the assurance of toleration which you so cordially 
 give. But, believe me, my kind friend, your phrase, approved 
 1)y me, goes but a little way towards expressing what my feel- 
 ing's are respecting Colonel Maurice. You know Agnes well, 
 and, perhaps, I know her better still ; but I suspect we shall 
 both agree in confessing, dearly as we love her, that she is not 
 quite perfect. She is much too fastidious in her likings, and in 
 her dislikings. She is nearly three years older than you are, 
 and yet it is a certain fact that, till she had the advantage of 
 knowing you, she never formed any intimacy out of her own 
 family. She has had repeated offers of marriage made in a less 
 objectionable style than that of Captain Hackwood ; but though 
 upon former occasions she may have been less angry, she has 
 never been at all more inclined to accept any. In short, Colonel 
 Maurice is the first man she ever looked upon for a moment 
 with an eye of favour ; and, knowing her as I do, I feel con- 
 vinced that the impression he has made upon her heart will 
 never be obliterated. That this conviction has great weight 
 with me, is certain ; but is far, very far, from being my onl}'-, 
 or even my chief, reason for wishing the connection ; but the 
 real fact is, dear friend, that I have never met with any man 
 whom I could wish to call my brother till I met with him." 
 
 '' Need I tell you that it is a pleasure to me to hear you say 
 so?" returned Helen, earnestly. "Dear Agnes!" she con- 
 tinned, while tears of tenderness started to her eyes, " with all 
 her fastidiousness, she could never be happy without loving, 
 and being loved ; and now, thank Heaven! this destiny seems 
 assured to her," 
 
 " But you have not yet heard the ONE thing which I fear 
 will appear so much more terrible in your eyes than it does in 
 mine !" said he. 
 
 " I greatly doubt it," .she replied, witha very cheering smile; 
 " I greatly doubt that anything yoa can have left to tell will 
 suffice to neutralize what I have heard already." 
 
 " Well ! I will hope so too," replied he, starting up, and gaily 
 approaching her ; "and I believe yoa ought to be angpy with 
 me for doubting it: for, after all, it cannot be put in competition 
 for a moment for one-hundredth part of what is on the other 
 side of the balance. But the fact is, Helen Beauchamp, that the 
 man whom my heart thus joyfully welcomes as a brother is a 
 natural son." 
 
 George Harrington, as ho uttered these word?, was standing 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 321 
 
 immeclif\i-ely in front of Helen, and hei' eyes were earnestly fixed 
 upon his face. He saw and felt this with the sort of trepidation 
 which an earnest look from her ahvays occasioned him: but he 
 was totally unprepared for what followed. Her eyes, which 
 were raised to his face with an expression of gentle, tranquil 
 confidence and hope, closed for an instant, and when they opened 
 again, all the tranquillity was gone, and they were raised to 
 heaven with a look that spoke more of rapturous thanksgiving 
 than of doubts and fears, reasonably satisfied. She rose from 
 her chair, and extending both her hands, placed them for a 
 moment in both his, which seemed to open instinctively to re- 
 ceive them, and then she as suddenly withdrew them, and sat 
 down again ; and, finally, she burst into a passion of tears, 
 laying her arms upon the little table which stood beside her, 
 and hiding her face upon her hands while she continued to sob 
 convulsively. 
 
 Notwithstanding the habitual sort of forbearance which the 
 steady demeanour of Helen had taught him to understand was 
 necessary to the continuance of their friendship, George Har- 
 rington now lost all command of himself, and dropped on his 
 knees before her. 
 
 The movement might, however, be described as involuntary, 
 as he knew not himself what he meant by it, for he was most 
 completely at a loss how to interpret the cause or signification 
 of her emotion. Neither did she seem at all disposed to eluci- 
 date the mystery, for having indulged herself in the luxury of 
 weeping without ceremony or restraint for the space of about 
 two minutes and a half, she gently raised her head again, and 
 looked at him with a smile which, instead of being likely to 
 explain the cause of her tears, expressed nothing but the fullest 
 and most radiant satisfaction. 
 
 "Pray do not kneel, dear friend!" she exclaimed, playfully 
 extending her hand in very regal style as a signal that he might 
 change his posture for one less humble ; " pray do not kneel ! " 
 she repeated in a voice that had then nothing of playfulness in 
 it. " It is I who ought rather to kneel to you, to implore your 
 forgiveness for having so vilely misunderstood your noble 
 heart!" 
 
 " Helen !" he replied, looking at her with astonishment, which 
 was, however, strongly blended with delight, " Helen ! dearest 
 and best, ever best and dearest, though ever a mystery, you must 
 long have seen that I am in your power. You may not have seen, 
 perhaps, how sincerely I have struggled to escape. Bat this 
 22 
 
322 THE YOUXG HEmESS. 
 
 matters not; vou know, you miist know, thnt these said strur^- 
 gles have been of none effect, and that a word, a look, a g-esture 
 is enough — has been enough you see — to bring me to 3'our feet 
 again, with the confession on my lips, that I never can be liapjDy 
 without 3"ou. You say that you have misunderstood me, Helen. 
 How can this be ? What have I done or said that could bo 
 mistaken ? But it matters not, dearest ! It shall be cnouoh 
 for me to know that you misunderstand me no longer ! What- 
 ever the delusion was, I feel assured you were not to blame for 
 it, and only confirm by one word the hope that those dear eyes 
 now give me, and I will ask for no further explanation." 
 
 "But the explanation must be listened to," replied Helen, 
 still vainly endeavouring to raise him from his kneeling' posture, 
 *' and all I can say before you receive it is this, that if, after re- 
 ceiving it, you still persist in wishing me to become your wife, 
 I shall no longer offer any opposition to that wish." 
 
 The animated delight likely to be experienced by a man both 
 heartily and deliberately in love, upon listening to such words 
 after having despaired of ever hearing them, is pretty nearly 
 equal in its intensity to the dulness produced on the minds of 
 others by all attempts at describing it. Kot a word, therefore, 
 shall be said about it. The interview, after all, was but a short 
 one, for Helen sent him away by so very sincere an assurance 
 that she longed to be alone, that he could neither doubt its truth 
 nor resist it. 
 
 "Remember," she said, " that it is all very well for you, hot- 
 headed and impetuous young man as you are, to make up your 
 mind upon this most important question, ■without at all know- 
 ing Avhat I may have to confess to you of a nature to make you 
 alter your mind ; but the case is different with me. My fate 
 cannot be decided till you have been made acquainted with the 
 motives of my past conduct. If after this you shall still wish 
 me to be your wife, I know of no reason in the world which 
 should prevent my being so. — And now leave me, George Har- 
 rington ! It will not take me long to commit to paper the con- 
 fession I have promised you, and if neither men nor horses fail 
 me, you shall not wait long for the document." 
 
 Before she had ceased speaking', George Harrington wag 
 already on his feet, and having pressed his lips upon her hand 
 as bhe uttered the last word, he sprang to the door, opened and 
 closed it behind him, without the loss of a moment. 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 323 
 
 CHAPTER LT. 
 
 Helen kept her word. She lost no time either in writing her 
 dispatch, or in sending" it, and the following letter reached the 
 hands of George Harrington at least an hour before he dared to 
 expect it. 
 
 "I know not," it began, "whether, after reading what I am 
 about to write, you will consider it a self-accusation or a self- 
 acquittal. All I can answer for is, that my statement shall be 
 a true one, I presume that you have known, pretty nearly as 
 long as you have known me, that the early part of my life, and 
 as long as I was called Helen Rixley, was passed in a manner 
 wholly unlike what it has been since I have been Helen Beau- 
 champ. I know that I have talked to you in days of yore about 
 my beloved mother, and made you understand, I think, that her 
 having been educated with the object of her becoming a gover- 
 ness, was the reason why I was not as ignorant when Agnes 
 first took a fancy to me as might have been expected, from the 
 homely manner of life to which 1 had been accustomed in other 
 respects. But I was still very young when I lost her, and I 
 should probably have relapsed into lamentable ignorance, had it 
 not happened that the clergyman of the parish was a poor, as 
 well as a highly instructed man, and that he made no objection 
 to receiving a very meagre salary for very persevering- lessons. 
 But these lessons were not alone for me. I had a brother, mv 
 dear friend, who was four or five years older than myself, I 
 think, but whose faculties were of so exalted and so brilliant a 
 kind, as to make him fitter for my master than my fellow- 
 student. Nevertheless we studied together, and I can hardly tell 
 you now whether I admired or loved him most. You have never 
 heard of this dear brother, George Harrington, but although 
 the mention of his name, if not absolutely forbidden, has been 
 carefully avoided in my uncle's family, you would have heard of 
 him ere now from me, had it not been for a certain conversation 
 which took place between us upon the lawn at the Oaks, in tlie 
 course of which you uttered sentiments and opinions which, ac- 
 cording to my stupid judgment, rendered it impossible that you 
 should ever hear his name and history without feeling deep re- 
 22 — 2 
 
324< THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 pug-nance to the idea Ol being brought into any close relation 
 with him. 
 
 " His history is this : — 
 
 " He is the natural son of my father, and if he could be said 
 to have any name, save that of William, it was Rixley. But 
 neither he nor I knew anything of his unhappy mother, or 
 of his disgraceful birth, till daring the last hour that we ever 
 passed together — and this was the last evening of my father's 
 life. 
 
 " We were in the parlour with my father, at table, if I re- 
 member rightly, and the good kind nurse who had ever had the 
 care of us was either in attendance or sitting at the table like- 
 wise. My father became angry with William, for what cause I 
 have no distinct recollection, bat he became fearfully violent, and 
 in his fury told my unhappy brother the disgraceful secret of his 
 birth, and that, too, in language the most cruelly degrading to 
 his innocent, but most unhappy son, and" most insulting to his 
 unfortunate mother. 
 
 " The faculties, the feelings, the affections, the temper of my 
 poor brother, were all quick, impetuous, and vehement. I know 
 not if he spoke in answer to the cruel taunt, I have no further 
 recollection of anything that happened that evening till I was 
 alone with my dearest William in the school-room, and the 
 agony of indignation which he then expressed at the language 
 my father had used to him, made an impression upon me which 
 can never be effaced ! On that same terrible night it was that 
 my father died; and on that same night my dear and ever dear 
 William left the Warren House, where we both were born, and 
 from that dreadful day to this I have never heard of him ! 
 
 " But I have not yet told you all. 
 
 " Mr. Bolton, the good clergyman, who had been our friend j 
 and tutor, would not suffer me to remain in the Warren House | 
 after my father's death ; but he, and his kind wife, took me to 
 their own home, and there I remained till the arrival of my 
 good Uncle Rixley, and my father's will was opened ; and then, 
 somehow or other, it was made manifest that my name was not 
 Rixley, but Beauchamp, and also that my father's will had left 
 me in the possession of a large fortune. 
 
 ."My kind uncle appeared inclined to be very fond of me, not- 
 withstandinof the estrano-ement which had existed between him 
 and my father ; and the happy home with him, and his dear 
 family, which I have now enjoyed for years, was at once offered 
 to me. 
 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 325 
 
 " But I was not destined to enjoy it without carrying there 
 with me a thorn which has never ceased, more or less, to torture 
 me. I have never from that hour to this heard any tidings of 
 my brother William, and till I knew you, George Harrington, I 
 did not think that I ever could have loved any one as I loved 
 him. I tell you this in order that you may more fully under- 
 stand the strength of the feeling* which has caused me to act 
 as I have done. Never, George, never have I seen nor heard 
 tidings of this much-loved brother from the day he left our 
 father's house to the present hour ! But this has not been my 
 only misery. Guess what I must have felt, young as I was, at 
 accidentally overhearing a brutal sailor declare that he believed 
 the sudden death of my father to have been the act of my un- 
 happy brother ! More than six long years have passed over me 
 since I listened to those dreadful words, and jet I seem to 
 remember the impression they made upon me as freshly as if the 
 dreadful scene had occurred but yesterday ! I was but little 
 more than a child when it occurred, and I had neither sufficient 
 strength of mind nor clearness of judgment to form a proj)er 
 estimate either of the speaker or his words. I received them at 
 the moment as the true statement of a known fact, and the 
 effect they had upon me was to rob me for a time of my reason 
 under the influence of a violent frenzy fever. 
 
 " But while recovering from this I had many long and reason- 
 able conversations with the good and affectionate old servant 
 who had nursed both him and me, and she, in a great degree, 
 succeeded in removing from my mind the horrible impression 
 which this frightful statement had made upon me. Her idea 
 seemed to be that my father had died from the effect of vehe- 
 ment passion, and that the departure of my unhappy brother 
 was the result of the very natural feeling of resentment to- 
 wards one who could reproach him with the infamy which he 
 had himself brought upon his unfortunate mother, and which 
 might well lead him to prefer the precarious support of his own 
 talents to dependence upon such a father ! I have never ceased 
 to have occasional intercourse, by letter, both with Mr. and Mrs. 
 Bolton, and from them I have learnt that Mrs. Lambert, my 
 nurse, left Cornwall within a few weeks after my uncle and I 
 left it for London; and that her purpose was to follow some 
 trace she had obtained of my brother, in the hope of persuading 
 him to return to his native country, and to me. 
 
 "But the good Boltons have heard nothing of her since her 
 departure, and I therefore presume that her courageous pilgrim- 
 
326 THE YOUKG HEIRESS. 
 
 age has proved abortive. You ^vill not wonder, my dear friend, 
 that, young as I was when these events occurred, they have left 
 an impression which nothing can ever efface, and I certainly 
 have suffered more, rather than less, from the sort of systematic 
 silence which my good uncle has thought it right to preserve 
 upon the subject. 
 
 " But w4ien I became sufficiently acquainted with you to 
 believe that I was still destined to be one of the very happiest 
 women in the w^orld, I began to indulge mj^self in speculations 
 on the delight I should have in making you acquainted with the 
 character of my noble-hearted brother, not only such as I 
 remember it, but such as my good Mr. Bolton always declared 
 it to be ; nay, there have been moments, dear George, when I 
 have imagined it possible that you, too, as well as poor Sarah 
 Lambert, might be seized by a desire to find him, and knowing 
 how rich we should be with our two great fortunes put together, 
 I will not deny that there were moments, too, when I was silly 
 enough to build castles in the air, making my dear lost William 
 the principal tenant of them all ! 
 
 " But these bright day-dreams, and a great many others 
 besides, were all scattered to the wiuds and destroyed by the 
 never-to-be-forgotten conversation on your father's lawn. 
 
 " I wonder if you remember it as well as I do ? You had 
 been uttering some pretty flights of romantic eloquence upon the 
 superior advantages of being in love with a poor girl instead of 
 a rich one. I thought in my heart, perhaps, that you w^ere a 
 little personal, but I did not much mind it, for I remembered 
 the immense power lodged in that eloquent French word quoiqiie^ 
 and I felt that it might as fairly be used by you as an excuse for 
 taking me, as by the coquettish French nation for taking a 
 Bourbon. So I listened, and laughed, and did not mind it. But 
 then, George Harrington — then followed a burst of enthusiasm 
 from your lips which has rung in my ears, and rested heavily 
 upon my heart, from that day to this ! I will not deny to you, 
 for why should I, since you know it as wtU as I do, that I was 
 at that time fully aware that you were attached to me, and fully 
 understood, also, that you were only waiting till I was perfectly 
 ray own mistress in order to tell me so ; and I, on my side, was 
 only waiting for this, in order to tell you the painful story 
 which I now send you. Now that the mist, which then fell 
 upon my understanding, is removed, and that I feel that your 
 glowing tirade upon the subject of IIONOUE did in no way justify 
 my believing that your attachment to me could be affected by 
 
THE YOUXG HEIRESS. 827 
 
 clrcvim&tar.ces over whicli I had no control, it seems to me that 
 the reasoning by which I destroyed your liappir.css, and my 
 own, ^Yas little short of maduess. Had I, at that time, asked 
 myself how in a like case I should have felfc to^Yards you, the 
 answer might have gone far towards making me see how greatly 
 my excited feelings were leading me to exaggerate the strength 
 of yours. My excuse can only be found in my utter ignorance 
 of life, and all its intricacies. To no human being had I ever 
 been able to speak of the strange events which I have now dis- 
 closed to you ; and this solitary brooding over what I so darkly 
 comprehended must, doubtless, have produced the morbid state 
 of mind which has led me to act as I have done. 
 
 " But so firmly did I feel persuaded that the fact of my 
 father's having a natural son, to whom I was attached with the 
 tenderest and strongest sisterly devotion, would be felt by you 
 as a misfortune and a disgrace, that I truly believe nothing could 
 have removed the impression, short of my hearing you speak 
 with pleasure and approval of your sister's approaching* 
 marriage with a man who, in respect to his birth, is in the 
 same unfortunate situation as my dear brother. 
 
 " Shall I ever forget the overwhelming sensation of happi- 
 ness with which I heard you state this fact ? I hope not 1 
 That moment was, perhaps, the happiest of my life. And now, 
 George Harrington, you know as much about me as I know 
 myself, and the feeling this is, of itself, so great a pleasure to 
 me, that I can only wonder at tlie strange delusion which has so 
 long prevented my enjoying it. 
 
 " Helen Beauchamp." 
 
 CHAPTER LIT. 
 
 Helen kept her word, and lost no time in forwarding her 
 dispatch. The above letter was written with great rapidity, but 
 before she began it she allowed herself time to ring her bell, 
 and order that a man and horse should be immediately pre- 
 pared to take a note for her to the Oaks. 
 
 The visit of George Harrington had been made at an early 
 hour ; but as the said visit was not a short one, the letter of 
 
328 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 Helen was not written, and sent off, before four o'clock. Never- 
 theless, she was destined to have another visit from the same 
 gentleman, before that period of the day which fashionable 
 people designate as the " morning," was over; that is to say, he 
 was seen galloping at full speed towards the portico a few 
 minutes before the six o'clock dinner-bell sounded from the 
 venerable turret over the stables. 
 
 Helen had not yet left her dressing-room, but fortunately her 
 maid had left her, and, therefore, the crimson blush, and the 
 radiant smile wdth which his appearance was welcomed, did not 
 furnish the servants' hall with a theme for their evening's 
 amusement. 
 
 George Harrington did not dine at home that ' day ; Mr. 
 E-ixley dozed a good deal over his " Quarterly Review," for the 
 print was small ; his son Henry was at Rothewell Castle, and 
 nobody seemed inclined to enter into general conversation. But 
 as for dear good Aunt Rixley, she became very anxious about 
 Helen before their friendly neighbour, George Harrington, 
 ceased his, as it seemed to her, interminable visit ; for, as the 
 young people sat together at the table, which was always 
 covered with literary novelties, looking over a variety of books 
 of beauty, and other interesting publications, she observed that 
 her dearly-beloved niece was often flushed to a degree that 
 looked extremely like the effects of a sudden attack of fever. 
 
 But " time and the hour," as usual, brought all this, as it does 
 everythink else, to an end; Henry returned home; George 
 Harrington wrung his hand very affectionately, and then, at 
 last, wished them all good night, and departed, 
 
 Helen Beanchamp had been a young, beautiful, loved, 
 admired, well-born, and rich heiress when she left her bed on 
 that eventful morning ; and she was a young, beautiful, loved, 
 admired, well-born, and rich heiress when she returned to it at 
 night; yet the change which had come upon her between that 
 rising up and that lying down, involved all the difference 
 between the most enviable happiness and the most hopeless 
 reverse. 
 
 George Harrington and Miss Beanchamp had not turned over 
 the leaves of half a dozen picture books without having found 
 both time and opportunity to converse on subjects somewhat 
 more interesting than the comparative beauty of rival eyes and 
 noses; he contrived to tell her, during the three hours and a 
 half which intervened between their leaving the dinner-table 
 and the announcement of his pawing steed at the door, that it 
 
THE YOUNG HEIEES5. 329 
 
 was only since the sun rose that morning" that he bad become 
 fully aware of the perfect accord which existed between them in 
 their opinions on many important points ; and that, now, he 
 felt almost ashamed of himself for having loved her so devotedly 
 while still ignoi'aut of the noblest traits in her character. But 
 for this weakness on his part he declared himself to have been 
 sufficiently punished, by the miserable condition of heart and 
 spirit in which he had lived since the death of his uncle ; and in 
 his manner during this part of his discourse, as he hung over 
 the volume which was before them, there was so much of 
 mournful truth, that tears streamed almost unconsciously from 
 Helen's eyes as she listened to him ; and had it not been for 
 some very clever management on the part of the young man, 
 neither the gentle dose of Mr. E/ixley, nor the pretty, steady 
 reading of his wife, could have suflSced to prevent her emotion 
 from being perceptible. 
 
 As it was, however,everythingwent well. The waning moon 
 was quite high enough in the heavens, by the time George 
 Harrington had finally made up his mind to depart, to afford 
 him light enough to make his ride agreeable ; and in fact, this 
 light was so beautiful in its effect upon the park scenery, and 
 the state of the atmosphere altogether so delightful, that he 
 could not resist his inclination to run back into the drawinof. 
 room for the purpose of making Helen and her uncle come out 
 to look at it. 
 
 The few moments they thus passed together in the portico 
 gave her an opportunity of telling him that she should greatly 
 like to receive an early visit from his sister Agnes on the 
 morrow. 
 
 "Is she to drive over in solitary state, alone?" whispered 
 George, rather piteously. 
 
 "Yes!" she replied, with inexorable firmness, after the 
 hesitation of a moment. 
 
 The well-behaved young man received this answer in perfect 
 silence, and turned submissively away, as if to set off immedi- 
 ately, in order to obey her commands; and it was probably, 
 because she was touched by this meek obedience, that she fol- 
 lowed him with rather a hasty step, and laying a finger on his 
 arm, to arrest his retreat, said, rather kindly than otherwise, 
 " 1 shall like to keep her with me all day. We shall have much 
 to say to each other. But, perhaps, you will dine with us, and 
 esc jrt her home at night." 
 
 This arrangement seemed, lover as he was, to content him 
 
oo 
 
 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 tolerably well, for his final good night was uttered cheerily; 
 and so they parted, for the first tinie for nearly three long years, 
 without each having left an aching pain in the heart of the 
 other. 
 
 The family at the Oaks were, of course, all gone to bed 
 before George Harrington reached his home; but it was at 
 rather an early hour on the following morning that he made 
 his way to his sister Agnes, and delivered the message he had 
 brouo-ht to her from Helen. 
 
 Had the heart and head of Agnes been less full of her own 
 concerns, it is highly probable that she would have perceived 
 some symptom, in the eye, or the voice of her brother, which 
 might have led her to think that he was not precisely in the 
 same state of mind which he had been in when she conversed 
 with him last. All she perceived, however, was, that this 
 invitation was not quite an ordinary invitation. The early hour 
 at which it was stated that she would be expected, and the cir- 
 cumstance of her being distinctly invited to come alone, fully 
 justified her comino; to this conclusion, and so much of the real 
 state of the case suggested itself as to make her exclaim, with a 
 blush which expressed more of happiness than of anger, " Then 
 you have told her, George ? " 
 
 " Yes, Agnes. I have told her," he replied, in a tone which 
 she did not quite clearly understand. "Yes, I have told her; 
 and she will tell you all I have said to her, I daresay, or at 
 least a good deal of it." 
 
 "But what did you say to her, George ?" returned his sister, 
 rather anxiously. " Did she seem to think me wrong for accept- 
 ing* him r " 
 
 "Ko, Agnes; I did not perceive any feeling of that kind. 
 However, you will be a better judge yourself of what she feels 
 upon the subject when you talk to her about it, than you can 
 posslbl}'- be by my repeating what she said." 
 
 " I don't know what to make of your report," said Agnes, 
 looking at hira earnestly. " If she has expressed herself to you 
 as greatly shocked by the misfortune of his birth, I would 
 rather not go to spend a long day with her," 
 
 " Do not torment yourself by idle fancies, my dear Agnes, 
 your friend. Miss Bcauchamp, is a very sensible young woman, 
 and I really don't think that you have any reason to fear that 
 she should lecture you disagreeably upon the choice you have 
 made. May I go and order the cariiage for you? Shall I say 
 that you ^Yili be ready in an hour'r" 
 
THE YOUKG HEIRESS. 331 
 
 "Yes, you ma}'," she rejDlied, cheerfully; "for I am quite 
 sure you ^YOuld not propose my going so early if you thought 
 she had anything disagreeable to say to me. I shall be ready 
 in an hour, George." 
 
 "You are quite right, Agnes, not to suffer yourself to be 
 frightened. Miss Beauchamp certainly told me that she should 
 have a great deal to say to you ; but she will take care, I am 
 sure, not to make herself really disagreeable," 
 
 And having make this rather equivocal speech, he quitted 
 the room, leaving the affianced bride of Colonel Maurice in 
 rather a nervous state of spirit; but fully determined that not 
 even her well-beloved and greatly-admired Helen should per- 
 suade her, for a single instant, to doubt that the choice she had 
 made was as much for her honour as her happiness, and that 
 no otlier human being could possibly be found so well calculated 
 to ensure both. 
 
 CHAPTER LTII. 
 
 It was really a pity that the now gay and happ3Miearted 
 George Harrington could not have witnessed the first meeting of 
 the two friends, for he would undoubtedly have found something 
 exceedingly comic in the doubting and inquiring expression of 
 both the fair faces, while each was endeavourins: to g-uess how 
 much, or how little, the other had been enlightened by him as 
 to the exact state of the important affairs which at that moment 
 occupied the thoughts of each. 
 
 The sure remedy, however, against anything like really pain- 
 ful embarrassment between them for more than a few minutes, 
 was found in the fact that they really loved each other dearly; 
 and Agnes speedily remembered that, however aristocratic and 
 severe the notions of Miss Beauchamp might be on the subject 
 of good and legitimate birth, her friend, Helen, would be easily- 
 led to forget them in her particular case ; while Helen felt 
 with equally confiding faith, that however surprised, or however 
 puzzled, the sister of George might be at her sadden change of 
 conduct towards him, her friend Agnes would not fail to make 
 
332 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 lier feel that, great as her surprise might be, her satisfaction 
 Avas o-reater still. 
 
 Nothing could be more correct than the conclusions thu3 
 arrived at on both sides, and before the two blushing girls had 
 been half an hour together tliey had exchanged a tender kiss 
 of mutual congratulation, and were both in the full enjoyment of 
 giving, and receiving, a multitude of anecdotes and confessions, 
 all tending to prove the happiness of each. 
 
 " Can anything be so strange," said Helen, " so unexpected, 
 so improbable, as that your accidentally making acquaintance, 
 and accidentally falling in love with this young soldier of 
 fortune, Agnes, should pave the way to your brother's marrying 
 me ? I really cannot, with the exercise of all my ingenuity, 
 imagine any other possible process which could have removed 
 the mountain of adamant that stood between us ! " ^ 
 
 "Strange, indeed!" replied Agnes; "and delightful as it is 
 strange! But were the finale of the romance less likely to be 
 propitious, I should feel inclined to preach you a pretty long 
 sermon, Miss Beauchamp, upon the grievous siu of doubting 
 those we love. You ought to have known my high-minded, 
 noble-hearted brother better, Helen, than to have permitted 
 yourself to believe him capable of such feelings as you laid to 
 his charge." 
 
 " I suppose I was very wrong, Agnes," said poor Helen, 
 meekly. " In truth I do believe I was ! I seem to see it all 
 now in a totally different light. However, sister dear, you may 
 take my word for it, that I have suffered enough to punish me 
 sufficiently for a very heavy sin." 
 
 "But, Helen;" returned George Harrington's unforgiving 
 sister, " though 3^ou did blunder so grievously about his 
 opinions, I do not think that even this explains your so strongly 
 miscalculating the power of his attachment- to you. How could 
 you doubt for a moment that his love for you was strong enough 
 to swallow up and overcome every possible objection ? Don't 
 you think that you deserve a little more suffering on that 
 score ? " 
 
 " Ko, Agnes ! No ! There I was right, perfectly right. I 
 was wrong in my estimate of the importance he would attach to 
 the unfortunate situation of my beloved brother, but right in 
 believing: that if he thou^-ht it wrono; so to connect himself, he 
 would have shrunk from doinq: it. Trust me, I thought of all 
 that before I finally decided upon my own line of conduct. I was 
 not blind to the fact that there mio:ht have been a struo^gle in 
 
THE YOUXG HEIRESS. 333 
 
 his mind between what he wished, and what his judgment 
 would approve ; and the idea of using my influence for the pur- 
 pose of warping his sense of right, was more intolerable than 
 the idea of losing him. No ! ISTo ! You will bring me to no 
 humble confessions on that point. With the notions I had con- 
 ceived as to what his opinion would be, as to my position with 
 respect to my unfortunate brother, I was quite right not to 
 make any experiments as to the power I might possess over his 
 feelings, in order to seduce him into acting in defiance of them. 
 No ! No ! I was right there." 
 
 " You have stated the case so sublimely, Helen, and so clearly 
 proved that it was your duty to make him as wretched as pos- 
 sible, that I have not a word to say against it," replied her 
 friend. "All your fault, therefore, my poor dear, lies in the 
 weakness of your intellectual capacity in forming so very 
 monstrous a judgment concerning his notions of right and 
 wrong, and for this I give you absolution, blended with pity. 
 Poor dear Helen ! I daresay you did feel very uncomfortable 
 all the time that you were fancying yourself so very magnani- 
 mous." 
 
 " Well, Agnes ! You may laugh at me, now, for I can afford 
 to bear it. The happiness side of my account is so miracu- 
 lously improved within the last twenty-four hours, that it would 
 not be very easy to make me complain of anything," replied 
 Helen. " And yet," she added, with a sigh, which was, how- 
 ever, scarcely audible, " and yet, dearest, when I see this 
 marvellous man who has contrived to turn the heads of your- 
 self and your brother both, it will be difficult for me not to 
 contrast his fate with that of my poor William ! I shall be 
 surprised if, with all my inclination to love and admire all that 
 you and George love and admire, I certainly shall be surprised if 
 I find this happy soldier more admirable in any way than I was 
 wont to think my beautiful brother!" 
 
 " Put all comparisons out of your head, Helen, and I shall 
 feel no doubts or fears respecting your judgment of this new 
 friend of ours," said Agnes, gaily. " But what a strange 
 fatality there seems to have been about your having never seen 
 him. If your aunt was not well enough to go out when he was 
 here, I wonder your Cousin Henry never brought him to call on 
 you. For nobody seemed more struck by his appearance than 
 Henry Rixley did, the night that he was first shown off to the 
 neighbourhood at Mrs. Wilcox's ball.** 
 
334 THE YOUNG HEmESS. 
 
 " Obj 3"es, he quite raved about him," said Helen. "But you 
 forget that Henry was obliged to go to London, on regimental 
 business immediafely afterwards. He never met him at any of 
 Sir "William Knighton's bachelor dinners, nor at Rothewell 
 Castle either, where I know he dined more than once. I^ay, do 
 you know, I doubt, if Henry was ever introduced to him at all," 
 she added. 
 
 "Well, then," returned the happy Agnes, gaily, " he will only 
 burst upon you all with the more effect when he shall be at 
 length presented — for will he not have, in addition to all other 
 good gifts, the honour and glory of being proclaimed as the 
 affianced husband of Agnes Harrino'ton?" 
 
 " Tiiere will be something in that, Agnes," replied Helen, 
 laughing*, "we shall be too much afraid of you not to be ready 
 to accord our suffrages to him. But when is he to appear again 
 above our horizon ? We are expecting Henry back to-morrow, 
 and as, notwithstanding his lengthened leave, we shall have 
 him, I fear, only for a day or two longer, I think I must screw 
 my courage to giving a dinner-party myself." 
 
 Then, after the silence of a few moments, she added, " What 
 an enormous, what an astounding difference, Agnes, can a few 
 short hours, and a few gentle words, make in us ! Do you not, 
 in a hundred thousand ways, feel that yon are no longer the 
 same being that you were before you paid your brother that last 
 visit at Speedhurst ? And cannot you imagine that, in a 
 hundred thousand ways, I feel myself a different being from 
 what I was before your brother favoured me with his early 
 morning visit yesterday ?" 
 
 " Imasfine ! I can do more than imao-ine," returned A^nes, 
 placing her hands before her eyes, "I see it, I know it, I feel it 
 all! It is not a dream, is it, Helen? Good Heaven, my dear, 
 how dreadful it would be to wake up, and find the vision gone ! 
 But pray don't tell Colonel Maurice that I said so, however 
 much you may admire him, or however intimate you may 
 become. I really and truly should not choose that he should 
 know for an absolute certainly that I doubt if I could make up 
 my mind to live without him." 
 
 " Do not let your brother hear you say that,'' said Helen, 
 while tears started to her eyes, " for he knows that I had made 
 uj) my mind to live without him." 
 
 " Very true, Helen ! I think it would be quite as well to keep 
 liim in ignorance of the inferiority of your capacity in the loving* 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 335 
 
 line. But even if he did know it, I don't think that it would 
 signify much. He is so infatuated, that I should not be at all 
 surprised to hear him declare that he loved you all the better 
 for 3'our hard-hcartedness. But let me learn a little more about 
 this dinner that you are going' to give. I enjoy the idea exces- 
 sively ! Do not delay it, for if you do, I am quite sure it never 
 will take place at all. As a bit of useful information on the 
 subject, I may announce to you that Colonel Maurice will make 
 his jSrst appearance at the Oaks, in the character of an acknow- 
 ledged and accepted lover, on Saturday. That, you know, is 
 the day after to-morrow. Now he, you must know, has military 
 business to attend to, as well as Master Henry ; and, therefore, 
 I strongly advise that you should fix Monday next as the day 
 for our dining, will you ?" 
 
 " Soit" replied Helen, joyously, " I am, by no means, more 
 inclined for delay than you are. But what must we do about 
 the ceremony of a morning call upon the brave Colonel ? My 
 uncle is knee-deep in flannel, for the purpose of giving a friendly 
 welcome to the gout, which he is expecting to visit him, for, 
 really and truly, it has not come yet. But I should not like to 
 propose a morning visit to him. And as to Henry, it is his 
 invariable custom to gallop over to Rothewell the moment 
 breakfast is over, and we may think ourselves highly favoured 
 if we see him again before the next morning. How, then, shall 
 we mannge a call at the Oaks, which is exactly in the contrary 
 direction?" 
 
 "I will undertake that the omission shall cause no offence," 
 replied Agnes. " But tell me, Helen, shall you think it a matter 
 of absolute necessity to invite Lady Lympton, and all the other 
 fine folks at the Castle ? " 
 
 "No," replied Helen, thoughtfully, " my happiness, dear AgneSj 
 runs too freshl}^, and too suddenly come upon me to be worn 
 with all the calm composure which ought to accomiDany it. You 
 have long been a sister to me in heart, and now we are about to 
 be sisters indeed ; and, therefore, I feel as if there were some- 
 thing' strange and unnatural in my never having seen the man 
 you are about to marry ! But Avere it not for this, dearest, the 
 'dinnerparty' we have been projecting would not take place 
 just yet. Of course, dear Jane will come to me, but my first 
 meeting with your father and mother must not be at a dinner- 
 party, Agnes ! Perhaps they will have the kindness to call 
 upon me to-morrow, and if so, I could with confidence ask them 
 to join our truly family party on Monday." 
 
S3 6 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 And so ifc was definitively settled between the two happy girls, 
 who, after a morning' visit of four hours' duration, during which 
 they had talked with unceasing energy and animation, parted, 
 at length, with infinite regret, because they had still, both of 
 them, so very much that they wanted to say to the other. 
 
 CHAPTER LIV. 
 
 "Who is there that does not know and understand the sort of 
 accelerated movement and energetic activity communicated to a 
 family when one of its members is about to enter into the 
 honourable state of matrimony ? It may easily be imagined, 
 therefore, that the two weddings, so unexpectedly settled, and 
 so speedily to be accomplished at the Oaks, must have throv/n 
 the whole Harrington family into a very unusual state of 
 excltemer.t and commotion. 
 
 As to the young squire of Speedhurst, indeed, he just at this 
 time passed so few of his hours in his father's house, that it 
 would be hardly fair to say that he added greatly to the com- 
 motion which reigned there. In the larger field of the 
 Beauchamp Park establishment the awful notes of preparation 
 was not so easily detected ; yet still excitement reigned there, 
 though it was, for the most part, pretty well kept out of 
 sight. 
 
 That every hour and every occupation of its fair owner's life 
 was completely and altogether changed, is nevertheless quite 
 true ; for when she walked in her noble gardens, lately the 
 object of so much peaceful occupation to her, she now, with 
 George Harrington by her side, positively forgot that the 
 gardens vjere her gardens, or that they had any possible interest 
 for her, except, as did now and then happen, they seemed (pro- 
 bably because their beauty was the result of her taste) to have 
 some interest for him. 
 
 In her own pretty morning-room, too, where heretofore she 
 really had, in good earnest, devoted some hours in every day to 
 whatever her critical old friend, Mr. Phelps, dignified by the 
 name of study, the difference between past and present time was 
 very remarkable; for there it was that all George Harrington's 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 33/ 
 
 morning visits (sometimes amounting* to tlireo in a clay) wove 
 received; and it must, therefore, be obvious to the commonest 
 capacity that it must have been difficult, not lo say impossible, 
 for her'^to have persevered in her by-goue literary habits. 
 
 But in sober truth, and quite apart from all the IdlessG usually 
 attributed to the social intercourse of lovers, Helen Beauchamp 
 and Georg-e Harrington really had a great deal to say to each 
 other, and a great deal that it was very essential to their future 
 happiness should not remain unsaid. The systematic avoidance 
 by Helen's uncle and his family of all allusion to her unfortunate 
 brother, had taught, nay, almost enforced, such an habitual 
 leserve on her part, respecting everything* connected with him, 
 that probably nothing less incompatible with such reserve than 
 their approaching marriage would have led her to infringe it, 
 even with him. But she now, for the first time since she had 
 left Mr, Bolton's house, rather more than eight years ago, now 
 for the first time she indulged herself in pouring forth all her 
 young and fond recollections of her earliest days. 
 
 And it was, indeed, an indulgence ; for the silence in which 
 these recollections had been hoarded, had, in no degree, tended 
 to obliterate, or even to lessen their effect ; and it was long- 
 since the beautiful and richly-endowed girl had enjoyed any- 
 thing so nearly approaching* perfect happiness as she now did 
 while watching tlie eager and pleased attention of her lover, 
 as he listened to her animated description of the endearing 
 character and noble qualities of this long-lost brother. 
 
 " We must find him, my Helen!" exclaimed George Harring- 
 ton, after having heard her painful narrative to the end : "Yes, 
 dearest, we must find him, even if the doing so should involve 
 the necessitv of our settinir off for India in the same romantic 
 style which that wonderful old woman seems to have^ done of 
 whom your Mr. Bolton speaks with so much admiration, or I 
 should rather say, with so much astonishment; for does it not 
 strike j'ou, Helen, that Mr. Bolton in that earliest of his letters 
 there, which you have just read to me — does it not strike you 
 that he does not speak of her affectionately, though he talks so 
 much of her singular devotion, and unflinching resolution? It 
 seems to me as if he did not quite approve her setting off with 
 so much enthusiasm in pursuit of her lost nursling." 
 
 " You must be an acute critic, dear George," replied Helen, 
 with ratiier a melancholy smile, " to discover this seeming want 
 of sympathy with our dear nurse Lambeit, fur it is quite certain 
 that among the multitude of recollections and impressions which 
 
 23 
 
oo 
 
 38 THE TOUKG HEIRESS. 
 
 have been silently honrded in my niemovy respecting everytliing 
 connected \Yith my cbilclish life, there is one which completely 
 justifies the observation you have now made. I seem to 
 remember as freshly as if it all had happened yesterday, that 
 when I had that dreadful illness at the Parsonage, I very often 
 felt unhnppy when I recovered my senses and was getting well 
 again, because I thought that neither Mr. nor Mrs. Bolton loved 
 my dear Sarah Lambert as I thought she ought to be loved. 
 I perfectly well remember, too, that when this dear Sarah 
 Lambert suddenly went awa}'- from me, and with the intention, 
 as it proved, of never returning, I thought that it was because she 
 had found out that they did not like her as well as she knew she 
 deserved. Dear, dear Sarah Lnmbert ! " continued poor Helen, 
 as tears of which she did not seem conscious ran down her 
 cheeks, " Oh ! how I wish that 3^ou could see her at this 
 moment, George, exactly as my memory paints her to me now ! 
 Trust me, she was no ordinary woman, although she was a 
 servant. I never saw anybody like her, and I don't remember 
 to have seen anyone so beautiful as I think she must have been 
 when she was young. Her ways, too, were so lovingly gentle 
 with us ! But somehow or other, I am quite sure that you are 
 right, and that Mr. Bolton did not like her, nor his wife 
 either." 
 
 " How long is it, Helen, since you have heard anything about 
 her, or her bold enterprize ? " said Harrington. 
 
 "I have never heard her named at all since I left Cornwall," 
 replied Helen, "nor have I found her name once mentioned in 
 any letter of Mr. Bolton's since the one on which you made 
 your critical remark," 
 
 Nor were the other pair of affianced lovers less fortunate in 
 obtaining the wished-for privilege of a long and uninterrupted 
 tete-a-tete ; but to follow them through it would be to involve 
 ourselves in a greater length of personal narrative on the part 
 of the gentleman than we have now space for — for there were 
 abundance of moving accidents by flood and field, and most 
 literally true was it that " she loved him for the dangers he 
 had passed, and he loved her that she did pity them." 
 
 And then, towards the conclusion of the precious interval 
 between luncheon and dinner, during which they were pretty 
 certain of being* left in peace, Colonel Maurice ventured to ask 
 a few questions respecting the estimable friends with whom, as 
 he had been informed, they were doomed to dine on the coming 
 Monday. "I wish it had ha2:)pened otherwise, dearest Agnes !" 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRES?. . 339 
 
 said lie; " for I mnsfc be off to town on Tuesday, and I sliould so 
 rnucli better have liked to pass our last evening quietly at 
 home." 
 
 " And were we going' to any other house, I should say so, 
 too," replied Agnes; "but you forget that it is not among 
 strangers and aliens that we are going' to take you. It is to 
 the house of a very lovel}'' girl, who is a wealthy heiress." 
 
 "But what care I how fair she be, or how rich either," 
 returned Colonel Maurice, laughingly interrupting her. " I 
 want to spend these last precious hours quietly with you, and 
 not in tlie fine drawing-room of any beautiful young lady in the 
 world, even if she were as rich as a Jew." 
 
 "If j'ou had not interrupted nie, impetuous soldier as you are, 
 I was going on to state that Miss Beauchamp has other claims 
 upon us than merely being a beauty, or heiress, or even a kind 
 neighbour," said Agnes. " I have jDositively had no time to tell 
 you any further particulars about your friend George than that 
 he, too, like your own rash self, was speedily about to be 
 married. I really don't believe that I have ever said a single 
 word to you about the lad}^ But it is this identical Miss 
 Beauchamp, with whom vre are going to dine on Monday, who 
 is to be his bride." 
 
 "No, fairest and best! Most certainly I never heard her 
 name mentioned by any of you ; but I am now quite willing to 
 confess that you s(and excused for taking me there; and as 
 fellow-feeling', you know, generally makes us kind and. con- 
 siderate, I daresay that j-our fair sister elect will forgive us if 
 we do happen to think of a good many things which we may 
 possibly wish to say to each other before we part." 
 
 " Oh ! You need have no fears on that score," replied Agnes, 
 with an eloquent nod of the head, which was not only well 
 calculated to reassure him, but to make him comprehend, also, 
 that her brother's lady-love might be likely to require a little 
 indulgence on that particular point as well as herself. 
 
 " And truly, truly," she added, in an accent which gave 
 evidence that she was much in earnest, " I feel as if I had not 
 time, either here or there, to hear you tell me one quarter of 
 what I want to know about a hundred and fifty interesting- 
 points of 5''our eventful history." 
 
 "Trust to my loquacity when we shall become man and 
 
 wife," replied Colonel Maurice, laughing'. "The love of spinning 
 
 long yarns is by no means confined to the nautical branch of 
 
 Her Majesty's service. Soldiers love the occupation quite as 
 
 23—3 
 
oiO THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 well as sailors can do, and woe betide the tender-hearted bride 
 who has listened before marriage to all that an enamoured 
 husband would most particularly wish her to listen to respect- 
 iiio' himself, for in that case she wlil run a g-reat risk of havlnor 
 to listen to a twice-told tale. What I want to talk to you about, 
 Agnes, and what I am pretty sure I shall want to cnitinue 
 talking about as long as I stay here, Is the inconvenient and 
 very unnecessary Importance which jonv dear good mother, and 
 your dear, darling, fussy sister, attach to these hoi'ribly-lengtliy 
 preparations for your wardrobe, which Jane very coolly told me 
 last night could not possibly be completed in less than six weeks 
 or two months. ISTow the real fact is, Agnes, that we must either 
 postpone our marriage or postpone the wardrobe." 
 
 "Postpone our marriage," repeated Agnes, gravely shaking 
 her head. " The talking of the wardrobe at all, Colonel 
 Maurice, Is a very sufficient proof that matters have not been 
 unreasonably postponed. Remember, dear friend, how short 
 GUI' acquaintance has been!" 
 
 " Has it been too short to enable us to love one another, 
 Agnes?" said the lover, reproachfully. "If it has, you are 
 quite right in asking, let me rather say, in demanding, some 
 farther delay. Bat — •" 
 
 "But nonsense, Maurice!" returned Agnes, interrupting bini 
 with a very petulant, but not very solemn frown. " There is 
 no truth in you! For neither do you in your heart suspect me 
 of any want of love, nor do you believe the least in the world 
 that I wish to demand delay." 
 
 " Then you don't call to months delay two a man who was 
 hoping to be married in a fortnight ? " returned the gallant 
 Colonel, with a good deal of vehemence. 
 
 "A fortnight!" exclaimed Agnes, almost with a shriek. 
 " You must be mad, Colonel Maurice ! Completely and entirely 
 lunatic! Be quiet, if you can, I do entreat you! Now hoar 
 me, then," she gravely continued, npon seeing him assume the 
 posture of a man in a strait waistcoat, "do pray listen to me 
 like a reasonable being ! If we ever think of marrying at all — 
 there now ! Would not anyone suppose that I had said some- 
 thing uncivil about never marrying at all ? Hear me, I say. 
 Colonel Maurice ! If we really are, both of us, seriously in 
 earnest about this very solemn business, we must take care not 
 to disgrace ourselves in the eyes of Miss Beauchamp, by pro- 
 posing to do anything that may appear particularly shocking to 
 her — and to tell you the real truth at once, your friend George 
 
TH3 YOUXG IIEIRES3. 3-41 
 
 hasmade up bis mind that the two weddings must take place 
 on the same day." 
 
 " Where is George ? " exclaimed Maurice, starting up, " I 
 have no doubt that I shall get him to listen to reason, though it 
 is so impossible to make 3'ou do it. Where is he, Agnes ? " 
 
 " I have little doubt, my good friend," she replied, " that he is 
 engaged very much in the same manner as you are. That is to 
 say, that I think it highly probable that if you track him 
 skilfully you will find him about the same distance from Miss 
 Beauchamp that you are from me, scolding her heartily because 
 she cannot contrive to make hours suffice to do the business of 
 days." 
 
 My researches have furnished me with no record as to the 
 exact manner in which this terrible interview ended ; but as I 
 purpose in the following chapter to give some account of what 
 passed at Helen's dinner-party, at which none of the guests 
 whom she expected failed to appear, it is obvious that the scene 
 above described did not end in any positive quarrel between the 
 parties. 
 
 CHAPTER LV. 
 
 It must not be considered on the part of my heroine as any 
 indication of cold indifference concerning the destiny of her 
 friend Agnes, if I confess that her own situation, so new to her 
 as the affianced wife of George Harrington, prevented her 
 dwelling with all the interest which she would otherwise have 
 felt upon the idea of first seeing and judging the man upon 
 whom the future happiness of that dear friend so greatly 
 depended. 
 
 She, in some sort, took it for granted, indeed, that he must be 
 both excellent and amiable ; because George had said so ; and it 
 was, therefore, without any overpowering feelings of anxiety or 
 emotion of any kind that she passed from her toilet to the 
 drawing-room, in order to receive the guests, some of whom 
 were already so dear to her, and to all and every of whom she 
 was so soon to be allied to by the very closest ties which human 
 beings have been able to invent to bind loving hearts together. 
 
o4-2 THE YOUXa HEiKESS. 
 
 Her Aunt and Uncle Ilixlcy were «nlrcai.lj in llie clrawlng'-voom ; 
 and the Tew minutes wliicli elapsed before their punctual guests 
 arrived were passed in the expression of a little natural curiosity 
 on the part of both respecting the utter stranger to whom they 
 \vere about to be introduced in the character of very near 
 connections. 
 
 " It does seem queer," said Mr. Rixley, " that we should all 
 three of us have to receive this celebrated Colonel as something 
 nearer and dearer than merely an intimate friend, without our 
 either of us havin2f ever beheld him before !" 
 
 *' Queer, indeed ! " Siiid Mrs. Rixle}', gravely shaking her 
 head, " and I cannot but fear that our poor dear Helen must 
 feel it to be very awkward for her, as mistress of the house, to 
 receive a guest whom she has never beheld before, and then feel 
 herself oblio-ed to treat him as an intimate friend !" 
 
 o 
 
 " Why, now you mention it, aunt, I think there is something 
 a little preposterous in the idea of welcoming a young man as a 
 dearly beloved, of whom I know absolutely nothing, excepting 
 that Agnes and George Harrington have both fallen in love 
 with him ! I certainly do wish that I had happened to see him 
 before ! " 
 
 ''Of course j^'ou do, my dear child!" returned her aunt, in a 
 very penitent tone, '' and it is all o\Ying to me, and my unfortu- 
 nate rheumatism, that you did not become acquainted with 
 him, like all the other people in the neighbourhood. I cannot 
 forgive myself for having let you give up everything in order to 
 stay at home, and take care of me." 
 
 "No, my dear wife, your conscience may be quite at rest on 
 that score. The fault was her own. She chooses to pet us, and 
 humour us, to such an excess at home, that it is next to im- 
 possible that old folks on the high road to three-score should 
 ever like to go out; and having done this, I verily believe that 
 she finds a great deal of amusement in staying at home, and 
 watching our cat-like wavs of enjoying ourselves. Is not that 
 the fact, Helen ? " 
 
 "Whatever the cause, dear uncle, my stay-at-home system 
 during the last few months has been the result of my own will, 
 and if blame there be, it must rest on me, and on me alone." 
 
 "But why does not Henry make his appearance?" said Mr. 
 Bixley. "At any rate he has not been shut up at home ; and 
 as he must have made acquaintance with this newly-imported 
 hero, the awkwnrdncss of his reception here would bo much less 
 if there was one of the family who could shake hands with him 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 313 
 
 as an acquaintance. Do ring the bell, Helen, and let us send 
 lor liini." 
 
 Helen wrung the bell very obediently; but said, as she did 
 so, "He will not help us much, uncle! He is as much a 
 stranger to Colonel Maurice as we are." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Helen dear," returned her uncle, " I can 
 testify to having heard Henry rave for an hour by Shrewsbury 
 clock concernino: the excellences of this wonderful hero." 
 
 " And so have I, too, Uncle Rixley," replied Helen, " yet, 
 nevertheless, he cannot help us by welcoming him as an 
 acquaintance, for he has never been introduced to him. He 
 only saw him one evening, which was at Mrs. Wilcox's famous 
 ball. It was at breakfast the following morning that he amused 
 us by the tirade you speak of; and two days afterwards he was 
 oil' to London again, and so missed the dinner-party at Sir 
 AVilliam Knighton's, to which he was invited, and where he 
 would, doubtless, have been introduced to the stranger, like the 
 rest of the neio'hbourhood." 
 
 " Quite true ! " said Mr. Rixley. " Henry is exactly in the 
 same predicament as we are ; nevertheless, it is quite right 
 to send for him. It is better that we should all be introduced 
 at once, and then, you know, George Harrington can do it in 
 the words of the critic: 'And these are all my poor relations!' 
 while by a circular wave of the hand he can indicate us all," 
 
 Henry Rixley entered as she spoke, and being made 
 acquainted with the subject under discussion, he confirmed 
 the statement of his cousin, and his mother — declaring that no 
 introduction had taken place; but that he already felt that he 
 knew him better than half the people with wdiom he had gone 
 through that ceremon3\ 
 
 " His handsome and expressive countenance, his noble figure, 
 his general aspect and bearing, at once riveted my attention 
 upon him," said he, eagerly. " But it is a positive fact, mother," 
 he added, " that though I am not in general celebrated for any 
 very superabundant degree of modest shyness, it was that, and 
 nothing else, which prevented my being introduced. You know 
 I went with the Lymptons, who are always late, and he was 
 talking so earnestly to the people about him, that really, and 
 truly, I had not sufficient audacity to be led up, as if on purpose 
 to interrupt him. But, decidedly, I never saw such a man in 
 my life. His height is — " 
 
 At this moment the two carriages which conveyed the party 
 from the Oaks drove up to the door; the eloquence of Henry 
 
oU . THE You::a HEmESS. 
 
 came to a sncldcn stop ; and Uic group, wlio were nil standiii"" 
 round .Mrs. Ivixley'.-^ cluiir near the fire, remained both stationai-y 
 and silent. 
 
 It was, iiowever, but. a very sliorfc interval which intervened 
 between the arrival of the carriages and the opening of the 
 drawing-room door ; and the party that entered were so 
 animated, and so joyous, that a minute or two was devoted 
 to the loving embraces of the ladies, before the introduction of 
 the stranger could take place. 
 
 He stood meanwhile with as much gentlemanlike avoidance 
 of staring at the individual whom he was most anxious to sec, 
 as he could contrive to do without positively shutting his e3'es. 
 But, nevertheless, he certainly did feel a good deal of curiosity 
 about the young and beautiful heiress who was about to bestow 
 herself upon George Harrington. 
 
 Many circumstances had contributed to excite and increase 
 this curiositj^ the most effectual of all, perhaps, being the fact 
 that she was the only young lady in the neighbourhood whom 
 he had not seen. Another circumstance, also, had doubtless 
 contributed not a little to the frequency with which her name 
 and distinguished position in the county were made to attract 
 his notice — and this was the peculiarly conspicuous situation of 
 her house and grounds. 
 
 It was difficult to walk or to ride in any direction throughout 
 the whole neighbourhood without coming, in some way or other, 
 within sight of Beauchamp Park, its noble mansion, and its 
 mao-nificent woods ; and the having been told whenever this 
 happened to him, and however varied the different points of 
 view might be, that all he saw and admired belonged, not to tho 
 odious Lord Marquis of Carabns, but to a beautiful young lady, 
 owning the sonorous name which appertained to her splendid 
 domain, could scarcely fail of exciting a certain degree of 
 curiosity concerning the appearance and much vaunted beauty 
 of this highly-favoured individual. 
 
 It is certain, indeed, that he was far too agreeably and too 
 completely occupied while at Speedhurst Abbey, by the fascinat- 
 ing employment of falling in love, to retain any very distinct 
 recollection of all he had heard about the beautiful lady of 
 Beauchamp Park, but his interest upon the subject was 
 effectually roused again by learning, upon his first visit as 
 an accepted lover at the Oaks, that his future brother-in-law 
 was the happy and envied individual upon whom she had deter- 
 mined to bestow her heart, hand, and acres. 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. SiB 
 
 Ifc wns, therefore, csi-tainly not ^Yithollt some effort, and a 
 determination to behave particularly well, that he respectfully 
 bowed to the tall young lady to whom he was immediately pre- 
 sented, and who was, of course, named to him as the Miss 
 Beanchamp, of whom he had heard so much, and then followed 
 his friend George to the chair of her aunt, without pausing an 
 instant to look at the beautiful face he had heard so enthusi- 
 astically extolled. 
 
 Mrs/Rixley was, at that time, too nearly being a cripple for 
 her to rise from her chair to receive the party, but she very 
 cordially extended her hand to him, even before he was named, 
 as an evidence that, though unknown, he was not held to be a 
 stranger. 
 
 The promptitude with which this friendly welcome was 
 offered caused their hands to meet before George Harrington 
 had pronounced her name; but, when he did so, the brave 
 Colonel Maurice started as vehemently as if he had been a 
 nervous young lady, who v/as listening to something- that 
 particularly affected her sensibilit}^, and abruptly dropping the 
 hand which the good lady had so kindly extended, he stood 
 looking at her with an air which had much less of gentleman- 
 like ease in it, than of eager, but embarrassed curiosity. 
 
 She looked up into his face for a moment in a manner which 
 certainly seemed to indicate a doubt as to his being in a per- 
 fectly sane state of mind. And, perhaps, she was right, for the 
 abruptness with which he turned away from her and approached 
 the mistress of the house, to whom he had just paid his com- 
 pliments with so much observant decorum, fully justified the 
 persuasion, which immediately took possession of her, that there 
 certainly was " something odd about him." 
 
 But it required little time to perceive that this oddness was 
 either infectious, or that, at any rate, it was shared by one who 
 had never heretofore shown any symptoms of eccentricity, for on 
 fixing her eyes upon her niece, as Colonel Maurice turned round 
 and approached her, Mrs. Rixley, with equal astonishment and 
 alarm, perceived her to be as pale as death, and with her eyes 
 fixed upon the gallant Colonel, with an expression which it was 
 not very easy to interpret, but which certainly did not express 
 either anger or aversion. 
 
 But thought, with all its rapidity, had barely time to suggest 
 the question, " What can all this mean ? " before Colonel 
 Maurice had sprung forward, and, throwing his arms round 
 her, held her iu a close embrace, bending his lofty head upon 
 
346 THE YOUXG HEIRESS. 
 
 hev slioulfler, firid velicmeiitly exclaiming, " My Helen ! my 
 Helen ! It is my own Helen ! " 
 
 That the Rixley family were, all three of them, greatly 
 s(-artled and astonished is very certain, for one from the dead 
 could scarcel}'" have come among them more unexpectedly than 
 did this long-lost wanderer ; yet, nevertheless, it took no great 
 time, and no great exertion of memory, before the truth sug- 
 gested itself to them all; and they perceived, without a shadow 
 of doubt, as to the flict, that the magnificent-looking young 
 man, vrhom they saw before them supporting theii' precious 
 Helen in his arms, was no other than the natural son of her 
 father, u^Don whose name and existence an act of oblivion had 
 been so systeraaticiilly passed by the whole of the Rixley family, 
 that the possibility of his being still among the living had for 
 years ceased to suggest itself to their minds. 
 
 But the case was different with respect to George Harring- 
 ton; for though but a few hours, comparatively speaking, had 
 elapsed since Helen herself had narrated to him all the circum- 
 stances of her early histor}'', and had, moreover, succeeded in 
 awakeninof a warm and affectionate feeling of interest in his 
 heart for the poor forlorn boy, whom she had only designated 
 as her "unhappy William," no thought for an instant sug- 
 gested itself that the highly distinguished man whom he had 
 only seen in pride of place, and the honoured and admired oi all 
 observers could be one and the same. Yet so it was ; while so 
 unconscious was this umwhile "poor William" that there could 
 exist any doubt about his being Helen's brother, that, after again 
 and again kissing her, and perceiving at last that the close 
 embrace in which she had held him seemed to relax, and that in 
 the next moment she was sinking from his arms, he caught her 
 up as unceremoniously as if she had been an infant, and carried 
 her to the further extremity of the room, where stood a large 
 sofa against the wall, permitting him to lay her down at full 
 length, which was evidently the best thing to do ; for she had 
 fainted, and was completely insensible. 
 
 All this had passed almost in less time than it can be told; 
 yet, nevertheless, the unfortunate George Harrington's brain 
 found leisure to fabricate a romance, which very nearly drove 
 him mad. In fact, at that moment he utterly forgot all Helen's 
 explanation respecting the fanciful obstacles which had so long 
 kept them asunder, and only remembered the manner in which, 
 for such a length of time, she had clearly given him to under- 
 stand that she would not, or could not, receive his addresses. 
 
THE YOUNG HEIEESS. 347 
 
 Here, tlien, was the explanation ! The man -wliom she liad 
 so eviLlcntly loved had been vraited for till she had ceased to 
 hope for his return ! And then she had accepted him! Colonel 
 Maurice's exclamation, ^^ IlpJen ! my ouni Helen!" rung in his 
 ears; and it was with gestures, very like those of a maniac, 
 that, after gazing for a moment on the spectacle which mad- 
 dened him, he prepared to rush out of the room. The feelings of 
 his family were decidedly in very perfect sympathy with his 
 own. Not one of them had ever heard it hinted that the heiress 
 of Beauchamp Park had any brother belonging to her. What 
 inference, therefore, could they draw from the scene they had 
 witnessed, save that a long-lost lover had been restored to her 
 in the person of Colonel Maurice ? Both Jane Harrington and 
 her mother were so deeply shocked and outraged by the sight of 
 the endearments so audaciouslj' displayed before them, that they 
 indignantly turned away, each taking possession of a distant 
 window; while the unhappy Agnes^quite as miserable, though 
 not so vehemently distracted, as her brother, supported herself 
 as she could by placing her trembling hands upon the back of a 
 chair, and endeavouring to soothe her indignant father, who 
 stood beside her, muttering something that did not sound at all 
 like a blessing, either upon her quondam lover or her quondam 
 friend, or it might be upon both ! 
 
 Meanwhile there was one, and but one, individual present who 
 understood what had happened. The only individual capable of 
 interpreting' the whole scene was the reverend Mr. Bixley; and, 
 to do him justice, he felt, as he contemplated the various systems 
 of unhappiness before him, that he had been greatly to blame, 
 for that he had, in a very great measure, been the cause of it 
 all 1 Nor was he altogether wrong in this severe self-judg- 
 ment. 
 
 He perfectly remembered the repugnance, for it was more 
 than indifference, with which he had turned from Mr. Bolton 
 when he had endeavoured to excite some deo-ree of interest in 
 his heart for the friendless boy whom his unprincipled brother 
 had left in a state of such utter destitution ; he remembered 
 keenly, too, at that moment, all the noble qualities, and brilliant 
 talents for which the good clergyman of Crumpton had given him 
 credit, and of which his subsequent success in his profession had 
 now given ample and unanswerable proof. Neither could he 
 forget, in that moment of disagreeable selt-examination, how 
 many a time and offc poor Helen had endeavoured, during the 
 firat few months of her residence with him, to awaken some 
 
34.'8 THE YOUNG HEIRESS, 
 
 fepllng" of kindness towards hev unhapp}'' Lrotlier, and he now 
 felt, what he had never felt before, that he had been wrong, 
 very wronov in hatinix the son for the sins of his father. 
 
 Of the facts, which ^vould have made it impossible for any 
 feelings, however kind on his part, to have assisted the desolate 
 hoj, he knew nothing. Had he been better informed on that 
 point, he might have felt less dissatisfied with himself at the 
 present moment. As it was, however, the very obvious truth 
 suggested itself that the best way to atone for his past blunders 
 ■woule be by correcting the effect of them; and this he im- 
 mediately began to do in the most judicious and gentlemanlike 
 manner possible. 
 
 He had been standing: on the hearth-ruo; at the moment when 
 the sound of his name had produced so startling an affect on the 
 nerves of the distinguished officer, who, after having been^e^ecZ 
 throuo'hout the whole neicrhbourhood, had now honoured 
 Beauchamp Park with a"\'isit for the first time. And it was 
 from this same post on the hearth-rug that he had looked on 
 u;ion the scene that has been described. 
 
 From the moment that the "Helen ! my own Helen!" had 
 reached the ears of Mr. Rixle}'', he comprehended the whole of 
 the mystery, which was doubtless less a mystery than it would 
 have been if he had not remembered the many vehement 
 encomiums so vainly uttered by poor Helen upon her lost 
 brother, to all of which he had thought it discreetest and best to 
 tarn a deaf ear. 
 
 Perceiving that George Hai'rington, upon hearing these 
 words, was about to leave the room in a very demented state, 
 Mr. P^ixley stepped hastily towards him, and laying a gentle 
 hand upon his arm, said, in the most quiet manner possible, 
 " I must request you, my good friend, not to leave the room till 
 you have listened to me for half a moment! You must excuse 
 our dear Helen for suffering herself to be overcome by this most 
 joyful surprise. Colonel Maurice is my nephew, Mr. Harring- 
 ton, and the brother of Helen." 
 
 Then lowering* his voice, he added, in a whisper, "Her 
 natural brother, Mr, Harrington, and it is probable, I think, 
 that he has preferred taking another name, perhaps that of his 
 mother, to retaining that of Rixlo}" ; for I am sorry to say that 
 my brother did not leave any provision for him by his will; 
 and, as we have entirely lost sight of him since his father's 
 death, and now find him again, so highly placed in the profes- 
 sion upon which he must have entered entirely without 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 349 
 
 patronnge or assistancs of any kind, we have every reason 
 to suppose that his conduct has been all that his best friends 
 could have wished it to be." 
 
 It was evidently with some difSculty that the impetuous 
 George Harrington permitted himself to be detained by the 
 gentle voice and g^entle hand of Helen's uncle till be had 
 finished speaking ; for, before one-half of his explanation 
 was uttered, the penitent young man was ready to accuse 
 himself of more base ingratitude and vile suspicion than was 
 ever before exhibited by mortal man. 
 
 He restrained himself, however, with exemplary respect and 
 deference, till Mr, Rixley paused, and removed his hand, and 
 then bounded, in defiance of chairs and tables, to the sofa on 
 which Helen was still Ijang, with her eyes closed, but with 
 cheeks and lips less deadly pale than they had been. 
 
 Her brother was kneeling beside her, with her hand locked 
 in his, and his eyes fixed upon her, with an expression which 
 seemed very eloquently to tell how dearly and unchangeably he 
 had loved her since they parted last, 
 
 Agnes Harrington, almost as penitent as her brother, was 
 already stationed at the sofa, scarcely venturing to look at 
 Colonel Maurice — for had she not dared to believe him capable 
 of all sorts of sin and iniquity for the space of several seconds ? 
 
 A word in good season is always good, and rarely have more 
 seasonable words been uttered than those which Mr. Rixley had 
 spoken, and continued to speak. The cloud of suspicion and 
 distrust which had seemed to lower around Colonel Maurice 
 suddenly assumed the very brightest hues, and his being- wel- 
 comed to Beauchamp Park as the beloved and honoured brother 
 of its mistress, appeared likely to strengthen his pretensions to 
 the hand of Agnes much more than the blot on his escutcheon 
 had ever tended to weaken it. Such being the feeling pro- 
 duced by the scene I have described, it is scarcely necessary to 
 add, that Helen opened her fair eyes upon a scene of much 
 more perfect happiness than she had ever, in her most sanguine 
 moments, dared to hope for; and, indeed, it might be difficult to 
 find anywhere a party of more well-pleascd, hopeful, and 
 warmlj^-attached human beings, than those which sat down to 
 dinner at Buuuchamp Park oa that eventful day. 
 
350 ' THE yOUlN'G HEUIESS. 
 
 CHAPTER LVI. 
 
 There are some sorts of contentment whicli seem to soothe 
 people to sleep, and there are other sorts which are calculated 
 to keep them wakmg. The recovery of her long-lost brother 
 was not an event which produced anything like a tendency to 
 sleep in Helen. A sense of happiness seemed to accompany 
 every throb of her heart and every thought of her head; but 
 neither the one nor the other suggested any idea of dreaming 
 inactivity. On the contrar}^, she felt that her situation was 
 greatly changed by the events of this important day, and that 
 her first duty was to meditate upon this change in all its bear- 
 ings, and tlien to decide according to her own best and most 
 deliberate judgment upon what she ought to do in the perfectly 
 new situation in which she found herself placed. 
 
 Perhaps the first thought which presented itself to her mind, 
 as she sat herself before the fire in the midnight solitude of her 
 dressing-room, was, that whatever she did must be done by her 
 own judgment, and be dictated by her own heart, for that it was 
 quite impossible that anyone — no, not even George Harrington 
 himself — could share, or even understand, her life-long feelings 
 for her brother. 
 
 And the thought which followed this came in the shape of a 
 feelins: of thankfulness that William had been restored to her 
 before she had become the wife of any man. It is very possible 
 that her lover might have been pained, had he been cognizant 
 of this thought; but, if so, he would have been wrong, and 
 blundering'. The love which Helen bore to him, and which slie 
 had pledged to him with equal truth and devotion, was in no 
 way affected by the thoughts which caused her to rejoice that 
 she was not j^et his wife. 
 
 She knew, with a feeling of the most undoubting certainty, 
 that had the ceremony passed which would make his will her 
 law, that will would have taken the colour of hers, in all that 
 she mio-ht wish to do for her brother; but then he would have 
 complied with her wishes, because she was his wife, and might 
 have felt that no alternative was left hirn. 
 
THE YOUXG HEIEES3. 351 
 
 But now the case would be different. Perhaps she felt a little 
 conscious, too, that her own idea of the chiims which her 
 brother had upon her might not precisely assimilate with the 
 ideas of others, a discrepancy of judgment which she very fairly 
 accounted for, by remembering that nobody but herself could 
 know what William had been to her during the first fourteen 
 5'ears of her checquered life. Sarah. Lambert, indeed, if she 
 still existed, might remember how the boy would, day after day, 
 give up his favourite pastimes, to cheer and comfort her. But 
 not even Sarah Lambert could tell how mucli his mind had been 
 the parent of her own, or how deep was the influence which his 
 generous and noble spirit, and his bold clear intellect, had left 
 upon her. 
 
 " I should have been a drone, a very clod, an animal with 
 nothing of humanity but its weakness, had it not been for him ! 
 Shall I forget the hours, ay, the years during wliich he made 
 our dreary school-room at the Warren House the dearest 
 spot on earth to me?" Such was the sort of soliloquy in 
 which Helen Beauchamp indulged, during more than one 
 long hour of that sleepless night, and most assuredly she 
 was right in the conclusion to which she came, namely, that 
 as nobody in the whole wide world, excej^t herself, knew how 
 much she owed to him, or how much she loved him, so nobody 
 but herself could know with how good a right her heart claimed 
 the privilege of dictating the manner in which he ought to be 
 treated by her. 
 
 If she were wrong in thus thinking, she erred without guilt, 
 for most conscientiously did she believe that she w^as right. 
 The result of all this meditation may be gathered from the 
 following letter, which she wrote the night after she had 
 recovered her brother, before she laid her head upon her pillow. 
 
 "My Dearest Geokge Harrington, 
 
 " I need not tell you that I am happy, for you know it 
 already. But what I would tell you, if I had the power, is the 
 nature and species of the happiness which has been to-day added 
 to the large stock I had before, by finding again the precious 
 treasure I had lost. But I must have patience, my dearest 
 friend. There is but one way by which you can be made to 
 understand the value of this treasure, and that is by learning to 
 know William as well as I know him. Then, and then onl}', 
 will you be able to comprehend what it is you have bestowed 
 upon me, by bringing us togeliier, and what it is you have 
 
352 THE YOUNG HEIRESS, 
 
 bestowed uiDon Agnes, instead of choosing- her a husband by the 
 assistance of the 'peerage,' or the 'lauded genfcrj^' 
 
 " But ' for a' that, and for a' that,' George Harrington, there 
 is still a disoovery scene to be opened to you, which most women 
 as old as I am mig:ht consider as a tremendous touchstone to be 
 applied to your affection ; but I tell you very frankly, that I 
 have not the very slightest shadow of alarm or trepidation in 
 applying it to you. And yet I am quite aware that I might not 
 perhaps feel quite so indifferent about making the disclosure if 
 either my dear good uncle or your dear good father were to bo 
 the recipient of it, 
 
 "Not that I think that they would either of them eventually 
 oppose me, but just at first they might neither of them receive 
 it exactly as I should wish them to do. 
 
 " It will not be feeling like a good-for-nothing Pharisee, will 
 it George, if I always go on thinking, as I do at present, that 
 you are not as other men are ? I really do think so, however, 
 whether it be pharisaical or not, and it is for that reason that I 
 now venture so fearlessly to remind you that I am no longer the 
 wealthy heiress that I appeared to be when you offered me 
 your hand. 
 
 " I refused your hand then, George, because I thought that if 
 you knew the whole truth about me, and my singular position, 
 3^our pride might receive the wound too deep for even love to 
 heal. You know how this fancy was cured, and since I 
 recovered from its baleful influence, my happiness has acquired 
 a sort of healthy robustness which it will require something 
 stronger than fancy to destro3^ 
 
 " It is, therefore, without any mixture of doubt or fear as to 
 the result that I now announce to you a fact which I certainly 
 believe would greatly shock many men, though I am very com- 
 fortably persuaded that it will not very greatly shock you. 
 This redoubtable fact is, that the property which you believed 
 me to possess has become only half as much as it has been 
 represented to you, for it will have to be divided equally 
 between my brother and myself. 
 
 '• For reasons which it is not necessary that I should dwell 
 upon, the whole of what may be strictly called the Beauchamp 
 properly will form my portion ; but a large sum in the funds, 
 together with the rents ot three large out-standing farms, which 
 have been purchased long since the Beauchamp property and 
 the Beauchamp name have been united, will produce an 
 income fully equal to that which I retain for myself. 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 353 
 
 " This epistle, dear George, would, I believe, be considered by 
 most gentlemen as but a queer sort of love letter ; nevertheless, 
 I feel that nothing but my very perfect love for you could have 
 inspired the feeling of happiness witli which it is written, or the 
 feeling of approval and happiness, too, with which I know ifc 
 will be received. So, after all, you see, it is a very perfect love- 
 letter and nothino' else. 
 
 "And now, dearest, 'good night,' or rather 'good morning,* 
 for the turret-clock has long ago rung, in twelve sonorous 
 strokes, the knell of yesterday. I daresay it will not be many 
 hours before we meet again, and then we will talk over in 
 proper business-like style the sabject upon which I have opened 
 in this midnight scrawl. Though I go to bed late, I think T 
 shall get up early enough to dispatch this in time to reach you 
 before your lazily late breakfast. 
 
 " Yours now and ever, 
 
 " Helen Beauchamp. 
 
 " P.S. — Tell William to leave Agnes, and come to me as soon 
 as he can get permission to do so." 
 
 Having finished and sealed this letter, the happy Helen crept 
 noiselessly to bed, and fell into a most delicious sleep almost as 
 soon as she laid her head upon the pillow. Bat habit was 
 stronger than fatigue, and she waked early as usual, and, 
 accordingly, as she had predicted, her letter reached Georg'e 
 Harrington before the family had assembled for breakfast. 
 
 If the spirit of Helen could have been put "en rapport," as 
 the mesmerists call it, with the sph^it of George Harrington, 
 while he read this letter, she would have enjoyed another 
 moment of that very perfect species of happiness which arises 
 from feeling that we are loved even as we love, and understood 
 even as we would be understood. The postscript produced its 
 expected effect, and Colonel Maurice arrived at Beauchamp quite 
 as soon as his sister expected him, which is equivalent to saying* 
 that he arrived as speedily as George Harrington's fleetest horse 
 could bring him. The feelings produced in the hearts of these 
 long-severed children of the Warren House by this meeting 
 needs no description. A reunion under almost any circum- 
 stances would have gratified what had certainly been the first 
 wish of both their hearts for many long years; but under the 
 circumstances in which they found each other now it required, 
 as Helen said, a strong intellectual effort to enable them to 
 believe that it was not a dream, bat a reality. A few laughing 
 24 
 
o K 
 
 54 THE YOUNG HEmES?. 
 
 moments were actually spent in \Yliat they both called improv- 
 ing* their personal acquaintance, and when this was accom- 
 plished so effectually as to enable them both to declare that 
 they should know each otlier ac^ain lot them meet where tliey 
 would, the eagerly anticipated delight of listening to each 
 other's adventures beG:an. 
 
 " You shall begin, Helen," said Colonel Maurice, placing 
 himself, not on the seat she offered him beside herself upon the 
 sofa, but on a chair on the opposite side of the little table wliich 
 stood before it. And he v/as right in so placing himself, for her 
 countenance was indeed one of t'lose in which feelino- — 
 
 o 
 
 "So divinely "vn'oufijht, 
 That one m^ght almost say hei- body tliought." 
 
 *' "Where must I beo-in, William ?" said she. 
 
 "At the very beginning, Helen," he replied, "and that is the 
 moment when I wished you good night, after that dreadful 
 scene with my father in the parlour!" 
 
 Something like a shudder passed over her at the mention of 
 that scene, but she raised licr eyes to the dear face opposite to 
 her, and inwardly breathed the words, '' Tliank God !" 
 
 " Yes, I must begin there," said she, with a happy smile, 
 though tears were in her eyes at the same moment. " You 
 wished me good night, William, and poor Sarah Lambert told 
 me I must go to-bed, and to-bed I went, and, child-like, went to 
 sleep, too; though, even then, my heart, as I well remember, 
 was very, very sad. But, oh! the dreadful waking, William ! 
 Shall I ever forget it ? " 
 
 "Because you heard I was gone, dearest?" said Colonel 
 Maurice, tenderl3^ 
 
 "No, no, that came after !" and again poor Helen shuddered, 
 in spite of all her happiness. " No ! I was waked by Sarah 
 Lambert, and, when I opened my eyes, I saw her hanging over 
 me with a face as white as the sheet. I well remember that 
 my first words were, ' What's the matter, Sarah ?' and that her 
 answer, spoken very gently and sooth ingh^, was, * Compose 
 yourself, my dear ! 1 have strange news to tell you — your 
 father is dead ! ' I scarcely know what I did, or what I said. 
 I suppose I uttered some cry, foi* I know that she told me to be 
 reasonable, for that the house was in confusion, and that I must 
 not make myself troublesome. And then I said, ' Where in 
 William .'" Poor Sarah ! I well remember that she did 
 not an.?wer me immediately ; for she knew what her answer 
 
THE YOUXG IIETRE^F!. 355 
 
 would be to me ! But on my saying again, ' Where is 
 William?^ s]ie replied, 'He is gone a -nv a}-, Helen, He is gone 
 somewhere — I know not where ;' but then she added, ' Of 
 course, my dear, he won't stay long. Get up, Helen, get up ! 
 Perhaps he will come back, and want his breakfast.' But she 
 did not Speak as if you would come back; and when I went 
 down-stairs and saw Rebecca- Watkins, she told me that you had 
 gone away in tlie night, and got out of your window." 
 
 " Gracious Heaven ! " exclaimed Colonel Maurice, greatlj'- 
 agitated, "what a frightful coincidence! — What did my father 
 die of, Helen r " 
 
 " They say he died from poison," she replied. 
 
 " And I let myself down from my window by the help 
 of my sheets during the night he died ! Everybody mu?t 
 have thought I had poisoned him ! Did not people sav so, 
 Helen?" 
 
 "My dearest William I hardly know what they said," she 
 replied, her lips trembling, and her complexion varying from 
 pale to red, " ibr I became very, very ill, and for a time I lost 
 my senses." 
 
 " And she never told me of this! She never told me a sinole 
 word of it ! " 
 
 "Who are you speaking of? " said Helen. " Who is it could 
 have told you of it? " 
 
 " Sarah Lambert," lie replied, with strong agitation. 
 
 " Did she find you, then ? Did Sarah Lambert really find 
 you, William ?" 
 
 "To be sure she did, Helen; but her conduct seems to have 
 been most mysterious! You know, then, that she left England 
 to seek me ? " 
 
 " Yes, and that is all I know," returned his sister. " Mr. 
 Bolton wrote, to tell me that our old servant had left Eno'land, 
 declaring to everj'body she knew in Falmouth, that she would 
 never return till she had found you." 
 
 "And she did find me, Helen," said Colonel !^[aurice, "not- 
 withstanding the immense distance to which I had wandered, 
 and the further impediment of my having dropped the name, to 
 which, as I had been so cruelly told, I had no right, and taken 
 that of my unfortunate mother. But she found me, a poor 
 soldier, just launched on my career in India, and from that time 
 she never left me till she died !" 
 
 " She is dead, then ! " cried Helen, mournfully. " Our poor 
 Sarah Lambert is dead ! I thought it mu.st be so ; I thouo-ht 
 
 24—^ 
 
356 THE YOUNG nEIRES.?. 
 
 t'lat siie woald have let me hear something of her, had she been 
 alive." 
 
 "No, Helen," replied her brother. "Her death is of very 
 recent date; it only happened a week or two before I quitted 
 the country. She seemed to have a strong and a strange 
 repugnance to the idea of recalling lierself to the memory of 
 anyone whom she had known while in the service of my father. 
 It seems hardly consistent with the tone of her character in 
 other respects, but I think it must have been some species of 
 pride which dictated this reserve, for her feelings to'wards you 
 were evidently as tenderly affectionate as ever. Bat she had 
 come into the possession of some property before she joined me, 
 and was in perfectly independent circumstances, and I presume 
 that this must have been her reason for not washing to preserve 
 any intercourse with those who knew her only as a servant." 
 
 "If this be so," replied Helen, "her character must have been 
 one of very extraordinary inconsistency, for, to the best of ray 
 recollection, she was the most perfectly indifferent to everything 
 approaching pride of place, as far as it concerned herself, at 
 least, of anyone I ever knew. I am quite sure that she would 
 not have cared a farthing whether she had been looked upon as 
 the confidential housekeeper, which she certainly was, or as one 
 of the hardest- working of kitchen-maids." 
 
 " I should have thought so, too," returned her brother ; " but, 
 nevertheless, it would be very difficult to find any other theory 
 by which her conduct to you can be accounted for. Siie seemed 
 to remember the kindness of dear good Mr. Bolton, however, 
 very gratefully, and but a few days before she died, she 
 employed herself for an hour or two in writing to him." 
 
 " Did you forward that letter to him immediately, William?" 
 said Helen. "I do not think he could have received it," she 
 added, " for I am almost sure that if he had got such a letter 
 he would have told me of it." 
 
 "He never has had it as yet, Helen," returned Colonel 
 Maurice, " for poor Sarah's dying request was, that I should 
 deliver it to him myself And I would have done so long ere 
 this, notwithstanding the many things which have detained me 
 in London, had it not been for an accident which has occasioned 
 some months' delay in the arrival of the package containing the 
 writing-desk which contained it. In fact, my baggage got 
 mixed with that of another officer when we changed our sailing- 
 vessel for a steamer at the Cape, and as he did not come on 
 with us, my very important packing-case was left behind. How- 
 
IHE YOUNG UiilRESS. 357 
 
 ever, I got a letter from bim the other day cxpLiining the 
 blunder, and telling me that he was about to forward the case 
 immediately, consigned to my own agent in London, and yon 
 may depend upon it, dearest, that I will not umiecessarily delay 
 the"^ delivery of it, though in all probability it contains nothing 
 more important than her grateful thanks for all the kindness he 
 had shovv'n her." 
 
 "I suppose so, poor thing! And, indeed, I well remember 
 that he and his sweet wife, also, were very, very kind to us 
 both !" replied Helen. " But now, dearest William, tell me, I 
 entreat you, how it happens that after having heard all that 
 Sarah Lambert must have been able to tell you, you could have 
 been at hdj loss where to seek for me ? " 
 
 " You are now touching upon a theme, Helen," he replied, 
 " which is indeed most strangely full of mystery. For some 
 reason or other which I could never get her to explain, she 
 never ceased repeating to me that if I k.iew my own interest I 
 should avoid returning to England for some time to come. She 
 more than liinted that I had enemies, and, at length, named 
 your Uncle E-ixley as one very likely to treat me with the same 
 indignity that my father had done. I was, from many fortunate 
 accidents, rising rapidly in my profession ; and I imagine that ifc 
 was this she alUided to when she repeated, as she did almost 
 every time that I had leisure to converse with her, ' TJie time 
 ivill come, dear William, u-Jien you may lentiire to return, and he 
 afraid of no man. Only ivait patiently for a year or two ; it luill 
 not be very long, Itliinh.* 
 
 " Once I understood her to say that if she were dead, nobody 
 would be able to annoy me afterwards, but when I pressed her 
 to explain what she meant by this, she prevaricated strangely, 
 and ended by saying that she did not mean it." 
 
 " But why did you never write to me, William," said Helen, 
 in a tone of very gentle reproach. "I can easily imagine," she 
 added, " that it would have been impossible for you to come to 
 Europe without cutting short the brilliant career on which j'ou 
 had entered. But surely you might have written to me !" 
 
 " Surely I could have done no such thing, dear Helen," 
 returned her brother, " for she positively assured me that she 
 knew not to what part of the world your uncle had carried you ; j 
 but she constantly added that she was sure all this mystery 
 would be over in a year or two. ' AVait till you are still higher 
 in rank, dearest William !' was her invariable reply to all my 
 questionings about you ; and I v/ill confess to yoL\ ray Helen, 
 
oo8 THE YOUXG IIEIKESS. 
 
 that I did in some degree share in tliis feeling' myself. It would 
 have been otherwise had I not known you were in the hands, as 
 she callel it, of my father's brother, and as the higher rank she 
 prophesied did certainly seem to be coming upon me very 
 rapiiily, I could not help thinking that she knew what she was 
 talking about. Moreover, her advice was the more likely to be 
 listened to, from the fact that I could not have run counter to it 
 if I would, for at no moment up to the time of her death, could 
 I ever have quitted my regiment without such a dereliction of 
 duty as must have rendered my doing it impossible under any 
 circumstances ; and as to writing, it was of course vain to think 
 of it, since I knew not Avhcre to address my letters." 
 
 Helen remained silent, and her expressive features showed 
 that she "was in deep meditation. " What are you thinking of, 
 dear one?" said her brother, taking her hand. " Are you still 
 reproachincr me in vour heart for not coming back to look for 
 
 your; 
 
 " No, dearest William, no," she replied, endeavouring to 
 return his smile. "1 was only meditatinu' on the singular 
 manner in which poor Sarah Lambert seems to have conducted 
 herself." 
 
 " 1 marvel not that it puzzles you, my Helen," he returned, 
 " for it has never ceased to be a puzzle to me. But I must leave 
 you now, sweet sister, or my terinagant wife that is to be, will 
 accuse me of abusino- her confidence. You are all to dine with 
 us to-day, are you not? And then I must absolutely and 
 positively tear myself away irom you both, and hasten to 
 London, or else, instead of being made a K.C.B., I shall 
 probably be sent to the right about." 
 
 He shook hands with her as he spoke, then gave a parting 
 kiss, and left the room. 
 
 CHAPTER LVII. 
 
 Helen saw hira go without making any eflfbrt to detain him, 
 though she had still muc'.i to say which was important for him 
 to hear; for it was her purpose to tell of the division which she 
 intended to make of her property, which she was quite aware 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 359 
 
 that it was necessary be should know directly, on account of 
 the difference it would doubtless make in the settlements upon 
 which the lawyers were already employed, and she was aware 
 also, til at as he had delayed his departure for a day, for the sake 
 of being with her for a few tranquil hours before they were 
 again parted, she ought to have put it in his power to have 
 written to his lawyer by that day's post. 
 
 But poor Helen felt her troubles were not over yet, and at 
 that moment she wished for nothing so ardently as to be left 
 alone Thouo-h she had spoken of the conduct of Mrs. Lambert 
 as mysterious, and though she had felt it to be so as she listened 
 to him, a dark memory of the past recurred to her. The 
 dreadful scene which she had witnessed in Mr. Bolton's hall 
 (the immediate effect of which had been to throw her into a 
 frenzy fever) had never been forgotten, though it long rested 
 upon her mind more like the recollection of a painful dream 
 than of a reality ; but as CoIqucI Maurice described to her the 
 strange perseverance with which Sarah Lambert had reiterated 
 her advice to him not to return to England till many years had 
 passed, it occurred to her as highly probable that she also had 
 remembered it, and that her advice was dictated by the fear that 
 should it be discovered, notwithstanding his change of name, 
 that he w^as again in England, and, as would probably happen, 
 paying a grateful visit to Mr. Bolton, the Crumpton sailors, 
 with Commodore Jack at their head, would be very likely to 
 receive him in a mannner which, to siiy the least of it, would 
 be exceedingly disagreeable. 
 
 What Sarah Lambert could have meant by stating that a 
 few years would suffice to remove the obstacles to his return, it 
 was difficult to say ; but it was not on this point that Helen 
 was pondering when her brother took his hasty departure 
 from her dressing-room; she was, in truth, weighing the pros 
 and cons respecting the wisdom of communicating to him the 
 suspicions to which his departure had given rise. 
 
 It is probable that she would have decided against repeating 
 what it mast have given him so much pain to hear; but he had 
 vanished before she had reached a final decision on the subject; 
 and no sooner was he gone than these vague memories of 
 the past vanished before the positive importance of the present, 
 and she immediately sat down to her writing-desk, and indited 
 a letter to him, in which without preface or circumlocution of 
 any sort, she briefly stated to him the fact, that property which 
 she believed to be of the value of about ninety thousand pounds, 
 
360 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 was about to be made over to him, and stating also, with great 
 sincerity, that her reason for sending after him in such haste 
 was, that if he wished to make any alteration in his marriage- 
 settlements he might have the advantage of that day's post 
 to announce it to his lawyer. She added, also, that George 
 Harrington had already been made perfectly aware of this 
 division of their father's property, and that he highly approved 
 it. 
 
 On this point, indeed, George Harrington did not leave it to 
 the man who was to be doubly his brother-in-law to enter upon 
 the subject with him; but even before Helen's letter had 
 reached the hands of her brother, the Squire of Speedhurst, 
 having waylaid him as he returned from Beauchamp Park, 
 had stated to him in the simplest and most business-like 
 manner possible, that such and such farms, in the neighbour- 
 hood, and such and such sums in the funds, were his. In short, 
 the manner in which this announcement was made, both by his 
 sister and his sister's afiBanced husband, was such as to render 
 the whole transaction as soothing to his heart as it was advan- 
 tageous to his fortune. 
 
 The hours of that bus}'', happy day soon made themselves 
 wings, and flew away ; and the following* morning left the 
 two affianced brides at full leisure to console themselves as well 
 as they might for the absence of their departed lovers, for they 
 agreed to pass the whole morning ttte-d-tete together, because 
 both Jane and Henry were so exceedingly tiresome and dis- 
 agreeable. 
 
 And what with this soothing tete-a-tete for the present, and 
 the prospect of all sorts of happiness for the future, tempers of 
 worse texture than could be found either at Beauchamp Park or 
 the Oaks, might have contrived to endure without any very 
 grave grumbling, the tediousness even of lawyers and coach- 
 makers, had these been all the evils which threatened to inter- 
 vene between them and their bright future. 
 
 But such smooth sailing- as this was not long destined to be 
 their lot; and the fearful disappointment which awaited them 
 was made the more bitter by its coming at the very moment 
 when the arrival of those so eagerly and so gaily looked for was 
 expected. 
 
 It had been settled that Beauchamp Park should be the scene 
 of the happy reunion. Colonel Maurice was, of course, to take 
 up his residence there till the day fixed for the doable wedding, 
 after which it was arranged that George Harrington and his 
 
THE YOUXG HEIRESS. 861 
 
 bride should go at once to Speedliuvst Abbey, but that Colonel 
 Maurice and his Agnes should make a short tour upon the Con- 
 tinent, Avhile a very charming mansion, which they had been 
 lucky enough to find wanting a tenant, near Speedhurst, was 
 being made ready for them, under the superintending care of 
 their neighbours at the Abbey. 
 
 The train which was to bring the two gentlemen to the 
 station, which was at no very great distance from the residence 
 of either, was to arrive about an hour before the usual dinner- 
 hour at Beauchamp Park, and under the superintending care of 
 bis sister Jane, who, as she said, was more in possession of her 
 senses than Agnes could be expected to be, all things necessary 
 for the toilet of George Harrington were laid ready for biin 
 there. 
 
 Colonel Maurice, as poor Helen delighted to say, was " cominc 
 home," and never did any home look more smilingly ready than 
 the apartment prepared for his use. 
 
 Helen herself, as may be easily imagined, was lingering at 
 no great distance from the hall door, that she might be in 
 readiness to meet them ; nay, as she had on both her bonnet and 
 shawl, ifc might be that she had some thoughts of taking a 
 little stroll with her Cousin Henry towards the Lodge. 
 
 But for some reason or other the train was upon this occasion 
 rather before than after its time, and she was still waitino* for 
 Henry at the door of the billiard-room, when she heard steps 
 in the hall, and rushing eagerly forward, she found herself in 
 the next moment almost in the arms of George Harrington, 
 who hurried forward upon seeing her in a state of very percep- 
 tible agitation, and in answer to her quick inquiry, "Where is 
 William ? " replied in a voice which he vainly attempted to 
 render tranquil, "He is well, Helen! But I am alone. I 
 could not bring him with me. Business has prevented his 
 coming." " Business! " echoed Helen, with cheeks and lips as 
 white as marble. "What business could prevent his coming 
 now ? " " It was impossible he could come, my dearest love! " 
 replied the greatly agitated young man. Take me to your 
 dressing-room, Helen! I have much, very much, to tell you." 
 
 Nevertheless, George Harrington could not tell all which I 
 wish my reader to know, for many circumstances respecting the 
 events which he wished to narrate were as yet unknown to him. 
 The narrative of them must be given more fully than Helen got; 
 it from him at that moment. 
 
3G2 llIE YOUNG HElllESS. 
 
 CHAPTER LVIII. 
 
 The circumstances which followed upon Colonel Maurice's 
 arrival in London shall be given as briefly as possible. 
 
 His first call, as in duty bound, was made at the Horse 
 Guards, and though it was not his first visit there since his 
 return to Europe, he had the gratification of being received in a 
 manner highly flattering to all his military feelings and military 
 hopes. 
 
 Of course, he had a lawyer to visit, the construction of a 
 travelling carriage to superintend, no trifling amount of shop- 
 ping- commissions to attend to, and some few friendly calls to 
 old acquaintance known in India, to pay. 
 
 But he managed to do it all ; for he carried an active mind, 
 and a willing spirit to the work, and before three weeks had 
 passed, both he and his friend Harrington had the gratification 
 of wishing each other joy upon the probability of their being 
 able to leave town before the end of the following: week. 
 
 Colonel Maurice had accepted an invitation to dine with an 
 old Indian acquaintance upon one of the five remaining days. 
 The party, which consisted wholly of gentlemen, was a large 
 one, and the first among' the guests upon whom he happened to 
 cast his eyes as he looked round the drawing-room, was 
 the Captain Hackwood who had some months before been his 
 fellow guest at Knighton Hal). 
 
 They were men so utterl}'- dissimilar, both in intellect and 
 character, that it was nearly impossiye they should ever have 
 become really intimate, even as companions, and the circum- 
 stance of their having passed a week or two together in the 
 same house had tended to make them enemies rather than 
 friends. On the part of Colonel Maurice, however, there was a 
 stronger feeling of contempt than of dislike, and liad he never 
 again heard Hackwood's name mentioned, it is piossible that he 
 might have lived long, and died late, without ever recalling the 
 accident of havino- met him to his recollection. 
 
 But the case was widely diflbrcnt on the part of Captain 
 Hackwood. Not many wet-ks had elapsed after his own coldly 
 civil rejection by Agnes Harrington, before the disagreeable 
 
'IHE YOUNG IIEmtlSS. S68 
 
 news readied him that she was about to be married to Colonel 
 Maurice. 
 
 It happened that the sister of Captain Hackwood had 
 recently married a young barrister of the name of Bingley, 
 whose father resided in Cornwall, at no great distance from the 
 village of Crumpton, in which was situated the Warren Houre, 
 where the earlier scenes of my narrative were laid. 
 
 It might have been for the purpose of diverting his thoughts 
 from the disappointment of finding that his handsome person 
 was not quite irresistible, that Captain Hackwood, immediately 
 upon leaving the hospitable mansion of Sir Richard Knighton, 
 announced his intenti.)n to his sister of accepting the invitation 
 of her father-in-law, Mr. Bingley, to meet her at his house near 
 Crumpton. 
 
 Captain Hackwood was one of that numerous class of indi- 
 viduals whose principal intellectual resource in conversation is 
 the discussing the persons, characters, and circumstances of the 
 last set of people he had left, for the editication of those who 
 were present. Tiie neighbourhood of Knighton Hall furnished 
 an excellent opportunity for the exercise of this species of elo- 
 quence, for it boasted of more than one well-known name among 
 its notabilities. 
 
 Among many other mansions which he named, was Beau- 
 chamj) Park, which he declared was one of the finest j^laces he 
 had ever seen, " positively an ornament to the whole neighbour- 
 hood." 
 
 "It really is a fine place, is it, Captain Hackwood?" said 
 Mr. Bingley, the father-in-law of Hackwood's sister. " Whom 
 does it belong to now ? The young heiress, I suppose, is 
 married by this time." 
 
 "No, Sir, I don't think she is, but I do not know much about 
 her, for some of the family were ill when I was staying with 
 Knighton, and I did not go there; but I heard them talk of 
 Miss Beauchamp. She is living there in very dashing style 
 with an uncle of the name of Rixley. Old Rixley's daughter 
 had made a very fine match, and she deserved it, too, for she is 
 a most fascinating creature. She married Lord Lympton, the 
 son of the E;u-1 of Rothewell, of Roth.ewell Castle, I met 
 her brother, young Rixley, there, and a capital fellow he 
 
 IS." 
 
 •'Whoso brother did you meet? " said Mr. Bingloy, address- 
 ing his talkative guest with an air of considerable interest. 
 " Do you say that you met the brother of Miss Bcaachamp ? " 
 
304 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 " No Sir, it was Henry Rixley, her cousin. Miss Beauchamp 
 lias got no brother." 
 
 " So much the better for her, Captain Hackwood," said Mr. 
 Binglej; "but she had a brother once, and certainly the best 
 thing that could happen for her, or for him either, perhaps, is 
 that he should be dead and buried." 
 
 " Indeed, Sir ! " replied Captain Hackwood, with the interest 
 which a constitutional gossip, whether male or female is sure 
 to feel in everything that has the appearance of secret his- 
 tori/. 
 
 "I can easily understand," he continued, "why the heiress 
 should be worse off for having a brother, because you know it 
 might prevent her being an heiress at all; but I don't under- 
 stand whv the brother would be the better for being buried." 
 
 " Here comes a fresh" bottle of claret. Captain Hackwood," 
 said the host, and if you can resist following the ladies for ten 
 minutes longer, I'll tell you a romantic story about these- 
 Rixleys, or Beauchami^s, as the owners of the estate are called! 
 Many years ago. Captain Hackwood, when I was not much 
 older than my son is now, though I was already in possession 
 of this place (for my poor father died early), it may be some 
 twenty-six or twenty-seven 3'ears ago, an old tumble down sort 
 of a mansion, known by the name of the Warren House, was 
 purchased in this neighbourhood by a person of the name of 
 Rixlcy. I should be sorry to say anything uncivil of any person 
 connected with friends of j^ours, but I cannot say that this Mr. 
 Rixley, of the Warren House, was fortunate enough to make 
 himself much respected in the neighbourhood. In the first 
 place, he was as rude as a bear to us all, and as it was speedily 
 circulated among the quidnuncs that the woman, who lived with 
 him, was his mistress, and not his wife, he was very speedily 
 left to follow his own devices without anyone taking much heed 
 of him. But in a few j^ears the poor young woman died, leaving 
 a little bov of two or three vears old behind her ; and the next 
 thinor ■we heard of our Warren House neighbour was-, that he 
 had brouo-ht home a wife to comfort him for the loss of his 
 mistress. She was a very beautiful creature, was this wife, and 
 everything we heard of her was to her credit. Her conduct to 
 the poor motherless child she found on coming to her home, 
 was most admirable, and the worthy parson of the parish, who, 
 by the waj^, is our worthy parson still, could not speak of her 
 without enthusiasm. His own newly-married wife, too, described 
 her as bi'ing very highly acconiplished, and cliarming in every 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 365 
 
 way ; SO, by degrees, several ladies of t!ie neiglibourliood called 
 upon her; bat, greatly as she Avas approved and admired by tliera 
 all, ifc was quite impossible to live upon anything like sociable 
 terms with Rixley himself, for it was evident that the more we 
 wished to be civil to him and his sweet wife, the more heartily 
 he wished us all at the devil. In fact, there was but one amuse- 
 ment — but one occupation — that he cared for, and that was 
 boating. He seemed to delight in making himself a sort of 
 king among the sailors of our little fishing town, but to feel the 
 most sovereign contempt for every other human being*. His wife 
 added a daughter to his domestic treasures, but, by all accounts, 
 neither son, daughter, nor wife had any great attractions for 
 him, for he often loft his house for months together, and when 
 he returned to it, his days, and I believe his nights, too, were 
 passed on the sea. The next thing wo heard of him was that 
 his beautiful wife was dead, and then that he had got that good 
 fellow Bolton to supply her loss, as far as teaching the poor 
 unfortunate children went. And this he really did, and 
 certainly gave a most excellent account of them both, as far 
 as learning went. But now comes the extraordinary part of my 
 long story. There will always be gossiping, you know, in every 
 place, and, of course, there was gossiping here, and the gossipers 
 said that Rixley treated this natural son like a brute, and that 
 the young man was driven half mad with it. But, be this as it 
 may, the finale was horrible on the other side. When the young 
 man was about seventeen or eighteen years old, I believe, or 
 thereabout, Rixley, the father, who had been away for several 
 months, came home, if it was his home; at any rate, he came to 
 the Warren House, and, as the servants said, had a most violent 
 quarrel with his son. The next day the miserable children were 
 left in peace, for he spent the whole day on the sea, and when 
 he came home he ate his supper and went to bed. But from his 
 bed he never rose again ; when his old housekeeper went to 
 wake him in the morning, she found him a corpse. The doctor 
 was sent for, but dead he was; and then the parson was sent 
 for, to tell them what they were to do next. ' But where was 
 tha son ?' you will say. Gone, Captain Hackwood — vanished — 
 and nobody knew where. The only trace he left behind him 
 w^as the open window of his bed-room, with his sheets knotted 
 together, hanging from one of the hinges of the casement. As 
 it was well know that there had been a most furious quarrel 
 between them, this scampish running away of the youno- man 
 created a very strong suspicion that this very sudden death of 
 
36 G THE YOUNG HEHJESS. 
 
 tlie father, who had been in the most perfect health the clny 
 before, might have been the act and deed of the run-away son. 
 In one word, to shorten a very lonj^ ^tory, a post-mortem 
 examination of the body was loudly called for, the result of 
 which was that the unfortunate man had died from swallowing 
 poison, I was applied to for a warrant to arrest the son, 
 within an hour, 1 believe, after this verdict was recorded, and 
 the warrant w'as given accordingly. But from that hour to 
 this the scamp has never been heard of As to the young 
 heiress, she was immediately taken possession of by an uncle, of 
 the name of Rixley; but she, as Bolton told me, had to take the 
 name of Beauchamp, as a condition, I believe, of inheriting the 
 property. And here ends my story ; and now, if you like it 
 better than more claret, we will join the ladies in the drawing- 
 room." 
 
 It would have been difficult for Squire Bingley to have found 
 any man unconnected with the parties more likely to listen with 
 interest to such a narrative than Captain Hackwood. Of the 
 relationship between his lieartily-detested rival and the fair 
 possessor of Beauchamp Park, he as yet knew nothing, but the 
 having picked up so strange and eventful a history concerning 
 the lineage and the history of a lady so important in her 
 neighbourhood as Miss Beauchamp, was felt as a positive bless- 
 ing by him, and the value h.e attached to it was manifested by 
 his declaring at the breakfast-table on the following morning 
 that he had received letters which obliged him, much against 
 his inclination, to return immediately to London. 
 
 And to London he accordingly went without loss of time, and 
 was greeted, infinitely to his satisfaction, by finding at his lodg- 
 ing's an invitation to dinner at a house where he felt sure of 
 meeting society sufficiently distinguished to be worthy of being 
 the first recipients of the bit of racy gossip which he had been 
 fortunate enough to brinsf to town with him. 
 
 He felt that it was too good to be muttered to his next neigh- 
 bour while the act of dining was still in process, but when this 
 was over, he began, with the tact of one versed in the business, 
 of making himself valued for his little ancci-lotes, to relate all 
 the circumstances he had learned from Mv. Bingley, in a voice 
 sufficiently distinct to be heard by the whole table. 
 
 As one of the guests seated at it was Colonel Maurice, it will 
 bo easily believed that his narrative was not listened to wnth 
 indifference. Colonel Maurice, however, was a man who had 
 great command over himself, and ho steadilv listened to the 
 
THE YOUXG nEIRESS. 3G7 
 
 close of it. The last sentence was in these vrords, " It's a 
 strange history, is it not ? However, the fact of the run-away 
 brotlier having committed the murder seems to be established 
 on all hands. In fact it seems to me very difficult to understand 
 how there ever could have been any feeling of doubt about it." 
 
 "Then permit me to enlighten your understanding now," 
 said Colonel Maurice, in a voice not loud, but of that clear and 
 distinct quality which makes itself heard, when louder tones 
 f^iil of being so; "I am the run-away brother, but I deny the 
 fact of having committed the murder; and if you feel any 
 difficulty in believing my assertion, I will beg you to say so 
 immediately." 
 
 The first effect of this rejoinder was to make Captain Hack- 
 wood, for a moment, look extremely pale, but in the next his 
 complexion more than recovered itself, and he said, in a voice 
 which, if not quite steady, was perfectly audible, "Upon my 
 word. Sir, I am at a loss how to answer you with propriety;" 
 then turning towards the master of the house, who was himself 
 a highly distinguished military man, he added, "This is no 
 place, is it, Sir, for such an altercation?" 
 
 "Certainly not!" returned Colonel Maurice, rising. "You 
 are not, I presume, Captain Hack wood, about to leave town 
 immediately?" 
 
 "Oh dear no, Sir," replied Captain Hackwood; "I have no 
 thoughts of it." 
 
 "Then I will do myself the honour of calling upon you 
 to-morrow, when I trust you will be so obliging as to inform 
 me from what source you derived the statement upon the 
 strength of which you have thought yourself justified in brand- 
 ing me 'as a murderer." 
 
 To this speech Captain Hackwood answered not a word, nor 
 did he look as if he had power to do so, for he was again as 
 pales as ashes. 
 
 Colonel ]\laurice then turned to his host, saying, "I am sure, 
 General, that you will, under the circumstances, forgive my 
 taking an abrupt leave of you ; but it is already getting late, and 
 I have business to get through before to-morrow morning which 
 makes it necessary that I should return to my lodgings as soon 
 as possible. You are lodging in Jermyn Street, I think, 
 Captain Hackwood?" 
 
 The only answer he received to this was an afllrmative nod of 
 the head; and at the same moment General Pace, at whose 
 table this very disagreeable discussion had arisen, stepped up to 
 
368 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 Colonel Maurice and, cordially extending his hand to him, said, 
 in a voice which he evidently intended should be heard by all 
 his guests, " Good night, my dear Maurice. If I can be usefal to 
 3^ou in any way, let me know it. I shall always be at your 
 service." 
 
 CHAPTER LTX. 
 
 Captain Hackwood had been made fully aware that Colonel 
 Maurice had achieved immediate success in the quarter where 
 he had met immediate failure, and the hatred he conceived 
 towards him was as sincere as the mortification he had received 
 was bitter. 
 
 That he was startled, and — as much as a young gentleman 
 could be — that he was frightened, by the manner in which 
 Colonel Maurice addressed him, after having listened to his 
 Crumpton narrative, is certain ; but it is not less so that hate 
 very speedily conquered fear; and that the hour which succeeded 
 the breaking up of General Pace's dinner-party, during which 
 important hour he was at liberty to indulge his own cogitations 
 without the least danger of being broken in upon by the stately 
 apparition of his ireful rival's figure, was the happiest which 
 Captain Hackwood had ever known. 
 
 It was, perhaps, impossible for one man to hate another more 
 heartily than Captain Hackwood hated Colonel Maurice, for the 
 rivalry between them in love made the least part of it. Captain 
 Hackwood was as fully aware of the striking contrast in all 
 respects between himself and his rival as George Harrington 
 had been when he attempted to describe them boch to Helen : 
 and, for his torment, he was aware, also, that whenever they 
 appeared together he was himself forgotten, while Maurice 
 seemed the centre upon which every eye — masculine as well as 
 feminine — was fixed ; and his hatred was in due proportion to 
 the acuteness and the justice of the remark. 
 
 To a man of such a temperament, and in such a state of 
 mind, the discovering that the rival he so envied and so hated 
 was a base-born felon, was likely enough to be agreeable, and to 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 369 
 
 Captain Hackwood ifc appeared like the consummation of all the 
 dearest wishes of his heart. 
 
 Both gentlemen left the table of General Pace with the con- 
 sciousness that they had a great deal of important business 
 upon their hands, and they both set about performing it with 
 energy. 
 
 The first occupation of both was to write letters. As 
 Captain PlackNvood completed his dispatches first, they shall 
 be iirst noticed. The first he indited was to Colonel Maurice, 
 and was as follows : — 
 
 " Sir, ^ 
 
 "There may, perhaps, be some doubt whether I am not 
 transgressing the laws and regulations of good society by 
 addressing myself in any way to a man standing in so infamous 
 a position as yourself; but as such a man as General Pace has 
 shared in the delusion which has enabled you to thrust yourself 
 into the presence of gentlemen, I prefer the chance of sinning 
 against etiquette to the danger of having my conduct misunder- 
 stood. You had the -insolence, notwithstanding the frightful 
 disclosure which had taken place, to threaten me with a call at 
 my lodgings. I now write to give you notice that 3-on will not 
 find me there, I hope within an hour to be in the train that will 
 convey me to the mansion of my friend Mr. Binglej^ near 
 Crumpton. But as I scorn to take an unfair advantage of any 
 man, I deem it projjer to inform you that he is a Justice of the 
 Peace, and a very active one ; so that if 3'^ou should have the 
 rashness to follow me thither, you would probably be in the 
 hands of justice within a few minutes after your arrival. 
 
 " I remain. Sir, &c., 
 ■ "Richard Fitzgeorge Hacitwood." 
 
 His next epistle was addressed to Sir Richard Knighton, 
 at Knighton Hall; and this need not be given at lena'tli, 
 because it only contained a repetition of the statement respect- 
 ing Colonel Maurice which he had o'iven at the table of General 
 Pace, together with the intelligence that "the said Colonel had 
 found it impossible to deny his identity with the fearful parricide 
 of the Crumpton Warren House, and that probably before the 
 present letter could reach its destination he would be in the 
 hands of justice." 
 
 Having completed these epistles, and placed them in the 
 hands of a trustworthy agent, to be duly forwarded on the 
 
 25 
 
370 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 morrow, Captain Hackwood and his carpet-bag got into tlie 
 cab, that had been summoned for I>im while he wrote, and drove 
 to the railway station in excellent time to be conveyed by the 
 night train to Crumpton, 
 
 Colonel Maurice, meanwhile, was also occupied in writing. 
 His first act was to write to his sister, telling lier of the scene 
 which had passed at the dinner-table, and begging her not to 
 be unreasonably vexed about it, as, though decidedly disagree- 
 able, it would only be considered as one of those bare-faced 
 slanders to which disappointed men sometimes had recourse 
 when they could hit upon no better expedient, to soothe their 
 vexed feelings. 
 
 He wrote also to Agnes ; but to her he was less explicit. A 
 repugnance, which he could not conquer, to the idea of her 
 knowing that such accusations had been brought against him, 
 seemed to chain his pen, and to render it absolutely impossible 
 for him to enter upon any detail of what had passed. It was 
 not, however, that he had the least intention of concealing from 
 her what had taken place ; but it was his purpose to see George 
 Harrington early on the n:iorrow, to whom, of course, it was his 
 intention to communicate everything that had passed ; and he 
 greatly preferred the idea of her learning it from her brother 
 than from himself. 
 
 Having written this letter, he resumed his pen, and set about 
 making his will. In his case, at least, he felt, or fancied, that a 
 duel was inevitable, and, despite the immensity of sound philo- 
 sophy which he knew might be brought against such a mode of 
 proving innocence, it appeared to him morally impossible that 
 he could have recourse to any other. But in deciding upon this, 
 he was so far ready to confess himself less magnanimous than 
 he might have been, that in his short preface to his short will 
 he confessed the act to be a proof of human weakness which he 
 should probably blame in anotker, though he was not strong- 
 minded enoufjh to avoid it himself. 
 
 His will gave all he died possessed ot to his sister, save five 
 thousand pounds (the half of what he had inherited from the 
 grateful Captain Maclogan), which he bequeathed to Agnes 
 Harrington. The witnessing this document was of necessity 
 postponed to the following morning, as by the time he had 
 finished it everybody in the house had retired to rest except 
 himself. 
 
 And then he retired to rest also. 
 
 Keither a trariquil conscience nor an undau).':"— s'n'rit were 
 
THE VOUXG HEIRKS^, 371 
 
 wanting to ensure to liim some liours of tranquil repose, but 
 even this sufficed not to obtain it, for the thoucihts of the frisfht- 
 ful charge against hira, which he had heard that day, and the 
 effect which it might produce on his afnanced wife, his friend, 
 and his sister, haunted him in a thousand different shapes, and 
 his night was very nearly a sleepless one. 
 
 The first event which occurred to him on the following morn- 
 ing was the receiving the letter of Captain Hackwood, which 
 was given to liini as soon as he left his room. The contents of 
 it caused him immediately to change all his plans. The letters 
 he had v»'ritten he did not send to tlic post, but he got his own 
 servant and the mistress of the house to witness his will, and 
 then he set forth, not to ask the friendly assistance of General 
 Pace in a duel, bub to tell the whole story to his friend George 
 Harrington. 
 
 That this interview was a painful one will be readily believeJ, 
 for the prevalent feeling in the minds of both the young men 
 was sympath}^ with the agony which it would cause to the dear 
 ones whom they had hoped so soon to meet, and to greet with 
 all the happiness that love and hope could give. 
 
 The contrast was indeed terrible, and George Harrington 
 declared, with great sincerity, that he thought himself the 
 most to be pitied of the two. And, pei-haps, he was right, for 
 even the feverish ao-itation of those dreadful moments could not 
 prevent Colonel Maurice fi-om seeing and appreciating the per- 
 fect sympath}' of his friend with every feeling of liis own heart, 
 nor could that noble heart itself more indignantly reject the 
 calumny which caused them so much misery than did that of 
 the man to whom he had revealed it. But no verbal explan;\- 
 tions were resorted to on either side, cither to express or to 
 welcome this sympathy; one glance exchanged between them, 
 one momentar}^ pressure of the hand, was quite enough, and 
 they parted after an interview wonderfully short, considering- 
 the importance of it, with the mutual consolation in the heart 
 of both that each had a friend wliose attachment might alone 
 for much Svorrow. 
 
 And so they parted, George Harrington setting off upon his 
 melancholy journey homeward, and Colonel Maurice upon his 
 strangely cvenlfal rctara to the place of his birth. 
 
372 TllH VOUNG KKIKESS. 
 
 CHAPTER LX. 
 
 It was no fault of George Harrington's that Colonel Maurico 
 set off upon this tremendous expedition alone, for he had 
 earnestly, and even veliemently, nrged his friend to permit his 
 sroinor with him ; but he yielded, at length, to the unanswerable 
 argument that Helen and Agnes \yould need his presence more 
 than he should do. 
 
 "That I shall not want you as my second In a duel with 
 Captain Hackwood is made sufficiently evident, as you must, I 
 think, allow, by his leaving town after wliat passed between us 
 last night. I not only very distinctly told him that he would 
 hear from me this morning, but General Pace very kindly 
 declared, with equal distinctness, that he was perfectly at my 
 service if he could assist me in any way. This v/as intelligible 
 enough, you will allow, to keep him in London, if he had had 
 any intention of figliting. It is evident that he prefers police- 
 men to pistols, and if he really believes the statement he made 
 at the table of General Pace, it would be difficnlt to say that he 
 was wrong. But, at any rate, George, it is clear that I shall 
 not want yoa in the capacity of my second, and in no other case 
 can my claims upon you be equal to those of these dear girls. I 
 shall, I am quite sure, find my old friend Bolton ready and will- 
 ing to helj) me, if help be needed ; and, fortunately, I have just 
 recovered a letter which I promised to deliver to him in person, 
 but which has been delayed by the box, which contained it, hav- 
 ing been put on board the wrong vessel when I left the Cape. 
 So you perceive that I really have business at Crumpton, 
 besides that which Captain Hackwood has provided for me. 
 
 These arguments, very calmly stated by his friend, were too 
 unanswerable to leave room for any further discussion. 
 
 Never, perhaps, was any arrival more completely unexpected 
 than that of Colonel Maurice at the house of Mr. Bingley, for 
 it was there that he ordered himself to be driven in the Crump- 
 ton post-chaise, immediately upon leaving the traiu which 
 brought him to the entrance of the little town. 
 
 He had left London before mid-day, and, having travelled by 
 an CApress train, arrived at the end of his long journey, while 
 
THE YOUNG IIEiHESS. 373 
 
 the family party, of which Captain Hackwood made one, was 
 still at table. 
 
 The servant, who opened the door of the house to him, had 
 slated, on his inquiring for jMr. Bingle}^, that the fixraily Avere at 
 dinner. 
 
 " It is necessary that I should immediately see Mr. Bingley," 
 was Colonel Maurice's reply to this information, " but if you 
 will permit me to go into the dra^ying-room, I will wait for him 
 till his dinner is over." 
 
 The servant, though a very prudent and discreet servant, did 
 not, as it seemed, suspect that the individual who stood before 
 him came there for the express purpose of being sent to the 
 county gaol and tried for his life. On the contrary, he bowed 
 very respectfully, took a lamp, which stood upon one of the hall 
 tables, and lighted him to the drawing-room door. " What 
 name shall I say. Sir ? " said the man, after stirring the fire, 
 and setting a chair beside it. 
 
 "My name would give him no information, for he does not 
 know it," replied Colonel Maurice. " Only tell him, if you 
 please, that a stranger is here, who wishes to speak to him 
 upon l3usiness, but that I beg him not to hasten his removal 
 from table." 
 
 ■The servant again bowed very respectfully, for still it did not 
 occur to him that the stranger was come there for the purpose 
 of giving hiiTfSelf np into the liands of justice; and having- 
 quietly replied, " Very well, Sir," left the room, and closed the 
 door after him. 
 
 Colonel Maurice sat down, and very rationally employed the 
 interval which followed in warming his feet, which, in conse- 
 quence of English railroad carriages not having yet adopted 
 the delicious warm-water system of French ones, were suffering 
 from cold. ' 
 
 But the civility of the worthy magistrate did not permit him 
 t3 wait long before the drawing-room door w^as again opened, 
 and three ladies and three gentlemen entered; thus evidently 
 breaking through the customary ceremony of dividing- males 
 and females in order to prevent the awkwardness of letting the 
 ladies introduce themselves to the " strange gentleman," whom 
 the footman deponed he had never seen before. 
 
 No sooner did Colonel Maurice see the ladies than he became 
 conscious of his indiscretion in not having- asked to see Mr. 
 Bingley alone; and his not having done so was a proof of his 
 having been more occupied by the hope of immediately seeing- 
 
371 THE YOUXG HEIPvESS. 
 
 Capliiiu Hac'kwood, and witnessing liis dismay afc Ids arrival, 
 tijiui l)y :;iiv other idea. 
 
 iSor was liG mistaken in tidiikino' that tlie astoiiislimcnt of 
 tins gentleman, at seeing him tlierc, would considerably exceed 
 his satisfaction. "D — n — n!" was the first articulate sound 
 whicli greeted his ears after the entrance of the part}'', but this 
 •welcome Colonel Maurice did not think ifc necessary to acknow- 
 ledge, beyond casting upon him one look of recognition, not, 
 perhaps, quite unblended with a smile ; and passing on to the 
 elderly gentleman, who entered the room the last, and whom he 
 readily divined to be the master of the house, he said, " I beg 
 your j)ardon. Sir, for not remembering, in my eagerness to bring 
 myself before 3'on, that it was possible that you might have 
 cofiipan}' with you. But, as I learnt, not many hours ago, from 
 that person," pointing to Captain Hackwood, "that 3'ou had 
 stated me to st;md charged with the crime of murder, and that 
 you formerly issued a warrant for my apprehension, which was 
 not executed because I was not to be found, I have hastened 
 hither, with as little delay as possible, in order to surrender 
 myself for trial. I am Colonel jMaurice, Mr. Bingley, the 
 natural son of the late Mr. Beauchamp, of Bcanchamp Park, 
 better know in this neighbourhood, 1 believe, as Mr. Rixley, of 
 the Warren House, in the parish of Crampton. As this gentle- 
 man," he added, turning himself round, and facing Captain 
 Hackwood, " thought proper to declare, when he narrated the 
 liistory of my father's death, yesterday, at the table of General 
 Pace, that he felt it impossible not to believe the foul charge 
 made against me, my first purpose, as I immediately g*ave him 
 to understand, was to call upon him for an explanation of the 
 words he had thought proper to use ; but by his immediately 
 leavinof tov»'n, it is evident that the more business-like and 
 pradent way of treating the matter would, in his opinion, be to 
 place me safely, and with as little delay as possile, in the hands 
 of justice. And, perhaps, he was right." 
 
 The three ladies had already left the room in obedience to a 
 signal from tlie master of the house ; and the door being closed 
 after them, ]\Ir, Bingle}'- approached his self-constituted prisoner, 
 and said, " Your conduct, Colonel Mauiice, is such as would fully 
 justify me, in my ov»-n opinion, if I were to decline such a course : 
 believing you entirely innocent of the crime laid to your charge, 
 I do not consider myself as in any way called upon to interfere 
 with your freedom. But it may be that you will not yourself 
 consider this as a sufficient exoneration from the charge.*' 
 
THE YOUNG HEIEESS. 375 
 
 " Certainly not-, Mr. Biiigley," returned Colonel J^lanrice, with 
 a smile. " IJut, -while I reject your offer, let nie thank you for 
 it. It is consolatory to feel that all my fello-w-creatures do not, 
 like Captain Hackwood, consider it absolutely impossible that 1 
 should be innocent." 
 
 " I rather think. Sir," replied the old gentleman, returning- 
 the smile, " that if all your fellow-creatures were brought to the 
 poll, I should be found in the majority. But what is the course 
 you wish me to pursue ? " 
 
 " Kay, my dear Sir, it is not for me to dictate to you on that 
 point; all 1 can do in order to assist the course of justice, is to 
 place myself in your bands, and I am here expressly for that 
 purpose." 
 
 " I really think that the best course M'e can pursue," said Mr. 
 Bingley, after the silent meditation of a minute or two, "will be 
 for you to accept an apartment in my house for to-night. To- 
 morrow, I shall meet my fellow-justices at Crumptou, when all 
 the circumstances of this strange case can be laid before them, 
 and the proper steps to be taken may be decided on by more 
 competent authority than ray own. Will you do me the favour 
 of accepting hospitality so strangely offered ? " 
 
 It was now Colonel Maurice's turn to pause before he returned 
 an answer. There was something very decidedly the reverse of 
 agreeable in becoming the fellow-guest of Captain Hackwood ; 
 nevertheless, he felt that it would be more disagreeable still to 
 decline being garde-d-vue, a position, which the offer, however 
 courteously made, necessarily involved. He, therefore, replied, 
 after a moment's consideration, " Assuredly, Mr. Bingley, I will ; 
 it will evidently save trouble to us both, not to mention the 
 pleasure I shall feel in cultivating the acquaintance of a gentle- 
 man who has treated me with so much consideration, under 
 circumstances so every -way disadvantageous to me;" 
 
 This acceptance was as graciously received as it -was given, 
 and as Captain Hackwood had very judiciously joined the 
 ladies, who had taken refuge in the dressing-room allotted to 
 his sister, an hour or two was passed by Bingley father and 
 Bingley son, with their strangel^'-situated guest, in a manner 
 much less disagreeable than might have been anticipated. 
 
 When it was drawing to a close, however. Colonel Maurice, 
 of necessity, alluded to his position, by saying, " I owe you 
 much gratitude, Mr. Bingley, for your kindness under circum- 
 stances in which I fear few persons would have ventured to 
 show it; but I am constrained to ask still more at your hands. 
 
376 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 I linve one personal friend in your neiglibourhood, to "whom I 
 wish to communicate both my arrival here and all the circum- 
 stances attending it. This friend is no other than your worthy 
 minister, Mr. Bolton, and I not only wish to see him on my own 
 account, but also because I am the bearer of a letter to him 
 which I promised the writer on her death-bed to deliver into 
 his own hands. May I, therefore, request you to let him know 
 that you wish to see him here as early as possible to-morrow ?" 
 ]\[r. Bingley readily promised that the message should be 
 transmitted to the parsonage at an early hour in the morning ; 
 and the next important occurrence was the separation of the 
 party for the night; Mr. Bingley escorting his guest to the 
 door of the handsome apartment prepared for him with as much 
 ceremon}'', or, more properly speaking, with as much respect, as 
 if he had not been a " prisoner at large." 
 
 CHA.PTER LXI. 
 
 The following day was an eventful one. Mr. Bolton, whose 
 early habits made an early visit no matter of inconvenience to 
 him, obeyed the somewhat urgent summons of Mr. Bingley, by 
 appearing before the family party had separated after breakfast. 
 Colonel Maurice, though as little disposed as any gentleman 
 under the circumstances could be, to make any fuss about the 
 singularity of his position, nevertheless, felt more repugnance 
 than he thought it worth while to conquer, against being 
 formally introduced to the assembled family of the Bingleys at 
 the breakfast-table; he had, therefore, requested, without mak- 
 ing any great ceremony about it, that his breakfast might be 
 sent to him in his own room. This was immediately done with 
 the most observant attention ; but in about ten minutes after 
 Ills coffee reached him, the servant returned to inform him that 
 Mr. Bolton had arrived. His wish to receive his former master 
 alone had, no doubt, assisted his decision respecting his manner 
 of breakfasting; and his reply to this message was a request to 
 Mr. Bolton to come to him in his room. 
 
 On hearing of his arrival Mr, Bingley immediately rose from 
 the breakfast-table, and met him at the door. Colonel Maurice 
 
THE YOUXG HEIRESS. 377 
 
 hnd expressed a wisli, on the preceding* evcvjin^, tliafc Hr. 
 Jjolton should not be told who it was that wished to see him, 
 and Ml-. Bing ley himself conducted the good clergyman to his 
 former pupil's door, in order to prevent inquiries being asked, 
 or, at an}'- rate, answered. 
 
 The words " Come in ! " by which Colonel Maurice replied to 
 his host's gentle tap at his door, were immediately obeyed ; Mr. 
 Bingley as immediately retired; and Mr. Bolton and his old 
 pupil stood face to face. 
 
 They stood thus for a moment, silently and earnestly gazing 
 at each other ; but there was nothing approaching sympathy in 
 their fceling-s : for whereas Colonel Maurice felt at his heart that 
 he should have recognised his old master anywhere, Mr. Bolton 
 felt ecpally sure that he had never seen the stately stranger 
 before. 
 
 "I bog your pardon. Sir," said Mr. Bolton, very respectfully, 
 *' but I think my friend, Mr. Bingley, must have made some 
 mistake. I understood, from what he said, that it was an old 
 acquaintance who wished to see me." 
 
 " And have you no lingering recollection of me, my dear Mr. 
 Bolton?" said Colonel Maurice, holding out his hands towards 
 him, with a friendly smile. 
 
 The smile did more than any words could have done towai^ds 
 awakenino: the recollection of his old friend. Mr. Bolton looked 
 at liim from head to foot, as if measuring his noble stature; and 
 feeling tliat this could not help him, fixed his eyes on that smil- 
 ing face, and then exclaimed, " If it were possible, I should 
 believe that I saw William Rixley before me !" 
 
 " It Is more than possible ; it is most soberly certain, my dear 
 old friend, that I am the William Blxley who owes you such a 
 measureless debt of o-ratitude. I am at this moment, in somo 
 respects, under very disagreeable circumstances; but, neverthe- 
 less, the seeing you again, looking so well, and so little changed, 
 too, gives me a greater degree of pleasure that I can easily 
 express." 
 
 "And your sister, my dear William," said Mr. Bolton, draw- 
 ing a chair and placing it opposite to that which Colonel 
 Maurice had occupied near the fire. " Has she had the great 
 happiness of seeing you ? " 
 
 " Yes ! Thank heaven, we have, at last, met again! But it 
 has only been very recently. You shall hear all m.y adventures 
 at full length, if you will, my dear friend; but it must be when 
 I have more leisure to recount them than at the present 
 
378 TUE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 inoraent. My sitnation, jush now, is raclier a strange one. 
 Your friend, Mr. Bingley, lias been exceedingly civil, and, 
 under the circumstnnces, I must say, exceedingly considerate 
 and kind; but, nevertheless, my dear friend, I am here rather 
 as his prisoner than his guest. It seems that he issued a 
 Avarrant against me nearly nine veavs ao-o, but as I vras not to 
 be found, the "warrant could not be served, and it has, therefore, 
 become his duty, I believe, to issue another. I am accused of 
 Laving murdered my father, Mr. Bolton." 
 
 "I know it, William ! I know it!" replied Mr. Bolton, in 
 great agitation. 
 
 "But you do not believe it, Mr. BoHon, do you?" said 
 Colonel Maurice, looking earnestly at him. 
 
 "Ko more than I believe that I murdered him myself!" 
 replied Mr. Bolton, earnestly. 
 
 " Then do not look uneasy about it, my dear friend ! " 
 returned the 3'oung man, cheerfull3\ " If I am brought to 
 trial, be very sure that this strange anno3'ance will end there. 
 An English jury will not bring me in guilty, my good friend." 
 
 " JN^o, no! I do not fear it — I cannot fear it. But my con- 
 fidence in the result will not reconcile me to the idea of such a 
 trial." 
 
 Nor can it reconcile me to the idea of it either, my dear Mr. 
 Bolton," replied Colonel Maurice, passing his hand across his 
 loft}' brow v.-ith a gn-eator appearance of painful feeling than he 
 had yet manifested. "But I know of no method which it would 
 be possible for me to adopt by which- it can be avoided. I need 
 scarcely tell you that my suffering under such circumstances 
 would be more than doubled by the suffering of my sister. But 
 this is not all, dear friend. Listen to me for a few minutes and 
 I will make you understand what my position actually is, or 
 rather was, before I knew of any such frightful charge having 
 been brouo-ht ae'ainst me." 
 
 Colonel Maurice then gave, with great clearness, but with 
 great rapidity, a sketch of his history from the hour in which 
 he let himself down by his sheets, from his bed-room window, to 
 that in which he had listened to Captain Hackwood's statement 
 at the dinner-table of General Pace ; and, then, without giving 
 his attentive auditor time to make any observation on the event- 
 ful narrative, he added, "And now, dearest Mr. Bolton, tell me, 
 I entreat vou, in what manner, and with whom did the idea of 
 my having committed this dreadful crime arise ?" 
 
 " In the first place, the examination of your father's body 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 379 
 
 proved, be^'Oiitl the rcacli of doubt, tliat he had died from tlie 
 eL^'ecfcs of poison. You must, I am sure, remember that his 
 habits of life had made him very popular among the sailors, and 
 no sooner was his death made known among them, than a 
 whole host of them, headed by a man known by the title of 
 Comm ;dore Jack, rushed to the Warren House, and into the 
 room in which the corpse lay, calling for vengeance on his 
 murderer. Your clandestine flight during the night, of course, 
 became immediately known to them, and you were immediately 
 accused of being the culprit. A warrant for your apprehension 
 was issued, and a most persevering search made, with what 
 success I need not tell 3'ou. Nothing has ever transpired to 
 throw light upon the mystery. My own opinion very decidedly 
 is, that your father destroyed himself" 
 
 " I doubt it," replied Colonel Maurice, " I do more than 
 doubt it, Mr. Bolton ; I disbelieve ib utterly : uotwithstar.ding 
 the unfatherly and unfilial terms we were upon, I kuew him 
 better than most lads of seventeen know tlieir fathers; but he, 
 and his wild ways, were a study to me, and nothing, I am con- 
 fident, will ever persuade me that he destroyed himself." 
 
 "Then how is it to be accounted for, ^Yilliam?" said Mr. 
 Bolton, with a look of painful anxiety. 
 
 "Nay, I know not, my good friend," returned Colonel 
 Maurice, shaking his head; "but if I am to be brought to 
 trial, I certainly will not owe my safety to the suggestion of 
 such a fallacy as that. I feel confident, that a man who is not 
 guilty will not be declared to be so by an English jury ! and I 
 must trust both my honour and my life to that." 
 
 "You may be right, William, nay, I believe you are so," 
 returned Mr. Bolton, in a voice which spoke, however, neither 
 of hope, confidence, nor contentment. " But the trial — the trial 
 itself — to a man situated as you now are, is a misfortune too 
 great to contemplate with philosophical composure." 
 
 " I feel it to be so," returned tlie unhappy young mar. ; and 
 for a ver}' painful interval they both remained silent. 
 
 At lengtli. Colonel Maurice roused himself from a state of 
 mind that was very unusual to him, and said, firmly, if not 
 cheerfully, " If this heavy misfortune of being tried in a court 
 of justice for the murder of my fiither be inevitable, dear Bolton, 
 it must be borne, and, with God's lielp, I V\ull bear ib manfulh^ 
 Would that the tiisk of bearing- it fell upon me alone ! I was 
 taught (o bear a good deal when I was young, and am, doubt- 
 le.-p-, tlic better able to endure suffering now. Bat there are 
 
380 THE YOUInG IIEIRESS. 
 
 others . . ." and there he stopped, and, for a few seconds, 
 perlinps, was completely overcome ; but he did rally manfully, 
 and, with more perfect self-possession and composure than most 
 men could have commanded under similar circumstances, he 
 commissioned his friend to learn from their host what it was 
 his intention to do respecting him. 
 
 Mr. Bolton immediately left him, promising a speedy return ; 
 but it soon became evident that the decision of Mr, Bingley was 
 not likely to be a prompt one, for more than an hour had elapsed 
 before Mr. Bolton returned to him. 
 
 "Mr. Bingley seems greatly embarrassed, my dear William," 
 were his first words on entering ; " so much so, indeed, that he 
 altogether declines doing anything on his own responsibility, 
 anything, at least, bej'ond requesting you to remain where you 
 are till he has taken legal advice upon the subject." 
 
 "Poor gentleman!" replied Colonel Maurice, with a smile. 
 " He certainly has, on the whole, behaved extremely well; but 
 there is something rather ludicrous, is there not, in so very 
 civilly requesting a gentleman, as a personal favour, to be so 
 obliging as to stay where he is, in order to be brought into court 
 and tried for murder ? However, his confidence in me, if he 
 really feels it, shall not be abused. There is no danger of my 
 repeating the frolic of escaping through the window. Pray tell 
 him, dear friend, that I am willing to stay here for three hours 
 longer, which will give him time, I think, to consult a lawyer, 
 and summon a quorum ; but that the keeping me here beyond 
 that time would look a little like false imprisonment. Don't 
 you think so? " 
 
 "I will tell him what you say," replied Mr. Bolton, returning 
 the smile ; " but I do assure you he is very much in earnest in 
 wishing to do exactly what the law exacts from him, though he 
 is certainly in some doubt as to what that may be." 
 
 "Let him take his time, by all means — let him take his 
 time!" returned Colonel Maurice; "and b3^-the-by, my dear 
 old friend, you must not leave me again till I have fulfilled a 
 promise made to an old acquaintance of yours on her death-bed. 
 You remember poor Sarah Lambert, our good old nurse, do you 
 not, Mr. Bolton ? " 
 
 " Yes, certainly. I remember her perfectly," replied the 
 good man, with the stiff" sort of gravity with which people 
 are named whom we do not wish to talk about, 
 
 "Are you aw^are that she left her country in the hope of 
 finding me ?" demanded his companion. 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 381 
 
 "I was told so at Falmouth," retuviiccl Mr, Bolton ; " bat the 
 statement appeared to me too improbable to be true." 
 
 " But it was true, nevertheless," resumed Maurice : " and slie 
 not only sought, but found me; and nothing short of death, I 
 believe, would have parted us again. Her health was already 
 failing when she found me, and she died before she had been 
 with me many years. In all my various campaignir.gs, I always 
 contrived to keep a fixed home for her, good soul; and when 
 she died, she left me, as a legacy, all her property ! Poor dear 
 woman! She was most devotedly attached both to Helen and 
 to me ! I have never yet had leisure to inquire what all her 
 property amounted to, poor dear soul ! " 
 
 " And did she never tell you, during all the years you passed 
 together, of the imputation which had been thrown upon you at 
 the death of your father ? " said Mr. Bolton. 
 
 " Never ! " replied Colonel Maurice. 
 
 Then, suddenly starting from his chair, he exclaimed : " Your 
 question, however, suggests a solution to a mystery which has 
 long puzzled me. During the whole of her residence with me, 
 and especially upon every occasion when my rapid promotion in 
 the service suggested the probability of my return to England, 
 she unceasingly repeated to me, ' Do not go yet, my dearest 
 William ! Wait ! wait only for a year or two, and then your 
 going may be a blessing to yourself and your sister, both. But 
 not yet, William! It would not be a blessing to either of you 
 as yet.' I perfectly comprehend it now, my dear friend. She 
 fancied that a year or two longer, together with my change of 
 name and station, would suffice to prevent any danger of this 
 frio'htful charo-e being: brought ao-ainst me." 
 
 " I have no doubt but that you understand her rightly, now," 
 said Mr. Bolton, sadly. " She would have done better had she 
 told you the whole truth." 
 
 " The whole truth would not have prevented my returning to 
 England, Mr. Bolton," replied Colonel Maurice, quietly ; " but I 
 have not told you yet that she seemed to change her mind about 
 all this when she was dying, for she gave me a letter for you, 
 which would have been delivered long ago had not an accident 
 occurred to my baggage; and when she put it into my hands, 
 which Avas but a short time before she breathed her last, she 
 said, with great earnestness, ' Now, dear William, now the 
 sooner you go back to England, and to your dear sister, the 
 better it will be for you both.'" 
 
 Colonel i\Iaurice had taken out his pocket-book as he spoke, 
 
382 THE YOUNG HEIEESS. 
 
 and he now drew a letter from it, wliicli ho placed in the hands 
 of Mr. Bolton. 
 
 There was no great eagerness in that gentleman's manner of 
 receiving it. The writer had forfeited hi.s esteem, and a fare- 
 well letter from her was more likely to be painful than interest- 
 ing. He put it quietly in his pocket, saying, " I shall be more 
 at leisure to read it when I get home." 
 
 He then took his leave, promising to deliver the message he 
 had received from Mr. Bingley, and to repeat his visit at an 
 early hour on the morrow. 
 
 CHAPTER LXII. 
 
 Mr. Bolton kept his word, and did deliver the message of 
 Colonel Maurice very distinctlv, and then took his leave, savins: 
 that he should take the liberty of returning on the morrow, to 
 learn what further steps had been taken. 
 
 Captain Hackwood was present when this message was de- 
 livered to his host. 
 
 "Insolent ruffian!" he exclaimed; "does he hope to escape 
 the gallows b3'' bulljnng? If I were you, Mr. Bingley, I would 
 have him safe in prison before sunset." 
 
 " I don't think so badly of him as you seem to do," replied 
 the old gentleman, quietly ; " but, nevertheless, I am quite aware 
 that it is my duty to prevent his again escaping from an investi- 
 gation which the circumstances certainly call for. I have 
 already dispatched a messenger to Falmouth to desire l^Ir. 
 Lucas, the law^^er, to come to me; and my son is himself gone 
 in the carriage to bring over Sir Thomas White from Crumpton 
 Park. He is one of our best-informed and most active magis- 
 trates ; and I daresay that between us we shall make out what 
 we ought to do. After which there will be no delay in doing it, 
 you may depend upon it," 
 
 The measures thus promptly taken were immediately effectual ; 
 and the result of the consultation which followed the arrival of 
 these gentlemen was, that a warrant for the detention of the 
 
THE YOUXG IIEIRES?* 083 
 
 person now calling* himself Colonel Maurice, but formerly known 
 as William Rixley, should ininiediately be made ouK 
 
 The next step was, of course, to commit the unfjrtunate object 
 of this decision to the county gaol ; and the worthy Mr. 
 Bingley,with very sincere regret that he could do nothing better 
 for his service, ordered his carriage out to convey him thither. 
 This order was already obeyed, and the carriage was already 
 at the door, when Mr. Bolton was seen approaching the house 
 with every appearance of violent haste and agitation. 
 
 Colonel Maurice, who was already at the hail-door in readi- 
 ness to depart, was rather pained than comforted by seeing him, 
 for he doubted not that his old friend had already heard of his 
 committal, and was hastening to take leave of him before the 
 doors of a jDrison were closed between them. 
 
 The moment was one in which everythino- tendino; to awaken 
 feeling had better be avoided ; and the unfortunate Colonel 
 Maurice was so fully aware of this, that when Mr. Bolton 
 stretclied out his hand, apparently to impede his stepping into 
 the carriage, he said, " You mean this visit most kindly, my 
 dear friend; but if you would spare me all unnecessary suffer- 
 ing, do not attempt to delay my departure at this moment." 
 
 The triumphant eye of Captain Ilackwood, who was standing 
 on the door-steps, was on him as he spoke — a circumstance 
 which, no doubt, added to the earnestness with which this re- 
 monstrance was uttered. 
 
 But this earnestness did not produce its intented effect on Mr. 
 Bolton. On the contrary, he persevered with a degree oF vehe- 
 mence, very unusual in him, to retain the arm of Colonel 
 Maurice, which he had seized, endeavouring to draw him back 
 by main force into the house. "What the devil are you about, 
 Sir? " exclaimed Captain Hackwood. " Do you mean to resist 
 the warrant? " 
 
 "Yes, sir, I do," replied the clergyman, immediately recover- 
 ing his self-possession. 
 
 " You both know me, gentlemen," he continued, turning to 
 the two magistrates; " you both know me too well to doubt that 
 I have some reason for what I do. I liold a document in my 
 hand," he added, drawing a letter from his pocket, " which will 
 show you that the sending this gentleman to prison, after it has 
 been offered for your perusal in evidence, may be attended with 
 inconvenience to others as well as to l-.ini." 
 
 "And you must know us too vv'ell, my dear Sir, to doubt our 
 feeling well pleased at anything that may lawfully impede ouv 
 
381' THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 performing so unpL^fisanc a duty," said Sir Tliomns "White. 
 Whereupon he himselt' re-entered the house, followed by the 
 whole part}'. 
 
 Mr. Bolton was too easfer to achieve the business he had to 
 perform to wait till they had passed through the hall before he 
 placed the important letter in the hands of Sir Thomas ; but 
 that gentleman had the discretion not to open it till he had 
 entered the drawing-room, waited till all the party had entered 
 it also, closed the door, and put on his spectacles. 
 
 This done, he opened the letter, and, at the request of Mr 
 Bolton, read it aloud. Its contents were as follows : — 
 
 "Honoured Sir, 
 
 " I know my own rositlon, and I know yours, much 
 too well to obtrude mj^self upon your recollection, unless I had i 
 such a reason for doing so as might justify the act in 3'our ' 
 eyes. 
 
 "You already know tbe terrible secret of my sinful life; you 
 already know that, while living as the servant of the late Mrs, 
 E/ixlev, and as the attendant of her children I was the mistress 
 of her husband, and their father. 
 
 " Thus much I have already confessed to you, and I confessed 
 it with shame and sorrow, a shame and a sorrow as genuine as 
 was ever felt by a repentant sinner, 
 
 "And I have now. Sir, another confession to make to you; 
 but though the deed which I am now obliged to disclose is con- 
 sidered, I believe, as worse than any other, the remembrance of 
 it causes me neither shame nor sorrow. I loved my master 
 passionately, and devotedly, and I loved his children devotedly 
 too, perhaps because they were his children. My love to the 
 father was of that unprincipled kind which utterly obscures th.e 
 judgment, making that appear pardonable in him which, in 
 another, would have appeared hateful beyond the reach of for- 
 giveness. 
 
 "His cruel neglect of his faultless wife, and his utter in- 
 difference towards his children, I more than forgave, for I 
 believed both to be the result of his overpowering attachment 
 to myself. 
 
 "But my judgment became clearer when, upon his return to 
 the Warren llousc, after an unusually long absence of several 
 months, he coolly informed me that he was immediately going to 
 be married. 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 385 
 
 "It is no part of ray task to describe the feeling wliich this 
 announcement created in me. If it was hatred, it was not 
 strong enough to have led to the catastrophe which followed, 
 for it is certain that I should not have acted as I did act, had 
 not his children been very dear to me. 
 
 "In talking to me of his approaching nuptials, which he did 
 without even affecting the slightest consideration for my feel- 
 inofs, he informed me for the first time that his real name was 
 Beauchamp, which he had taken upon succeeding to a large 
 estate — this estate, he gaily told me, would be inherited by the 
 son, which he flattered himself would be born to him within a 
 twelvemonth, adding, however, that he had, nevertheless, made 
 a will, leaving the property to his daughter Helen, in case this 
 male heir was never born. The whole of the following day my 
 master spent, as he often did, upon the water, leaving home 
 early in the morning, and giving me orders to pack up clothes 
 for him to take with him to London on the following day. 
 
 " He also ordered me to prepare a supper for him at night. 
 
 " How I got through that dreadful day matters to no one. 
 Perhaps I was mad. I sometimes think it was so ; but mad 
 or not, I was not idle. I made my will. I went to Falmouth. 
 I purchased some poison at a druggist's shop, and I came back 
 to the Warren House. Having reposed myself for a while, I 
 prepared my master's supper, and that so skilfully, that if he 
 ate but a little, and drank but a little, I knew that when he 
 lay down to sleep, he would rise no more, and that Helen, and 
 not a son and heir, would inherit his property.. 
 
 "It was I who poisoned George Rixley, of the Warren 
 House, alias George Beauchamp, of Beauchamp Park. 
 
 "The departure of poor William was an accidental coin- 
 cidence. He went, poor boy, because his brutal father had 
 treated him in a manner too bad to bear. The dear boy had 
 often told me, that he thought he should be driven to run away 
 at last. 
 
 " I repeat. Sir, that I do not feel any remorse for having pre- 
 vented the father of Helen from leaving her destitute. 1 may 
 have been mad, and I may be so still ; but I firmly believe that 
 1 1 did more good than evil.'* 
 
 " Signed Almeria, commonly called 
 
 " Sakah Lambert." 
 
 It will readily be imagined that this strange document was 
 26 
 
386 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 not listened to with indiffercDce by any of the persons present at 
 the reading it. 
 
 The feelings of Colonel Maurice, though certainly not un- 
 mixed with pain, were those of deep thankfulness for this 
 sudden change in his destiny, from he hardly knew what of 
 misery, to the recovery of a degree of happiness which he most 
 sincerely believed to be greatly beyond the ordinary lot of 
 mortals ; and as he thought of the change which this wonder- 
 ful transition brought to the distant dear ones, whose fate hung 
 on his, the happiness he felt seemed to become as unselfish, and 
 as holy, as it was intense. 
 
 The deep joy, and the delightful feeling of relief experienced 
 by the truly sensitive heart of Mr. Bolton, may be easily enough 
 conceived by all possessed of human affections and warm sym- 
 pathies ; and the other gentlemen present, with the exception 
 of one, unquestionably experienced a very sincere feeling of satis- 
 faction, at the happy turn which the disagreable affair that 
 had brought them together had taken. 
 
 The exception, as may easily be guessed, was found in the 
 person of the deeply-disappointed Captain Hackwood, But even 
 at that very discouraging moment, the spirit within him did 
 not leave him altogether without resource, for in the midst of 
 the congratulations which were pouring in upon Colonel 
 Maurice, he gently touched the constable on the arm, and said, 
 "Take care what you are about, my good fellow. It is likely 
 enough to come out, I think, that this very improbable epistle 
 has been concocted at the Parsonage, within the last twenty- 
 four hours." 
 
 Captain Hackwood could not have addressed himself to a 
 more promising subject, for the constable was both timid and 
 punctilious. 
 
 "Thank you kindly for the hint. Sir," replied the man; "it 
 would not be the first time that such a trick may have been 
 played, I'll answer for it." 
 
 And then, turning to Sir Thomas White, he said, " I ask your 
 pardon. Sir, but when a prisoner has been given over to my 
 keeping, 1 must take care not to let him go without having 
 to show good and sufficient cause for the same. Now it 
 seems to me, your Honour, that we have not got any 
 good and sufficient proof as to when that there letter was 
 written. Even if there was anybody here to prove the woman's 
 handwriting, we don't know but what she might have been 
 persuaded by the young man to do it when she was dyin 
 
 g. 
 
THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 387 
 
 because in that case it might do him a deal of good without 
 doing a bit of harm to her." 
 
 This speech was listened to by all with, perhaps, more atten- 
 tion than it deserved ; but the effect was not lasting, for our old 
 acquaintance, Mr. Lucas, the Falmouth attorney, immediately 
 drew another letter from his pocket, together with the will of 
 Almeria Lambert. 
 
 The letter, which was addressed to " William Rixley," ex- 
 pressly stated that it was her purpose to avenge herself, and 
 him, by destroying his father by means of poison, which she had 
 already procured, and which it was her fixed purpose to admin- 
 ister before she again closed her eyes in sleep. " By this just act 
 of retribution," she added, " I shall ensure to your dear sister the 
 noble fortune to which she was born, and which, if he lives, will 
 in all probability be given to another." This letter was not 
 only dated the day before the late Mr. Beauch amp's death, but 
 Mr. Lucas was ready to depose on oath that it had been confided 
 to him on that day. He offered, also, to swear that it was in 
 the handwriting of Mrs. Lambert. 
 
 .This seemed to satisfy everybody, except Captain Hackwood ; 
 but he evidently continued to entertain doubts as to its authen- 
 ticity, for after casting a look of the utmost contempt upon Mr. 
 Lucas, he turned on his heel and walked out of the room. 
 
 The rest of the party, however, seemed, one and all, to be ex- 
 ceedingly pleased with this happy termination of the disagree- 
 able business which had brought them there, and it was not 
 Mr. ^ingley's fault if they did not all stay and dine with him. 
 But Colonel Maurice pleaded the absolute necessity of his 
 returning to London by the next train, together with his earnest 
 wish of passing the short interval before he started, with his old 
 friends at the Parsonage. 
 
 The carriage which still stood at the door, ready to convey 
 the gallant Colonel to the county gaol, was now offered to take 
 him and his old master to the Parsonage, and his meeting with 
 Mrs. Bolton was as happy as that with her husband had been 
 the reverse. 
 
 Yet, nevertheless, Colonel Maurice took care to be ready for 
 
 the train, and in a time so short as would have seemed fabulous 
 
 to our fathers, he found himself once more at Beauchamp Park, 
 
 and surrounded by all that he loved best on earth. 
 
 * ^ * * m 
 
 And now my story is done. 
 
 Need it be added at full length that the double wedding came 
 
 2G— 2 
 
388 THE YOUNG HEIRESS. 
 
 off exactly on the day originally fixed — exactly as it would have 
 done if Colonel Maurice's flying excursion to Crumpton had 
 never taken place ? The only difference was, that Mr. Bolton 
 came to perform the double ceremony ; and then he learnt, 
 happy man, that Helen had, several years ago, purchased the 
 next presentation to a capital good living in her neighbourhood, 
 the incumbent of which, at the time of the purchase, had 
 already numbered nearly four-score years. The only consolation 
 for this long delay was to be found in the evident salubrity of 
 the spot that was to be his future home. 
 
 The Warren House may be seen still standing in its desolate 
 loneliness; but neither William nor Helen have ever taxed their 
 courage so far as to enter it. And they acted wisely, for their 
 present happiness is too perfect to require any contrast with 
 former sufferings to increase their enjoyment of it. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 H. SMITH & SON, rniXTERS, 186, STRAXD, LONDON. 
 
SELECT LIBRARY OF FICTION, 2s. PER YOLTJME. 
 
 JACK HINTON. 
 BY CHARLES LEVER. 
 
 "And he that can follow the adventures of Jack 
 Hinton, Harry Lorrequer, Charles O'Malley, and 
 Tom Burke, without the frequent interruption of 
 hearty laughter, has probably survived all sense of 
 enjoyment in the society of the young. In any case he 
 is not a man to be envied. To us, indeed, there is 
 something of pathos in the re-perusal of these books. 
 It is like reading one's old love-letters, or hearing an 
 old friend recount the frolics of one's own youth.'* 
 
 HECKINGTON. 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 BY MRS. GORE. 
 
 " The established reputation of Mrs. Gore as a 
 novelist must ever secure a hearty welcome to any 
 emanation from her pen. It is a story of deep interest, 
 told with all personal expressiveness of style. Rawdon 
 of Heckington, as he was designated in his county 
 history, resented, as an injury at the hands of Pro- 
 vidence, that to Heckington there was no Arthur 
 Rawdon to succeed. All the disappointed man could do 
 with such unprofitable articles on his hands as a 
 Sophia and a Jane, was to marry them early, in hopes 
 that at the time of his decease an heir male might not 
 be wanting ; and his mortification was proportion ably 
 great when his elder girl chose to attach herself to the 
 son of a neighbouring gentleman farmer, of small means 
 — Henry Corbet — whilst his younger girl was married 
 to a handsome and wealthy Creole, of the name of 
 Enmore, who, within three years, rendered him the 
 proud grandfather of two promising boys." — Morning 
 Post 
 
 Chapman and Hall, 193, Piccadilly, London. 
 
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 CHARLES O'MALLEY, THE 
 IRISH DRAGOON. 
 
 BY CHARLES LEVER. 
 
 TWO VOLS. 
 
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 inimitable. We have no hesitation in affirming it to 
 be the most perfect type of Irish humour that has ever 
 been given to the world. It is perfectly sustained from 
 first to last, and nothing in the conception of it is 
 exaggerated or incongruous. Mickey Free is the Irish 
 Sam Weller. He has, in fact, this advantage over 
 Sam Weller, that he is the more thoroughly national 
 and comprehensive type of the two. It is impossible 
 but what this creation, which is in many respects the 
 most felicitous of all Mr. Lever's creations, should 
 live for ever as a distinct embodiment of national 
 character." 
 
 ONE OF THEM. 
 BY CHARLES LEVER. 
 
 "The novels of Charles Lever, republished in a cheap 
 form, must prove most acceptable to a very large por- 
 tion of the readers of works of fiction. There is no 
 modern writer who has thrown so much of genial 
 mirth, such native humour, such a collection of humor- 
 ous incidents, into his stories. There is a raciness 
 in its humour that we look for in vain in the crowd of 
 novel writers of the present day; and, combined with 
 this native humour and ready wit, there are so many 
 life-like sketches of character, so many touches of a 
 master's hand, that one does not so much read of, as 
 speak to and with, the leading characters to whom the 
 reader is introduced." — Observer, 
 
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 CHASLIE THORNHILL ; or, the. Dunce of the 
 
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