5^ KteL 
 
 
 ^<&,.,.. wZ'i^ss^^ 
 
 
 
/5kX 
 
 O /I 
 
Digitized by tine Internet Arcliive 
 in 2010 witli funding from 
 Dul<e University Libraries 
 
 Iittp://www.arcliive.org/details/earlsdaugliter01sewe 
 
'^J'A 
 
 
 EARL'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 THE AUTHOR OF " AMV HERBERT," " GERTRUDE," " THE 
 child's FIRST HISTORY OF ROME," ETC. 
 
 KDITED BV 
 
 THE REV. W. SEWELL, B.D. 
 
 FBLLOW OF EXETEB COLLEGE, OXFOBD. 
 
 Life, .... is energy ol'Love, 
 Divine or human ; exercised in pain, 
 In strife, and tribulation ; and ordained, 
 If 80 approved and sanctified, to pass, 
 Through shades and silent rest, to endless joy. 
 
 The Excursion. 
 
 VOL. 1. 
 
 LONDON: 
 LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, AND LONGMANS, 
 
 P.\TERNOSTER ROW. 
 1850. 
 
vV . 
 
 — • ^ 
 
 CO., PKrNTPRS, HTLr. 
 TEMPLG UAR. 
 
LuuPM^ . 
 
 THE EARL'S DAUGHTER. '^^"""^ 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 There was an unusual stir in the old cathedral town 
 
 of . It was neither a market-day, nor the 
 
 anniversary of a public fete ; neither the season of 
 the annual visitation, nor of any public meeting ; yet 
 the narrow footways were thronged, and knots of 
 idlers stood inconveniently at the corners of the streets, 
 making their remarks upon the few carriages which 
 enlivened the generally dull town, or noticing with 
 interest the occasional approach of the rows of neatly 
 dressed school children, who, with orderly steps and 
 serious looks, were bending their way to the open 
 square in which stood the great entrance to the ca- 
 thedral. Gravity, indeed, was the pervading deport- 
 ment of all the assembling crowd ; but a deeper, 
 more reverent, and anxious feeling might be traced 
 upon the features of some, who, fully aware of the 
 difficulties of a Christian life, were about to witness 
 the renewal of those vows by which the ignorant and 
 untried, the weak and the erring, in the midst of a 
 sinful world, and about to enter upon the scene of its 
 temptations, pledge themselves in the sight of an 
 All Holy God, to be His in spirit, in truth, and for 
 ever. It was the day appointed for the Confirmation 
 of all within the diocese of who had attained 
 
2 THE EARL S DAUGHTER. 
 
 the age required by the Bishop, and on few occasions 
 had a more careful preparation been made for the 
 due observance of this important rite. The time had 
 gone by when the verbal repetition of the Church 
 Catechism was alone deemed necessary for the can- 
 didates. A more zealous spirit had arisen, and 
 many, who had themselves been allowed to renew 
 their baptismal vows without thought or prayer, 
 now, warned by past experience, endeavoured most 
 earnestly to urge upon others the importance of the 
 period which they had reached, and the real meaning 
 of the words, which from childhood, had been familiar 
 to their lips ! 
 
 The Confirmation of that day was felt to be a most 
 solemn act of self-dedication ; and as the knights of 
 old, when preparing to assume the insignia and en- 
 counter the perils of their order, were accustomed to 
 fast, and watch and pray, that they might be enabled to 
 struggle and conquer in the unknown dangers before 
 them ; so the young asjiirants to the full privileges 
 of Christianity were taught to humble themselves 
 by repentance, and prepare their hearts by prayer, 
 that in the hour of temptation they might not be 
 forgetful of their high calling, and fall short of their 
 eternal reward. The spectacle which the cathedral 
 church of St. Mark exhibited when the choir v^as 
 filled, before the service of the church began, was one 
 of no common interest. The broad light of the sun, 
 as its rays streamed through the stained windows, 
 fell upon fair young faces chastened by holy thoughts, 
 and boyish features subdued into stillness by the 
 pressure of a strange and hitherto unfelt awe. There 
 were countenances which told of fear and wonder, 
 and some, it might be, of indifference ; there were 
 eyes bent upon the page in whicli the vow to be re- 
 newed was recorded ; and lips moving in silent prayer 
 that strength might be granted for its fulfilment; 
 
THE EARL S DAUGHTER. 3 
 
 whilst, at times, over those youthful faces there passed 
 the shadow of a dark cloud, the cloud of the me- 
 mory of sin : the vision of cherished offences, of 
 indulged tempers, — vanity and pride, selfishness and 
 irreverence, — the bitter fruits of an evil nature, now a 
 second time to be publicly renounced for ever. Was 
 it to be marvelled at, if in some then present the 
 weakness of humanity for a moment shrank from the 
 warfare imposed upon it, and would fain have re- 
 turned to the bondage of Egypt, the indulgence of 
 earthly inclination, rather than brave the battle with 
 those stern enemies — the world, the flesh, and the 
 devil — which throng the borders of the land of pro- 
 mise? 
 
 But the wish, if it arose, was founded on error. 
 The candidates for Confirmation were no longer free 
 to choose. Once baptized, once admitted into the 
 fellowship of the Catholic Church, and there could 
 be no drawing back. The members of Christ, the 
 children of God, the inheritors of the kingdom of 
 heaven, could never again " be as the heathen." 
 Tiiey might despise their privileges, and break their 
 vows ; but the privileges had still been granted, and 
 they must be answerable for them ; the vows were still 
 upon their heads, and so would also be the punish- 
 ment for neglect. For them it could never be a ques- 
 tion, whether they would accept Christianity : but 
 whether, having accepted, they would renounce it ; 
 and even the most indifferent amongst the professed 
 followers of Christ would surely have trembled to 
 risk the woe which must inevitably follow an open, 
 deliberate apostacy. 
 
 But although no second promise, could in reality 
 increase the binding responsibility of the first, yet 
 the public ratification of a covenant with God must 
 ever be regarded with awe. The baptismal vow was 
 now for the first time fully impressed upon the con- 
 
4 THE EARL S DAUGHTER. 
 
 sciences of many by whom it had scarcely before 
 been remembered, and they trembled as the moment 
 approached when they were to seal it with the con- 
 sent of their own lips. 
 
 The peaceful soothing words of the daily service 
 were said, and when they were ended there stood be- 
 fore the altar of God, the high-born inheritors of 
 honour and wealth, and the gentle children nursed in 
 affluence and retirement, and the humble offspring of 
 poverty, united by one creed, one hope, one danger, 
 and summoned to join in one common act of self- 
 dedication. 
 
 Together they listened to the eamest supplication 
 which was to bring down upon them from on high 
 the " sevenfold gifts of grace ;" and then side by side 
 they knelt, and each in turn bowed beneath a hand 
 of blessing — the blessing of their spiritual Father in 
 Christ. 
 
 Once more they were seated as before, to receive 
 from the Bishop's mouth the words of advice, and 
 warning, and consolation, which were to guide them 
 amidst the temptations of life ; and when the final 
 benediction was given, and the full tones of the organ 
 pealed through the long aisles, they parted even as 
 they had met, for the greater part unknowing and 
 unregarding, to many a distant home, never to meet 
 together again in one place till they should stand 
 before the judgment-seat of "G-od, to answer for the 
 fulfilment of the vow which had that hour been 
 registered in heaven. 
 
THE EARLS DAUGHTER. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 It was the evening of the same day, a day of un- 
 wonted brilliancy and warmth. The sounds of busy 
 life were fading upon the listening ear, the cattle 
 were returning from the pastures, the birds were 
 seeking their nests, the tired workman was slowly 
 wending his way towards his home, and the deep 
 tones of the cathedral clock as it struck the hour of 
 eight fell with a warning voice upon the few who 
 were still engrossed in their round of daily occupa- 
 tion. 
 
 The peacefulness of such an hour was felt even 
 amidst the bustle of a crowded town, and the jar of 
 folly and vice ; but in the quiet garden of the old grey 
 manor-house of St. Ebbe's there was nothing to dis- 
 turb the hallowing effect of its influence. The low 
 ivy-covered walls which enclosed it seemed built for 
 the very purpose of excluding all thoughts of the 
 busy world ; the long green walks invited to re- 
 gular exercise and meditation ; the neatly-trimmed 
 borders, gay with flowers, spoke of carefulness 
 and simplicity, and appreciation of the loveliness 
 of nature ; and the quaint sun-dial, raised upon a 
 circle of rough stone steps in the centre, gave a silent 
 call to the unthinking to note the flight of time, 
 whilst it bade them, in the words of Holy Writ, 
 which were graven upon its pedestal, " watch and 
 pray, that they might not enter into temptation." 
 The building itself, with its weather-stained walls, 
 and muUioned windows and deep porch, accorded 
 perfectly with the quaint style of the garden. It was 
 B 2 
 
D THE EARL S DAUGHTER. 
 
 not large, and boasted few architectural ornaments ; 
 but it was the existing symbol of bygone years, and 
 insensibly carried back the mind to times far removed 
 from the present, when if mankind were not wiser 
 and better they were at least less restless, and when 
 the lords of the manor of St. Ebbe's were willing to 
 " dwell .amongst their own people," and knew no 
 higher interest in life than that of providing for their 
 welfare. So it was not now ; the house, and the 
 garden, and the lands, which once were deemed 
 indissolubly attached, had been divided into separate 
 lots : the manor-house had become a farm-house, 
 the farm-house had been neglected ; and, ruined and 
 dilapidated, would have fallen into almost hopeless 
 decay, but for a succession of fortunate events which 
 placed it in the hands of those who were willing to 
 expend some money and much taste in restoring it, 
 though not to its original beauty, yet to a condition 
 in which it might be inhabited with comfort. 
 
 The inmates of the manor-house, in its present 
 state, were widely different from its early occupants ; 
 and if the first Sir Ralph de Bretonville, whom tra- 
 dition asserted to have been the founder of the family, 
 could have looked upon the youthful figures standing 
 upon the dial-steps, and watching the gradual fading 
 of the gorgeous sunset, he might have deemed them 
 beings of another race, so little could they have 
 resembled the uncouth train of revellers, huntsmen, 
 and serving men, with whom his own halls must 
 have been filled. 
 
 They were two girls, who appeared to have scarcely 
 passed the age of sixteen — unlike in dress, height, 
 and figure ; but showing, by an unrestrained ease of 
 manner, that the tie between them, if not of blood, 
 was one of familiar intimacy. 
 
 The taller — and, seemingly, the elder — of the two 
 was finely formed, and dignified, almost commanding 
 
THE EARL S DAUGHTER, 7 
 
 in manner. Her dark hair was braided, with studied 
 neatness, across a high forehead, and one long ring- 
 let fell on either side upon the well-turned neck, over 
 which a shawl had been hastily thrown to protect her 
 from the evening air. Her complexion was clear, and 
 brilliant with the hues of youth and health ; and none, 
 probably, could have turned an indifferent gaze upon 
 the perfect contour of her features; — the deep-set 
 hazel eye — the Grecian nose — the full expressive 
 mouth, which bespoke intellect and energy, and na- 
 tural elevation of character ; — and as she stood, with 
 one hand pointing to the glowing sky, and the other 
 resting upon the dial-plate, whilst the dazzling hues 
 of sunset fell upon her graceful figure, she might 
 have been fitly deemed the representative of the Sibyl, 
 or the Pythoness, exulting in the first enthusiasm 
 of inspiration. 
 
 Her companion it will be less easy to pourtray ; 
 for Lady Blanche Evelyn was not regularly beautiful. 
 She was slight in figure, and rather below the usual 
 height ; — her complexion was naturally pale, though, 
 at that moment, tinged by the faint crimson-flush 
 of interest and agitation ; — her eyes, dark and exqui- 
 sitely soft, were not striking in their brilhancy, like 
 those of her friend. There was less of a marked 
 outline in the contour of her face, even of the long- 
 chiselled nose and peculiarly sweet mouth ; and the 
 clustering ringlets of glossy chestnut hair, which 
 shaded her features, gave an air of greater youthful- 
 ness to her general appearance. The forehead — 
 high, open, and intellectual — bore, indeed, some re- 
 semblance to her companion's, but the expression of 
 the whole countenance was but little affected by it. 
 
 It was not intellect which could have been upper- 
 most in the thoughts of any person, looking, for the 
 first time, upon Lady Blanche Evelyn. The sparkle 
 in her eye, the smile upon her lips, the hght eager 
 
8 THE EARL'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 animation of manner, chastened by refinement and 
 simplicity, were the tokens of a heart dehghting in 
 the first freshness of life ; — remembering the past 
 without regret, and painting visions of the future 
 with innocent enjoyment ; and if, for a moment, a 
 transient shade of thought passed over the sunshine 
 of her fi'ir young features, it was the thought, not 
 of foreboding or discontent, but of a mind to which 
 the mysterious realities of the unseen world were pre- 
 senting themselves with all their overwhelming power. 
 
 Graceful, gentle, and childlike as she was, she 
 might have been deemed by many unfitted to cope 
 with the triiils of the world ; but, whether it were 
 from the natural dignity of one upon whom the 
 honours of a long line of ancestry were destined to 
 descend, or from a strength of character unknown 
 only because untried, — an under current of firmness 
 ran through her words and actions ; scarcely indeed 
 perceived, except by minute observation, but then 
 displaying itself even in the intonations of her mu- 
 sical voice, and the increasing earnestness of her 
 gestures, as she pursued her conversation. 
 
 "To-morrow," she said, as she threw her arm 
 affectionately around her companion, "to-morrow, 
 Eleanor, by this time I may have seen him, and you 
 may have seen him too ; our plans will not seem 
 dreamy then." 
 
 "They will to me," was the reply ; "till I can see 
 how they may be carried out : and 1 dread to-morrow, 
 lest it should make me forget to-day." 
 
 " Sometimes, it seems impossible to forget," re- 
 plied Blanche, as she gazed intently upon the golden 
 sky. " Now, it seems so ; and then again, — oh ! Elea- 
 nor, I feel it will be very hard : — when my thoughts 
 are given to earthly things my heart will follow : 
 and yet at this time how can I help it ? " 
 
THE EARL S DAUGHTER. 9 
 
 "Then, it cauuot be wrong," said Eleanor, sooth- 
 ingly. 
 
 *' If I could but think so ! But, after this morn- 
 ing, no one who had really fixed principles would be 
 as changeable as I am." 
 
 " No one thinks you changeable, except your- 
 self," answered Eleanor. 
 
 " I know myself better than others know me, 
 then," said Blanche. "Even, after all I have pro- 
 mised—all those prayers, and the charge, and all my 
 resolutions, I cannot keep my mind fixed as I ought. 
 I have such dreams of home, and of papa ; and when 
 I shut myself up this afternoon, and tried to do what 
 Mr. Howard advised, I was wandering to things gone 
 by, — all that has happened since we have been here. 
 I wonder whether others have the same difficulties." 
 
 Eleanor thought for a few moments, and then said, 
 rather abruptly, " Did you notice that sickly girl who 
 sat to the right of us, at the head of the charity- 
 school?" 
 
 " Yes," exclaimed Blanche ; " her eyes never 
 seemed to move except when the chanting began, and 
 then she looked up amongst the arches of the cathe- 
 dral with such intense awe. I was vexed with 
 myself for thinking about her, and yet it did me 
 good." 
 
 " She was blind," continued Eleanor ; *' one of her 
 companions led her up to the ahar as we left it. 
 Mr. Howard says she comes from Rutherford ; and I 
 mean to ask papa if he knows her." 
 
 " I think I could bear to be blind," observed 
 Blanche, " if I could only feel, as I am sure she did. 
 But the world is so beautiful, and it is so pleasant to 
 live and to be loved ! " 
 
 " Yes," said Eleanor ; " for you, especially, who 
 have everything else that the world can give." 
 
10 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 "Why should I have so much?" exclaimed 
 Blanche. " It is very strange ; and when I looked at 
 that poor girl it frightened me. And yet, Eleanor." 
 she continued, and a shade, almost of sadness, 
 passed over her face, " it may all be marred. I shall 
 be like a stranger in my home, and papa may have 
 lost his English tastes, and be vexed that I am not 
 what he pictured." 
 
 "You are fanciful," replied Eleanor, with an air 
 of authority ; " you should remember what Mrs. 
 Howard says about not creating evils." 
 
 "But he will be my all," said Blanche, humbly; 
 "If his love fails me, what shall I have to look to?" 
 Eleanor's countenance expressed surprise, and Blanche 
 instantly corrected herself; "on earth, I mean," she 
 said ; " but that is an instance of what I mentioned 
 just now about forgetting. I know that I ought to 
 be calm and trusting, thinking of to-day instead of 
 to-morrow. Do you remember the Bishop's saying 
 it was part of our duty ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied Eleanor ; " I was looking at the 
 blind girl at the instant, and her face brightened 
 when she heard it, as little Clara's does when she first 
 gains a new idea." 
 
 Blanche was silent for several minutes. " I must 
 not think," she exclaimed, at length ; " the time is 
 coming so near. When the sun goes down again, 
 I may be watching it from the terrace at Ruther- 
 ford." 
 
 "And I from the rectory," said Eleanor. "We 
 shall be separated then." 
 
 The words sounded reproachfully ; and Blanche 
 eagerly exclaimed, " Only for a few hours ; our 
 homes will be almost the same. You do not think, 
 Eleanor, that I could be happy if it v/ere not so." 
 
 " Not now. But, Blanche, the path of your life 
 
THE earl's daughter. 11 
 
 ■will lead you away from me into the world, and, 
 amongst gay friends ; you will have many other 
 ties." 
 
 " But the one," said Blanche ; " where can I find 
 that ? The blessing -nhich was given us to-day to- 
 gether will never be repeated again ; — ours can never 
 be a common love." 
 
 Eleanor grew very thoughtful. " Promise to love 
 me always," she said. " Doubt comes over me sadly 
 at times." 
 
 Blanche did not promise ; but she looked at Elea- 
 nor with wonder, as if not comprehending the mean- 
 ing of her words, and before she could reply, some 
 one was heard to repeat her name ; and a little girl, 
 about ten years of age, ran up to them, exclaiming, 
 "You must come directly, — this moment ; you must 
 not wait a minute : Mrs. Howard wants you in her 
 room. Pray, Eleanor, don't keep her." 
 
 "Is it for me? Did Mrs. Howard send for me, 
 Clara?" and the colour faded from Blanche's cheek. 
 
 "Yes, Mrs. Howard; and" — the child stopped, 
 put her finger upon her lip, and smiled archly. 
 
 "Who? What? Who is here?" asked Elea- 
 nor. 
 
 " Never mind ; don't ask questions. Mrs. How- 
 ard told me I was to make haste." 
 
 Lady Blanche said nothing ; she leant against the 
 sun-dial, and every limb tremlded. 
 
 "You are ill, dearest," said Eleanor, affection- 
 ately ; " and this suspense is dreadful for you. Clara, 
 you must tell us — Is Lord Rutherford arrived ? " 
 
 Clara was delighted at her own power, and turning 
 away, exclaimed, " For once Eleanor Wentworth 
 cannot have her will." 
 
 "But Blanche Evelyn can;" and Blanche drew 
 the little girl towards her, and said in a faint voice, 
 " If you love me, Clara — " 
 
12 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 The appeal was successful. Clara's arm was put 
 within hers ; and, looking up in Blanche's face to 
 watch the effect of her information, she whispered, 
 " I have not seen him ; but Mary and Agnes have." 
 
 Blanche scarcely waited to hear the last word, be- 
 fore she had flown towards the house ; but as she 
 reached the porch she stopped — her courage had 
 failed. 
 
 Eleanor was at her side immediately. " He must 
 love you — dote upon you, Blanche ; and his letters — 
 you do him injustice by being afraid." 
 
 Blanche put her hand before her eyes ; and holier 
 thoughts came to her aid. One Father, she had, 
 who knew the weakness of His child, and could 
 strengthen her as well against the infirmity of na- 
 ture, as against the temptations of sin. She placed 
 her icy fingers within Eleanor's, and clasped them 
 with the energy of nervous resolution ; and then, with 
 a firm step, turned away to seek for the first time, 
 since she had been conscious of existence, the pre- 
 sence of her father. 
 
THE earl's daughter. 13 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The Earl of Rutherford was a man, the ruling prin- 
 ciple of whose character was generally supposed to 
 be easily discovered from his expressive countenance : 
 conscious nobility, a love of command, an impetu- 
 ous temper, and a powerful intellect, were plainly in- 
 scribed upon it. He was born to honour, accus- 
 tomed from infancy to rule, and the world had de- 
 cided that pride was the governing motive of his 
 actions. So at least it was said, when, fifteen years 
 before, he had suddenly left his ancestral home, upon 
 the death of a ^\'ife, whom, if he had not loved, he 
 had at least treated with the outward marks of 
 respect ; and confiding his infant daughter to the care 
 of a lady, the personal friend of the countess, left 
 England with the avowed determination of remaining 
 abroad for some years. The step, strange though 
 it appeared, was declared not incompatible with his 
 character. The grief preying upon his heart was 
 said to be less the death of his wife, than the failure 
 of a male lieir ; and the Lady Blanche Evelyn, al- 
 though born to inherit both the title and its annexed 
 estates, was considered to be an object of compassion 
 rather than of love to her haughty father, from the 
 feeling that it was impossible for a woman fitly to 
 support the dignity of the family, and the dread lest 
 the event of her marriage with some yet more dis- 
 tinguished individual should sink his own noble 
 house into comparative insignificance. All this the 
 world said. The Earl of Rutherford was pitied, but 
 censured ; his sorrow it was imagined would be trau- 
 
14 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 sitory, and his journey was considered merely the 
 impulse of a hasty moment. That he would return 
 again, it might be with a foreign bride, or at least 
 to seek another in England, was considered a matter 
 of certainty ; and yet, year after year went by, and 
 the Castle of Rutherford was still left unoccupied. 
 Political engagements it was known were in a 
 great measure the cause of the earl's absence, but 
 they would not account for an exile of such length ; 
 and the rumours which were at first circulated re- 
 garding a second marriage at length ceased. Tidings 
 of him were heard — sometimes at Rome, sometimes 
 at Vienna, once at Constantinople ; but all gave the 
 same impression. If Lord Rutherford had been 
 considered proud at home, he was thought to be yet 
 more so in the careless ease of continental society. 
 The noblest and fairest ornaments of European courts 
 passed before him, but all were alike unnoticed ; 
 and, at the expiration of fifteen years, he was return- 
 ing to his native land, with the same impenetrable 
 manner, the same cold reserve of tone, for which he 
 had been remarkable on leaving it. And in the 
 mean time his child grew up in retirement, under the 
 care of a lady every way calculated for such a charge. 
 Mrs. Howard was a widow, who, at the age of thirty, 
 found herself suddenly reduced from a situation of 
 afiluence and happiness, as the wife of a beneficed 
 clergyman, to one of almost hopeless poverty. The 
 death of her husband, which had been so sudden as 
 to prevent him from making any satisfactory ar- 
 rangement of his property, joined with other circum- 
 stances perfectly unforeseen, had combined to produce 
 this great misfortune ; and, but for the long-tried 
 friendship of the Countess of Rutherford, Mrs. 
 Howard's prospects would indeed have been dark. 
 Through her exertions, however, the manor-house 
 of St. Ebbe's was purchased, and fitted up so as to 
 
THE earl's daughter. 15 
 
 accommodate INIrs. Howard and the few pupils whose 
 education she was able to undertake ; and when, in 
 the prospect of approaching death, the countess 
 gazed in sadness upon her child, her chief earthly 
 consolarioa was derived from the hope that the earl 
 would consent to place the infant Lady Blanche 
 under the care of the only person in whose affection 
 and principle she was able implicitly to confide. 
 Lord Rutherford was not present to receive the dying 
 injimction of his wife, but her wishes were received 
 with an attention nearly amounting to supersti- 
 tion. Lady Blanche was removed to St. Ebbe's, and 
 the sole charge of her education trusted to Mrs. 
 Howard, with but one stipulation — that she should 
 have no companion. For a few years this agreement 
 was easily kept. During the child's infancy she was 
 perfectly satisfied with Mrs. Howard as her nurse, 
 instructress, and playfellow ; but new wants were 
 discovered with increasing years, and Mrs. Howard, 
 believing that such a solitary education might ope- 
 rate unfavourably upon her character, at length pre- 
 vailed upon the earl to allow her to receive into her 
 family Eleanor "VVentworth, the daughter of the 
 rector of Rutherford. Blanche was at this time 
 about seven years of age, and fully able to appreciate 
 the charms of companionship. Eleanor was clever, 
 generous, and affectionate ; and the progress made by 
 both the children from the period of their being 
 placed together convinced Mrs. Howard that she 
 had judged wisely in the advice which she had 
 given : and when, in the course of events, the care of 
 three little orphan nieces devolved upon her, she had 
 no difficulty in persuading Lord Rutherford to allow 
 them also to share her attention at St. Ebbe's. 
 
 The charm of society was felt chiefly by Blanche. 
 Eleanor returned to her home at stated times, and 
 mixed with other friends, and enjoyed the novelty of 
 
16 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 other scenes ; but to Blanche the occupations of the 
 manor house, the interest of the village of St. 
 Ebbe's, and the dull liveliness of the old cathedral 
 town, were the only excitements of life. Even the 
 Castle of Rutherford, her destined home, was but 
 like a beautiful dream, associated with visions of the 
 mother who had been described as the most lovely 
 and perfect of earthly beings, and the father, whose 
 supposed virtues and talents formed the great ro- 
 mance of her childhood. 
 
 And the Earl of Rutherford, if judged by his let- 
 ters, was indeed formed to excite admiration, if not 
 respect. They were the letters of a refined, highly 
 cultivated, aifectionate mind ; — keenly alive to the 
 charms of grace and luxury, yet mourning over the 
 unreality of all earthly enjoyments ; — ^joining in the 
 pursuits of the world, yet sighing for the sympathy 
 of the few who were alone deemed worthy of friend- 
 ship ; and seeing too deeply into life to be satisfied 
 with aught that earth could give. One thing alone 
 seemed to give him real pleasure, the hope of return- 
 ing to England and devoting himself to his child ; — 
 and yet year after year went by, and still he lingered 
 in a foreign land. Blanche learnt by degrees to at- 
 tach but little meaning to his expressions of dissatis- 
 faction with continental habits, and of desire to 
 revisit his own country. He might be — no doubt 
 he was — sincere ; but the circumstances or the feel- 
 ings which detained him abroad appeared as binding 
 as ever ; and a shade of discontent was just beginning 
 to dim the brightness of her hitherto happy hfe, 
 when the intelligence that her father was actually on 
 his way to England, and would probably arrive in 
 the course of a few weeks, brought back all her early 
 enthusiasm and dehght. Yet the satisfaction, after 
 the first moment, was by no means unalloyed. Her 
 own departure from St. Ebbe's would be the inevi- 
 
THE earl's daughter. 17 
 
 table consequence of the earl's return, and with this 
 was involved separation from the friend who had 
 supphed a mother's place, and claimed all but a mo- 
 ther's affection ; and as Blanche recalled the fond- 
 ness which had been lavished upon her from infancy, 
 she wept in bitterness of heart for the ingratitude 
 which could for an instant rejoice in such a prospect. 
 
 As regarded Eleanor, the case would be very dif- 
 ferent. She was to return to her parents at the same 
 time, and the near vicinity of the rectory and the 
 castle formed, at least in the simple mind of Lady 
 Blanche, a reason for believing that the change of 
 life would be merely nominal ; — that they would 
 share the same interests, and partake of the same 
 pleasures, and be to each other, what they had 
 hitherto called themselves, — sisters in affection, if 
 not in relationship. 
 
 She could not contemplate the possibility of 
 change, — and the fears which Eleanor sometimes 
 expressed, were to her merely the fancies of an ex- 
 citable, over-anxious mind. 
 
 But, as the season approached for the earl's arrival, 
 the struggle in the mind of Blanche between hope 
 and regret — the future and the past — became mixed 
 with other thoughts, which served to calm her spirits 
 by diverting her feelings into a different channel. The 
 period of her Confirmation had been unavoidably 
 fixed for the time when Lord Rutherford was ex- 
 pected ; — and though Mrs. Howard would at first 
 willingly have either hastened or deferred it, so as to 
 give a more favourable opportunity for due prepara- 
 tion, she soon saw reason to be thankful that events 
 had been so ordered as to leave no possibility of 
 choice. The gay, gentle, confiding spirit of Lady 
 Blanche, open to every impression, and apparently 
 incapable of the possibility of concealment, j^et re- 
 tained within it a depth of reflection and principle 
 c 2 
 
16 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 which Mrs. Howard had never penetrated. Un- 
 known to herself, Blanche was timid, and reserved. 
 She could speak openly upon all ordinary subjects, — 
 confess her faults, and laugh at her mistakes, and 
 lament her ignorance, till even a very keen observer 
 of human nature — and such Mrs. Howard was — might 
 imagine that she had told all that was in her mind. 
 But there were occasions when the deepening colour 
 of her cheek, or the hesitation of her voice, gave in- 
 dications that in the hidden world within there lay 
 feelings far loftier and purer than any which she 
 ventured to express. Her words were the words of 
 a humble, candid, light-hearted, simple child ; but 
 her thoughts — who may tell the earnestness, and re- 
 verence, and trustfulness, with which the young 
 heart devotes itself to its Maker before the evil in- 
 fluence of the world has chilled the warmth of its 
 early affections ? What Lady Blanche really was, 
 Mrs. Howard never knew, till in the intimacy of 
 serious intercourse which preceded her Confirmation, 
 the anguish of repentance for youthful sins overcame 
 her natural reserve ; and hopes, and fears, and 
 doubts, and the bitter conflict of the soul, which all 
 — even the most outwardly innocent — must endure, 
 in the work of bringing back the heart to God, were 
 confessed without a thought of concealment. From 
 that moment the tie between them was one which 
 earth has no power to break. 
 
 To Blanche this newly-acquired sympathy was an 
 unspeakable blessing ; it soothed her in the moments 
 of self-reproach, when the delight of her father's an- 
 ticipated return distracted her thoughts from the 
 solemn subject of her approaching Confirmation ; and 
 enabled her to view clearly the life which was open- 
 ing before her, and to arrange definite plans for her 
 future conduct, instead of doubling and vacillating in 
 the desire of doing everything, and the dread of sue- 
 
THE earl's daughter. ^9 
 
 ceeding in nothing. If Mrs. Howard had been dear 
 to her before, as her truest and wisest friend, her 
 mother's chosen representative, much more was she 
 dear now ; and, even when trembhng before the door 
 which was to admit her into her father's presence, a 
 sudden pang of sorrow shot through her heart as 
 she caught the tones of Mrs. Howard's voice, and 
 thought how soon she might Usten for them in vain. 
 Mrs. Howard herself opened the door as Blanche 
 placed her hand upon the lock. She did not speak ; 
 but her silent kiss told more than the most eloquent 
 words ; and, as she walked slowly away, Blanche al- 
 lowed herself to hesitate no longer, and entered the 
 room. The earl was standing by the window — his 
 eye fixed upon the travelling-carriage which had 
 brought him that evening from London ; but his 
 thoughts wandering to years, now so long passed 
 away, that they seemed but as indistinct, yet painful, 
 visions. He was recalling the day when, in the 
 company of his wife, he had paid his first visit to 
 St. Ebbe's ; and the associations awakened by the re- 
 membrance were so absorbing, that the sound of his 
 daughter's footsteps was unheeded. Blanche re- 
 mained irresolute — afraid to intrude herself upon 
 him, yet faint from the effort to restrain her agita- 
 tion. A few moments elapsed, but to her they 
 seemed like hours ; and then the carriage drove oft", 
 and the earl, heaving a deep sigh, turned suddenly 
 round, and became aware that he was not alone. 
 
 It was a strange meeting ! He did not move or 
 smile ; but the colour forsook his cheeks, and his lips 
 quivered ; and as Blanche drew near, he gazed upon 
 her steadfastly, and sinking into a chair, the name of 
 his wife escaped his lips. Blanche stood before him 
 motionless. The earl's head was averted as if he 
 dreaded to look again ; but, when at length the 
 simple word, " Papa," fell upon his ear, he started. 
 
20 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 passed his hand across his forehead Uke one awaken- 
 ing from a dream, and, clasping his child to his heart, 
 he blessed her fervently, and poured forth the ful- 
 ness of his contentment ; and, at that moment, the 
 fondest hope of affection which Blanche had ever ven- 
 tured to indulge appeared about to be fully realized. 
 
 "My visit, to-night, must be but short, my child," 
 said the earl, when the excitement of feeling had in 
 a measure subsided, and Blanche ventured to inquire 
 how long he could stay with her. " I have business 
 in the town, and must leave you almost immediately ; 
 but to-morrow we will start early, and reach Ruther- 
 ford in time for you to see it in its beauty." 
 
 " And for the first time," said Blanche : " it seem- 
 ed hard, papa, never to have been allowed to go there 
 before ; but I am glad of it now. I would much 
 rather see it first with you." 
 
 The earl smiled. 
 
 "And with Miss Wentworth ? We are to take 
 her with us, I believe." 
 
 "Will you really?" and Blanche's eye sparkled 
 with delight. " We hoped it might be so ; but 
 Dr. Wentworth was afraid you might not like it." 
 
 " Shall you like it ? — that is the question, 
 Blanche." 
 
 Lord Rutherford spoke shortly, and Blanche was 
 a little awed. 
 
 " I shall like everything that you like, dear papa," 
 she said ; " and Eleanor and I have not set our 
 hearts upon it." 
 
 " But you would prefer it, my love ; only say so, 
 and it shall be." 
 
 Blanche had penetration enough to see that her 
 father really wished her to choose ; and, as she 
 warmly expressed her pleasure at the proposal, the 
 earl's gentleness of manner returned. 
 
 " My engagement is pressing," he said, as he rose 
 
THE earl's daughter. 21 
 
 to depart, whilst Blanche hung upon his arm, " and 
 a night's rest will be desirable for us both ; but we 
 will meet at eight to-morrow, if, as Mrs. Howard 
 assures me, you are quite prepared for such a sudden 
 move." 
 
 The mention of Mrs. Howard brought back 
 Blanche's sad thoughts. 
 
 "You will let her come and see me sometimes, 
 dear piipa, won't you ?" she said, timidly. 
 
 '•'Let her come!" replied the earl; "rather, ask 
 her if she will be kind enough to take the trouble : she 
 may not think as little of a long journey as you do." 
 
 Blanche looked grave ; for she could not bear, 
 even in jest, the idea of any obstacle to a continued 
 intercourse with her best friend. The earl no sooner 
 perceived it, than he began to assure her that if the 
 distance were ten times as great, it should not inter- 
 fere. She need not have a thought upon the subject ; 
 and if Blanche had not herself stopped him, he would 
 have insisted upon seeing Mrs. Howard again at once, 
 and. inducing her to name a certain time for a visit to 
 Rutherford. 
 
 Blanche scarcely understood this instantaneous 
 attention to her wishes. Mrs. Howard's object had 
 been to guard her against the peculiar dangers of her 
 position in life, by accustoming her to yield her own 
 will even on the most trifling occasions. She often 
 saw others preferred before her, and her natural dis- 
 position led her to obey rather than to command ; 
 and this, added to the influence of Eleanor "Weut- 
 worth's apparent decision of character, made her in- 
 sensible to her own powers. Perhaps too much so ; 
 Mrs. Howard at least began to fear lest, in fostering 
 gentleness and consideration, she had kept her too 
 much in ignorance of the influence which her rank 
 and fortune would naturally give her ; and lest the 
 sudden consciousness of superiority might prove 
 
22 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 more injurious to her character than if she had been 
 accustomed to it from childhood. But it was too 
 late to remedy the mistake. Blanche was about to 
 enter upon the world, unknowing of its snares, and 
 guarded only by the simple piety of a humble spirit, 
 which has learned to distrust itself, and to lean only 
 upon God. As she was then, there was nothing to 
 fear ; but how long her simplicity would remain un- 
 tainted, her heart uncorrupted by the flattering 
 homage which awaited her, was a question whicli 
 only the most unhesitating faith could have borne 
 to ask. 
 
THK earl's daughter. 23 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Mrs. Howard sat in her dressing-room that even- 
 ing long after her usual hour of rest. She was too 
 anxious, her mind was too preoccupied, to hope for 
 sleep. She could only think over the past, and pray 
 for the future ; whilst she dwelt upon the dispo- 
 sitions of her two young charges, and the trials to 
 which they might be exposed in their journey through 
 life. 
 
 It would have been difficult to tell which excited 
 the greater interest ; perhaps the one for whom she 
 feared the most seemed then the nearer to her heart ; 
 yet Eleanor Wentworth's character was, in itself, 
 much more open to temptation than that of Lady 
 Blanche. Nothing but the certainty tliat, at the rec- 
 tory of Rutherford, Eleanor would be as carefully 
 guarded from evil as at the manor-house of St. 
 Ebbe's, would have relieved the load of apprehension 
 which pressed upon Mrs. Howard's spirits as she 
 thought upon the fickleness of purpose, the pride 
 and jealousy, the hasty, though generous temper, 
 which were continually marring the influence of her 
 talents and high principles. 
 
 But Eleanor was not, like Blanche, to return to a 
 home where she would be the cherished idol of every 
 heart. She would be loved, indeed, deeply and ten- 
 derly ; but it would be with a Christian love, which 
 would watch over her faults, and tell her truth with- 
 out reserve. She would have quiet occupations ; 
 duties to her parents and her sister ; duties in her 
 father's parish ; amusements in her garden and her 
 
24 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 books ; and society in the castle and its neighbour- 
 hood. 
 
 Mrs. Howard almost smiled at the feeling of dread 
 which she had allowed to disturb her, as she owned 
 to herself that Eleanor's situation in life seemed pe- 
 culiarly free from temptation ; whilst, again, she sadly 
 reverted to Blanche — noble, beautiful, and rich, but 
 deprived of a mother's care, and with no one to be 
 her daily guide and counsellor, but the father, whom 
 there was reason to fear might be little fitted for 
 such an office. 
 
 The position was undoubtedly one of peril, and 
 self-accusations mingled with Mrs. Howard's fore- 
 bodings. Memory went back to the hour when, as 
 an innocent, unconscious infant, the child of her 
 early friend had been committed to her care ; when, 
 after the lapse of but a few weeks from the death of 
 the Countess of Rutherford, the earl had placed his 
 daughter in her arms, and bade her love and guard 
 her for her mother's sake. To love her was in- 
 deed easy ; but to guard, to teach, to educate her — 
 how had the task been performed ? It was a sad 
 array of errors and neglects, which conscience brought 
 before the mind of one whom the world rightly 
 judged to have discharged her duty faithfully and 
 unshrinkingly ; so much seemed to have been left 
 unsaid, undone ; so much higher an example might 
 have been set ; so many warnings and instructions 
 given. As the painful reflections crowded upon her 
 mind, a gentle tap at the door was heard, and 
 Blanche entered the room. She was looking pale 
 and ill, and her eyes were dimmed with tears ; and 
 Mrs. Howard, startled at her sudden appearance, in- 
 quired, in alarm, the cause. Blanche tried to smile, 
 whilst she assured her that it was merely a whim — a 
 freak ; — she was restless, and could not sleep, and 
 the light was shining underneath the dressing-room 
 
THE earl's daughter. 25 
 
 door ; and — but her voice failed her, aud hiding her 
 face upon Mrs. Howard's neck, she said, "To-mor- 
 row ! — I cannot leave you." 
 
 " It will not be leaving me, my dearest child," re- 
 plied Mrs. Howard. " We shall still be one in affec- 
 tion, and your father promises that we shall meet 
 frequently." 
 
 " But that will not make things as they have been," 
 replied Blanche. " I shall only have you for a short 
 time, aud I shall want you every hour in the day." 
 
 " Perhaps that is the very reason why it is good 
 for me not to be with you," said Mrs. Howard ; "we 
 must not depend too much upon our fellow-creatures, 
 however we may love them." 
 
 " If I were not so ignorant," said Blanche, '* and 
 if I knew what sort of life I was going to lead, it 
 would not seem so bad ; but seeing papa has upset all 
 my ideas. I don't mean that he is different exactly in 
 appearance from what I thought, but his manner is. 
 He put me forward when I talked to him, and seemed 
 to make me settle things ; and I would much rather 
 he would not." 
 
 "You will be used to that in time, my love," re- 
 plied Mrs. Howard, smiling ; " and you must recol- 
 lect you are no longer a child." 
 
 " No, indeed," exclaimed Blanche, " after to-day I 
 could not be ; but that, again, makes me unhappy. 
 How shall I know what is right or wrong in 
 trifles ? I cannot ask papa ; — at least I think I 
 cannot ; — and I may decide badly, and do what I 
 ought not ; and perhaps all my resolutions may fail. 
 You know it is so sometimes, when people have felt 
 a great deal more than I have." 
 
 " You can apply to me always," replied Mrs. 
 Howard, " in cases in which you really have no one 
 else to consult ; but it is not advice which can keep 
 you right." 
 
26 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 " No," said Blanche ; " but if — if I should grow 
 careless, and not pray properly — " 
 
 •' Fear for yourself, my love," replied Mrs. Howard, 
 " and then no other friend need fear for you ; but if 
 you can attend carefully to the few rules I gave you 
 the other day, I think you will find your duties less 
 difficult than you imagine." 
 
 " I always now have some time to myself in the 
 middle of the day," said Blanche ; *' but here I can 
 do as I choose." 
 
 "And you will do as you choose at home, my 
 dear," replied Mrs. Howard. " I have no doubt of 
 it. The best thing, however, to say to yourself, is : 
 not that you will, if you can, but that you must ; — 
 that everything must, to a certain degree, give way 
 to it ; that if you cannot be alone at one hour, you 
 will be at another. We require not long prayers 
 but frequent ones, to keep up our watchfulness." 
 
 " And then self-examination," said Blanche ; " it 
 is so difficult." 
 
 " Yes, most difficult ; and the only way to make 
 it easy is to practise it frequently ; to carry it on 
 from one part of the day to another, at the times we 
 fix for our private devotions." 
 
 " The difficulty to me," said Blanche, " is, that all 
 this makes one think so constantly of oneself !" 
 
 "So it may, at first ; but the mind must be edu- 
 cated like the body. How is it, for instance, that 
 you are able to walk without stumbling 1 If you are 
 in a dangerous road, you observe where you are 
 going ; but, generally speaking, you are kept in 
 safety, not by thinking of yourself, but of the objects 
 around you." 
 
 "That is what I want to do with my mind," said 
 Blanche. 
 
 " And it will come by-and-by, my love ; but you 
 must be contented to walk carefully in the dangerous 
 
THE eaul's daughter. 27 
 
 road first ; and, after a time, you will find yourself 
 instinctively shrinking from evil, and able to pursue 
 the right path — not so much by watching yourself 
 as by keeping your heart fixed upon God." 
 
 " It will be very long before that time comes," said 
 Blanche. 
 
 " Yes, because it is the perfection of a Christian 
 life ; but we must be patient. In your case, I con- 
 fess it is likely to be particularly difiicult, because 
 you will have so many temptations." 
 
 "Not more than others, I suppose," said Blanche ; 
 " and yet it seems that I shall never be as good as 
 some whom I have read of." 
 
 " But I am afraid you will have many more tempt- 
 ations than people in general," continued Mrs. How- 
 ard ; " and I should be happier if I felt that you un- 
 understood this. God has given you rank and wealth, 
 and no one in your home to share the attention which 
 will be paid you ; and your papa is very likely to be 
 over-indulgent and blind to your faults." 
 
 Blanche leant her head upon the mantelpiece, and 
 in a low voice said, " You will pray for me." 
 
 " Pray for you daily and hourly," replied Mrs. 
 Howard, earnestly. " God only knows how precious 
 you are to me. Perhaps I am over-anxious ; but 
 luxury and flattery are very insidious." 
 
 " I need not iu'didge myself in luxuries, even if I 
 possess them," said Blanche. 
 
 " No ; though I am afraid the temptation will be 
 greater than you are aware of. If your mind is cor- 
 rupted, dearest Blanche, the commencement will 
 almost inevitably be self-indulgence in trifles." 
 
 " I don't think I quite know what you would call 
 trifles," said Blanche. 
 
 " Such as a Uttle indolence in rising," replied Mrs. 
 Howard ; " a httle waste of time in light reading ; a 
 slight carelessness in convei-satiou, saying things 
 
28 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 which are not strictly right for the sake of amuse- 
 ment ; or spending money thoughtlessly ; or even 
 consulting your own ease by making yourself too 
 comfortable, and so rendering yourself indisposed to 
 exertion for other people. All these things are con- 
 sidered allowable by the world : you may do them, 
 and no one will notice them ; and your conscience 
 may, perhaps, scarcely reproach you for them ; but 
 they are the beginnings of evil — the first steps to- 
 wards that love of self-gratification which is the 
 peculiar snare of the rich." 
 
 " I like ease and comfort now," said Blanche. 
 
 " I think you do, my love," replied Mrs. Howard ; 
 " and I am not saying that the liking them is wrong, 
 but dangerous ; and against the danger I know only 
 one safeguard, as far as our own endeavours are con- 
 cerned. There are times, ycu know, when we are 
 bound to deny ourselves the use even of lawful plea- 
 sures ; — one day at least in every week we should do 
 so. If we check our inclinations then, we may hope 
 they will not gain the mastery over us at other 
 times." 
 
 " I shall not know what to do when I am at 
 home," said Blanche. 
 
 " And I cannot tell you exactly," rephed Mrs. 
 Howard; "because, of course, you must be governed 
 in a great degree by the habits of your father's house. 
 Only when we have determined to do something, 
 half our difficulty is over. A sincere will must soon 
 find out the way, without being singular or acting 
 in any way to attract notice." 
 
 " But I wish so much^so very, very much— that I 
 could have some rules," said Blanche. 
 
 Mrs. Howard half-smiled as she kissed her, and 
 said, — " And I wish so very much that I could give 
 them, because I know it would make you happier ; 
 but I can only repeat in a general way what 1 have 
 
THE EARL S DAUGHTER. 29 
 
 said to you before ; little details must be left to your- 
 self : it is impossible to shake off the burdea of 
 responsibility, Blanche, though I know you would 
 willingly do it if j-^ou could," 
 
 " But if I make my rules and keep to them," said 
 Blanche, " still 1 may attend to them only as a mat- 
 ter of form, and then they will be of no use." 
 
 Mrs. Howard was silent for a few moments ; the 
 most earnest-minded often feel bitterly the contrast 
 between the advice which they give to others, and 
 the practice which they are conscious of in themselves. 
 
 " It is very hard," she said, at length, " to feel, 
 even in a remote degree, as we ought ; but, dearest 
 Blanche, if you follow the plan you have had marked 
 out for these days ; — begin them, for instance, earlier 
 than usual, if possible, and give up your first thoughts 
 to self-examination and meditation upon those chap- 
 ters in the Gospels which describe our Lord's suffer- 
 ings ; using special solemn confessions, and also ar- 
 ranging your prayers for the rest of the day, with a 
 particular view to these subjects of meditation ; — I 
 think you will scarcely fail to have some deeper 
 gratitude — some more sincere penitence ; you will 
 at least feel that the day is not like other days." 
 
 "I will try," said Blanche ; but she sighed as if 
 distrusting herself. 
 
 " And you must hope, too," continued Mrs. Ho- 
 ward ; " hope is a great instrument of good with us 
 all. The work of a Christian is the work of a whole 
 life, and we must not despair because we are not 
 perfect at once ; especially when we have such aid 
 promised and given. In a very short time, my love, 
 you will, I trust, be fully admitted into the com- 
 munion of the Church." 
 
 Blanche looked distressed, and for a few moments 
 did not attempt to speak : at last she said, " I 
 thought you would have been with me." 
 
30 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 " And I thought so too, and hoped more earnestly 
 than I can say ; but it has been otherwise ordered, 
 and it may — it must be better for us both. Yet we 
 cannot really be separated ; my prayers and my heart 
 will follow you, and we shall surely be united in one 
 spirit as members of the body of Christ — more 
 closely even than at this moment." 
 
 Again, there was a pause ; the struggle of over- 
 excited feelings overcame Blanche's efforts to restrain 
 them, and bursting into tears, she exclaimed, " I 
 am not worthy." 
 
 " No," replied Mrs. Howard, and she placed her 
 hand fondly on Blanche's head, " you are not worthy ; 
 no one can be, not even an angel from heaven. But 
 if the blessing is greater than words can tell, so also 
 is the love. Blanche, it is a Father's voice which calls 
 you ; perhaps now, for the first time, you can under- 
 stand what a father's affection must mean." The allu- 
 sion had the effect which Mrs. Howard desired. 
 
 Blanche raised her head, and a smile gleamed 
 through her tears as she said, " I will try to thhik 
 of it, and not be afraid." 
 
 " And you will be assisted and accepted, dearest ; 
 you must not doubt it. There is much that I could 
 say to you even now upon the subject, though we 
 have so often talked of it before ; but I do not think 
 you will allow anything to interfere with such a duty. 
 I do not think you will ever make false excuses, or 
 turn away with coldness, whatever examples may be 
 set you. In time," and Mrs. Howard's voice involun- 
 tarily became more subdued in its earnestness, "you 
 will cease to look upon it as a duty — it will be your 
 all in religion." 
 
 " Papa will be with me to help me, and teach me," 
 said Blanche ; " that is one great comfort." 
 
 Mrs. Howard sighed, and made no direct answer ; 
 but, rising from her seat, unlocked a cabinet, and taking 
 
THE earl's daughter. 31 
 
 from it a locket attached to a hair chain, she hung it 
 round Blanche's neck, saying, " Will you wear it, not 
 only in remembrance of me, but of the day on which 
 it was given you ? The date has been engraved on 
 it, that when you look at it you may be reminded 
 of the vow by which you have bound yourself. — And 
 now, dear child, we must part." 
 
 Mrs. Howard's usually calm voice became low and 
 tremulous. Blanche held the locket in her hand, and 
 gazed on it long and fearfully ; and then, placing it 
 within the folds of her dress, she once more received 
 JNIrs. Howard's fervent blessing, and glided silently 
 from the room. 
 
32 THE EARL S DAUGHTER. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The sun was still high in the horizon, when on the 
 following day a travelling carriage was seen standing 
 at the bottom of the steep ascent on the summit of 
 which was built the old baronial castle of Ruther- 
 ford. There was apparently some discussion as to 
 its movements, for a servant was engaged in carry- 
 ing messages from his master to the postilions, and 
 the eager tones of a young girl's voice were heard 
 endeavouring to win some compliance with her 
 wishes contrary to the will of her companions. 
 
 " It will be a pleasure to me to walk, I assure 
 you," she said ; " the distance is but a few hundred 
 yards, and really I deserve some trouble for having 
 been so foolish as not to watch which way the car- 
 riage turned. It will make a considerable diflPerence 
 now to go by the road." 
 
 Lord Rutherford listened politely, and quietly re- 
 marking that Miss Wentworth was under his pro- 
 tection, and that he could on no account leave her 
 till he had seen her safely under her father's care, 
 sent an angry reproof to the postilions for their stu- 
 pidity, and ordered them to drive round to the 
 rectory. Eleanor looked annoyed, and Blanche 
 raised her eyes to her father's face, to see if it would 
 do to interfere ; but there was an expression in it 
 which was not encouraging. The cheerful smile 
 which had brightened it during the first part of their 
 journey was gone, and, leaning out of the window, 
 he kept his eyes riveted upon the old grey walls ap- 
 pearing in the distance above the trees. 
 
THE earl's davghter. 33 
 
 "My father!" exclaimed Eleanor, as the carriage 
 turned. 
 
 Lord Rutherford withdrew his head, and sank 
 back upon his seat. His mouth grew more stern, 
 his brow was more gloomy than before ; yet it might 
 have been only from the effort to repress some rising 
 agitation, for, as Dr. Wentworth approached, a smile 
 of recognition again lighted up his features, and 
 with a cordial voice, and a warm pressure of the 
 hand, he returned a greeting which might have been 
 termed affectionate. 
 
 "I have much to thank you for," he said; "but 
 you shall not be detained now : we have a fellow- 
 feeling for our children." 
 
 Dr. Wentworth' s mild but strikingly sensible 
 countenance betrayed some painful thoughts, even as 
 he assisted his daughter to alight, and welcomed 
 her eagerly ; but they were momentary only, and 
 again drawing near the carriage, he said, "Lady 
 Blanche is almost a stranger ; we have not met I 
 think for two years." 
 
 Blanche bent forward and gave him her hand. 
 Lord Rutherford was evidently interested in watch- 
 ing the meeting, yet he looked annoyed rather than 
 pleased with Dr. Wentworth' s kind expressions of 
 satisfaction. 
 
 " I am not parting from Eleanor," said Blanche, 
 in answer to Dr. Wentworth' s regret that his daugh- 
 ter's return home should be necessarily alloyed by a 
 separation from her friend. " I wish you would not 
 talk of it : we shall meet, as we have done, every 
 day." 
 
 Dr. Wentworth smiled doubtfnlly. 
 
 " To-morrow Eleanor will be with me the first mo- 
 ment she can be spared," continued Blanche, gaily, 
 "and if that should not be early, I must be with her, 
 and then we vnll arrange for the future." 
 
34 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 There was a silent assent, and Eleanor, who had 
 been standing apart, went round to the other side of 
 the carriage to say good-b'ye, 
 
 " It is good-b'ye, really, — for long, for ever in some 
 ways, Blanche," she whispered. 
 
 Blanche was distressed. 
 
 " Eleanor, it is cruel to say so ; but time will 
 show." 
 
 " Yes, time will show ;" and, trying to appear in- 
 different, Eleanor once more said, " good-b'ye," and, 
 putting her arm within her father's, turned away. 
 
 Blanche watched them, as they stayed to give 
 some directions to a man who was to follow with the 
 luggage ; and, when at last they were lost to her 
 sight, felt as if Eleanor's words were prophetic. 
 
 But the painful foreboding was soon forgotten. 
 The earl's voice recalled her to happiness ; for, de- 
 liguted at being freed from all restraint, he now gave 
 free vent to his affection, and pointing to the range 
 of richly-wooded hills, the green meadows, and neat 
 clustering cottages, he told her that all she could see 
 was her own ; that earth for him had but one trea- 
 sure ; and that, whilst she was spared to him, no- 
 thing would add to his enjoyment, except by mini- 
 stering to hers. 
 
 "Now," he said, when the winding road brought 
 them full in front of the castle, " look, once more ; 
 there is no view of it like this." 
 
 Blanche looked, and her heart throbbed within her 
 as she realized for the first time the grandeur of her 
 future home. Rutherford Castle stood upon a high 
 promontory, which rose almost perpendicularly from 
 the banks of a deep-flowing stream. The most an- 
 cient part of what had once been a fortress of consi- 
 derable strength was built upon the solid rock, and 
 the huge blocks of masonry could scarcely be distin- 
 guished from the impregnable walls of nature's 
 
THE earl's daughter. 35 
 
 formation : but the advance of civilization had in- 
 duced the Lords of Rutherford, from time to time, to 
 add to the original stronghold, at first a lower tower 
 and massive wings, then gateways, and turrets, and 
 quadrangles, till the castle, stretching over the crest 
 of the hill, formed a pile of building which, although 
 irregular in outline, was still as a whole singularly 
 imposing. Immediately in front of the castle was a 
 broad space of smooth turf, and from this the ground 
 to the left fell in a bank thickly planted with trees, 
 which, as it neared the river, was broken by grey 
 moss-grown rocks. But the most striking points 
 of scenery were not discoverable from below ; and 
 when Blanche clasped her hands in ecstasy, and de- 
 clared that she had never imagined any thing half so 
 beautiful, the earl smiled contentedly, and, bidding 
 the postilions hasten, he sat in silence listening to 
 her exclamations, as every step in advance brought 
 them some fresh object of beauty. 
 
 The high battlemented gateway was passed, and 
 the carriage entered the park ; and, after a drive of 
 about half a mile, slowly ascended the hill. As they 
 approached nearer and nearer to the castle. Lord 
 Rutherford roused himself from his leaning posture, 
 and, gazing from the window, seemed endeavouring 
 to recall the long-past scenes which were associated 
 with nearly every object that met his eye. Blanche, 
 with an instinctive delicacy of sympathy, did not at- 
 tempt to interrupt him : her pleasure was no longer 
 openly expressed, and it was not till the carriage ' 
 stopped before the heavy portal, and a glorious land- 
 scape, with a foreground of rock and river, and a 
 distance of far-spreading woods and pastures, and 
 fields ripening with the golden corn, was disclosed 
 before her, that she exclaimed, " Papa, it does not 
 seem like earth 1" 
 
 At the sound of her sweet voice, the cjirl awoke 
 
36 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 from his reverie. " It shall be paradise to you," he 
 said " if mortal power can make it so ; " and, alight- 
 ing from the carriage, he hurried her forward into 
 the hall. 
 
 The servants were assembled to receive them ; and 
 the earl presented Lady Blanche to them as their 
 mistress. " Your mistress now," he said emphati- 
 cally, "as much as she must be in years to come;" 
 and as he spoke many eyes of admiration and re- 
 spect were turned to the gentle girl, who so grace- 
 fully and meekly returned the reverential salutations 
 of her dependants. 
 
 Lord Rutherford's impatience scarcely waited till 
 the necessary introduction was over. Proudly and 
 firmly he passed on through the splendid apart- 
 ments ; yet, if Blanche had watched his countenance, 
 she misjht have seen that all was not equally firm 
 within. It Miis but the outline of a marble bust 
 which caught his attention, but he quickened his 
 steps, and compressed his lips, whilst he turned to 
 see whether the bright fair features of his child did 
 indeed resemble the cold but matchless beauty which 
 the hand of art had so exquisitely sculptured. 
 
 Blanche followed him, bewildered by the novelty 
 of her situation and the strangeness of all she saw ; 
 so different from St. Ebbe's, with its few simple 
 rooms and modern furniture. The dark oaken pa- 
 nellings and grotesque carvings, the rich yet cum- 
 brous cabinets, the heavy gilded cornices, and faded 
 tapestries, were of the fashions of centuries past ; 
 and Blanche, though delighted to behold what she 
 had so often in imagination pictured, yet felt some- 
 thing of awe steal over her, as they traversed the 
 empty chambers which for years had been disused ; 
 and which, even when the castle was filled with 
 guests, had been considered more as a necessary in- 
 cumbrance than as at all conducing to its conveni- 
 ence. 
 
THE earl's daughter. 37 
 
 Lord Rutherford read what was passing in her 
 mino. 
 
 " These are but the vestibules," he said ; " the 
 ante-rooms — endurable for appearance, but not ha- 
 bitable. You shall have something different for your 
 own enjoyment ;" and, pushing aside some massive 
 folding doors, he led the way into a hall paved with 
 marble, and partly filled with rare plants, "They 
 have attended to my orders well," he observed, as he 
 looked around him with a pleased air ; " and here 
 are your rooms, Blanche. Look at them, and tell 
 me what more they require." As he said this. Lord 
 Rutherford entered a small but lofty and very pret- 
 tily shaped apartment, which though harmonizing 
 with the rest of the castle in its general style, was 
 fitted up with many of the refinements of modern 
 luxury. The choice pictures, the piano and harp, 
 the sofas, couches, work-table, and books ; and, espe- 
 cially, the flowers with which the vases on the tables 
 were filled, gave Blanche, in an instant, the idea of 
 forethought, and care, and affection ; though, when 
 she tried to express her gratitude, she could find no 
 words to satisfy her feelings. 
 
 The earl, however, did not need words ; he looked 
 at her for a moment with proud dehght, whilst in 
 her grace and beauty she stood in the centre of the 
 room, the fitting mistress of all that wealth and love 
 could bestow ; and, after pointing to a small study 
 opening from the outer room, he said, carelessly, 
 " We will see the view from this side now, Blanche ; 
 it is different from the other." 
 
 Blanche followed him through the hall into the 
 garden ; but when she leant over the parapet, which 
 bordered the terrace in front of the window, she 
 started almost with alarm upon discovering the giddy 
 height at which she stood above the deep river that 
 flowed round the castle. 
 
38 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 To the right, the walls of the keep shut out the view 
 over the distant country ; but immediately before her 
 the ground sank almost perpendicularly, and far, far 
 below gleamed the clear waters of the rapid stream, 
 as it forced its way between the rocky foundations of 
 the castle and the lofty wooded hill which formed its 
 opposite bank. For about the space of a quarter of 
 a mile it was inclosed in a narrow ravine ; but a 
 sharp projecting point of land then opposing its 
 further progress, its course was suddenly diverted in 
 a different direction ; and the eye, no longer able 
 to follow its windings, turned rather to the long vista 
 of hills, locked into each other, and capped by the 
 rugged outline of a mountain-peak, which formed the 
 termination of the valley. 
 
 The scene was striking even to the earl, accus- 
 tomed though he was to the varied beauties of other 
 lands j but to Blanche, as she beheld it for the first 
 time under the dark shadows and brilliant lights of a 
 soft yet not cloudless sky, its effect was magical. 
 
 " It is your home, Blanche," said the earl, as he 
 stood beside her, watching the feelings that were 
 plainly working in her countenance. 
 
 " And yours, too, papa," said Blanche, striving at 
 length to give her father some idea that she appre- 
 ciated his affection. '• It can never be my paradise 
 without you." 
 
 "Then we vrill make our agreement to-night, my 
 child," replied the earl ; " our happiness shall be in 
 each other,— and, whilst we are together, the world 
 shall never intrude upon us with its cares." 
 
 Blanche smiled sweetly, yet the words so full of 
 hope and happiness fell with something of a dis- 
 cordant sound upon her ear. The serpent had 
 entered into Eden, and how could she dare to antici- 
 pate immunity from evil ? The earl, 'however, seemed 
 at that moment to have no forebodings ;— every trace 
 
THE earl's daughter. 39 
 
 of sadness had passed from his brow, and his voice 
 was more cheerful than Blanche had yet heard it. 
 He would not however allow her to linger longer 
 on the terrace, fearing lest she would be fatigued 
 after the journey ; and, summoning her maid, insisted 
 that she should retire to her room for a short time to 
 rest before she rejoined him for the evenii.g. Blanche, 
 however, did not rest : she retired indeed, but it was 
 to kneel humbly before her God ; to acknowledge his 
 mercies, and pray that the blessings which He had 
 vouchsafed to grant her might never lead her heart 
 astray. 
 
40 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 If the first waking to a sense of sorrow is bitter 
 almost beyond any other moment of suffering, so the 
 first dawning of happiness, at least upon the young, 
 is bright beyond the power of description. Blanche 
 dreamt that she was in the old manor-house of St. 
 Ebbe's, grieving over a letter from her father, which, as 
 had so often been the case, gave her no prospect of see- 
 ing him. She opened her eyes, and the sun was shining 
 into a spacious, gorgeously furnished chamber, fitted 
 rather it might seem for the palace of a queen than 
 for her own simple tastes. 
 
 For an instant, she scarcely understood the reality 
 of her senses ; but, as she hastily rose and gazed 
 from the window, a full consciousness of her hap- 
 piness came over her. There were the old grey 
 castle walls, the silvery stream, the woods and hills, 
 now bathed in morning light, and the distant moun- 
 tain-peak wreathed with a vapoury mist, — all which 
 she had beheld the previous evening, and which she 
 felt must be for ever associated with the thought 
 of her father's love. It was then very early, but 
 Blanche did not consider the hour, and had no re- 
 membrance of the preceding day's exertion ; and, long 
 before the earl had left his room, she was wandering 
 through the garden and the park, exploring over- 
 grown paths, and mounting hillocks, to gain a clearer 
 idea of the beauties of her new home. Lord Ruther- 
 ford gently found fault with her, when she appeared 
 at breakfast, for having given herself so much unne- 
 cessary fatigue ; but when Blanche gaily declared 
 
THE earl's daughter. 41 
 
 that she did not feel it, and that she could bear more 
 than many who appeared much stronger, he seemed 
 quite satisfied that she should follow her own fancy, 
 and began to make arrangements for what was to be 
 done during the day. 
 
 " You will find it but a short walk to the rectory," 
 he said ; " and I suppose you will wish to go there 
 the first thing, unless Miss Weutworth should be here 
 soon, which, from what I remember of the family 
 habits, is not very hkely. I never could induce Dr. 
 Wentworth to leave his books till after luncheon." 
 
 " But Eleanor's habits are the habits of St. Ebbe's, 
 not of the rectory," replied Blanche, "and she will 
 do whatever she thinks will please me. I should 
 like to go to her, though, extremely. I want so much to 
 see more of her family — her sister and her brother — 
 and especially her mother." 
 
 "Her sister must be a mere child," rephed the 
 earl ; " and her brother, I suspect, is away ; and as 
 for Mrs. Wentworth, she is not a person to get 
 on with, as it is called. She is very good, and 
 all that ladies always are ; but I never could imder- 
 stand that she was anything more." 
 
 "Eleanor is very* fond of her mother," said 
 Blanche. 
 
 " Yes, my love, very likely she may be ; but 
 I don't want you to be disappointed, and I have 
 no idea that you will be fond of Mrs. "Wentworth." 
 
 Blanche however was disappointed. She had set 
 her heart upon finding in Mrs. Wentworth a second 
 Mrs. Howard. 
 
 " Eleanor used to show me some of her letters," 
 she said ; " and they made me think she must be 
 almost perfect." 
 
 Something like a contemptuous smile crossed the 
 earl's face. 
 
 "You will have different notions of perfection, 
 V 2 
 
42 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 Blanche," he said, " as you grow older. It is not so 
 often to be met with as some people think." 
 
 Blanche made no reply. That peculiar smile was 
 one to which she was unaccustomed, and Lord 
 Rutherford not continuing the subject, nothing more 
 was said about Mrs. Went worth. 
 
 " I shall make Eleanor come back with me, and 
 assist in all I have to do," said Blanche, as her 
 father suggested that there would be ample employ- 
 ment for her in choosing how she would have every- 
 thing placed in her rooms, and making herself at 
 home in them. " She promised me she would ; so I 
 had better go to her at once." 
 
 " Then we will walk together," said the earl. " I 
 must see Wentworth myself, and thank him for the 
 care he has taken in seeing your apartments prepared 
 for your reception." 
 
 The path to the rectory was much shorter than 
 Blanche had anticipated, leading down the steep hill 
 upon which the castle stood, and then following the 
 course of the river for a little distance, till it termi- 
 nated at a wicket-gate, which opened into the shrub- 
 bery adjoining the house. Blanche was delighted 
 with the neatness and beauty of the small pleasure- 
 ground through which they passed, and the com- 
 fortable appearance of the parsonage, with its trelliced 
 verandah covered with creepers. She would not 
 have" exchanged her own magnificent home for it ; 
 but she felt that there was nothing to give rise in 
 Eleanor's mind to any feelings of envy or discontent. 
 It was the home of affluence, if not of riches. 
 
 The drawing-room was empty when they were 
 shown into it, and Blanche had time to recognise 
 many things which Eleanor had described before ; 
 and to study with much interest a likeness which she 
 was certain must be that of Mrs. Wentworth, before 
 any one appeared. 
 
THE earl's daughter. 43 
 
 The first interruption was from a huge Newfound- 
 land dog, which sprang through the open window in 
 hold defiance of the warning voice of his master, who 
 immediately followed. He was a young man, appa- 
 rently about three or four-and-twenty, tall and rather 
 striking in his appeai'ance, and with a countenance 
 which would have been termed extremely handsome ; 
 but Blanche, as startled by the intrusion she turned 
 from the examination of Mrs. Wentworth's picture, 
 was less aware that his features were regular, and his 
 manners polished, than that he was not entirely the 
 person she had expected to meet in Eleanor's brother. 
 Such it was evident, from the strong resemblance, he 
 must be. There was cleverness certainly in his bright 
 blue eye, and the high forehead round which his dark 
 hair was carefully arranged ; and his mouth was 
 good-tempered, though perhaps a little sarcastic ; but 
 a self-satisfaction betrayed itself in his look and 
 general deportment, which almost from the first 
 glance Blanche felt to be repugnant to her taste. 
 Yet there was little said that could show anything of 
 his disposition. A few apologies were made for his 
 sudden entrance, and a little regret expressed that 
 they should have been kept waiting ; and then 
 Mr. Wentworth bowed, and retired, with the inten- 
 tion of seeking his mother and sister, whom he 
 believed were to be found in the garden. 
 
 "I should have known him anywhere," exclaimed 
 the earl, when he was gone ; " and you would, too, I 
 am sure, Blanche. Did you ever see such a Uke- 
 ness?" 
 
 " It is striking, certainly," replied Blanche, with 
 some hesitation ; " but " 
 
 "Well," said the earl, laughing, "what is your 
 but ? I should have thought it impossible to criticise 
 anything so regularly handsome." 
 
 " I did not mean tc criticise, papa," said Blanche, 
 
44 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 blushing ; " but I don't think it would please me if 
 Eleanor were exactly " 
 
 The sentence was not concluded, for Eleanor at 
 that instant appeared, her face bright with pleasure 
 and excitement. 
 
 " It is so kind, so very kind in you, Blanche," she 
 said. " I did not in the least expect you ; for I am 
 sure you must have as much to do as I have." 
 
 "I have left it all," replied Blanche, "till you 
 were with me. You know I am never able to please 
 myself; and you must go back to the castle pre- 
 sently, and help me to arrange my rooms, and then 
 we will settle all sorts of things. But I wanted so 
 much, first, to see your mother and little Susan." 
 
 " And Charles !" exclaimed Eleanor, eagerly. " He 
 told us you were here : he came only last night, and 
 he is going away again to-morrow." 
 
 " So soon 1" observed the earl ; " we shall scarcely 
 have time to make his acquaintance." 
 
 " I don't know why he should go," replied Eleanor ; 
 "but I don't think he finds as much amusement here 
 as he does elsewhere. Home is rather dull for a 
 young man." 
 
 Blanche believed this because she was told it, bat 
 it seemed strange. She could not imagine what 
 society any one could want beyond such a sister as 
 Eleanor, such parents as she believed Dr. and Mrs. 
 Wentworth to be, and such a home as Rutherford 
 Rectory. 
 
 " Mamma will be here instantly ; she is longing to 
 see you, Blanche," continued Eleanor. 
 
 "I think I hear Mrs. Wentworth's voice," said 
 Lord Rutherford ; and he went a few paces into the 
 garden to meet her ; but though his words were 
 cordial and easy, his tone was not ; and but for Mrs. 
 Wentworth's perfect calmness of manner, there might 
 have been something awkward in the meeting. 
 
THE earl's daughter. 46 
 
 Blanche did feel as her father had expected, when 
 Mrs. Wentworth advanced towards her, and simply 
 took her hand as she would have done that of an in- 
 different person. She had expected some show of 
 feeling, at least for Eleanor's sake; but Mrs. Went- 
 worth's soft, quiet voice underwent no change in 
 its intonation, even when she looked at the earl, and 
 said, " Lord Rutherford's return will now be doubly 
 welcome to us all." 
 
 A few trifling observations passed, and Lord 
 Rutherford, with a slight accent of impatience, in- 
 quired if there was no hope of seeing Dr. Wentworth. 
 
 " He has been called into the village unexpectedly," 
 replied Mrs. Wentworth : " but we expect him to re- 
 turn immediately. Can I deliver any message for 
 him?" 
 
 " Perhaps I might be allowed to leave a note in his 
 study," rephed the earl. "I think 1 know where to 
 find it," and he left the room. 
 
 Blanche in the meantime had been interested in 
 observing ]Mrs. Wentworth more minutely. She re- 
 sembled Eleanor's description, in her tall, slight 
 figure, and delicate, though rather harassed-looking 
 countenance ; but there were no traces of the feelings 
 which had been so vividly portrayed in her letters. 
 That she was Eleanor's mother, Blanche could 
 scarcely believe, as she watched the eager impetuosity 
 of the one, and the marble frigidity of the other ; still 
 less could she believe that Eleanor could ever diire to 
 unburden her heart to such a mother. And yet the 
 love which she had been told existed between them 
 had been her " beau ideal" of what the tie between a 
 parent and a child might and ought to be. When 
 Lord Rutherford was gone, however, there was a 
 little change in Mrs. Wentworth' s manner. The 
 questions which she asked were marked by consi- 
 deration, and a desire to understand something of 
 
4fi THE earl's daughter. 
 
 Blanche's feelings, at this her first visit to her home ; 
 and though the tone in which they were put was cold, 
 it still betrayed something more of real sympathy 
 than before ; and when Blanche began to express her 
 pleasure in the taste and care which had been shown 
 in furnishing her rooms, a quiet smile even stole over 
 Mrs. Wentworth's features, and her eye brightened, 
 though she immediately afterwards turned from the 
 subject. But Blanche had not much time for any 
 further remarks. Eleanor insisted upon taking her 
 to the school-room, and the garden and shrubbery, 
 and, as she said, making her at home at once ; and 
 Blanche, only too glad of an excuse to be alone with 
 her, readily followed. It did not require much time 
 to see the whole, but Blanche lingered with pleasure 
 to listen to all that Eleanor had to say of past enjoy- 
 ments and future hopes associated with the place 
 in which she had been born, as well as to make 
 acquaintance with her sister Susan, an intelligent- 
 looking child, about eight years of age, who was now 
 to be Eleanor's pupil. 
 
 " I think you must be happy, Eleanor," she ex- 
 claimed, as they seated themselves at length on a 
 garden-seat, in a retired part of the shrubbery. " I 
 do not see one thing that is wanting. And you will 
 lead such a useful life." 
 
 " I have been talking to papa already about what I 
 am to do," replied Eleanor, " I am to teach Susan 
 in the mornings, and to go in the afternoons to see 
 some of the poor people ; and sometimes I am to 
 ride with him, and he is going to read with me some 
 part of the day." 
 
 " And your music and drawing ?" said Blanche. 
 
 " Oh ! I must contrive to have some time before 
 breakfast. You know I cannot arrange for every hour 
 exactly till I have tried ; but that will be the sort of 
 life." 
 
THE earl's daughter. 47 
 
 " And what is to become of me ?" said Blanche. 
 
 " That is what I wished to talk to you about. We 
 must manage to go to the poor people together ; and, 
 when Susan has a holiday, I can come up to you in 
 the morning, and we can ride together ; and then, 
 these nice summer evenings, there will be no difficulty 
 in nleeting." 
 
 Eleanor spoke eagerly and confidently, and Blanche 
 did not stop to analyse possibilities ; nor did she 
 remark how much her tnend had changed since 
 they had parted the preceding evening. She was too 
 much accustomed to Eleanor's varying moods to 
 inquire their cause. 
 
 " I am longing to begin," continued Eleanor ; 
 " but to-day you know is no day, and Charles being 
 here makes such a difference. It is impossible to do 
 anything but idle away one's time with him." 
 
 Blanche smiled, but she did not wish the subject 
 to be pursued ; for she was afraid lest Eleanor might 
 discover that Mr. Wentworth, notwithstanding his 
 handsome face and his agreeable manners, did not 
 entirely answer her preconceived expectations. 
 
 "And now I have talked all about myself," said 
 Eleanor, " I should like to hear something about 
 yourself: — the castle, and your father, and your own 
 rooms. They must be exquisite, I am sure. Mamma 
 had the whole choosing of the furniture, and every- 
 thing, and she has such taste !" 
 
 "Yes, indeed she has," exclaimed Blanche ; but I 
 wish I had known it, I should have thanked her 
 so much more." 
 
 " Oh ! mamma is not a person to require thanks ; 
 she only requires to know that you like it : and I saw 
 by her smile just now that she was satisfied. That 
 is her unselfish smile. I believe she would have it if 
 she was in the greatest suffering, if she thought 
 another person was happy." 
 
48 THE ea.rl's daughter. 
 
 " I did not know what it meant," said Blanche ; 
 " but I suppose I shall understand you all by-and-by, 
 when I don't feel so shy." 
 
 Eleanor laughed. 
 
 " As to that, Blanche," she said, "you have no right 
 to complain. The joint wisdom and gravity of my 
 whole family — uncles, aunts, and cousins included, 
 and I have an interminable number, could never be 
 half as awful as Lord Rutherford's politeness, I 
 don't know what I shall do at the castle." 
 
 *' I think I rather like being afraid of him," said 
 Blanche. " Do you remember, Eleanor, how we used 
 to walk up and down the garden at St. Ebbe's, and 
 discuss the different kinds of affection ? " 
 
 " And how we always differed," said Eleanor. " You 
 with your fondness for looking up ; and I with my 
 perverse inclination to look down ; no, not down 
 exactly, but quite on a level." 
 
 "And then our appeals to Mrs. Howard," said 
 Blanche. " That will be the one great thing wanting 
 to my happiness. If she were but here !" 
 
 "Yes," replied Eleanor, "but she will be with us 
 soon, and then it will be such great, such very great 
 pleasure ; and now, without her, I have more hope 
 of making you think as I do in all sorts of ways ; 
 for she always supported you." 
 
 " But," said Blanche, " before Mrs. Howard talked 
 to us, I never could see anything in your arguments 
 to convince me that love is greatest when persons are 
 on an equality ; and there is one thing, you know 
 entirely against it, devotion — which is the highest 
 and purest love." 
 
 " I can't follow you in an argument, Blanche, to- 
 day," exclaimed Eleanor ; " my mind is not up to it, 
 as it is sometimes." 
 
 Blanche looked disappointed. "I thought," she said, 
 " that you would let me talk of these things always." 
 
THE earl's daughter. 49 
 
 " Yes, so you shall ; but I don't think I am in that 
 sort of sober mood to-day ; I am too happy," 
 
 " I am happy, too," said Blanche ; " but my ex- 
 tacies went away with my walk this morning, and I 
 don't wish them to last." 
 
 " Mine never do," replied Eleanor, laughing ; " so 
 I am in no fear. I shall pay dearly for all my enjoy- 
 ment before night comes, I dare say. It would be 
 much better to be like you, Blanche ; your extacies 
 never go quite away, I am sure, though you say 
 they do." 
 
 "I don't know," said Blanche ; "certainly, I don't 
 feel much of them at this moment ; and some feel- 
 ings you have which are much more lasting than 
 mine." 
 
 Blanche spoke as she thought, truly ; yet it was 
 only her own humility, and a natural respect for 
 Eleanor's talents and decided opinions, which could 
 have blinded her to the fact, that Eleanor was in reality 
 swayed by every passing impulse ; that she express- 
 ed herself strongly, but that she acted weakly. And, 
 if Blanche had been quicker in discerning, Eleanor 
 would have felt greater hesitation in owning her faults. 
 But it required no effort to lament changeableness and 
 hastiness, and the defects of an enthusiastic tempera- 
 ment, when she was sure to be met with a quick re- 
 futation of her self accusations, and to hear instances 
 adduced which apparently proved her to be the very 
 reverse of what she acknowledged. It was one of the 
 weaknesses of Blanche's character thatwhere she loved 
 she could not or would not see anything amiss. " I 
 must try and be regular in my habits," she said, " pur- 
 suing the conversation ; " but I am afraid it will be 
 very difficult. I should like especially to know some- 
 thing of the poor people, if your papa will put me 
 in the way." 
 
 " Papa hopes you will take a great interest in 
 r 
 
50 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 them," said Eleanor ; " he told me this morning that 
 it was of immense consequence to you and to them ;. 
 and he talked a great deal about the vast power, either 
 for good or evil, which had been placed in your 
 hands." 
 
 " In mine !" exclaimed Blanche ; " now when I 
 am so young." 
 
 " But you are not going to remain young always," 
 replied Eleanor ; " and, besides, whether young or 
 old, you are still Lady Blanche Evelyn, the heiress 
 of Rutherford." 
 
 " Yes," answered Blanche, vsith a deep sigh, which 
 made Eleanor laugh heartily. 
 
 " You are the very strangest person, Blanche ! Just 
 think how many thousands there are in the Avorld 
 who would envy you." 
 
 "And I am to be envied," exclaimed Blanche, 
 "for my friends, — for papa, and Mrs. Howard, and 
 you ;— and for my health too, and my education, and 
 innumerable things ; but not because I was born to 
 have power." 
 
 " Yes, if you exercise it properly," said Eleanor. 
 " If! but there is a doubt. Mrs. Howard is afraid of 
 me ; she thinks I shall be spoilt, and that papa will 
 not tell me of my faults. Oh ! Eleanor, it might be 
 veiy different if I had a mother." 
 
 "You may have one, if you choose," replied Eleanor, 
 " Mamma is already inclined to feel for you as her 
 child." 
 
 Blanche did not receive the comfort which was ex- 
 pected from this assurance : her notion of aonother's 
 affection was of something widely different from Mrs. 
 "Wentworth's cold shake of the hand. " Your mamma 
 is very kind," she said ; " I am sure she will do 
 everything she can to help me. But still I must be 
 left very much to myself ; and, even during the few 
 hours I have been at home, I have understood more 
 
THE earl's daughter. 51 
 
 of v,'hat Mrs. Howard meant. The castle is so grand, 
 and the servants seem aknost to bow before me ; and 
 as for papa, he watches my every look, that I may 
 not have a wish ungratified ; and when I awoke 
 this morning, and saw my beautiful I'oom., I did not 
 feel as I used to do at St. Ebbe's ; I thought that I 
 could order more and have my own will ; and then I 
 remembered what Mrs. Howard said, and I was 
 frightened." 
 
 Eleanor was touched by this simple confession. That 
 which caused alarm to Blanche, would, she well knew, 
 have passed unnoticed by herself. " You will be used 
 to it all, dear Blanche, by-and-by," she said ; " and 
 then you will not think so much about it, and worry 
 yourself; and I dare say we shall both be able to go 
 on steadily ; and, if you want to know the poor people, 
 we can go to them together. The first person we must 
 find out is the blind girl who was confirmed with us. 
 Papa says he knows who she is very well ; it was her 
 aunt, who is the mistress of the Charity School, that 
 she was staying with ; but she is coming back directly. 
 We will go and see her the first day we can, won't 
 we?" 
 
 " Even this shadow of a duty was some relief to 
 poor Blanche, whose conscience had a natural ten- 
 dency to become morbidly sensitive, and Eleanor 
 saw that she had struck upon the right chord. Anxious 
 to make Blanche feel as light-hearted as herself, she 
 continued to plan a scheme of duties and occupations, 
 so cleverly and earnestly, that before the conversation 
 was interrupted both were equally satisfied. Eleanor 
 having talked herself into the beUef that she was 
 certainly devoted to a useful life ; and Blanche, having 
 listened, till she was persuaded that with such a 
 friend, constantly at hand to remind her of neglects, 
 she could never go far astray. 
 
 The afternoon was spent at the castle, where Blanche 
 
52 THE earl's daughter., 
 
 found sufficient to occupy and interest both herself 
 and Eleanor in the arrangement of her rooms ; and 
 when they parted it was with the agreement that, if 
 the earl had no other plan for the ensuing day, they 
 were to walk together into the village. " And if he 
 wishes me to ride with him, instead," said Blanche ; 
 " I must ask him to let me come to you for an hour 
 in the evening." 
 
 Eleanor willingly agreed, delighted to find that as 
 yet there was no cause for jealousy, since even the 
 society of Lord Rutherford did not make Blanche 
 forget her. 
 
THE earl's daughter. 53 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 And so passed the first day of Blanche's residence 
 at Rutherford Castle ; and so passed several days ; 
 varied, indeed, by drives, and rides, and books, and 
 visits, both to rich and poor ; but all, equally bright 
 and unalloyed, for the petty disappointments and tri- 
 fling vexations from which no care and no affection can 
 guard us, were little felt by one who carried in her 
 own breast a shield against them. Each morning, 
 long before the Earl was awake, Blanche knelt in the 
 sohtude of her own chamber to pray for guidance 
 during the day ; and then, vnth. her Bible in her 
 hand, paced the broad terrace overhanging the river, 
 that she might study the will of her Maker, amid 
 the scenes which brought His power and goodness 
 most clearly to her view. Each day she planned her 
 occupations with a view to her own improvement, her 
 father's happiness, and the comfort of those who 
 were in a measure entrusted to her care ; and not the 
 most busy hour nor the most absorbing pursuit could 
 lead her to forget that it was needful to withdraw 
 some moments from this world to devote to the con- 
 templation of another. Mrs. Howard had early im- 
 planted in her mind habits of order and punctuality ; 
 and, duly as the time came, which she had fixed upon 
 as the most free from interruption, Blanche retired to 
 her own chamber to consider what she had done 
 since last engaged in the same duty ; or, if prevented 
 at the exact minute, the first leisure opportunity was 
 eagerly seized upon, without any regard to the plausi- 
 ble excuses, which might easily have been made from 
 
54 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 weariness or a pre-occupied mind. Blanche never 
 forgot Mrs. Howard's words, " Not, I will if I can, 
 but I must." And one especial reason she now had 
 for allowing nothing to interfere with her religious 
 duties, in the hope of being so soon admitted to the 
 full communion of the Church, and the anxiety fitly 
 to prepare herself 
 
 On the second Sunday after Blanche appeared in 
 the old village church of Rutherford, the accustomed 
 invitation was given to all " such as should be re- 
 ligiously and devoutly disposed," and as Blanche 
 listened to the words a feeling of loneliness stole over 
 her. Eleanor was near, with the mother, who could 
 share every thought and feeling ; and the father, 
 whose voice faltered, as his eye rested upon the 
 countenance of the child he so dearly loved, and to 
 whom for the first time the exhortation was ad- 
 dressed. And Blanche stood in that sacred building, 
 with but one exception, the noblest and wealthiest of 
 all ; and with her was the proud earl whose sternest 
 will would have yielded to her vdshes, as the hum- 
 blest of his servants would have submitted to his ; 
 but the one great blessing which she then desired, a 
 parent's sympathy and advice on the subject most 
 deeply concerning her happiness, was denied her. 
 
 Upon this topic alone no word had passed between 
 them — they met in the morning and the world was 
 the theme of their conversation ; they parted at 
 night and no words of prayer were uttered to call 
 for a blessing upon the midnight hour. Poetry, and 
 painting, and music, and literature, and even the 
 deeper subjects of science and philosophy, were all 
 at times introduced, and Blanche with her natural 
 refinement and superiority of mind was fascinated by 
 the earl's eloquent language and exquisite taste. His 
 words were as the words of enchantment ; for, as he 
 spoke of Italy and Greece, and the sunny islands of 
 
THE earl's daughter. 55 
 
 the south, even Blanche forgot for the moment 
 that earth was but the stepping stone to heaven ; its 
 beauty, but a type of that which shall be hereafter ; 
 its genius and its learning, but the faint and misused 
 relics of that perfect creation which only when it 
 issued taintless from the hands of its Creator, was pro- 
 nounced to be "very good." But the earl ceased, 
 and Blanche was left to her own meditations, and 
 then as she retraced the conversation and sought for 
 something which should be treasured in her me- 
 mory, a vague sense of unsatisfactoriness filled her 
 mind. A glittering pageant seemed to have passed 
 before her ; but it was gone. And of what avail was 
 it to her to have vividly realised the solemn beauty 
 of Genoa, and the dazzling lustre of Naples ; to have 
 wandered in fancy beneath the vast dome of St. Peter's; 
 or stood amidst the giant ruins of the Coliseum ; to 
 have floated in the dark gondolas of Venice, or gazed 
 upon the blue waters of the Mediterranean ; or how 
 could it content her lo hear of Raphael, and Michael 
 Angelo, and Guido ; — of Dante and Ariosto, and 
 Tasso and Petrarch, and the names which associate 
 Italy with all that is most precious in poetry and 
 art, if all were but for the amusement of the hour, 
 bearing no voice of warning from the past, no lesson 
 of instruction for the future ? But Blanche did not 
 yet understand all she had to fear. She marvelled 
 indeed at her father's apparent neglect of the sub- 
 ject most interesting to herself; she thought it 
 strange that not even an allusion was made to it : 
 but she was captivated by the brilliancy of his con- 
 versation, and accounted for his silence by remember- 
 ing her own reluctance to converse upon serious sub- 
 jects, except at peculiar times and under certain 
 circumstances. She had been told that her own 
 manner gave no true impression of her mind, and so 
 she supposed it must be with him. A faint cloud 
 
56 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 was stealing over the sunlight of her joy, but she 
 saw it not. 
 
 And the day drew near to which Blanche so 
 earnestly looked forward with mingled hope and awe. 
 It was the evening before, and having returned from 
 a long ride with her father over one of the most 
 beautiful portions of his property, she sat dovra on 
 a bank which overlooked the windings of the river, 
 and the opening into the country beyond. 
 
 There was nothing to disturb the repose of the 
 scene, except the distant lowing of cattle in the pas- 
 tures, and the dashing of a mountain torrent, which, 
 escaping from a woody dell on the opposite side, 
 fell sparkling and frothing over a steep broken cliflp, 
 and wound its way amidst stones and mosses till it 
 was lost in the deep current of the larger stream. 
 
 Blanche rested her head against the trunk of a tree, 
 and gave way to one of those delicious reveries of 
 feeling rather than of thought ; which, when the fancy 
 is free, and the heart unburdened by care, are amongst 
 the most perfect enjoyments of our early years. 
 
 The loveliness of the landscape was in accord- 
 ance with the tone of mind which she had been 
 endeavouring to attain during the day ; and when, 
 at length yielding to fatigue, she fell asleep, the 
 images which haunted her dreams were pure and 
 holy as her waking thoughts. 
 
 A few minutes afterwards there was the sound of 
 an approaching footstep ; and, advancing from the 
 shade of the shrubbery, the earl stood by her side. 
 
 What could he have seen in a countenance so fair 
 in its youthful purity, to make him start and sigh — • 
 and then gaze long and steadfastly with a frowning 
 brow, and a mouth quivering with agitation ? Was 
 it that in those features he saw a resemblance which 
 recalled the tale of his by -gone life ; or did he read 
 the visions which were passing before the eye of his 
 
THE earl's daughter. 57 
 
 sleeping child, and shrink from the conviction that 
 the hopes which to her were all in all, were to him 
 scarcely more than the superstitions of an age of 
 darkness ? 
 
 Yet, Lord Rutherford was no sceptic. He was 
 but what thousands have been before him ; in name, 
 the follower of Christ — in heart, the slave of the 
 world. Whatever might be his own indiflFerence to 
 religion he had no desire that it should be shared bv 
 his daughter, and the character of Lady Blanche 
 often derived a peculiar though painful interest from 
 the simple ardent piety which occasionally broke 
 forth through her natural reserve ; and which, to the 
 earl's refined but hackneyed taste, gave her the ap- 
 pearance rather of a being from another sphere than 
 of one born to participate in the vain heartlessness 
 of fashionable society. He could admire, though he 
 could not imitate ; and now, as he watched her, so 
 calm, and peaceful, and tranquilly happj-, a pang of 
 envy crossed his mind. Such peace as hers, even 
 were it delusive, would be cheaply purchased at the 
 sacrifice of all that he had hitherto valued. Yet, it 
 was envy, not self-reproach ; and the next moment 
 he pictured her such as he intended she should be — 
 the star of a glittering assemblage — flattered, courted, 
 idolized ; gathering around her all that was most at- 
 tractive in grace and intellect ; herself, the centre to 
 which every eye would be directed in homage. 
 
 But the earl's countenance changed. In imagi- 
 nation there rose up before him the still, shrouded 
 form of one, who in by-gone years had realized 
 much that he desired to see in Blanche, but upon 
 whose brow the sorrow of unrequited affection had 
 set its indelible stamp ; and when his eye again 
 dwelt upon the living image of the wife whose love 
 he had despised, he shuddered, and stooped to kiss 
 his daughter's forehead with superstitious awe ; and 
 
58 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 a passing dread, lest tlie features which bore the im- 
 press of Ufe might but chill him with the mocking 
 beauty of death. The kiss awoke Blanche from her 
 short sleep ; and the earl, hastily recovering himself, 
 began to blame her imprudence. Blanche endea- 
 voured to laugh away his fears, but proposed to re- 
 turn to the castle, as she had an engagement to keep. 
 
 "And not spare me a few minutes?" said the earl, 
 with a slight tone of pique ; *' the sun will have set 
 soon, and then we shall have no temptation to stay." 
 
 Blanche gathered up the folds of her riding habit, 
 and taking her father's arm they pursued their walk 
 by the path which led along the side of the hill. 
 For some time both were silent. Blanche could 
 never thoroughly overcome a certain sense of re- 
 straint in her father's presence ; and Lord Ruther- 
 ford, wrapt in his own thoughts, was contented to 
 know that she was with him without seeking for con- 
 versation. Blanche was the first to speak. 
 
 " I never knew, till now," she said, " what it was, 
 thoroughly to enjoy beautiful scenery. At St. Ebbe's, 
 there was so little to see ; but, even then, I used to 
 fancy there must be an exquisite charm in it." 
 
 " You are young," replied the earl ; "you have no 
 painful associations. When you have reached my 
 age you will feel very differently about all beauty." 
 
 " Yet some feelings of pleasure must increase," re- 
 plied Blanche, more gravely than usual ; " the best 
 and highest." 
 
 " From being able to appreciate beauty better, you 
 mean ; from learning to look at it with an artist's 
 eye ? But that is a mistake ; our greatest enjoy- 
 ments are those which we never pause to analyse." 
 
 " I was not thinking of that exactly," said Blanche, 
 with hesitation. 
 
 " Of what then, my love ? What do you call the 
 best and highest pleasure ? " 
 
THE earl's daughter. 59 
 
 Blauclie hesitated, aucl then rephed, timidly, as if 
 doubtful of the manner in which the observation 
 would be received, " I suppose, if we were very good, 
 we should be grateful for beauty, as people are for 
 favours and presents." 
 
 Lord Rutherford became suddenly thoughtful. 
 " You are a metaphysician, Blanche," he said, after 
 a pause ; " that was not one of the accomplishments 
 I expected from Mrs. Howard." 
 
 " If I am," replied Blanche, laughing ; " it is cer- 
 tainly without knowing it." 
 
 " You are one, though. I have discovered a lurk- 
 ing taste in you before ; and if you really have a 
 fancy for the subject, we will study a few books to- 
 gether on the subject. I should be sorry for you to 
 have prejudiced notions. Though you are a woman, 
 a little deep reading will do you no harm." 
 
 Blanche promised to read anything he wished ; 
 though she still disclaimed any love for metaphysics ; 
 and the earl began to enumerate a list of authors, 
 ending with — 
 
 "But, my dear Blanche, until you have read a 
 little, I advise you not to trouble yourself with too 
 much thinking. You will only be puzzled, and it can 
 lead to no good. Take up your music and drawing, 
 study histoiy if you will, and we will have Italian 
 and German lessons together ; but don't attempt to 
 dwell upon subjects beyond hujnaa comprehension." 
 
 Poor Blanche could not at all understand the rea- 
 son of this speech ; and began to fancy that she had 
 done or said something vn"ong. 
 
 The earl instantly remarked her change of man- 
 ner, and said kindly, " I would not for the world 
 find fault with you, my dear ; you must not imagine 
 it ; but I have seen the mischief of too much thought 
 with some minds, and you have been unusually silent 
 the last two days ! " 
 
60 THE EARL S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " It was not that kind of thought which made me 
 silent," exclaimed Blanche, eagerly ; " I was thinking 
 of—" 
 
 " Of what ? — there can be no thought, which 
 you would not wish me to know." 
 
 Blanche blushed deeply ; she would willingly have 
 sheltered herself under her former reserve, though at 
 the same time longing to break down the barrier, and 
 receive the sympathy which even then she could not 
 doubt of obtaining. The earl evidently expected a 
 reply. 
 
 Blanche felt herself forced to speak, and began ; 
 " I have been thinking ; that is, I have been trying to 
 think ; — one ought to prepare oneself for to-morrow. 
 My tirst Communion," she added, in a tone which 
 scarcely caught the earl's ear. 
 
 He stopped suddenly in his walk. " Ah ! yes ; 
 quite right. But you are very young, my dear." 
 
 '" Not too young ; am I ? " said Blanche, anxiously ; 
 " I have been confirmed." 
 
 " No, not if you wish it ; still, it is not right to 
 force any one. Mrs. Howard was always rather over- 
 strained in her ideas." 
 
 " Indeed, indeed, it was not Mrs. Howard only ; 
 but the rector, and the bishop, and every one said it. 
 I thought it was always so," replied Blanche. " Is 
 there really any reason against it ?" 
 
 The earl smiled. " No possible reason, my dear 
 child ; but you know very little of the world, and I 
 don't want you to tie yourself down ; and in fact, my 
 love, these things are best left to every one's own 
 feelings. If you like it, do it by all means ; only 
 dou't let me see your bright face clouded again ; it 
 makes me uneasy." 
 
 Poor Blanche felt chilled to the very heart. 
 
 But her father had no idea of the effect of his 
 speech, and continued, " It might have been more 
 
THE earl's daughter. 61 
 
 pleasant for you to have waited a little. I am ex- 
 pecting your aunt, Lady Charlton, shortly ; and Sir 
 Hugh and your two cousins. You will like to be- 
 come acquainted with them, as they are some of your 
 nearest connections." 
 
 " Yes, indeed," exclaimed Blanche, relieved at 
 finding something to say. "Dear mamma's sister! 
 I am sure I must be fond of her." 
 
 Lord Rutherford's tone was constrained, as he an- 
 swered, " Only her half-sister ; there is no resem- 
 blance ;" and then he stopped suddenly, and there 
 was a long pause. 
 
 The thoughts of Blanche reverted to the former 
 subject. The visit of one person or of hundreds — 
 — 0^ relations or of strangers — seemed equally in- 
 different to her at that moment. 
 
 They had reached the termination of the path ; 
 and the earl, leaning over a fence, which protected 
 the edge of the precipice, riveted his eyes upon the 
 stream, and appeared lost in a reverie. 
 
 " It is like the current of human life, is it not, 
 Blanche?" he said, at length. "See how it whirls 
 its rapid course ; and how the light froth, and the 
 fragments of the bank, are borne along by it ; like 
 the frothy hopes and the fleeting pleasures of the 
 world. And think, too, how little we know of the 
 end to which it is hastening." 
 
 "Is it not travelling towards the ocean," said 
 Blanche, timidly ; " as we are all travelling towards 
 eternity ?" 
 
 Lord Rutherford raised himself, and put his hand 
 suddenly upon her shoulder — "What is eternity, 
 Blanche?" he said. "We use words without mean- 
 ing, when we speak of it." 
 
 " But," replied Blanche, and notwithstanding the 
 softness of her voice, it sounded tremulous in its 
 
 G 
 
62 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 earnestness ; " we are told to think of it, and it must 
 be for our happiness ; for this world, they say, is 
 full of disappointment." 
 
 " They say !" repeated the earl ; " then you have 
 never found it so yourself." 
 
 " I have been very happy," said Blanche, whilst 
 she looked at her father with a smile of affection ; 
 but it was followed by a sigh. She could not say, " I 
 am happy." 
 
 "Yes," continued the earl, thoughtfully, "you 
 are standing, as I once stood, upon a spot from which 
 you can view the past without regret, and the future 
 without fear. For you it may be a resting-place 
 for years ; though for me it was but a point, quitted 
 as soon as reached, and to which I could never 
 return. Value your peace, my child, whilst you have 
 it ; for it is vain to hope that any thoughts of eternity 
 will restore it to you when it is once gone." 
 
 " But, papa," answered Blanche, firmly, whilst 
 something within her own mind seemed urging her 
 to overcome her reserve and speak more directly, 
 " even now I can feel comfort from such thoughts. 
 I have been happy, because I have always had some 
 one to love ; but though I know that the happiness 
 cannot last, I can bear to think so, and even to look 
 forward to a time when I may be left quite alone ; 
 because true love does not seem to belong to earth, 
 but to eternity. Is it not true, then, that these ideas 
 do help us to bear trials?" 
 
 Lord Rutherford made no answer ; he withdrew 
 his arm, threw himself upon a bench, and relapsed 
 into silence. Blanche was frightened at her own 
 temerity, and a sense of indescribable wretchedness 
 oppressed her. Her father's principles, she thought, 
 could not be the principles of a Christian. The 
 earl perceived he had distressed her, and starting up 
 
THE earl's daughter. 63 
 
 and again dramng her arm within his, said, as he 
 pursued his walk : — 
 
 " I have vexed you, my dear child. Heaven Knows 
 how unwilUngly ! But you have been educated in re- 
 tirement, and your life has been made up of dreams. 
 It is impossible that you should understand the view 
 which a stern, worn man, who has borne the struggle 
 of years, takes of those subjects, which to you are 
 everything. When you have heard them discussed 
 and argued upon, and when you have known some- 
 thing of men's actions as well as of their creeds, 
 you will see the value of your favourite notions more 
 truly. They may be important to you, but they will 
 not bear contact with the world." 
 
 " And must I know the world, papa ?" inquired 
 Blanche, with difficulty summoning courage to an- 
 swer. " I would much rather live here alone with 
 you." 
 
 Lord Rutherford laughed. 
 
 " Mrs. Howard has certainly performed her duty 
 strictly," he said. " She promised to educate you in 
 seclusion, and she has kept her word. But have you 
 no wish for gaiety, Blanche ; for such an introduc- 
 tion into the world as your station in life offers 
 you?" 
 
 " I should like it, dear papa," replied Blanche ; 
 " and I think of it very often. But I would rather 
 stay here and keep my own notions, because I be- 
 lieve they will make me better than any others." 
 
 "Well!" exclaimed the earl, carelessly, "cherish 
 them as long as you can ; they will do no one any 
 harm but yourself; only, when your aunt and cousins 
 come, I prophesy that you will think less about 
 them." 
 
 Poor Blanche was not comforted by this prospect. 
 
 "Then I shall be happier, to-morrow, with you, 
 alone, papa," she said pointedly ; anxious, if possible^ 
 
64 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 to solve, by some allusion to the first topic of the 
 conversation, the painful doubt whether her father 
 intended to join with her in the service of the next 
 day. Lord ilutherford did not, at first, see that she 
 had any particular meaning in her words ; for the 
 subject referred to was not one likely long to remain 
 in his thoughts. When however it occurred to him, 
 he answered hastily : — 
 
 *' You must talk to Mrs. Wentworth, my dear ; 
 she will understand you in all these things better 
 than I do." 
 
 " I don't know Mrs. Wentworth well," replied 
 Blanche, whilst tears rushed to her eyes ; " and there 
 is no one I love like you." 
 
 Lord Rutherford played with his stick, but said 
 nothing more ; and, at length, when he saw that 
 Blanche was again about to speak, he turned sud- 
 denly into another walk and left her. And then 
 Blanche was indeed miserable. The sky and the 
 woods, the rocks and the river, the beauties which 
 had before entranced her with delight — all were 
 changed. Their brightness was gone ; the spell by 
 which they had charmed her was destroyed. She 
 was alone ; and there lived not the being upon earth 
 who could fill the void which that one conversation 
 had caused in her heart. Who could recall the rever- 
 ence and holy affection which had, till then, formed 
 her dream of happiness in her splendid home ? Who 
 could restore the delusion which hitherto she had 
 cherished, even against her own secret convictions ? 
 
 But the spirit of youth is too buoyant to sink at 
 once under any disappointment, however severe. It 
 is the succession of griefs, the wearisome days, and 
 the restless nights and the bitterness of long deferred 
 hope, which at length will bow us to the dust ; and 
 Blanche had, as yet, known nothing of these. Her 
 elastic, sanguine spirit again suggested the tJiought 
 
THE earl's daughter. 0') 
 
 from which she had before found comfort. Her 
 father's manner, and even his words, might be no 
 true index to his mind. He had not said that he 
 should not be with her ; he had fully allowed that it 
 would be right for her to attend the service, though 
 he seemed to fear that she was too young. Persons 
 had different opinions upon these subjects ; perhaps, 
 after all, she had misunderstood him ; and, soothed 
 by the idea, Blanche's countenance resumed, in some 
 degree its former serenity. The suspense, however, 
 still rested as a weight upon her heart. She met her 
 father at dinner, and found herself almost uncon- 
 sciously watching his looks, and weighing his words in 
 the faint hope of learning from them something more 
 of that inner world of principles and motives upon 
 which all her happiness seemed to depend. But she 
 learnt nothing. The earl was silent and pre-occupied, 
 and she dared not ask him the cause. When the 
 castle clock struck ten, Blanche, as was her custom, 
 rose to retire to rest. Then, more than ever, she 
 missed the prayers which had closed the evenings at 
 St. Ebbe's. Hitherto she had accounted for the 
 omission by supposing, either that her father had 
 some reason for delay until they had been longer 
 settled at home ; or that it was not a foreign custom, 
 and therefore he might not think of it till some other 
 person suggested it : but now it appeared too truly 
 an indication of the neglect of all religious forms, ex- 
 cept that which the world has thought fit to honour 
 with respect, the outward observance of the day of rest. 
 Blanche leant over her father's chair, and kissed 
 his forehead again and again, as was her wont. Her 
 love was not chilled, but it was altered. Doubt was 
 mingled with it, and dread, and the fond clinging of 
 the heart to happiness, which seems about to pass 
 away. The earl looked up from his book, and as he 
 took her trembling hand in his, he said, — 
 G 2 
 
66 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 "We have been bad companions, to-night, Blanche : 
 are you tired of me ?" 
 
 A fear of losing self-command, made Blanche pause 
 before answering. Lord Rutherford moved his chair, 
 that he might discover the reason ; but she had 
 turned her head aside. 
 
 " You shall have other amusements soon," con- 
 tinued the earl, and an accent of annoyance marked 
 his words. 
 
 " Oh, no, papa ! I want nothing — no amuse- 
 ments." 
 
 " But what then ? What do you want ?" 
 
 Blanche was pained at her own weakness ; she 
 could only distress her father by showing her feel- 
 ings, since to explain them was impossible. 
 
 " I wish for one thing, papa," she said, in a. light, 
 gay tone, whilst her lip quivered with agitation, 
 "that you should kiss me and say good-night." 
 
 The earl pressed her to his heart, and whispered, 
 " God bless you now and ever, my own precious 
 child;" and Blanche retreated to her room, once 
 more happy. Her father did then consider the 
 blessing of God the one first object of desire. Surely, 
 therefore, he must intend to seek it where especially it 
 is bestowed. 
 
THE earl's daughter. 67 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Y»'e close our eyes in peace, and we re-open them to 
 sorrow and care. It is the lot, sooner or later, of 
 all ; the fulfilment of the earthly curse denounced 
 upon our first parents, and from it there is no escape. 
 We may, perhaps, have felt, upon Ipug down to rest, 
 — the anxieties of the day at an end, the weariness of 
 exhausted nature inviting us to repose, and the heart 
 calmed by repentance, and the blessed trust in for- 
 giveness and protection, — that if it were then per- 
 mitted for the Angel of Death to call us to our long, 
 last sleep ; the summons, awful though it must ever 
 be, would be hailed rather as a visitation of mercy, 
 than as an event to be shrunk from in alarm. But 
 God "seeth not as man seeth." He views the sins 
 dormant but not destroyed ; the passions lulled but 
 not extinguished. He beholds us unfit for the king- 
 dom of His holiness, and knows the warfare which 
 must be endured, before the powers of a regenerate 
 nature can fully triumph over the temptations of 
 Satan. And if, at times, He does in mercy make us 
 "to lie down in green pastures, and lead us beside 
 the still waters," it is only that by such seasons of 
 refreshment we may gather strength for the battle, 
 which is to " bring every thought into captivity to 
 the obedience of Christ." 
 
 When Blanche entered Rutherford church, the 
 ensuing day, she felt but little of the peace which had 
 been with her when she lay down to rest at night. 
 A breakfast tete-a-tcte with the earl, and a few re- 
 marks during their short walk from the castle to the 
 
63 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 village, had again aroused her distrust. Many such 
 remarks had been made before, but they had fallen 
 on an unheeding ear, or rather on one which did not 
 understand, because it would not suspect evil. Now, 
 the petty indications of motives and feeling, which it 
 is not in the power of the most practised art to con- 
 ceal, were as daggers to her heart, for they struck 
 upon the points on which alone her earthly happiness 
 was then vulnerable. 
 
 At any time a doubt which affected her father's 
 principles must have been poignantly felt ; but on 
 no other occasion could it have caused so much suf- 
 fering. For Blanche had striven humbly and ear- 
 nestly to realise the awfulness of that most holy 
 service in which she was then, for the first time, 
 to be permitted to join. She had prayed and 
 watched against the entrance of every unhallowed or 
 worldly thought, and had dedicated herself to her 
 Saviour with all the warmth and sincerity of youth- 
 ful devotedness. At such a moment, even the purest 
 of earthly affections might have been deemed in- 
 trusive ; and yet, when she knelt in the temple of 
 God, and bowed her head in reverence, and opened 
 her lips in prayer, there arose in her heart, not 
 feelings of faith and hope, but of sadness and fear. 
 The words of confession were repeated, but the 
 earl's voice at her side pronounced the same language 
 in a tone of proud indifference, and Blanche forgot 
 the repentance necessary for her own sins, in anguish 
 lest he should be insensible to his. And praises, 
 and thanksgivings, and intercessions, were uttered 
 with a wandering mind ; and the solemn declarations 
 of Scripture received but a half attention ; whilst she 
 caught, as if by fascination, her father's restless eye 
 and listless posture, and then turned in wretchedness 
 to herself, to discover that she also, though not in 
 Hke manner, was sinning against God. There was 
 
THE haul's daughter. 69 
 
 a painful struggle in her heart whilst going through 
 the usual service. To be distracted then, seemed a 
 miserable evidence of weakness and insincerity ; and 
 to present herself before God with thoughts clinging 
 to earth, a fearful presumption. Once it seemed 
 easier and better to delay, — to wait for another op- 
 portunity, — to risk anything rather than offer a 
 divided heart ; but at that moment the voice of the 
 preacher spoke of Him, who " in that He Himself 
 hath suftered, being tempted, is able to succour 
 them that are tempted ;" and, instead of giving way 
 to despondency, Blanche prayed the more fervently 
 to be pardoned and assisted, whilst she strove again 
 to recall her scattered thoughts. The last words of 
 the sermon were ended ; the concluding prayers were 
 said ; there was a solemn stillness in the church, 
 followed by the rush of movement and departing 
 footsteps. No tones of joy or praise were heard 
 whilst one by one they, who were unwilling or im- 
 able to remain, left the congregation ; but silently 
 and hastily they poured forth into the open air, — 
 some, it might be, to grieve for the blessing of which 
 they felt themselves unfitted to partake ; but too 
 many to stifle the reproaches of conscience in th^ 
 cares and follies of the world. 
 
 Blanche looked at her father, as he seated him- 
 self by her side, and her heart bounded with joy ; 
 but, as the church became more empty, the earl rose, 
 and stood for a few instants with his hat in his hand, 
 and when the way of retreat was at last opened 
 without fear of mixing himself with the crowd, he, 
 too, followed the common example. 
 And the door was closed. 
 
 It was a moment of bitter, most bitter sorrow ; 
 — beyond it we may not look ; but when Blanche 
 left the church she no longer felt that she was 
 alone. 
 
70 , THE earl's daughter. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " Lady Blanche is late ia coming to you this 
 morning; is she not, Eleanor?" said Mrs, Went- 
 worth, as the Imicheon-bell rang, and little Susan 
 ran away to prepare for what was to be her dinner. 
 
 " Rather, I think," was the reply ; " but Blanche 
 is never quite mistress of her o^vn time. Her father 
 is so uncertain, and will make her do the very things 
 she has determined not to do. He may have taken 
 her for a ride, as likely as not." 
 
 "Strange, certainly," said Mrs. Wentworth, mu- 
 singly, " that when a man like Lord Rutherford de- 
 votes himself to the happiness of his daughter, he 
 should manage to do just the very things she does 
 not like." 
 
 " Oh ! indeed, mamma !" exclaimed Eleanor ; " I 
 do think you are wrrong there. Blanche does like 
 most things which her father proposes ; the only 
 worry is, that they come at the wrong time." 
 
 " And does she like, then, the prospect of having 
 the castle filled with visitors, and of gaieties going 
 on continually?" inquired Mrs. Wentworth, with a 
 slight tone of asperity, which' suited but little with 
 her usual gentleness. 
 
 *• Yes, very much," replied Eleanor. " Lady 
 Charlton is a delightful person, so every one de- 
 clares. And it will be very nice for me, too." 
 
 Mrs. Wentworth seemed rather discomposed. 
 "You must remember, my dear," she said, "that 
 what suits Lady Blanche will not suit you. Your 
 line of duties will be totally diiFerent." 
 
THE earl's daughter. 71 
 
 " Oh ! yes, of course, mamma," and Eleanor 
 coloured, and endeavoured to assume an indifferent 
 air : " but you know there is no one whom Blanche 
 loves as she does me ; and she never will enjoy any- 
 thing if I am not with her." 
 
 P Then I am afraid she will pass a very imhappy 
 life ; for you can be with her but seldom at the 
 best." 
 
 " It is not exactly the being together, but the 
 feeling that we are near, and understand each other, 
 and can compare opinions, which is the pleasure ; — 
 and—" 
 
 "Well," interrupted Mrs. Wentworth," compare 
 opinions if you like it, and sympathise with and love 
 each other ; I should be very sorry if you did not : 
 but that does not imply the necessity of meeting 
 every day, especially now." 
 
 " You are afraid for me, mamma," said Eleanor, 
 laughing. "You think I shall become dissipated, 
 and forget Susan, and the school, and old Nanny 
 Marshall, and the almshouse women." 
 
 " I have no cause to doubt you, my love," replied 
 Mrs. Wentworth affectionately ; " but it is scarcely 
 strange that I should have some misgivings about 
 every society of which Lord Rutherford is the 
 head." 
 
 Mrs. "Wentworth spoke quickly, and Eleanor looked 
 up in surprise. But her mother's face betrayed no 
 particular feeling ; it was even more placid than be- 
 fore, as she added, " You can scarcely have failed 
 to discover that he is not the most fitting person for 
 the guardianship of a young, enthusiastic, interest- 
 ing girl like Lady Blanche." 
 
 " He would spoil her, if she could be spoilt," said 
 Eleanor carelessly. 
 
 "Yes ; he wovdd spoil her," repeated Mrs. Went- 
 worth. " He would infuse into her mind low v.'orldly 
 
72 THE earl's daughter, 
 
 notions ; and make her think much of fashion and 
 nltra-refinement, and the admiration of his own pe- 
 culiar circle ; and if she pleases him he will idolise 
 her, and if not — " 
 
 " He can never cease to love her," said Eleanor. 
 
 Mrs. Wentworth was silent. The sudden burst of 
 feeling was over, and she had relapsed into her former 
 indifference. 
 
 " Blanche is very like her mother's picture," ob- 
 served Eleanor. 
 
 " Yes, very," replied Mrs. Wentworth ; " but it 
 is not of her that I am thinking now, Eleanor. No 
 one can see her indeed without feeling most deeply 
 for her; but it is you who are ray charge, ray delight." 
 
 Eleanor smiled, and as she drew near her mother's 
 chair, and bent over it to kiss her, she said, " And 
 I shall be so always." 
 
 Mrs. Wentworth shook her head. "Ah ! Eleanor, 
 that is your stumbling-block ; confidence in your- 
 self," 
 
 " But I have begun well ; have I not, mamma ? 
 Just remember how steady and regular I have been 
 ever since I came home ; and how much you say your- 
 self that Susan is improved. And the old almshouse 
 women, you should have heard yesterday all the civil 
 things they said ! You must not distrust me more 
 than anyone else. Please, don't look so grave, and 
 conjure up such a castle spectre." 
 
 " Ah ! if it were only a spectre ! But, Eleanor, I 
 can look back many years. I know what the tone 
 of society used to be at Rutherford, and I see no 
 possible reason for supposing that it will be different 
 now." 
 
 " You were not injured by it, mamma," said 
 Eleanor; "and why should I be?" 
 ^ Mrs. Wentworth siglied. "I had many safeguards," 
 she said; "yet, I will not say that I was not injured. 
 
THE earl's daughter. 73 
 
 There was only one over whom evil seemed to have 
 no power." 
 
 " The countess," said Eleanor, inquiringly. 
 
 " Yes ; she was indeed too heavenly-minded to be 
 approached by any ordinary influence ; and" — but 
 Mrs. Went worth stopped, as if unwilling to continue 
 the subject. 
 
 "Mamma," said Eleanor, "Lord Rutherford is 
 very fond of Blanche; was he very fond of his wife?" 
 
 The consciousness that luncheon "was ready appear- 
 ed suddenly to have crossed Mrs. Wentworth's mind, 
 for she did not give a direct reply ; but merely 
 saying, that Susan would be tired of waiting for her 
 dinner, she went away, and Eleanor was left to an- 
 swer for herself as best she might the question which 
 had lately become one of considerable interest. Before, 
 however, she had satisfied herself, her meditations 
 were broken in upon by the entrance of her father 
 and Lady Blanche. 
 
 " Reposing from the fatigues of instruction, I sus- 
 pect, Eleanor," exclaimed Blanche, gaily. " Has 
 Susan been a very naughty child ?" 
 
 " Reposing from the weariness of disappointment 
 rather," replied Eleanor. " You were to have been 
 here an hour ago." 
 
 " So I was ; but it is papa's fault. He would come 
 and sit with me ; and he read to me part of the time, 
 and then we talked, and at last the post came in, and 
 I had to write in a great hurry to my aunt, who is to 
 be here the day after to-morrow." 
 
 " Indeed ! Is Lady Charlton coming so soon ?" 
 inquired Dr. Wentworth, 
 
 "Yes," so she says, "if Sir Hugh feels himself 
 equal to the journey ; but she writes as if he was 
 very much out of health. But do you know my 
 aunt?" 
 
 " I can't tell," said Dr. Wentworth, rather bluntlv. 
 
74 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 Blanche and Eleanor laughed, and begged for an 
 explanation. 
 
 " Why, it is rather the case of the Irishman and 
 his tin-kettle ; which he declared could not be lost, 
 because he knew where it was, — at the bottom of the 
 sea. My knowledge of Lady Charlton is about as 
 valuable. Know her I do ; inasmuch as I have spoken 
 to her often, and even dined in company with her some 
 sixteen or eighteen years ago ; but time is very like the 
 sea ; you can see through it, but you cannot grasp 
 what you are looking at. After all, it may only be 
 Lady Charlton's shadow, which I think I know." 
 
 " I know exactly what she is like in appearance," 
 said Blanche ; " tall and thin, dark hair and eyes, 
 very elegant and — " 
 
 "Fascinating," added Dr. Wentworth. 
 
 " Yes, fascinating ; that is precisely the word papa 
 used." 
 
 " And your cousins, I suppose, are fascinating too ?" 
 said Eleanor, in a constrained voice. 
 
 " No one knows anything about them, except that 
 poor Maude is an invalid, and that they have been 
 educated abroad." 
 
 "Oh! I remember," exclaimed Eleanor ; "Charles 
 knew them, I am sure ; he said he had made acquaint- 
 ance with some relations of yours at Florence. It 
 was at a ball, I think, they met, and then they were 
 at a great many gay parties together." 
 
 " A great many too many," muttered Dr. Went- 
 worth in an under-tone. 
 
 " That was a twelvemonth ago, papa," said Eleanor. 
 " It is not quite fair upon Charles, is it Blanche ; to 
 quarrel with him for last year's follies ?" 
 
 " I quarrel with no one, Eleanor," replied Dr. 
 Wentworth, very gravely ; " but we will not keep 
 Lady Blanche waiting;" and he led the way to the 
 dining-room. Blanche followed, with the feeling that 
 
THE earl's daughter. 75 
 
 her original distaste to Mr. Wentworth had received 
 some increase ; yet she blamed herself for it, and in 
 order to conquer her prejudice, paid particular at- 
 tention when other allusions were made to him in the 
 course of her visit, in the hope of receiving more sa- 
 tisfactory answers. But to her surprise, she found 
 that Dr. Wentworth, who, even in his most courteous 
 moods was short and straight-forward in manner, was 
 when this subject was approached, so abrupt as in- 
 stantly to stop the conversation. It was clear that 
 his son was not at that moment perfectly in his 
 i'avour. 
 
 This afternoon was to be devoted to the village, for 
 Lord Rutherford was obliged to be absent the greater 
 part of the day, and Blanche generally arranged her 
 duties in such a way as to give him always the first 
 place in her attention. Under Dr. Wentworth' s guid- 
 ance she had taken into her special charge a certain 
 number of the poor, principally the aged and infirm, 
 to whom her presence was almost as an angel's visit; 
 so new and strange did it seem that one so young 
 and so far removed from themselves, should take a 
 personal interest in their comfort. A few there were, 
 indeed, who remembered the time when the countess 
 had occupied herself in a similar manner, and who 
 regarded Lady Blanche with a degree of compassion- 
 ate affection, which mingled with their respect as they 
 noticed the resemblance to her mother. From them 
 it was that Blanche heard many little traits of the 
 countess's character, which she could have learnt 
 from no other source ; and they were treasured in 
 her memory, and fondly dwelt upon as the touches 
 which were to mark moi'e vividly the outline of her 
 mother's image. Yet, when all had been repeated, 
 and she believed that she had gained a clear know- 
 ledge of what the countess must have been, there 
 still remained an undefined doubt of something un- 
 
76 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 told. Reverence and love were ever associated with 
 her name by all who spoke of her ; but pity was 
 added also ; and why, Blanche could not understand. 
 For it was not the pity which is bestowed so lavishly 
 and unthinkingly, by the living who are toiling through 
 this weary world upon the dead who have entered 
 upon their rest, but rather that which must ever be 
 felt for those whom neither high station nor wealth, 
 nor even goodness, have shielded from severe trial. 
 Blanche was sure that her mother ought to have been 
 happy, but she could not believe that she had been so. 
 As she listened to the cottagers' oft-told tales, she 
 fancied that it was only a natural interest which made 
 her listen so intently for all they could tell ; but, if 
 she had been as careful an anatomist of her feelings 
 as she was of her faults, she might have perceived 
 that this longing desire to know more of the history 
 of the countess's daily life was almost always aroused 
 after conversations with her father, which were now 
 very frequent. 
 
 It is the gift of a superior mind to bring out the 
 latent powers of others ; and Lord Rutherford's 
 constant intercourse with his daughter had done 
 more than the most unwearied study towards ma- 
 turing her judgment, and enlarging her ideas upon 
 all worldly subjects. Blanche had lived in reality 
 months instead of weeks at the castle, and every day 
 brought some fresh evidence to the earl's mind of 
 her quick intellect and refined taste. He delighted 
 in engaging her in an argument, and seeing the ease 
 with which she would pursue her own train of 
 thought, whilst fully comprehending his ; and the 
 graceful candour with which, when once convinced 
 of error, she yielded her point and begged for 
 further instruction. He was more and more satis- 
 fied, more and more convinced that Mrs. Howard 
 had educated her well. And Blanche ? Alas ! how 
 
THE earl's daughter. ^^ 
 
 little can we read of the secrets of the heart ! How 
 selfish and blind are we, even in our love ! 
 
 If Lord Rutherford had been asked whether he 
 had succeeded in rendering his daughter happy, he 
 woiUd have answered, without a moment's hesita- 
 tion, perfectly. She had employments, amuse- 
 ments, interests, luxuries, friends ; and, to crown the 
 whole, himself: and though free from the petty con- 
 ceit of an inferior intellect, which believes that it is 
 all which it desires to be. Lord Rutherford could not 
 but be conscious that the powers of entertainment 
 which had excited the admiration of the first circles, 
 both in England and on the continent, must be 
 more than equal to the task of whiling away the 
 leisure hours of a young girl, whose knowledge of 
 the world was confined to the immediate neighbour- 
 hood of the place of her education. And he thought 
 correctly. Blanche was amused, excited, interested 
 still — but the arrow had entered into her heart ; and 
 when she left her father's presence, her smiles too 
 often vanished, whilst she sought the solitude of her 
 own chamber, to grieve over the bitterness of her 
 disappointment. 
 
 It was then that she most thought of her mother. 
 Had it been the same with her ? Had she also 
 loved, and reverenced, and dreamt a dream of per- 
 fection ; and awoke to find it but delusion ? Or had 
 she, like the earl, been gifted with the highest of 
 earthly gifts, while destitute of that " pearl of great 
 price," which alone could be her ornament in 
 Heaven ? This, Blanche could not think. All that 
 she heard and saw — the letters, the favourite books, 
 the kind acts which were so thankfully remembered, 
 showed plainly that the Countess of Rutherford had 
 been in her inmost heart a Christian ; and then, how 
 great must have been the pang at finding herself 
 united to one whose heart was centred in the world ! 
 
/8 THE EARL S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Blanche thought upon the subject till it haunted her 
 as a spectral form, mixing \\'ith her imaginations by 
 day and night ; and, if forgotten for a time, recalled 
 by some accidental occurrence as painfully as if it 
 had never passed away. Yet the fear could not be 
 named, — certainly not to Eleanor, and scarcely even 
 to Mrs. Howard, who had been much separated from 
 the countess both before and after her marriage, and 
 had never hinted a doubt of her happiness. The 
 mention of it would have involved an acknow- 
 ledgment of disappointment in her father, which 
 Blanche shrank from allowing to herself, and could 
 not have borne to embody in words ; though she 
 often reproached herself for a want of sincerity in 
 withholding the confidence which she knew was ex- 
 pected. There was one person, indeed, from whom 
 much might be learnt ; but how was the inquiry to 
 be made ? Mrs. Wentworth, she had reason to be- 
 lieve, knew all the circumstances of her mother's 
 history ; but Blanche had already asked all the 
 questions which she dared, and had learnt the prin- 
 cipal events, and many additional traits of habit and 
 character ; and Mrs. Wentworth was not a person 
 from whom to seek further confidence. There was 
 a great deal of sincerity, but no openness in her dis- 
 position : she seldom encouraged conversation, and 
 when she did, it was confined to facts, — serious and 
 important, and often placed in a new and striking 
 light, — but still merely facts. Her own feelings she 
 left to be discovered by inference ; and Blanche, ac- 
 customed to Mrs. Howard's warmth of expression, 
 felt chilled even by her kindness, and would fre- 
 quently have preferred silence to a succession of 
 details, which might have aroused the intensest inter- 
 est, but for the cold way in which they were narrated. 
 There was one hope, however, still to rest upon ; 
 Lady Charlton was described by every one to be a 
 
THE EARLS DAUGHTER. 79 
 
 most charming person, something like the countess 
 in appearance, and with a manner so winning that no 
 one coald witlistand it. Even Mrs. Wentworth had 
 once been roused into a momentary enthusiasm when 
 speaking of her quaUfications as an agreeable com- 
 panion, and Blanche already clung to the idea, that in 
 her aunt she might find a friend who would throw 
 light upon the subject which distressed her mind, 
 \nthout requiring her to state the fears which she 
 would willingly have hidden from her own heart. 
 
80 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Lord RrxHERFORD perceived, with great satisfac- 
 tion, the pleasure with which Blanche looked forward 
 to her aunt's visit. He had resolved that his sister-in- 
 law should be surprised and charmed hy his daughter's 
 elegance and beauty ; and he well knew the effect 
 which Blanche's simple, eager cordiality would have 
 upon one who had so long been accustomed to the 
 sparkling frigidity of the fashionable world. Blanche 
 was always courteous, always attentive ; but, when 
 her feelings were interested, she was attractive far 
 beyond any person whom he had ever seen. He 
 remained at home the whole of the day on which 
 Lady Charlton was expected, under the pretence — 
 perhaps even the belief — that it would be a great 
 mark of neglect if he were to run the least risk of not 
 being ready to receive his guests. " Sir Hugh was so 
 unwell, and they had not met since they parted last 
 year in Italy ; and Blanche would feel awkward in 
 probably having to receive her cousins alone. True, 
 they could not possibly arrive before five o'clock, and 
 he had an engagement, at two, in a neighbouring vil- 
 lage ; but there might be some mistake ; they might 
 come before, — at any rate it was safe, and he would 
 send an excuse ; and then the earl's eye wandered to 
 Blanche, who was seated at her drawing-frame, and 
 he begged her to give him one air upon the harp — 
 his favourite. Blanche's face lit up with a smile of 
 pleasure, — and the earl felt the time only too short, 
 as he leant back upon the sofa, his eye delighting in 
 his child's grace, and his ear drinking in the sweet 
 
THE earl's daughter. 81 
 
 sounds which her talent was producing. It was 
 perfect human enjoyment ; for at that moment no 
 memories awoke to mar it. 
 
 "We will walk down the carriage drive, if )^ou 
 like it, my love," he said, as the timepiece struck 
 the quarter before five : " these spare minutes are 
 always very tedious." 
 
 Blanche disappeared as soon as the suggestion 
 was made ; her father's marked attention to her 
 wishes, had made her scrupulously mindful of his. 
 Lord Rutherford's careful inspection when she re- 
 turned, was not perceived ; but it was bestowed with 
 the wish to decide whether she would be less likely 
 to appear to advantage in her walking than in her 
 morning dress. Lady Charlton's eye was fastidi- 
 ously correct in dress, and it was possible that she 
 might be struck by some deficiency of which Blanche 
 was unconscious. But the straw bonnet and shawl 
 disarmed criticism, and Lord Rutherford smiled at 
 his own doubts. The afternoon was very still, but 
 the atmosphere was clear, and the sky blue and 
 cloudless. Blanche felt the softening, soothing in- 
 fiuence of nature's purity and beauty ; and the over 
 interest, and even agitation, which she had expe- 
 rienced in the expectation of the meeting, were 
 calmed. But she was silent, and so was the earl. 
 
 "We shall see them from this point," he said, at 
 length, as he led his daughter to a bench upon the 
 summit of a steep knoll. " It was an old boyish 
 habit of mine, to stand here and watch for arrivals." 
 
 Blanche looked towards the winding road which 
 passed over the village green. " There is some- 
 thing, — a carriage ; — yes, a carriage, I am sure. 
 Don't you see it, papa ?" 
 
 " Eyes of sixteen against eyes of fifty, Blanche," 
 said the earl, smiling. "Are you certain that you 
 don't hear the rumbling of the wheels?" 
 
82 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 "Oh! papa, 3'ou won't believe ; but I do see it, 
 though. It is coming nearer ; it has just passed 
 the first turning, and it is very quick too. There 
 must be four horses ; so it must be them." 
 
 " Well, then, we will return ; but look once more : 
 are you sure ?" 
 
 " Yes, quite ; it is by the blacksmith's shop. I 
 can see the horses now distinctly." 
 
 Lord Rutherford quickened his pace towards the 
 house. He looked thoughtful and uneasy. 
 
 They stood upon the steps together. The earl 
 leant moodily against the castle wall ; he saw no ex- 
 ternal objects. His eye was turned inwards to his 
 own heart, and the images of the years that were 
 past away. He started, however, as the sound of 
 wheels became more distinct ; and, when the leaders 
 appeared on the crest of the hill, he drew Blanche 
 forward to meet the carriage. Blanche thought that 
 it was the impulse of hospitality and affection ; but 
 it was merely restlessness : he felt himself com- 
 pelled to move. 
 
 Lady Charlton was the first to perceive them, and 
 the carriage was instantly stopped. 
 
 " Kind ! — like yourself, always," was her saluta- 
 tion, as she extended her hand, which the earl took 
 with something of trembling cordiality. " And my 
 dear Blanche, too ! but I must walk." 
 
 The carriage-door was opened, and Lady Charlton 
 alighted. 
 
 "We are not in public," she said, as she kissed 
 Blanche's forehead, and again gave her hand to the earl. 
 
 Blanche's smile was very sweet, and her few words 
 — few from repressed feeling — were all that her aunt 
 could desire. 
 
 " You don't want introductions," continued Lady 
 Charlton. " Maude, Adelaide ; you know your cousin, 
 of course." 
 
THE earl's daughter. 83 
 
 There was another warm greeting, and Blanche 
 was recovering her momentary shyness and agitation. 
 She remained at the carriage-door, bending forwards 
 and speaking eagerly, whilst her eye sparkled with 
 pleasure, and a bright colour flushed her usually pale 
 cheek. Lady Charlton watched her for a few mo- 
 ments, and the seemingly involuntary exclamation 
 escaped her, — " Yes, she is just what I could have 
 imagined ; I must have known her in any place." 
 
 The earl turned away. 
 
 " Don't distress yourself, my dear," continued 
 Lady Charlton, as Blanche was about to address 
 some person, or apparently thing, which bore a re- 
 semblance rather to a bundle of shawls than a human 
 being. " Poor Sir Hugh ! he is miserably tired — 
 half dead with opiates ; — he has been suffering fear- 
 fully the last week, but he would come : he will be 
 himself by-and-by : they had better drive on" and 
 the carriage proceeded. 
 
 Blanche walked leisurely to the castle with her 
 father and aunt. She was confused ; there had 
 scarcely been time to recognise any one, but the 
 general impression was agreeable. Lady Charlton 
 was undoubtedly an elegant, distinguished looking 
 person ; her voice too was musical, and her manner 
 very winning from its ease and kindness. And her 
 cousins — she thought she knew them apart : one had 
 a sallow complexion and light hair, a plain but very 
 clever face, rather severe and grave in its expression — 
 that must be Maude, the invalid : and the other was 
 a brunette, with dark hair, braided ; dressed hand- 
 somely and carefully, lively in manner, and altogether 
 pleasing from youth and gaiety, and the quickness of 
 a pair of very bright eyes, rather than from any regu- 
 lar beauty. The earl said little ; but Lady Charlton 
 had words upon every subject at command. No one 
 could be in the least restrained with her. Even 
 
84 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 in those few minutes, she seemed to take exactly 
 that position which Blanche had felt must be filled 
 before she could be quite at ease with her father. 
 Lady Charlton was affectionate and interested, but 
 she was not timid. Blanche could scarcely under- 
 stand the boldness with which she rallied the earl 
 upon his long absence, his present love of seclusion ; 
 and prophesied that he was yet to prove himself as 
 distinguished a person in England as he had been 
 abroad. Lord Rutherford was at first grave, but not 
 annoyed ; and, after a few minutes, he appeared to 
 have caught himself something of Lady Charlton's 
 vivacity, and answered her remarks in a tone almost 
 as full of cheerfulness as her own. It was a new 
 phase of character which Blanche had not before 
 perceived. 
 
 "And Sir Hugh has been very ill, then," said 
 Lord Rutherford, as he saw the carriage stop at the 
 castle, and two servants assist in helping a seemingly 
 decrepit old man to alight. 
 
 "Yes," and Lady Charlton sighed; "it is very 
 sad : one can never be prepared for these attacks. 
 He was at a great dinner only a fortnight ago, and 
 quite the life of the party ; made a speech, and 
 proposed toasts, and kept up the whole thing till 
 after twelve o'clock ; was quite himself, in fact : and 
 now, you see what he is." 
 
 " I suppose the dinner was the root of the evil," 
 observed the earl. 
 
 " Well ! yes ; I suppose it might have been so : 
 but the complaint is constitutional, hereditary. 
 Blanche, my dear, you may think yourself happy in 
 being descended from another family. The Evelyns 
 never were a gouty race." 
 
 " I should hope not," said the earl, quietly. 
 
 Lady Charlton laughed. " Now, my dear Ruther- 
 ford, that is one of vour old exclusive fancies. I 
 
THE earl's daughter. 85 
 
 really flattered myself that fifteen years' experience of 
 continental liberalism would have done something 
 towards destroying them ; but you are just the same, 
 I see : just the same spirit of the Spanish hidalgo in 
 you — 'This comes of walking on the earth.' " 
 
 "And the Spanish hidalgo was right," said 
 Blanche, archly. 
 
 Lady Charlton smiled, and answered, " Quite 
 right, my dear ; but 1 don't know how it is — the 
 older one grows, the less inclined one is to hang, like 
 Mahomet's coffiu, between heaven and earth : there 
 is something very solitary and uncongenial in the 
 position ; and therefore, since one cannot yet have 
 the higher, I am willing to rest satisfied \\-ith the 
 lower, and to be very happy upon earth, in spite 
 of the Spanish hidalgo." 
 
 " And the gout," said Lord Rutherford. " Sir 
 Hugh, I suspect, wovdd tell a different tale." 
 
 " Oh ! poor Sir Hugh ! you will see him very 
 unlike himself, Blanche ; or rather you will not see 
 him at all. He and Pearson go their own way when 
 he is in this state. A first-rate servant Pearson is ; 
 and such a nurse !" 
 
 By this time they had reached the castle. As 
 they entered it, Blanche again repeated her welcome 
 to her aunt, and Lady Charlton's manner in an 
 instant changed. She was no longer the cheerful, 
 amusing woman of the world ; but the thought- 
 ful, warm-hearted, sympathising friend. She took 
 Blanche's hand in both hers, and thanked her 
 with a warmth of affection which Blanche fully ap- 
 preciated. Dr. Wentworth's description recurred to 
 her mind. Fascmating ! — Yes, that was the right 
 word. 
 
 Blanche was alone till nearly dinner-time. Her 
 cousins were engaged in dressing for dinner, or per- 
 haps hi resting after their journey. She did not see 
 1 
 
86 THE EARL S DAUGHTER. 
 
 anything of them after showing them to their rooms. 
 Her aunt she supposed was with Sir Hugh ; her 
 father, she knew, had business to transact. The 
 sohtude was very precious to her ; it gave her leisure 
 for thought, for examining her own impressions. 
 Blanche trusted very much to first impressions, for 
 as yet she had never known deception. All seemed 
 bright and hopeful — not from any particular cause 
 that she could fix upon — the sensation of relief and 
 satisfaction was indefinable ; the castle was the castle 
 still — her own position was the same — her one 
 great grief was as real as it bad ever been ; but her 
 heart was hghter. 
 
 The earl was waiting for her as she left her room. 
 He had come on purpose to take her himself to 
 the drawing-room, that she might not be shy ; so he 
 said : but his survey of Blanche's dress and general 
 appearance betrayed his true motive. A smile of in- 
 tense pleasure passed over his face as he looked at 
 her : the simple white dress was the symbol of the 
 pure, spotless mind. 
 
THE earl's daughter. 87 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 "Eleanor," said INIr. Wentworth to his sister, as 
 he entered the school-room the day after the arrival 
 of Lady Charlton at the castle, " you must leave 
 those never-ending lessons, and come out ; I want 
 you." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Charles, you must wait : if 
 you have returned to stay here for several months, 
 you must learn to amuse yourself." 
 
 " More easily said than done," was the reply ; and 
 the young man threw himself into the first arm-chair 
 which presented itself, and continued : " Four 
 months ! it is a terribly long time. What on earth 
 shall I do with myself?" 
 
 " Read," replied Eleanor, still occupying herself 
 with an exercise, which she was correcting. 
 
 " Read !" my dear Eleanor," replied her brother, 
 with « sigh of languid weariness. "But I have 
 read ; I do read. It is nothing else but reading 
 from morning till night." 
 
 "But itw^ll only last a little longer," said Eleanor, 
 soothingly ; " and then " 
 
 " And then comes ordination," added Charles. 
 
 There was an accent of bitterness in his voice. 
 Eleanor looked up, and put her finger to her lips, as 
 she glanced at her little sister. 
 
 " Susan, child, run into the garden, and find 
 Brown," exclaimed Charles impatiently. "Tell him 
 he must have my horse ready for me by three o'clock." 
 
 Susan ran away, only too glad of the excuse to 
 change her employment. 
 
88 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 **You forget Susan's age," said Eleanor, in a 
 reproachful tone, when she found herself alone with 
 her brother. 
 
 " Yes, I did at the moment ; but there would have 
 been no harm done." 
 
 " Only that she is very likely to repeat to papa all 
 that you say to me, and you would not like that." 
 
 "I don't know; he must hear it some day or 
 other." 
 
 " Oh ! no, Charles : you intend to change your 
 views, and look at the matter differently." 
 
 " My dear Eleanor," was the arnswer, spoken 
 coolly and rather satirically, "it is exceedingly easy 
 for you to talk ; but, begging your pardon, you 
 know nothing whatever of the subject. Ordained 
 I must be — I intend to be ; but not to be my 
 father's curate ; not to vegetate upon a hundred a 
 year in a country village, with no one but my own 
 family to speak to. I was not born for such a life, 
 and I can never endure it." 
 
 " Would you not be just as badly off in any other 
 place?" inquired Eleanor. "You will have the 
 castle, and the society there, for a change." 
 
 "Lord Rutherford and Lady Blanche?'.' said 
 Charles, doubtfully. 
 
 " Yes ; and J think you will scarcely require more. 
 You will go far before you meet any one the equal of 
 Blanche, at least." 
 
 *' Equal ! no ; to watch her is like looking up at a 
 star ; but confess, Eleanor, notwithstanding all your 
 romance, it is awfully out of one's reach." 
 
 " Yet Blanche is the most warm-hearted, en- 
 thusiastic, poetical person imaginable," exclaimed 
 Eleanor. 
 
 " Very likely ; you young ladies are extremely 
 warm-hearted to each other, and no doubt very 
 poetical in your private journals ; but that does 
 
THE earl's PA.UGHTER. 89 
 
 not help us poor men. Lady Blanche makes a 
 most lovely picture ; but pictures are not society," 
 
 " Then you will have others besides Blanche," con- 
 tinued Eleanor. "Lady Charlton, and" — 
 
 "The Charltons? Are they here? When did 
 they come ? You never told me anything about 
 them." 
 
 Mr. Wentworth grew evidently excited at the in- 
 formation. 
 
 Eleanor could not forbear laughing. " Why, my 
 dear Charles, I vras not quite prepared for such a 
 burst. They are here — Lady Charlton, and Sir 
 Hugh." 
 
 "And Adelaide?" interrupted Charles. 
 
 " Christian names ! " exclaimed Eleanor. ' Really 
 Charles, that is rather surprising. Do papa and 
 mamma know of this great intimacy?" 
 
 " My dear Eleanor, you are a mere baby. Chris- 
 tian names are nothing at all ; it entirely depends 
 upon the people. I should never think of calling 
 Lady Blanche Evelyn, Blanche." 
 
 " No, because she is Lady Blanche." 
 
 " But if she were Miss ; I could not. Don't you 
 understand ? Some persons are to be regarded at a 
 distance. They never give one the opportunity of 
 approaching nearer ; they are never off their guard." 
 
 " Which, I presume then, that the Miss Charltons 
 are," observed Eleanor, in a tone of amusement. 
 
 " They are very quick — very agreeable. I should 
 not exactly choose to see you like them ; but they 
 will be great acquisitions. When I say them, how- 
 ever, I really only mean Adelaide. The other is 
 clever enough — a very phoenix in learning and ac- 
 complishments ; but she is anything but agreeable, if 
 you happen to take her in the wrong mood." 
 
 " She is an invalid, I believe," said Eleanor. 
 
 " Yes, she thinks herself so, and she looks hide- 
 I 2 
 
90 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 ously ugly ; people say, from ill health. It was the 
 fashion abroad, to admire her forehead and eyes, and 
 call them intellectual ; but I never could get over the 
 complexion." 
 
 " I don't see that she is likely to be much of an 
 acquisition," continued Eleanor. 
 
 " Yes ; in her way, she will be : she plays marvel- 
 lously, and sings ! I never heard any amateur voice 
 in the least equal to hers. Upon the whole, I am 
 immensely glad they are here." 
 
 " I must ask you to go, now," said Eleanor, gravely. 
 " Susan must come to her lessons ; don't you hear 
 her in the passage ? " 
 
 " Run away, child, we are not ready for you yet," 
 exclaimed Charles, rising from his chair with some 
 effort ; and going to the door, in spite of his sister's 
 evident annoyance, he sent Susan on another mes- 
 sage, and then returning said, "These fovir months! 
 — they will be a great trial." 
 
 " I should not find them so, if I were in your 
 place," observed Eleanor, whilst the colour mounted 
 to her cheeks. " I should be glad to be vdth you 
 anywhere, especially at home." 
 
 " Charles seemed a little surprised at her manner. 
 " I don't understand," he replied. " Of course, I am 
 glad to be with you ; but just think for a minute ;" 
 and his voice became quite energetic ; " I have passed 
 through the university, and made rather a noise 
 there ; since then I have been travelling for two 
 years, seeing most enchanting places, enjoying first- 
 rate society — and now I am told that I am to sit 
 down for life — it is the life which frightens me ! — in 
 an old country parsonage, vnth not a single person to 
 speak to beyond my own family, and the chance 
 visitors at Rutherford Castle. Doubtless, there are 
 persons for whom such prospects might do very well ; 
 good, quiet, humdrum men, who, exactly the reverse 
 
THE EARL S DAUGHTER. 91 
 
 of Charles the Second, may be warranted never to do 
 a fooUsh thing, and never say a wise one ; — but I 
 am not one of them. If my father wishes me to do 
 anything he must give me a sphere : he ought to do 
 so ; for I have never caused him any trouble. I have 
 never been wild, or extravagant ; and yet he looks 
 as grave as if I was a complete scapegrace." 
 
 " The notion of your ordination makes him do 
 that," said Eleanor. 
 
 " And whose fault is the ordination ? " exclaimed 
 Mr. Wentworth. " He has dinned into my ears, 
 ever since I was a baby in arms, that I was to be a 
 clergyman, and what possible right has he to find 
 fault with me now because I intend to be one ? " 
 
 " Papa looks at the profession more seriously than 
 yen do," observed Eleanor. 
 
 " Serious ; it is serious enough, no one doubts that ; 
 but all the more reason why I should have a little life 
 and enjoyment beforehand." 
 
 " Papa thinks that is not the right sort of prepa- 
 ration," said Eleanor, in a tone of mild suggestion, 
 rather than of reproof. 
 
 " I don't mean it as preparation— and yet call 
 it so, if you will. When I am ordained, things will 
 be different. I shall be a clergyman ; and I shall 
 conduct myself like one. My father cannot suppose 
 I mean to disgrace myself by being a vulgar, fox- 
 hunting, drinking, negligent, country parson." 
 
 " The race is happily becoming extinct," said Elea- 
 nor ; " but my father will not be satisfied with your 
 merely escaping disgrace." 
 
 " He wishes to see me honoured ; and he shall do 
 so. Once let me have the opportunity ; place me in 
 London ; give me, as I said before, a sphere ; and, 
 before he dies, he shall see me a bishop." 
 
 Eleanor shook her head, and said more coura- 
 geously " That is not the tone to please papa, Charles. 
 
92 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 He does not understand it. He does not know what 
 it is to wish to be a bishop." 
 
 " Neither do I wish it, Eleanor ; if I could be any 
 thing else. But I am all but shut out from every 
 other profession. I am not educated, and not in- 
 clined for the army ; I am not at all fitted for a 
 physician ; and utterly without interest at the bar — 
 if I could bring myself to submit to the drudgery 
 of studying for it. I know I must take orders ; 
 and all I ask is, that my father should try to place 
 me where rny talents — for you know, Eleanor, it is 
 impossible to deny that I have some talents," and 
 Mr. Wentworth laughed faintly, and settling his 
 cravat, glanced at himself in the looking-glass — 
 "should have scope." 
 
 Eleanor's reply showed an evident wish to put an 
 end to a disagreeable subject. She was quite sure, 
 she said, that her father would do everything in 
 his power to promote her brother's views, by-and- 
 by ; but that she could not herself see what steps 
 were to be taken at once. 
 
 " One, very simple," exclaimed Charles, eagerly. 
 " Let him consent that I should have a curacy in 
 London ; or, at least, that I should try for one ; in- 
 stead of insisting upon my drudging on a weary 
 existence here, with nothing to rouse energy." 
 
 " You had better resign yourself, my dear Charles," 
 and Eleanor tried to laugh. " "When papa once has 
 made a decision, he is very resolute." 
 
 " And he will find that his son can be resolute 
 too," exclaimed Mr. Wentworth. " I have made up 
 my mind what I will do, I will be off — off to Aus- 
 tralia ; no power on earth shall stop me, if I am 
 thwarted." 
 
 "You, in Australia! a settler!" and Eleanor laughed: 
 no, papa feels he is perfectly safe there. But, my 
 dear Charles ■ there is a much surer way of bringing 
 
THE earl's daughter. 93 
 
 him round to look at things in your own way. Stay 
 here quietly, and do as he wishes ; study, and visit 
 the poor people, and then he will be satisfied ; and 
 will see himself, by degrees, that you are not likely 
 to gain any harm by ultimately setthng in London. 
 You must own," she added, with some hesitation, 
 "that papa's anxiety is natural enough, considering 
 the way you talk." 
 
 " But I don't talk so to him," exclaimed Mr. "Went- 
 worth. " Neither he nor my mother know half I 
 really feel." 
 
 " Poor mamma ! " said Eleanor, speaking seriously, 
 yet not without some satisfaction at her brother's 
 implied confidence in herself; "with her high views, 
 her very exalted notions of a clergyman's office, I 
 certainly should not like her to hear you rattle on in 
 this random way. I don't approve of it, you know, 
 myself; only I am sure you don't mean it." 
 
 " I do mean it, though," exclaimed Charles, petu- 
 lantly ; " and what is more, I am convinced that there 
 are not half a dozen men in England who wovild not 
 say precisely the same. Of course, I shall do my 
 duty ; but it must be in the right place — not here." 
 
 " Not even with Lady Charlton and her family, at 
 the castle ? " said Eleanor, pointedly. 
 
 " Oh ! nonsense, they would make a difference ; 
 but it would only be for a time ; they can't stay." 
 
 " Blanche expects them for a very long visit," 
 replied Eleanor. 
 
 " Lord Rutherford and Adelaide Charlton ! " said 
 Charles, musingly. " A. very incongruous mixture. 
 Adelaide's high spirits will never stand the castle 
 proprieties." 
 
 " Charles, dear; promise me one thing, please," said 
 Eleanor, lapng her hand upon his arm. "Don't 
 speak of Miss Charlton in that way before mamma ; 
 it is just the sort of thing to annoy her." 
 
94 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 Mr. Wentwortli laughed. " My dear Eleanor, you 
 really are more childish than I imagined ; but any- 
 thing you like : only, when you know Adelaide, you 
 will see that it is impossible to call her anything else. 
 And, remember, if I am to stay here and be well 
 behaved, I must have full leave to go to the castle 
 as often as I choose." 
 
 " Leave from me as much as you wish," replied 
 Eleanor; "if you will only be cautious. I could 
 not bear you to vex mamma, and she is rather sus- 
 picious of you already." 
 
 Mr. Wentworth put on an air of mock gravity ; 
 and folding his hands, and casting his eyes to the 
 ground, promised to be as demure as Susan, if only 
 his sister would help to provide him with amusement. 
 " And suggest to my father that I shall not be fitted 
 for his curate," were his last words, as he went out 
 of the room, leaving Eleanor in a state of mind by 
 no means to be envied. 
 
 He was scarcely gone, when Mrs. Wentworth came 
 through the garden to the school-room window. She 
 held a note in her hand, which she put into Eleanor's 
 silently, and then stood by apparently engaged in 
 twisting the straggling tendrils of the clematis which 
 darkened the apartment. Eleanor returned the note 
 •with thanks ; her colour was heightened, and her 
 eyes sparkled with pleasure. " Shall I write an 
 answer, mamma ; or will you ? " 
 
 Mrs. Wentworth paused for a moment before she 
 said, in a tone of annoyance, " I was afraid it would 
 be so. I was sure you would be vexed, my love." 
 
 " Vexed ! dear mamma." 
 
 " Yes. It is nothing very grievous ; but your father 
 and I think it best to dechne. He wished me not 
 to show you the invitation ; but I could not agree. 
 I have too much confidence in your good sense, and 
 vour love for me." 
 
THE earl's daughter. 95 
 
 " Oh, mamma ! the first day ! and an express in- 
 Aitation to us all ; and Blanche so extremely urgent !" 
 
 " The very reason, my love, why it may be more 
 desirable to decline." Eleanor bit her lip, and made 
 no reply. 
 
 " You will understand some of our objections," con- 
 tinued JMrs. Wentworth. " As an acquaintance begins, 
 so it may be supposed to continue. We do not 
 wish to be dining at the castle perpetually, now." 
 
 "Because of Lady Charlton and her party, I 
 suppose," replied Eleanor, trying to be good hu- 
 moured. " But, dear mamma, she is a very charm- 
 ing person." 
 
 "1 don't know what she is," was Mrs. Wentworth' s 
 reply, spoken more quickly than was her wont : 
 " only you will be contented at home, my child." 
 
 " Contented with you, mamma ? oh ! yes, always ; 
 but" — 
 
 " But you must try and think as I think ; tiy, and 
 not dream of the castle by night and by day." Eleanor 
 smiled, though without cheerfulness. " Consider 
 what it would be to me," continued Mrs. Wentworth, 
 " to see you restless and excited ; or to find you long- 
 ing for different society, and know that you were 
 neglecting your own simple duties." 
 
 " 1 should never neglect my duties by being with 
 Blanche," exclaimed Eleanor eagerly; "she would 
 always keep me right." 
 
 ' ' My love, indeed you are mistaken . Lady Blanche 
 is a very sweet girl, most amiable aud winning ; but, 
 when you are together, her spirit cannot be the ruling 
 one." 
 
 Eleanor's head was raised proudly, as she replied, 
 "It should be, if I were Blanche. Rank, wealth, beauty, 
 talent ! IMamma, Blanche ought to rule a kingdom." 
 
 " Let her learn to rule the kingdom of her own 
 heart," replied Mrs. Wentworth ; " that will be the 
 
96 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 most needful lesson. Poor child ! hers is a position 
 of great temptation." 
 
 " Mamma," said Eleanor thoughtfully, " you might 
 help her." 
 
 Sirs. Wentworth paused, " I might possibly, if cir- 
 cumstances were different ; if the opportunity should 
 occur ; but your affection, I think, a little deceives 
 you, Eleanor. Lady Blanche is not likely to give me 
 the opportunity ; she is too gentle and yielding to 
 profit by the sort of help I should give. She would 
 require something less severe. Mrs. Howard is 
 more hkely to be of use to her than I am." 
 
 " Mrs. Howard is so far off," replied Eleanor. 
 
 * ' Yes ; but they can write. Though, of course, my 
 love," continued Mrs. Wentworth, assuming a tone of 
 greater uncoustraint, " I do not mean that I would 
 not do everything for her that I possibly could ; only 
 there are some dispositions so easily moulded that 
 they take impressions from everything ; and, if it 
 should be so with Lady Blanche, you will find that 
 the daily life at the castle with her relations will 
 really form her character. And, besides," and Mrs. 
 Wentworth' s voice sank, as it sometimes did, into a 
 tone so low that it scarcely seemed intended for con- 
 versation, " there are different atmospheres, difterent 
 circles — the castle and the rectory — no, never again." 
 
 Eleanor made no comment upon this speech ; yet the 
 thought crossed her mind, with wonder, why, if the 
 circles were so different, and the atmospheres so un- 
 congenial, she should have been allowed to grow up 
 from childhood in unrestrained intimacy with Blanche. 
 
 "And you will be satisfied then, my dear, not to dine 
 at the castle to-day," said Mrs. Wentworth in her 
 natural manner ; " we have an engagement which will 
 do very well as an excuse for us all. Your father 
 talked, this morning, of asking Mr. Moulton, of 
 Enfield to stay ; as he is going to ride with him 
 
THE earl's daughter. 97 
 
 to see the workhouse ; and though we might leave 
 them at home, it will be better not." 
 
 Eleanor sighed at the prospect of exchanging a 
 cheerful evening at the castle for the society of an 
 elderly gentleman, whose only interest in life seemed 
 to be the faults of the poor-laws. The sigh was not 
 utterly selfish ; it was as much for her brother as 
 herself ; and she ventured to add a petition for him : 
 but Mrs. Wentworth negatived the idea instantly. 
 
 " Charles ! oh dear ! no. He was much too great a 
 stranger to go by himself; he would be quite a burden 
 to Lord Rutherford ; and, moreover " — but this time 
 Mrs. Wentworth' s thoughts were not betrayed by 
 an undertone ; and Eleanor could only conjecture 
 that the "moreover" might have some reference to 
 Miss Charlton, She was not forbidden, however, to 
 go to the castle in the morning — that was some satis- 
 faction ; and she might see Blanche ; she might just 
 have a glimpse of Adelaide Charlton ; and, without 
 hesitation, she expressed her intention to her mother. 
 
 They had not meet Jhe preceding day, she said ; 
 and Blanche would think it unkind if she were not to 
 go near her. 
 
 " Lady Blanche will call upon you, my dear ; if she 
 is anxious about it," said Mrs. Wentworth, quietly 
 and coldly. 
 
 Eleanor changed colour. " Anxious about it, dear 
 mamma ; what can you mean ? " 
 
 " Nothing, my dear ; only I think you might as 
 well leave the castle for to-day." 
 
 A torrent of eager words seemed about to rush 
 forth, for Eleanor's eyes flashed with anger and vexa- 
 tion. Mrs. Wentworth stopped her before the first 
 word was spoken. " My love, you have trusted me 
 always ; do you doubt now that I would make you 
 happy in your own way if it were right V* 
 
 K 
 
98 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 The haughty spirit was subdued in an instant, and 
 Eleanor's arm was thrown round her mother's neck. 
 
 " Mamma, you are always right ; yet you cannot 
 love Blanche as I do." 
 
 " I loved her mother," was Mrs. Wentworth's calm 
 reply ; and, as she walked slowly away, Eleanor 
 threw herself upon a chair, and burst into tears. 
 
THE earl's daughter. 99 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " Here, Pearson ! stop a minute, can't you ? What 
 in the world are you going away for, Idiot ? " 
 growled Sir Hugh Charlton, helplessly stretch- 
 ing out his hand to reach a small hand-bell, which 
 had unfortunately been placed just beyond his 
 reach. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir ; very sorry, quite forgot," 
 muttered the stout, obsequious, black-haired, black- 
 whiskered, and most shrewd-looking individual, whose 
 character was constantly summed-up by Lady Charl- 
 ton, in the emphatic description of " the best crea- 
 ture in the world." 
 
 " The medicine, the drops ! where are they ? why 
 don't you fetch them?" continued Sir Hugh, as 
 Pearson remained by his side, pretending to adjust the 
 pillows at his head, and eyeing with great apparent 
 solicitude the arrangements of the gouty stool, which 
 supported his master's feet. Pearson did not say, 
 that he had been on the point of departure when he 
 was brought back; he placed the hand-bell more con- 
 veniently than before, gave an additional touch to the 
 pillov/s, brought the newspaper within reach, and then, 
 as he was leaving the room, remarked, that the earl 
 had invited some friends to dinner, so he had been 
 told by Mr. Hilyard, the butler. 
 
 " People to dinner, did you say ? Here, Pearson, 
 where are you going ? why, in the name of wonder, 
 don't you speak out?" 
 
 "Dr.Wentworth's family from the rectory are com- 
 
]00 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 ing, so Mr. Hiljard informed me, Sir Hugh ; but, 
 perhaps, you would wish me to inquire. When you 
 have taken the medicine, if I might be allowed, I 
 would ask." Pearson returned almost in an instant. 
 The drops were properly measured and administered, 
 and Sir Hugh's next order was, not to fidget about 
 the room like a mouse, but to go and hear who was 
 coming ; an order fully expected by the ingenious 
 Pearson, who immediately departed to gossip, for at 
 least a quarter of an hour, in the housekeeper's 
 room. 
 
 He was gone, but Sir Hugh murmured still, 
 " Wentworths ! who were the Wentworths ? People 
 he had never heard of! Wentworth !" He stopped 
 and rubbed his chin, and thought, and muttered 
 again, "Wentworth ! yes, he did know the name, he 
 remembered it. That intolerable fool, Pearson, where 
 was he gone ? he knew every one. Heaps of Went- 
 worths there were everywhere — England — France — 
 Italy." He seized the hand-bell, but, without ring- 
 ing it, called for Pearson at the highest pitch of his 
 voice. 
 
 The call was answered by Lady Charlton. " My 
 dear. Sir Hugh, such a noise ! it quite frightens 
 one." 
 
 "Well! madam, and I intended it should. Here 
 am 1 — Pearson gone — you away — left by my daugh- 
 ters — it is too bad." 
 
 " Oh ! but my dear Sir Hugh, you must not be 
 exacting. Poor children! they are only having a little 
 music with Blanche." 
 
 " No ; not with me," said a very sweet voice ; and 
 Blanche, who had just entered the room, came up to 
 Sir Hugh's chair. " You know. Aunt Charlton, you 
 promised I should be of use. Can I do anything for 
 Sir Hugh ? Might I not sit a little while with 
 him ?" 
 
THE earl's daughter. 101 
 
 " Oh ! my dear Blanche, this is too good of you," 
 and Sir Hugh grew calm directly. " Really you 
 must excuse me — a gouty man must make a great 
 many apologies ; but that fool — my man, I mean, — a 
 very good servant — a capital servant, Pearson — but 
 forgetful. Lady Charlton, pray place a chair ; it dis- 
 tresses me quite." Blanche brought a chair for her- 
 self, and placed it by Sir Hugh ; her work-basket 
 was in her hand, and again she hoped that she was 
 not intruding. 
 
 Lady Charlton smiled, and said, ' ' Sir Hugh would 
 beonly too happy; and, for herself, she had letters to 
 write, very important ones ; but Blanche must not fa- 
 tigue herself. You can read, if you like it, my love, 
 for a little while. Sir Hugh is a great reader, and a 
 writer too sometimes, only I shall be in disgrace if I 
 mention it." She looked meaningly at Sir Hugh. 
 
 "My dear Lady Charlton — Frances — you are really 
 too bad. Blanche will be shocked ; it is nothing ; 
 nothing at all, I assure you. Just a pamphlet, nothing 
 at all to speak of There is one — Frances, my dear — 
 on the side table ; I think you will find one. But, never 
 mind ;" seeing that Lady Charlton cast an unsearching, 
 and unseeing eye round the room. " Never mind, 
 Pearson will find it. I can ring." 
 
 " Pearson is going to dinner," replied Lady Charl- 
 ton, rather quickly, " but Blanche, I dare say, will 
 read to you. Let me see, that book on geology I 
 think it was you began. My dear Blanche, I really 
 am ashamed of myself for allowing you to have such 
 a task. I dare say, if the truth were told, you 
 know no more of the ' ologies' than I do ; but you 
 will learn something — names, at least. I quite mar- 
 vel at myself for not being wiser, considering Sir 
 Hugh's tastes. We had not very much science in 
 Italy ; and a great drawback it was for him. Good- 
 k2 
 
102 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 b'ye, my love. Maude and Ady will be in despair 
 when they hear you are not coming back." 
 
 " As much in despair as I shall be in delight," 
 said Sir Hugh, twisting his sallow and worn features 
 into what he believed to be an irresistible smile. 
 
 " But I shall have mercy upon you, Blanche," 
 said Lady Charlton, returning to look into the room 
 again. " Remember we are to have a riding party 
 this afternoon ; and your friends, the Wentworths, I 
 hear, are to dine with us." 
 
 Lady Charlton was gone before she heard, or at 
 least, before she appeared to hear Sir Hugh's im- 
 patient exclamation of " Wentworth ! that was the 
 very thing! that fool Pearson! why did he not come 
 back^ Who are the Wentworths V 
 
 " Friends of ours at the rectory," said Blanche ; 
 and her voice acted with a magical effect upon the 
 irritable Sir Hugh, who immediately composed him- 
 self to the semblance of a deferential listener. " Elea- 
 nor Wentworth and I were educated together," con- 
 tinued Blanche, *' She is my very great friend." 
 
 " Ah, yes, very true — very nice ; no doubt she is 
 charming. But I thought — you must excuse a little 
 impatience, my dear — the gout is trying, especially 
 trying,— for a man of active habits, in the prime of life. 
 I spoke rather eagerly, just now ; but I thought I 
 remembered the name of Wentworth abroad." 
 
 "It might have been Dr. Wentworth's son; he 
 has been travelling," said Blanche. 
 
 Sir Hugh put his finger to his lip, and presently, 
 with a sudden start of recollection, exclaimed : — 
 
 " Yes, I have it. I remember. Pearson knows ; — 
 idiot !" and the voice sank again into an angry growl, 
 " what a time he is at dinner !" 
 
 Before Blanche could answer, a furious peal sum- 
 moned Pearson from his repast. Blanche could 
 
THE earl's daughter. 103 
 
 scarcely help smiling at the insinuating tone of the 
 servant, when compared with the gesticulation of the 
 master. Sir Hugh burst forth without preparation, 
 requiring Pearson to recollect all he had ever heard 
 or known of any one of the name of Wentworth ; and 
 Pearson, with the utmost composure, began a quiet 
 and rather interesting account of Sir Hugh's first ac- 
 quaintance with Mr. Wentworth ; how they had met 
 in Italy, and he believed Sir Hugh had told him 
 that Lady Charlton had been acquainted with his 
 family ; and, — no doubt, Sir Hugh would recollect 
 him perfectly — a tall gentleman, very handsome ; he 
 used to sing with Miss Adelaide ; and, as Pearson 
 glanced doubtingly at Sir Hugh, aud saw a pleased 
 smile on his face, he ventured to add, " People had 
 remarked — at least he had heard it said — how well 
 Mr. Wentworth and Miss Adelaide danced." 
 
 "Yes, yes, I know. You may go now ; you won't 
 be wanted yet. Lady Blanche will do me the honour 
 of sitting with me. Go; can't you?" and Pearson 
 hastened to escape Sir Hugh's lightning glance. 
 " Such gossips these people are, my dear," continued 
 Sir Hugh in his mildest voice. " Such intolerable 
 gossips ! One would think I was an old man with 
 no memory ; telhng me aU those facts ! Of course, 
 I recollect ! Mr. Wentworth was a handsome young 
 man, certainly ; he danced attendance upon Adelaide. 
 Lady Charlton grew frightened ; but it was all non- 
 sense ; Adelaide is a great deal too sensible — a 
 shrewd girl you will find out — not equal to Maude. 
 Maude is a genius — plays, sings, draws — there was 
 a copy of hers, of a Guido, as good as the original. 
 I should not have known the difference ; and I am a 
 very good judge, as good as the earl, I flatter myself ; 
 and he has the reputation of being a first-rate con- 
 noisseur. Had, that is, some years ago ; — years you 
 can't remember, my dear Blanche, for a very good 
 
104 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 reason — there was no Lady Blanche then ; no such 
 bright star in the dark firmament;" and he bowed 
 with the most studied politeness ; " except, if there 
 must be an exception, — you will not quarrel with 
 mine — the countess, your mother. A charming wo- 
 man — a very charming woman." Sir Hugh paused 
 to take breath ; he saw that Blanche had laid down 
 her work at his last words, and was listening eagerly 
 for the rest. " Poor thing ! Ah ! years gone by ! 
 poor thing! Yes, I remember perfectly. Mrs. 
 Went worth was here a good deal in those days ; she 
 must have been this young man's mother." 
 
 " Mrs. Wentworth was a great friend of dear 
 mamma's," said Blanche, speaking with an effort ; 
 yet determined, if possible, to keep him for a few 
 minutes to the point. 
 
 " Yes, my dear — yes, I remember. Mrs, Went- 
 worth and the countess, poor thing!" and the sigh 
 which accompanied the words evidently came from 
 the heart. Blanche's fingers moved quickly at her 
 work ; but it was from nervousness, not industry. 
 Was the sigh for her mother's death or for her life? 
 "Poor thing!" again began Sir Hugh. " Your fa- 
 ther is altered, my dear ; a great blow that was — sud- 
 den to him. She was a lovely creature ! I had a 
 great regard for her." 
 
 " It must have been so sad for papa, being away 
 when she was ill," observed Blanche. 
 
 " Yes, I suppose so ; one can't tell. One can 
 never say ! it was a very lonely life. But people were 
 mistaken. A proud man, Lord Rutherford ; — very 
 natural pride, my dear ; don't think I find fault with 
 it. A very proud man ! Nobody knows him 
 thoroughly that has not lived with him for years. 
 Lady Charlton and I, of course, are intimately ac- 
 quainted with his character ; but other people talked 
 great nonsense. However, I always understood him. 
 
THE earl's daughter. 105 
 
 "We had tastes in common. He was devoted to 
 geology. I gave him introductions when he went 
 abroad, and they were of great use to him. I wanted 
 him to take notes, and write. I told him I would 
 assist. If he would have given the facts, I would 
 have dressed them — adopted them and clothed them ; 
 they should have been my 'enfans trouvesj'" and 
 Sir Hugh laughed so long and heartily at his own wit, 
 that he did not perceive how little his companion 
 sympathised with his mirth. 
 
 " That is the luncheon-bell, I think," said Blanche, 
 rising, and collecting her work. 
 
 " Luncheon ! so late is it ? But time passes so 
 rapidly 'With thee conversing' — you know the rest." 
 
 " I am afraid it is easier to forget times and 
 seasons than luncheon," said Blanche ; " but I can- 
 not leave you alone. May I ring for Pearson ?" 
 
 " Ah ! thoughtful as you are ! it is quite reversing 
 the natural order. A sad enemy is the gout ; very 
 sad, indeed, to an active man in the prime of lite ; — a 
 sad enemy !" 
 
 Sir Hugh shook his head long and dolefully, but 
 would not allow Blanche to do anything for him. " It 
 would distress him too much," he said ; "it was un- 
 natural, improper^ — her society, that was all he re- 
 quired — he had been so flattered, so honoured ;" and, 
 with the words still ringing in her ears, Blanche at 
 last contrived to escape to the drawing-room. 
 
106 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " And so the Wentworths will not come, Blanche," 
 said Lord Rutherford, as his daughter seated herself 
 at the luncheon-table. " Dr. Wentworth has a prior 
 engagement." 
 
 "Not come! How very disappointing! May I 
 see the note ?" 
 
 It was from Mrs. Wentworth, polite and chilling. 
 Blanche said nothing, but looked very vexed. 
 
 " I grieve for the failure of my first attempts for 
 society, Adelaide," said the earl, addressing his 
 niece. " Only, remember, it really is not my fault." 
 
 Blanche took up the note again to examine it. " A 
 prior engagement is so odd. Eleanor must have 
 known that I should want her ; and they are not 
 going out I am nearly sure, unless it may be Mr. 
 Wentworth. He returned yesterday, I believe." 
 
 Adelaide Charlton looked up eagerly ; but her 
 mother's eye was fixed upon her, and the eagerness 
 vented itself in a quick demand for some bread. 
 
 "That must be our Mr. Wentworth," said Maude, 
 speaking in a deep, but peculiarly mellow voice, 
 which v/as yet disagreeably abrupt. " He said he 
 came from Rutherford." 
 
 " I thought he was living away," observed Lady 
 Charlton. 
 
 Her tone struck Blanche directly : it was new to 
 her ; there was more gravity and sternness in it than 
 she was prepared for. 
 
 " Young Wentworth is a handsome man," said 
 
THE earl's daughter. 107 
 
 the earl, carelessly ; " but he is too much of a cox- 
 comb to be a gentleman." 
 
 " Those travelled young men very often are," ob- 
 served Lady Charlton. "It is ' \^^e and the world' 
 with them ; and really, at last, one is disgusted in 
 spite of oneself." 
 
 " But ]\Ir. Wentworth must be superior to that 
 class, I think," said Blanche ; " his sister is so fond 
 of him." 
 
 " And you swear by his sister then ?" asked Maude, 
 sharply. 
 
 Blanche was rather startled, and did not know 
 what to reply, 
 
 " INIaude, ray dear ; you really must be careful in 
 your expressions. Lord Rutherford will think you a 
 complete Goth," said Lady Charlton. 
 
 "Give me a better word," answered Maiide, "and 
 I will use it." 
 
 "Maude's favourite theory," said Lady Charlton, 
 addressing the earl. " I must tell you of it, to pre- 
 pare you for anything strange you may hear. She 
 says — what is it, my dear Maude? Explain your 
 own notions ; you will do it much better than I shall." 
 
 Lord Rutherford assumed a listening attitude ; but 
 it was clear that he was perfectly indifferent, and 
 Maude raised her piercing grey eyes to his face, and 
 said : 
 
 " My notions are, that I should like a piece of 
 cake ; if njy uncle will be good enough to cut it." 
 
 Lord Rutherford complied with the request, and 
 did not trouble himself to ask for any further expla- 
 nation of Maude's notions. Blanche was still silent, 
 pondering upon Eleanor Wentworth' s refusal, and a 
 sudden check seemed to hav^ been put to Adelaide's 
 usual vivacity. The party was becoming dull ; and 
 Lady Charlton, who dreaded dulness as an enemy, 
 endeavoured to infuse a httle spirit into it by in- 
 
108 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 quiring what were the afternoon plans. Blanche oh- 
 served that the refusal had rather disturbed them ; 
 for Eleanor Wentworth, she had hoped, would have 
 formed one of a riding party with them : at least, 
 with Adelaide and herself. Maude, she understood, 
 very seldom rode. 
 
 '•No, never ; except by myself," was Maude's un- 
 gracious answer. 
 
 " Papa talked of taking you and my aunt for a 
 drive," continued Blanche, with a slight air of re- 
 straint, caused insensibly by her cousin's manner ; 
 " and Sir Hugh"— 
 
 " Oh ! never mind Sir Hugh, my love," exclaimed 
 Lady Charlton. "Pearson will take care of him. 
 He will not be in a condition to move for the next 
 week. But he is quite happy ; don't distress your- 
 self about him : he wants nothing except his new 
 book on geology. A great blessing it is," she added 
 more gravely, *'that he can occupy himself: he is 
 devoted to science." 
 
 " Blanche," said the earl, rising suddenly, " can you 
 come with me and look at the shrubs they have been 
 planting this morning on the bank ? We will prepare 
 for the driving and riding afterwards, if your aunt and 
 your cousins will arrange together what they wish 
 to do." ' 
 
 He threw open the window, and walked out upon 
 the terrace. Blanche followed him with a sensation 
 of freedom and pleasure. The earl drew her arm 
 within his : he did not take her to see the shrubs ; 
 but, when they reached the end of the terrace, he 
 turned again, and continued to walk without speak- 
 ing ; though once he passed his hand caressingly 
 over hers, and looked in her face and smiled : and 
 Blanche had learnt to value such a look. Lord 
 Rutherford's laugh was for the world ; his smiles 
 were almost exclusively for her. He stopped at 
 
THE earl's daughter. 109 
 
 length and drew a long breath, and in a light tone 
 exclaimed, " Well, Blanche ! we are alone again : 
 shall we remain so ?" 
 
 Blanche hesitated. " I have not made up my 
 mind, papa : — it is such a very early day. I like 
 them." 
 
 " Like them, — yes, I suppose you do. But it is 
 not duty, is it ? I never wish you to like any one 
 from duty." 
 
 Blanche laughed faintly ; she had already learnt 
 that duty was not in her father's catalogue of allow- 
 able motives. " No : I suppose it is not from duty ; 
 but feelings are such mixed things, it is hard to 
 analyze them. I am not sure that I shall love 
 them," she added, more boldly ; " except, that is, 
 my aunt." 
 
 " Lady Charlton is a very sensible woman," said 
 the earl. " I never knew her do but one foolish 
 thing in her life. That scatter-brained piece of pom- 
 posity. Sir Hugh! how could she marry him?" 
 
 " Yes ; it is strange, very strange," said Blanche, 
 thoughtfully ; " she is so superior, — she could never 
 have loved him." 
 
 " Blanche, my child, you must learn to put aside 
 your romance," said the earl gently, hut seriously. 
 " There are more marriages in the world without 
 love than you, in your simplicity, can imagine. I do 
 not wonder at Lady Charlton's marrying without love 
 — no one who has had any experience of life could 
 do so — but it is marvellous that, when she was re- 
 solved upon a sacrifice, she should have devoted her- 
 self for nothing, — absolutely nothing," he added, 
 angrily. 
 
 "Yet she must have loved him, too, I suppose," 
 said Blanche, miisingly. " If there was nothing else, 
 it must have been love ; I should not like to think 
 it was not." 
 
110 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 " Not like it I" said the earl. " Why, what could 
 it signify to you?" 
 
 "Because," replied Blanche, and the colour deep- 
 ened on her cheek, and she spoke hurriedly — " be- 
 cause it seems a false thing to do to marry without 
 it ; it is an untruth ; it cannot really bring a bless- 
 ing : at least, I think not, — it seems so to me," she 
 added, timidly, as if ashamed of her own eagerness. 
 
 The earl paused ; his voice was altered when he 
 spoke again; it was low and tremulous. "And 
 you believe that love must bring a blessing ; that it 
 must be happiness?" he said. 
 
 " Yes, real, true, holy love," replied Blanche : 
 "surely it must be so." 
 
 " It may be, — one cannot tell," answered the earl ; 
 and then, in an under tone, he added, " Yet it is a 
 dream, — an unreality." 
 
 " That is not what people generally think it ; is 
 it ?" said Blanclie, quickly, for she was struck by 
 the peculiarity of his manner, 
 
 " They call it happiness," said the earl ; " but 
 they do not know their own meaning. Happiness !" 
 he repeated, bitterly ; " no, happiness is for the cold 
 and calculating ; for those who can trust themselves, 
 who know their own weakness, and can foresee the 
 consequences of their own actions. Love is impulse, 
 feeling, excitement." 
 
 " But there is something in it besides, calmer and 
 deeper," replied Blanche; "or it could never last: 
 and marriage would be miserable, most miserable," 
 she added, earnestly. 
 
 Lord Rutherford stopped suddenly in his walk. 
 " Did you ever hear of a miserable marriage, 
 Blanche?" he said, quickly. 
 
 " In books, people have said it ; — there are such 
 things," replied Blanche, almost frightened by his 
 manner. 
 
THE earl's daughter. Ill 
 
 He laughed sarcastically. " Yes, in another 
 sphere, — in the world, the dreamy world : not in the 
 real Utopia of St. Ebbe's." He was going to turn 
 again on the terrace ; but, checking himself, added, 
 in his usual tone, " This is but idle talking. Go to 
 your aunt, Blanche, and settle what you will. I will 
 ride with you, if you wish it." He did not wait for 
 question or reply, but strode down the walk which 
 led to the river's bank, and was soon lost to sight 
 amongst the thick trees. 
 
 " You are not going out with Adelaide, merely to 
 please her, my love ?" said Lady Charlton, as Blanche, 
 about half an hour afterwards, came into the room 
 dressed in her riding-habit, and looking rather grave. 
 
 Blanche brightened in an instant, and said that 
 riding was her favourite exercise : but her aunt did 
 not seem satisfied. 
 
 " We shall not stay with you, my dear, if you 
 allow us to interrupt your usual habits. You are 
 very busy, I am sure. No one could have been 
 educated by Mrs. Howard without being so." 
 
 " Mrs. Howard is so good with her business," 
 exclaimed Blanche ; " she is so really useful : what 
 I have to do is very little. I am sure, if she could 
 be here, she would put me in the way of doing a 
 great deal more." 
 
 " But she is coming to you, is she not?" inquired 
 Lady Charlton. "I am sure I heard your father 
 say something about it." 
 
 " She was to have come ; but she has been obliged 
 to delay : one of her nieces is ill," said Blanche. 
 " I am longing for her, to help me in every thing ; 
 to make me methodical and energetic, and like her- 
 self, if she could," she added, laughing. 
 
 Lady Charlton began the first words of a compli- 
 ment, but stopped. " I won't say what I was going 
 to say, my dear ; I don't think it would be in your 
 
112 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 way, though it would be true ; and I will not offer 
 to take Mrs. Howard's place, ^ — that would be out of 
 the question ; but you must let me know if I can 
 ever be of any use to you. I dare say you go 
 about amongst the poor people. Your dear mother 
 always did," she said, with a change of tone which 
 made Blanche's heart thrill, though she could not 
 trust herself at that moment to answer the allusion. 
 
 " I go sometimes," was all she replied, 
 
 Lady Charlton drew near and kissed her tenderly. 
 " You shall let me go with you ; I shall like it. It 
 will seem that the old times are come back — quite — 
 when I look at you," she added, gazing in Blanche's 
 face with a sad smile. 
 
 Blanche returned the kiss, and, unfastening a 
 brooch which she always wore, showed a miniature, 
 exquisitely painted. " Will you tell me if it is like?" 
 she said. " I have been afraid to ask papa." 
 
 Lady Charlton took the brooch in her hand, and 
 turned to the light. She was looking at it atten- 
 tively, and Blanche, leaning over her, was waiting 
 with great interest for her opinion. Lord Ruther- 
 ford came to the window. Blanche, by a kind of in- 
 stinct, took the brooch hastily from her aunt ; but 
 not before the earl had remarked it. 
 
 "A new trinket, Blanche?" he exclaimed, cheer- 
 fully. " Let me see." 
 
 Blanche's hand shook, and the brooch fell to the 
 ground. The earl stooped to pick it up. There 
 was a silence of some moments. 
 
 Lady Charlton said, " It is very like," and held 
 out her hand for it. 
 
 •' The carriage is waiting," was all Lord Ruther- 
 ford's reply. 
 
 He walked away, and Lady Charlton, as she re- 
 turned the brooch to Blanche, said, " You shall 
 talk to me, my love : it is not a subject for him." 
 
THE earl's daughter. 113 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 The first determination which Blanche formed the 
 next day was that she would go to the parsonage 
 early. The disappointment of the preceding after- 
 noon had vexed her considerably, and she was re- 
 solved not to run the risk of another refusal. She 
 would go herself and make the request, and then 
 it could not, she hoped, be denied. 
 
 The subject was mentioned casually at breakfast. 
 Blanche began to feel herself sufficiently at home 
 with her aunt and cousins to leave them to them- 
 selves, and said she should go to the rectory the first 
 thing, and engage Eleanor for the day ; " and we 
 will walk, if you like it, in the afternoon," she 
 added, addressing Lady Charlton. " I must go into 
 the village." 
 
 "Must! my love," exclaimed the earl quickly. 
 " Who says must to you ?" 
 
 " I say it to myself," replied Blanche, smiUng : 
 "it is not an imperative must; only my aunt said 
 she would like to go with me sometimes ; and " 
 
 " Yes, my dear, certainly," interposed Lady Charl- 
 ton ; " of all things I shall like to accompany you ; 
 but to-day, I rather think, I have an engagement. A 
 great friend of mine, Mrs, Cuthbert Grey, is staying 
 in this neighbourhood, and I promised to go and see 
 her when I came here. She is on a visit to the 
 Donningtons. I think I had better take advantage 
 of the fair weather, Ady, what do you say ?" 
 
 Adelaide answered carelessly that, if it must be, 
 she supposed it had better be; but that Maude would 
 I. 2 
 
114 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 do just as well as herself. " I shall go with Blanche 
 this morning, if I may," she continued. " Blanche, 
 you will take me to the rectory ; I delight in walking 
 the first thing after breakfast." 
 
 " Immensely intimate," said Maude, in her cold 
 sepulchral tone ; " the ci^ality must be for Mr. 
 Wentworth : you don't know any one else." 
 
 " You will stay at home, Ady," interrupted Lady 
 Charlton, glancing quickly at the earl ; but he was 
 now engrossed in the newspaper, and knew nothing 
 that was passing. 
 
 Blanche was puzzled for an instant, hut took the 
 matter simply, and assured them that ceremony with 
 the Wentworths would be quite unnecessary. They 
 met every day. If Adelaide liked to go, she might 
 do so easily. 
 
 " She will stay at home, my dear," repeated Lady 
 Charlton, decidedly ; and of course the question was 
 supposed to be settled. 
 
 But Blanche stood at the green gate of the rectory, 
 and was trying to open it, when she heard some one 
 behind her say, laughingly, " Where there is a will 
 there is a way, Blanche. Did you never hear that 
 before? An exceedingly romantic spot this for a 
 parsonage, I must say." 
 
 Blanche was silent from surprise. 
 
 " I can open the gate, I dare say," contmued Ade- 
 laide ; "or — look, there is Mr. Wentworth." 
 
 Blanche was excessively annoyed, and answered 
 coolly, that she would not trouble Mr. Wentworth ; 
 she should leave a message for Eleanor, and go back. 
 
 " When you have come on purpose to see her ? I 
 am sure you will not do anything of the kind : you 
 
 could not be so capricious. Mr. Wentworth " 
 
 and as the gentleman drew near, Adelaide held out 
 her hand with the ease of an old acquaintance. " How 
 very strange ! Where did you drop from ?" 
 
THE earl's daughter. 115 
 
 Mr. Wentworth reciprocated the surprise, expressed 
 a due amount of pleasure, and threw open the gate. 
 
 Adelaide waited for her cousin to go forward ; but 
 Blanche paused resolutely. " Thank you," she said, 
 addressing Mr. Wentworth, " but I am afraid I must 
 return now. Since we have met you, perhaps you 
 will do me the favour to deliver a message to Eleanor. 
 I want her very much to spend the day with me, 
 and to come as early as possible. Mrs. Wentworth 
 is quite well, I hope?" 
 
 " Quite, thank you ; but surely, — indeed. Lady 
 Blanche, you must not go back without seeing my 
 mother ; she will be vexed if you don't ; you have 
 given yourself so much trouble." 
 
 " Only a pleasant walk," replied Blanche. " Pray 
 say to Mrs. Wentworth how sorry we were she could 
 not dine with us yesterday. Good morning." She 
 bowed, and turned away ; but Adelaide was already 
 within the gate. Such a bewitching rose she had 
 seen ! — amongst the biiers, — nearly hidden it was, — 
 Mr. Wentworth must give it her. 
 
 Mr. Wentworth plunged into the thicket, and 
 Adelaide still advanced. Blanche could not let her 
 go on alone, for the next moment she would be in 
 front of the house : and so she was ; and not only 
 before the house, but before the whole family party, 
 who were talking together on the lawn. Blanche had 
 nothing to do but to go up to them, and introduce 
 her cousin and apologize; though the apology was a 
 difficulty, for her gentle spirit was very considerably 
 roused. . 
 
 Setting aside the neglect of Lady Charlton's 
 wishes, Adelaide was unquestionably rude to herself, 
 and Blanche had never experienced rudeness before. 
 Mrs. Wentworth received the excuse for the intrusion 
 politely, but without any cordiality ; and even Elea- 
 
116 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 nor's warm kiss and exclamation of delight, could not 
 take away the general awkwardness. Adelaide alone 
 was quite at her ease, and admired the house and 
 garden in a tone of easy familiarity, not unmixed with 
 patronage, which made Mrs. Wentworth's civility 
 freeze into a stiffness nearly amounting to haughtiness. 
 
 The restraint however was at an end, when both 
 Dr. and Mrs. Wentworth were called away. Then 
 Eleanor and Blanche strolled to a distance by them- 
 selves ; and Adelaide, declaring that the walk had 
 tired her, and therefore she would wait till they re- 
 turned, threw herself upon a garden-bench, and 
 began a quick, laughing conversation of reminiscences 
 with Mr. Wentworth. 
 
 "You are worried, Blanche," was Eleanor's first 
 observation, when they were beyond hearing. " You 
 have never looked as you do now since the days when 
 we used to puzzle over Dante together." 
 
 " I wish it was a Dante worry now," replied 
 Blanche : " I could understand that ; but really to 
 be angry and uncomfortable without knowing why, is 
 rather trying." 
 
 "Are things going wrong at the castle?" inquired 
 Eleanor. 
 
 " Oh, no ! not in the least, — that is, I suppose 
 they are not ; but new people fret me and puzzle me. 
 I don't know what they mean ; and Adelaide Charl- 
 ton is so persevering, — so wilful, I suppose Mrs. 
 Howard would say ; and her manner is — I can't tell 
 what to call it — but excessively disagreeable." 
 
 Eleanor laughed heartily. "Now, that really is 
 delightful, Blanche, to find that you can be severe 
 like the rest of the world." 
 
 " It is not for myself," continued Blanche ; " really 
 I should not care what she did or said with me ; we 
 are cousins, and it does not signify : but it must look 
 
THE earl's daughter. 117 
 
 very strange to your mother. By Adelaide's tone, I 
 should have fancied her to have been your intimate 
 friend for years." 
 
 " Knowing Charles well, makes her at home with 
 us, I suppose," replied Eleanor : " he said to me 
 yesterday that he knew her in Italy. But do forget 
 her oddity, Blanche, if you cau, and tell me how you 
 are going on altogether." 
 
 Blanche sighed, and then laughed. " I can't tell, 
 and I don't know anything ; I believe I am quite 
 cross this morning. The castle seems in a complete 
 bustle. My aunt has brought such innumerable 
 servants, I stumble upon a new face in every corner. 
 And it is so noisy to what it was : even when I am 
 alone, the atmosphere of bustle seems to be around 
 me. ]\Ioreover, I suspect I shall see exceedingly 
 little of papa ; for you know it is not really seeing 
 him, talking in a common way, when other people 
 are present : and Sir Hugh has taken possession of 
 the library, so that I can't get the books I want ; 
 and Adelaide sings snatches of songs to the piano, 
 and will not practise a single thing steadily with me ; 
 and Maude reads and says nothing, but looks as if 
 she was not at all happy. In fact, Eleanor, I suspect 
 I am immensely selfish ; — I mean it in earnest !" 
 
 Again Eleanor laughed, and expressed herself 
 charmed to find that Blanche could descend to the 
 level of humanity, and be tormented by trifles. " Put 
 out ; actually put out," she exclaimed ; " as I am 
 when Susan says her lessons badly." 
 
 Blanche was silent for a few moments. She was 
 full of thought. "There is a way of taking things, 
 I am sure," she said ; " a right way and a wrong. 
 Just as when one begins to wind a skein of silk ; it 
 one can find the right end, it all runs smoothly ; and 
 if one begins with the wrong, it must be entangled. 
 When I can understand them all better, perhaps I 
 
118 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 may be able to find the right end. Just now there 
 seems an entanglement ; — wills and ways mixing. 
 They never mixed at St. Ebbe's." 
 
 " My dear Blanche, how exceedingly amusing !" 
 exclaimed Eleanor ; " but you never were in a home 
 before, — I forgot. You don't understand what it is 
 for grown-up people to live together. Why that sort 
 of mixing of wills and ways, as you call it, goes on 
 perpetually here." 
 
 " Does it ?" said Blanche. " But how do you ma- 
 nage ?" 
 
 " I go my own way, and let other people go theirs," 
 said Eleanor lightly; " and things come round again." 
 "But I don't see exactly how it can be here," ob- 
 served Blanche. "Your father and mother are so 
 good, and your brother — " 
 
 " Ah !" interrupted Eleanor, " that is the point. 
 Charles is delightful, exceedingly clever, and he can 
 talk amusingly, and sketch, and sing duets, and rave 
 about Italy ; there is no one like him. But it does 
 not quite do ; it does not suit papa and mamma : 
 they think a clergyman ought to be graver, and they 
 don't know what Charles is really like ; and so they 
 are vexed with him ; and he is provoked, and com- 
 plains to me, and takes up my time in listening to 
 him : and then Susan is idle because I don't attend 
 to her, and mamma is angry with me because she 
 says I neglect my duties ; and there is a history of 
 my home, Blanche; so now choose between the two." 
 Blanche did not attempt to choose. A shadow of the 
 deeper anxiety which was for ever corroding her 
 peace, crossed her mind : and the lighter evils of which 
 they had both been complaining, melted into no- 
 thing. Adelaide Charlton's laugh just then reached 
 them. Eleanor stopped and listened. 
 " She is happy," said Blanche, gravely. 
 Eleanor looked round in wonder. "That from 
 
THE earl's daughter. 119 
 
 you, Blanche ! One would suppose you envied 
 her." 
 
 " Oh ! no, never ; but I suppose it is natural to 
 some people not to think. However, I did not come 
 here to moralize; we must settle what we will do to-day. 
 You will come to the castle as soon as you possibly 
 can; and then we will walk, if you like it, in the after- 
 noon. My aunt is going to pay visits, and I thought 
 j'ou and I might go together to see poor Susannah 
 Dyer." 
 
 Eleanor hesitated for an instant. " You are going 
 to walk ?" she repeated in a musing tone. 
 
 "Yes; do you see any objection; would you rather 
 not ? I thought, as it was our settled day, we had 
 better not put it off." 
 
 " Is it our day ? I had forgotten," said Eleanor. 
 
 " Yes, on Thursdays w-e agreed to go ; and as my 
 aunt will probably be here a loug time, it seemed de- 
 sirable not to give up one's usual duties, if it could be 
 helped. My aunt does not wash it ; she told me so 
 yesterday; and she half offered to go with me herself." 
 
 " Lady Charlton !" exclaimed Eleanor. 
 
 " Yes ; she is not at all what I know you fancied 
 her ; she is not in the least a fine lady. I put her 
 out of my catalogue of worries, for she is delightful." 
 
 "But she will not go with us," observed Eleanor. 
 
 "No, because of the visit; we shall have the after- 
 noon to ourselves. Dear Eleanor ! I shall enjoy it so 
 very much." 
 
 Eleanor could not help being pleased. The tone 
 of Blanche's voice was in itself sufficiently animating 
 to dispel the feeling of distrust which was continually 
 lurking, though unperceived, in her mind. She 
 agreed that it would be very pleasant, and very 
 right ; and began to discover decided reasons why it 
 was necessary they should go — the chief being, that 
 as they had promised it would be necessary to keep 
 
120 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 the engagement, and that poor Susannah Dyer being 
 bUnd, and helpless, and ill, had a particular claim 
 upon them. 
 
 " And now I must go back," said Blanche, when 
 the point was settled. " Back to my duties. Such 
 strange ones they are, Eleanor; so unfitted for me ; at 
 least, so unlike all that I should have formed for 
 myself." 
 
 "To stay in the drawing-room, and play the agree- 
 able, and be referred to as the lady of the house," 
 said Eleanor. " I shall like to come and sef^ how you 
 behave." 
 
 " No, you would not like it," exclaimed Blanche, 
 energetically. " One never does like to see people 
 out of their sphere ; mine most decidedly is not to 
 rule. You must see my aunt, Eleanor; she is the 
 person to be at the head of affairs ; you would say at 
 once, that she could decide every question brought 
 before her, and could tell precisely how, and why, 
 and when, everything should be done. Papa says 
 she has immense tact, and I think I can see it. 
 There is an indescribable something about her which 
 is very charming ; her walk, the turn of her head, 
 her smile — and very handsome she is too ! handsome 
 for her age ; she must have been beautiful." 
 
 " I shall be afraid of her," said Eleanor, coldly 
 and proudly. 
 
 " Oh ! indeed, I don't think you will ; though one 
 or two things make me think she might be alarming 
 if she chose it. I doubt whether Maude or Adelaide 
 get on with her ; she seems very short with them ; 
 and Maude shuts herself up the moment her mother 
 comes into the room. As for Adelaide, she rattles 
 on always ; but there is a difference even in her." 
 
 " And Sir Hugh," inquired Eleanor; "what is he 
 like ? " 
 
 Blanche appeared uncertain how to reply, and after 
 
THE earl's daughter. 121 
 
 waiting some seconds, laughed and said, " I don't 
 think it is fair to question me in this manner about 
 my relations; you shall come and judge for yourself. 
 But I must go now, I have been very rude in leaving 
 Adelaide such a time." 
 
 "I don't imagine Miss Charlton thinks you rude," 
 said Eleanor, looking towards her brother and Ade- 
 laide. " I doubt whether she is tired of her com- 
 panion." 
 
 Blanche stood still, and watched them. Adelaide, 
 sitting upright, was speaking quickly ; and Mr. 
 Wentworth, standing before her and playing with a 
 walking-stick, was listening with an expression— 
 which, to Blanche, seemed that of attentive deference. 
 
 " He is very handsome, Blanche ; is he not ?" said 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Blanche smiled thoughcfuUy. " Yes, very ; ex- 
 tremely handsome. I am glad Adelaide has some one 
 to talk to that she likes." She walked on quickly. 
 Eleanor would not make another observation, for she 
 was disappointed. They heard Mr. Wentworth say, 
 as they drew near, " The charm is not in the place, 
 but in the people." He spoke with feeling ; but 
 Adelaide only laughed, and, rallied him for his 
 old-fashioned sentimentality ; and as Blanche ap- 
 proached, thanked her for having interrupted their 
 tete-a-tete, which she declared was becoming tiresome 
 as they had said all they could think of. Mr. Went- 
 worth turned from her, and addressed a few words to 
 Blanche ; but, after a short interval, Adelaide again 
 dexterously engaged his attention, and kept up a 
 series of bantering repartees till they reached the 
 shrubbery-gate. 
 
 M 
 
122 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Blanche returned home dissatisfied. It was pro- 
 voking to have spent half her morning without plea- 
 sure or profit ; for her conversation with Eleanor had 
 brought her neither. It was unconnected, desultory, 
 and not free from petulance and irritation. She 
 found Lady Charlton and Maude in the morning- 
 room ; one working, the other reading. Blanche 
 took out her drawing materials. She was determined 
 to employ herself in something which would tone 
 her mind, and the drawing was one which her father 
 particularly wished her to copy. Lady Charlton no 
 sooner observed what she was doing than she left her 
 worsted frame, and stood by watching her, and called 
 to Maude to come and admire; but Maude only 
 turned round languidly, and contriving to peep at 
 the drawing without giving herself trouble said no- 
 thing, and returned to her reading. Lady Charlton 
 laughed at her as sadlyuncouth in manner, but assured 
 Blanche that it was always her way; she was such 
 a first-rate connoisseur; she would admire nothing, 
 except Raphael and Guido and the old Italian mas- 
 ters: and then, saying that she must inquire if Sir 
 Hugh was dressed, she left the room. 
 
 Blanche went on drawing and thinking, in a tran- 
 quil undisturbed state, which was very soothing. 
 She was copying a Holy Family from an engraving, 
 colouring it according to her own taste ; and, as the 
 first soft hue brought out the beautiful outline of the 
 group, her attention was more and more fixed upon 
 it. She had no wish for conversation ; silence was 
 natural to her, especially since she had lately spent many 
 
THE earl's daughter. 123 
 
 hours alone; and Maude, leaning back in her easy-chair, 
 turned the leaves of her book so quietly that Blanche 
 soon lost all consciousness of her presence. She 
 finished the first tint, and, laying down her brush, 
 took up the print to examine it more closely. The 
 expression of the different faces was wonderful ; pure, 
 simple, almost severe, in their high spiritual beauty. 
 Blanche forgot that she was an artist ; she forgot to 
 criticise or admire, and, resting her head upon her 
 hand, she bent over it wrapt in thought. 
 
 "Are you dreaming?" was the question which 
 woke her from her reverie ; spoken in Maude's deep 
 voice of melody. She was standing at a little dis- 
 tance with a closed book in her hand ; a smile was 
 upon her lips, but it had nothing of gentleness in it. 
 Blanche started as she was addressed. 
 
 "You were dreaming," repeated Maude. "Was 
 it of the colour of Joseph's robe?" and she laughed. 
 
 Blanche took up her pencil and replied, " It is diffi- 
 cult not to dream a Uttle with such a beautiful sub- 
 ject before one." 
 
 " It is beautiful, is it ? " continued Maude, in the 
 same careless way. She drew nearer to the table. 
 
 Blanche moved her own drawing, and placed the 
 engraving in a good light, and then was going away. 
 
 " Don't go," said Maude, putting her hand upon 
 her shoulder ; " tell me why you like it ? " 
 
 " Why ? " and Blanche's eye flashed with enthu- 
 siasm ; " because it is unearthly, pure ; — because it 
 raises one's mind to look at it ; — because," she added, 
 her voice unconsciously sinking ; " it brings before 
 one the only reality." 
 
 She was again going, but Maude a second time de- 
 tained her. " Then you don't like it because it is a 
 good drawing?" she said, abruptly. 
 
 " In a measvire I do ; but that is a different kind 
 of admiration — it is an artist's, and I am no artist." 
 
124 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 Maude took the engraving in her hand, and turned 
 to the hght. " That finger is out of proportion," she 
 said, pointing to the extended hand of the Virgin. 
 She laid the print on the table, and gazing from the 
 window, allowea Blanche to resume her drawing with- 
 out further comment. 
 
 Blanche began her work in a different spirit. She 
 was no longer unconscious that Maude was in the 
 room, her presence oppressed her, and she could not 
 succeed. Maude came behind her, and hummed a 
 light French air ; and Blanche, in despair, laid down 
 her pencil, and looking round, said simply, " If you 
 don't mind very much — if you would not think me 
 odd — I should be so glad if you would go away." 
 
 Maude did not move. " "Which do you like least," 
 she said : "my presence, or my song ? " 
 
 " I like neither," replied Blanche, laughing. 
 
 " Don't vou ? But listen ! I will try something 
 else." 
 
 She leant against Blanche's chair and paused for a 
 second ; and then, as if a voice sounded in the far 
 distance, the melody of a German hymn fell upon 
 Blanche's ear, soft at first, and liquid in its sweetness, 
 but gradually swelling and deepening, till the full 
 burst of praise seemed to fill the spacious room. It 
 ceased suddenly as it had begun, and there was si- 
 lence. 
 
 A tear rolled down Blanche's cheek. 
 
 Maude pretended not to notice it, but in her na- 
 tural quick manner exclaimed, "You have not told 
 me a word about your visit this morning. Did Ade- 
 laide carry on her flirtation successfully ? I knew she 
 would go." 
 
 " I should like to hear it again," said Blanche, un- 
 heeding the question ; and looking up at her cousin 
 with a peculiar smile — half of melancholy, and half 
 of eaeier dclieht. 
 
THE earl's daughter. 125 
 
 " You like music, do you ? " said Maude. She 
 seated herself at the piano, and touched a few chords, 
 whilst Blanche returned to her drawing. Maude 
 suffered her fingers to wander over the keys, slowly 
 at the commencement, and as it were thoughtfully; 
 but increasing in power and force till they moved with 
 a rapidity which was electrifying. But again they 
 sank into a low prelude, and the same clear flute-like 
 notes, which before had seemed to Blanche as scarcely 
 belonging to a human voice, were blended with them. 
 The words were distinct as the music. 
 
 " II passato non e 
 Ma se lo pinge 
 La viva remembranza. 
 II futuro non d, 
 Ma se lo finge 
 La credula speranza. 
 II preseute sol e, 
 Che in ua baleno 
 Passa del nulla in seno. 
 Dunque la vita e appunto 
 Una mecQoria, una sperauza, un punto.'' 
 
 As the soug proceeded, Blanche's pencil dropped 
 from her hand. So surpassingly sweet it was ; so 
 thrilling in its mournful melody ; so real in its ex- 
 pression : it seemed the true language in which the 
 vanity of human life should be told. Maude re- 
 peated the last lines to herself, whilst she carelessly 
 turned the leaves of a music-book which was open 
 before her. 
 
 Blanche left her seat, and stood beside her. 
 
 " ' Una memoria, una si)eranza, un punto ; ' 
 
 and that is all ! " exclaimed ^Nlaude, looking round. 
 
 Blanche's colour deepened, and then it faded quite 
 away, as she said, whilst her voice faltered ; " Oh ! 
 Maude ! Could you bear to think so ? " 
 M 2 
 
126 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 "It is truth," answered Maude. "There needs 
 no ghost come from the grave to tell us of it," And 
 she sang the two last lines again, with an intensity 
 of feeling which she did not attempt to check. 
 
 Blanche stood with her eyes riveted upon her, — 
 drinking in the sounds which at each repetition 
 seemed more and more perfect. 
 
 "Tell me," exclaimed Maude, with an air of tri- 
 umph, as she ended, " What is it, if it is not so ? 
 Where is the past? In what part of the world will 
 you dig till you can find it ? " 
 
 " But how can that which has been cease to be ? " 
 said Blanche, raising her eyes timidly to her cousin's 
 face. 
 
 Maude paused ; and regarding her steadily, said, 
 " Are you a child, Blanche, or a woman ? " 
 
 " A child, I believe," replied Blanche, laughing. 
 " Papa tells me so." 
 
 " Yet you have notions ; what are they ? " The 
 question was put with such an air of command, that 
 Blanche, for a moment, felt herself bound to obey 
 it ; but it was only for a moment, and she answered 
 with reserve, that it was hard to explain them : per- 
 haps when they had been together longer, it would 
 be less difficult. 
 
 " But I like notions ; I like theories ;" persisted 
 Maude ; her large grey eyes lighted up wiih what 
 might almost have been termed a fierce eagerness. 
 " I must know," she added, laying her hand upon 
 Blanche's wrist. 
 
 Blanche drew back. A very slight accent of hau- 
 teur might have been perceptible in the tone in which 
 she said, " Another time ; not now." 
 
 Maude's brow was clouded ; she rose from the 
 piano, threw herself into a chair, took a book from 
 the table, and tossed it down with an air of contempt ; 
 and, after some time, began walking about the room. 
 
THE earl's daughter. 127 
 
 Blanche was annoyed with herself for being annoyed. 
 She scarcely knew why she had been ; and she sat at 
 her drawing-table, busied in discovering the state of 
 her own mind, and wishing that Maude would speak 
 again and give her the opportunity of making some- 
 thing like an apology. 
 
 The silence was long and awkward, and disturbed 
 at length by the dull, slow, heavy sound of 
 crutches. 
 
 " Sir Hugh is drest, I suppose," said Blanche, glad 
 to find something to say. 
 
 Maude did not reply. 
 
 The sound grew louder, and the complaining voice 
 of Sir Hugh was heard, telling Pearson, as usual, 
 that he was a desperate idiot. 
 
 Maude laughed sarcastically at the mild, depreca- 
 tory intonation which followed. She took up her 
 book and disappeared through the window, whilst 
 Blanche went to the door. 
 
 " Ah ! my dear Blanche ! I thought I should 
 find you here ; my first walk, you see. I was deter- 
 mined to pay my respects to you, A delightful 
 room this ! — infinitely improved ! — What in the name 
 of wonder are you doing, Pearson ? Why don't you 
 keep behind me ? — Infinitely improved, my dear. 
 That window I remember quite well. It was a plan 
 of my own ; I saw how things ought to be long ago ; 
 but your father — a very first-rate man is the earl ; 
 don't imagine that I have not the highest apprecia- 
 tion of his talents. Excuse me, will you? may I 
 be allowed to rest ? " And Sir Hugh was assisted 
 into an arm-chair ; and, to the consternation of 
 Blanche, wheeled to a comfortable convenient posi- 
 tion, which he e^^dently intended should, at least for 
 the present, be a permanent one. " I was telling 
 you," began Sir Hugh again ; but he was interrupted 
 by au exclamation — 
 
128 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 " Sir Hugh ! this really is too bad ! It is far too 
 great an exertion for him, Blanche ; but he would 
 come ; he was so charmed with your half-hour's con- 
 versation yesterday. It won't do though. — Pearson, 
 you must help your master back to the study." 
 
 " Lady Charlton ! Frances, my dear ! I insist ; 
 — you must not interfere. I was telling you, my 
 dear Blanche — " 
 
 Lady Charlton broke in again. " My dear Sir 
 Hugh ; — indeed, 1 must have my own way. Hark ! 
 really there are visitors ; and the earl — that is his 
 footstep, I am certain. I assure yovi. Sir Hugh, you 
 make me quite anxious. It is too much, a great 
 deal too much for you," she added, her tone be- 
 coming gradually but perceptibly irritable ; and taking 
 the crutch from Pearson's hand she put it near her 
 husband. 
 
 "Pshaw! Lady Charlton," and with an impatient 
 jerk, the crutch was thrown to the ground, to the im- 
 minent peril of Pearson's toes. " My dear Blanche, 
 I was telling you — " 
 
 The sparkle of Lady Charlton's eye alone told 
 what was passing in her thoughts. When the door 
 immediately afterwards opened, and the earl intro- 
 duced Mr. and Miss Wentworth, her manner was 
 that of the most bland goodhumour. 
 
 " So distressed, I am ! so exceedingly distressed ! " 
 began Sir Hugh, attempting to rise as Eleanor came 
 up to him. 
 
 Lady Charlton stood close beside him. " Poor Sir 
 Hugh ! He has been suffering fearfully : he is not fit 
 to be here ; but his spirits carry him beyond his 
 strength. Your brother is an old acquaintance, Miss 
 Wentworth. We met last year at Florence." 
 
 Mr. Wentworth was upon the point of holding out 
 his hand to receive a cordial greeting ; but the ex- 
 treme civility of Lady Charlton's reception made him 
 
THE earl's daughter. 129 
 
 exchange the proposed shako of the hand for a how, 
 and a hope that Lady Charlton had been well since he 
 last had the honour of seeing her. 
 
 " Quite well, thank you. You were in Italy, I 
 believe, long after us." 
 
 " Only a few weeks ; Florence became very dull." 
 
 " Indeed ! I was not aware of it. We saw little 
 general society. Rumours reached us of gaieties, 
 but as you know," appealing to the earl, " general 
 society is not very inviting abroad." 
 
 Lord Rutherford carelessly assented. 
 
 " We had a splendid summer at Florence, Mr. 
 Wentworth," said Sir Hugh ; " I don't know whether 
 you ever recollect such another. I don't, except the 
 
 year . Lord Rutherford can tell the date, I 
 
 dare say ; we were travellers together, taking a sci- 
 entific tour on the Rhine. If you remember," he 
 continued, addressing the earl, " you were develop- 
 ing your sketching powers, and I flatter myself you 
 made considerable progress, by the help of a few oc- 
 casional hints ; the few hints, Mr. Wentworth, which 
 a man engrossed in a great object could afford to give. 
 Geology was my study : I gave up everything for it." 
 
 " Twenty years ago," said the earl coolly. — ■ 
 " Blanche, my love, how has your drawing advanced 
 this morning ? " 
 
 Blanche brought it forward to be criticised. 
 
 Mr. Wentworth had recovered from the slight 
 shock of Lady Charlton's reception, and now, with a 
 very quiet and rather dignified air, joined in the re- 
 marks which the engraving and the copy called forth. 
 Sir Hugh looked on from a distance, stretching his 
 head, and constantly endeavouring to interpose ob- 
 servations of his own, which were as constantly taken 
 up by Lady Charlton, and repeated in a new form, 
 and, to judge from ]Mr. Wentworth's manner, an in- 
 
130 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 teresting one, for his marked attention was given to 
 •jvhatever she uttered ; and, as Lord Rutherford was 
 about to replace the drawing in its former position, 
 he begged permission to bring it nearer for her inspec- 
 tion and Sir Hugh's. 
 
 Blanche liked him better as she watched what was 
 passing ; she had not thought before that he could 
 be so easy and agreeable, and yet so respectful. 
 
 " A very pleasant thing it is to meet a travelled 
 friend again, Mr. Wentworth," said Sir Hugh, quite 
 excited by the patience with which a disquisition 
 upon the comparative merits of two of the early 
 Italian masters had been listened to ; " quite a gra- 
 tification, I assure you. Lady Charlton and myself 
 shall have great pleasure in renewing past recollec- 
 tions ; and my daughters — Maude ! where is Maude ? 
 JVIy dear Blanche, surely she has been with you this 
 morning ? " 
 
 " Maude is walking on the terrace," said Lady 
 Charlton quickly, " and Adelaide is rambling over the 
 grounds, I suppose ; she went out directly after 
 breakfast." 
 
 Blanche did not think it well to throw more 
 light than was necessary upon the movements of 
 either. There was a certain intonation in her aunt's 
 voice which she was just beginning to interpret. 
 
 •* Ah, well, you will meet at luncheon ; but I forgot 
 — really — Lord Rutherford — Lady Blanche, I ought 
 to apologize." Lady Charlton bit her lip, and gave an 
 apparently involuntary push to Sir Hugh's chair, 
 which made him stop short, with an exclamation of 
 pain. 
 
 Lord Rutherford was talking to Eleanor at the 
 window, and did not hear what was said, and the 
 burden of hospitality fell upon Blanche. Gracefully 
 but timidly she repeated the request that Mr. Went- 
 
THE earl's daughter. 131 
 
 worth would remain, and the invitation was soon 
 seconded by the earl, with that perfect though dis- 
 tant politeness which leaves no room for complaint. 
 Mr. Wentworth was therefore established on a com- 
 paratively familiar footing ; and Blanche, feeling her- 
 self no longer bound to entertain him, left the room 
 with Eleanor. 
 
132 THE EAUl/s DAUGHTER 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Important consequences, it is well known, often 
 follow from very slight beginnings. Mr. Wentworth's 
 first introduction at Rutherford Castle was marked 
 by no circumstances but those incidental to morning 
 visits ; yet it gave the tone to the intercourse which 
 was to follow. 
 
 The earl's reserve and pride would have induced 
 him to hesitate long before he allowed any persons in 
 the neighbourhood, except his own peculiar friends, 
 to be on such terms as to call early, and lounge away 
 an hour and remain to luncheon, and perhaps join 
 the riding and walking parties in the afternoon ; but 
 what had been done once came rather naturally a 
 second time, and certainly Lord Rutherford had no 
 cause to suppose that Mr. Wentworth's presence or 
 absence had the slightest effect upon the only indivi- 
 dual with whom he chose to concern himself. Even 
 as Eleanor's brother, Blanche could only partially 
 like Mr. Wentworth. His talents, his versatility of 
 manner and ease of conversation, and the right principle 
 and good sense which he always put forth when con- 
 versing with her could not blind her to his faults ; 
 and Blanche could only feel interest where she felt 
 respect. It was perfectly indifferent to herself 
 whether Mr. Wentworth formed one of the circle or 
 not ; but childlike though she was, and simple in 
 many of her ideas, Blanche could not fail to per- 
 ceive that it was not so to others. Yet, even when 
 the fact was acknowledged, Blanche scarcely thought 
 of it. She noticed that Adelaide Charlton liked to 
 
THE earl's daughter. 133 
 
 talk and laugh with Mr. Wentworth ; and she ob- 
 served that for some reason or other Lady Charlton 
 frowned and looked vexed ; and she discovered that 
 Mr. Wentworth contrived to ingratiate himself with 
 Sir Hugh, and was rather disliked by Maude. But 
 the Uttle incidents, which would have afforded matter 
 for sarcasm and ridicule to a more experienced eye, 
 passed before her as the scenes of a theatre before a 
 preoccupied, abstracted spectator. For Blanche lived 
 in a world of her own ; or rather she lived in the 
 world of her friends and relations, seeing the same 
 sights, hearing the same sounds, and performing the 
 same actions ; yet often deriving impressions totally 
 contrary to theirs, from all that was passing around. 
 So probably it must often be when religion be- 
 comes the predominant feeling of the heart very 
 early in life : it is all-powerful then, for it has no 
 master passion to oppose it. Adopted later in life, 
 it must struggle with past evil recollections, and be 
 frequently crushed and overborne by what we falsely 
 term the realities of the world. We try to think that 
 earth is nothing, that heaven is all ; but when we 
 have toiled for years in the pursuit of wealth, or 
 pleasure, or fame, how shall we in a moment per- 
 suade ourselves, that they are worthless ? Like the 
 fisherman in the eastern tale, we have voluntarily 
 opened the casket in whicli the mighty spirit of delu- 
 sion was encased, and that which seemed at first but 
 a faint mist of evil has gathered itself up into a 
 giant form, and made itself our lord ; and, when we 
 would fain command it back to its original nothing- 
 ness, we find that our will is powerless to enforce 
 obedience. That Blanche retained her earnestness 
 and sincerity of purpose was not owing to any par- 
 ticularly advantageous circumstances ; life at Ruther- 
 ford Castle was, in its exterior, what Ufe is in almost 
 all places where there is no one great business or 
 
 N 
 
134 THE earl's daughter, 
 
 occupation to mould it into some definite form : there 
 were rather late breakfasts, mornings seemingly frit- 
 tered away in light reading, music, letter-writing, and 
 not very profitable conversation ; afternoons devoted 
 to some drive or ride ; seven o'clock dinners and idle, 
 talking, musical evenings. What was the purport of 
 all that was said or done no one seemed to inquire. 
 Lord Rtitherford, indeed, spent much of his time in 
 his study, and busied himself in managing his estates. 
 His object was a definite one ; yet he was the only 
 person, except Blanche, who appeared dissatisfied 
 with it. After the first excitement of his sister-in- 
 law's arrival was over he seemed inclined to sink back 
 into the reserved and even contemptuous mood, which 
 had occasionally shown itself before when he was 
 alone with Blanche. Lady Charlton's vivacity indeed 
 often roused him, and brought out flashes of brilHant 
 wit and quick observation ; but he soon relapsed 
 again into silence, — in Sir Hugh's presence especially ; 
 though, fortunately for his temper and his peace, the 
 gout lingered much longer than was expected, and 
 kept Sir Hugh in a great measure a prisoner to his 
 room. When he was absent the earl would occa- 
 sionally read aloud, or enter into conversations vsdth 
 Lady Charlton, which, as they seemed to possess a 
 power to engage his attention and give him pleasure, 
 were eagerly listened to by Blanche. 
 
 They were certainly very agreeable, full of anec- 
 dote and information. Blanche's opinion of her 
 aunt's talents and power of mind, and even of her prin- 
 ciples, increased daily. For Lady Charlton never 
 gave way to the earl's implied doubts of goodness, or 
 clever sarcasm upon things and people whom Blanche 
 had learned to reverence. She spoke openly, and in 
 a measure earnestly upon all serious topics ; blamed 
 what was wrong, and approved of what was right, 
 and when left alone with Blanche sympathized with 
 
THE earl's daughter. 135 
 
 any indication of her deeper feelings, more particu- 
 larly when they were in any way connected with her 
 mother. Blanche was beginning to lean upon and 
 trust her, at times even to think that she might 
 partly supply Mrs. Howard's place as a guide in her 
 daily actions. They were very different, different in 
 a way Avhich Blanche felt better than she could 
 describe ; but their ideas seemed the same. Lady 
 Charlton was more cheerful, more full of life and 
 hope ; she had more interest in passing events than 
 Mrs. Howard ; but they liked the same people, ap- 
 proved of the same books, professed the same mo- 
 tives. Blanche could not have spoken to her aunt upon 
 anything which immediately involved her own most 
 sacred thoughts, for such confidence can scarcely 
 he given except to one person, and I^ady Charlton 
 was too recent a friend, and too lively and light- 
 hearted, to offer occasions for alluding to them ; but 
 in all minor points she seemed a safe counsellor, and 
 one whom the earl was particularly pleased that 
 Blanche should apply to. 
 
 " I wish you knew her," wrote Blanche to Mrs. 
 Howard, in one of the weekly letters, which no occu- 
 pation was ever allowed to stop. " I should feel 
 more certain then of my own opinion about her. 
 Perhaps you will think it is not right to sit in judg- 
 ment upon one who is so much my superior in age, 
 and so nearly related to me ; but I do not know liow 
 to help it. I think you can scarcely imagine how 
 entirely I am forced to form my own decisions, and 
 act upon my own will. The last few months, since 
 we parted, have worked a marvellous change. I 
 am mistress of the castle, and forced to order and 
 arrange, and treated with a deference which at first 
 completely puzzled me. Papa seems to delight that 
 it should be so. He will never allow the least oppo- 
 sition ; he calls me queen in jest, and when I beg 
 
136 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 him to tell me what he wishes for himself, a cloud 
 comes over him, and he insists that he has no will 
 but mine : and yet to others he is so different. This 
 is not what ought to be, is it ? It frightens me : I 
 long for some one to remind me of my duties ; 
 to scold me, and tell me when I do wrong — which in- 
 deed is every hour in the day. I wish my aunt 
 would do it. She has such very high principles, such 
 good notions about everything. I am sure she must 
 perpetually see that I am not acting rightly, but she 
 never hints at its being possible. I do make her 
 give me advice in common things, receiving visitors, 
 arranging for dinner-parties, and so on; but it is all 
 done laughingly, with a half apology, as if she had 
 no reason to suppose I did not know all that she 
 does. "What I most wish just now is to have some 
 plan for the arrangement of my time. I have 
 thought a good deal about it lately ; for the kind 
 of life I lead at present is exceedingly unsatisfactory, 
 and yet I cannot tell how to alter it. If we have 
 visitors, I must attend to them ; and really that takes 
 up more time than any one not on the spot would 
 imagine. My aunt constantly says that she will not 
 interrupt me, if she thinks I have anything to do : 
 but then she begins talking, and I am bound in 
 courtesy to listen ; and very willingly, I must own, 
 for she is the most agreeable person I ever met with. 
 Anecdotes she has to bring forward on every occa- 
 sion, and they are never wearying, they are told 
 so quickly, and with such spirit. She quite under- 
 stands giving one resting-places, and entering into 
 anything one says in reply. Really the hours pass 
 by, and I have not the least idea that they are gone. 
 Yet they are not satisfactory to look back upon. 
 Then, if my aunt is not with me, Adelaide and 
 Maude are ; and Adelaide is like a butterfly, flying 
 from one pursuit to another, and calling upon me to 
 
THE earl's daughter. 137 
 
 follow her and Maude — I meant to have written 
 a great deal about her, but I must not to-day : if I 
 once begin I shall certainly not leave off in time. 
 She interests me though, that I must say ; and 
 frightens me too. We had a little quarrel the other 
 day, a very tiny one, but still sufficient to make me 
 feel what she might be if she were offended. I am 
 afraid I am very proud : she rather ordered me, and 
 my spirit rebelled, and I showed that I was annoyed. 
 I thought perhaps she would have been angry with 
 me a long time ; but instead of that she came up to 
 me afterwards, the first moment we were alone, and 
 gave me a kiss, so kind ! it made me ten times more 
 vexed with myself than I was before. Yet the next 
 moment she was just like her old self, and I do 
 not feel I have advanced in the least with her. All 
 this is sadly wandering from my first subject, but 
 when I write to you I always do wander : so many 
 things come to my mind which I long to say. You 
 will understand though that I lead a very unsettled, 
 idle life, and that Eleanor leads a very useful, busy 
 one ; and when we meet to compare notes I become 
 discontented with myself, and long to do better, but 
 do not know how to set about it. My aunt said she 
 would go with me to visit the poor people, and I 
 know she would, if she could find a leisure day ; but 
 there is always some engagement. Poor Susannah 
 has been very much neglected in consequence. Elea- 
 nor has promised to go when she can, but Dr. Went- 
 worth trusted her particularly to me. She sent me a 
 message the other day, asking to see me. You see I 
 tell you all my faults, as I used to do iu the happy 
 old times : sometimes — is it wrong to say so ? — I 
 fancy they were happier than these. At any rate, I 
 know that I never went to bed then with the same 
 burden of unfulfilled duties upon my conscience. 
 Some rules however I can keep, and some things I 
 N 2 
 
138 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 hope I do not forget. I can never be sufficiently 
 thankful that I was confirmed when I was. Prepa- 
 ration would have been so much more difficult here, 
 and I think I might have gone on in an unsettled 
 way, fancying that confirmation would be a new 
 starting-point, and work some great change in itself. 
 Whereas, now I feel that all has been done for me 
 which I could expect, and that if I do not advance 
 steadily, I must go back without any prospect of being 
 roused and warned again. Still I am uncomfortable 
 and anxious. The very fact of bringing my present 
 mode of life into a definite form, by writing about it, 
 makes it assume a more serious aspect. I am sure 
 it must be very faulty in some way ; and what will it 
 be when I go to London?" 
 
THE earl's daughter. 139 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 The answer to this letter brought a sad disappoint- 
 meut to Blanche. The continued illness of Mrs. 
 Howard's niece made her anticipate the probability of 
 going abroad, and would at any rate interfere with 
 the visit to Rutherford, which had so long been pro- 
 mised. Blanche had not realized before how much 
 she had lived upon the thought of this visit, — how 
 entirely she had looked forward to it as the means of 
 making Mrs. Howard acquainted with the fears and 
 uncertainties which she had never yet found courage 
 to mention openly. A week spent together would 
 have sufficed to show the loneliness of mind, — the 
 absence of sympathy, — the uncongeniality between 
 herself and her father upon the one most important 
 point, which caused her daily grief. There would 
 have been no need of words : Mrs. Howard would 
 have felt and understood all. Now that sinking, 
 decaying isolation of heart must still remain, unless 
 she could explain. But what was there to explain? 
 What had she to say? — the loved, petted, idolized 
 daughter of a man in whom the world agreed to see 
 no fault except pride, — why was she not happy? 
 
 " Read it, Eleanor," she said, putting the letter 
 into her friend's hand, as they met that same after- 
 noon at the parsonage, whilst tears, in spite of her- 
 self, rose to her eyes. " There is not a shadow of 
 hope for months, — probably not before next year." 
 
 Eleanor glanced at the full sheet. " Am I to read 
 it all?" 
 
140 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 " If you will : it is in answer to mine. But I 
 have scarcely thought of the ad\dce in it yet." 
 
 Eleanor took the letter, and Blanche walked up 
 and down the gravel path, and very soon afterwards 
 Mrs. Wentworth joined her. Blanche could not con- 
 ceal that she was out of spirits, and there was real 
 kindness in the tone in which Mrs. Wentworth ad- 
 dressed her, with a regret for the unpleasant news 
 which she had only just heard. Poor Blanche was 
 always very alive to sympathy. The tears, which 
 had only glistened before, fell fast, and Mrs. Went- 
 worth was touched by her distress ; and opening the 
 French window of a small room, which fronted the 
 flower-garden, begged her to go in, and seat herself, 
 and be alone if she liked it. " It was her own little 
 room," she said; "and no one would come near to 
 disturb her." 
 
 Blanche was only too willing to hide herself from 
 observation. She expected Mrs. Wentworth to fol- 
 low her ; but she did not ; and Blanche leant back 
 on the sofa, and for a time indulged her own sad, dis- 
 appointed fancies. When she at last raised her eyes, 
 it was to rest them upon an object which at once 
 withdrew her thoughts from the present trial, and sent 
 them far back into the past. On one side of the 
 fireplace hung a small painting, the subject of which 
 ^]\e recognised in an instant. It was her mother's 
 likeness ; but how different from the subdued, sorrow- 
 stricken countenance which dwelt in her memory as 
 the only true resemblance of the lovely Countess of 
 Rutherford. The picture before her represented a 
 young lady, who could scarcely, so it seemed, have 
 passed the age of twenty, standing on the steps of the 
 castle, dressed in a riding-habit, and caressing a 
 splendid horse, which she was evidently prepared to 
 mount. The face was bright, even mirthful ; the 
 
THE earl's daughter. 141 
 
 eyes sparkling with expectation ; the mouth joyous 
 in its expression of happiness. There was no striving 
 for effect in the pictm-e ; nothing but the simple re- 
 presentation of what must actually have been wit- 
 nessed. Blanche felt, as she looked upon it, that 
 the artist who could so have portrayed her mother 
 must have drawn her as she actually stood, without 
 forethought or design. Five years afterwards, that 
 fair, young creature had become the pale, serious, 
 care-worn woman, whose beauty was overshadovred 
 by a fixed, it might almost have been called, a stern 
 melancholy ; and whose fascination was the influence 
 of that purity of mind which grief has prepared for 
 heaven. 
 
 The picture, and the thoughts that it called forth, 
 struck a chord in the mind of Lady Blanche, which 
 at that moment was peculiarly though painfully sen- 
 sitive. If her mother had been spared, not even 
 Mrs. Howard's friendship would have been needed. 
 And agaiu an undefined doubt, followed by a longing 
 for a truer insight into that mother's history, arose 
 within her. Her attention was so engrossed, that 
 Mrs. Wentworth knocked at the door without being 
 answered, and Blanche started when she came in, as 
 if the privacy of her own apartment had been in- 
 truded upon. The attitude in which she was stand- 
 ing, leaning upon the mantelpiece and gazing 
 upon the picture, told at once the subject of her 
 thoughts. 
 
 "I did not know you had it," she said, in a tone 
 of gentle reproach, as Mrs. Wentworth came up to 
 her. Mrs. Wentworth appeared at a loss for a reply. 
 " And it must be like her," continued Blanche, still 
 with the same manner, as if she was vexed at ha%'ing 
 long been deprived of a great pleasure. 
 
 " It was like her once, — for a short time," said 
 Mrs. Wentworth, her voice sinking at the last words. 
 
142 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 as it so often did wlien referring to persons and 
 events connected with other days. 
 
 " I feel it must have been hke," repeated Blanche ; 
 " more like than the bust at the castle ; more like 
 than this," and she unfastened her brooch. 
 
 " It is not the face by which she was most 
 known," said Mrs. Wentworth, rather indifferently. 
 " I am sorry you have seen it ; it will only disturb 
 your ideas." 
 
 "No, no !" exclaimed Blanche. "I should be so 
 glad if I could know her as she was always ; as a 
 child, — as a woman, — as what I am now," she 
 added, with a faint smile. 
 
 A slight contraction was visible in Mrs. Went- 
 worth' s forehead, the effect, perhaps, of some 
 sudden pain ; but she answered in her usual, un- 
 disturbed manner : — " There is no picture of Lady 
 Rutherford as she was at your age, my dear Lady 
 Blanche. This was taken three weeks after her 
 marriage." 
 
 "And for you? — was it her gift to you?" in- 
 quired Blanche, with eagerness. 
 
 "No, not her gift. It was — " Mrs. "Wentworth 
 paused, coughed, and then added quickly, " it was 
 the earl's once." 
 
 "And he parted with it?" exclaimed Blanche. 
 "Oh, Mrs. Wentworth! even to you!" 
 
 " I loved her,' ' was the reply, uttered sharply and 
 bitterly ; and Blanche in an instant reproached her- 
 self for her words. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, I know you did. I know you were 
 her great friend. Forgive me : you had of course a 
 claim. But is there no copy, — no other picture like 
 it, taken at that time? Three weeks after her 
 marriage ! How happy she looks ! — my own sweet 
 mother!" and Blanche drew near with the impulse 
 to press her lips to the cold, lifeless figure. She 
 
THE earl's daughter. 143 
 
 checked herself however. Mrs. Wentworth's calm- 
 ness seemed a reproof for indulging anything like 
 excited feeling. " Perhaps," she said, turning to 
 Mrs. Wentworth, with a smile of singular attraction, 
 so full it was of subdued eagerness, and softness, and 
 hope, — " perhaps, some day, if I might be per- 
 mitted, I would ask to have it copied. It would 
 be a great treasure. You will understand," she 
 added ; and in her earnestness she took Mrs. "Went- 
 worth's hand, as if to entreat by action as well as by 
 word. 
 
 To her surprise, Mrs. Wentworth hesitated. 
 " She would, if it were possible ; — anything which 
 could be done should be. Lady Blanche might be 
 certain of that. Artists were very rarely in the 
 neighbourhood ; but it might be possible, just pos- 
 sible." 
 
 Blanche drew back her hand, — she began her re- 
 ply proudly, and it was an apology ; she had not 
 known that she was asking such a favour ; — then 
 conscience reproached her for pride shown to her 
 mother's early friend, and she tried to alter her 
 manner. Mrs. Wentworth stood passively by her, 
 listening politely. An unpleasant silence followed 
 what Blanche said, — a stiffness and restraint on both 
 sides ; but it was broken in upon by Mrs. Went- 
 worth. 
 
 " The original is so invaluable to me," she began. 
 
 Blanche interrupted her: — "You do not think I 
 could wish for that ? No, I assure you, not for a 
 moment." 
 
 "There are associations connected with it," pur- 
 sued Mrs. Wentworth, quietly : " no copy would 
 possess them. I was present when the picture was 
 taken. I watched its progress from the commence- 
 ment. The first sketch was made on the countess's 
 
144 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 birthday, — she was just twenty. It was done by 
 au amateur, a friend of Lord Rutherford's, who was 
 staying at the castle. The countess had no idea of 
 his intention ; but I was aware of it, and assisted 
 him. I kept her, that is, in conversation." 
 
 " And it was my father's ?" said Blanche, mu- 
 singly. 
 
 "Yes:" and again Mrs. Wentworth's manner 
 grew very constrained ; and, after a short pause, she 
 said, awkwardly, " I do not think the earl would 
 like to see it ; it might remind him — " Blanche 
 waited some moments for the continuation of the 
 sentence ; when it came, it was so hurried that she 
 could scarcely comprehend it : — "It might remind 
 him," repeated Mrs. Wentworth, "that is, it would 
 certainly bring to his recollection : — I think it might 
 annoy him to be spoken to about it," were the con- 
 cluding words. 
 
 Annoy ! what a strange, cold expression ! But 
 Mrs. Wentworth was incomprehensible ; and so dif- 
 ferent on this day to what she generally was, so 
 frightened apparently out of her usual self-possession ! 
 Blanche felt quite bewildered. She turned from 
 the picture, and saying that she was now quite 
 rested, and would rejoin Eleanor, was preparing to 
 go, when Mrs. Wentworth detained her. 
 
 " It is not pleasant to me to part in this way," 
 she said, more freely ; " to appear unkind, as I must 
 do. Might I hope that you would excuse it ; that 
 you would make allowance for painful recollections ? 
 I think you will," she added, looking kindly at 
 Blanche ; " for your mother's sake I think you will 
 excuse any unintentional awkwardness in one who 
 ioved her very dearly." 
 
 Blanche's displeasure vanished in an instant. 
 " My mother's friend must always be privileged," 
 
THE earl's daughter. 145 
 
 she said, putting her hand into that of Mrs. Went- 
 worth ; " even if there were anything to excuse -, 
 but, indeed, — of course, I can understand." The 
 mutual pressure of the hand was affectionate ; but 
 Blanche was relieved when she stepped into the open 
 air : and she had not forgotten, — there had been no 
 second ofPer of procuring a copy of the picture. 
 
146 THE earl's DAUGIITEIl. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 "Visitors in the drawing-room, my lady," were 
 the words which greeted Blanche, when she and 
 Eleanor reached the castle, with the hope of making 
 some arrangements for spending the afternoon more 
 profitably than had seemed possible of late. 
 
 " Friends of my aunt's, I suppose," said Blanche, 
 speaking to Eleanor in an under tone. " Is Lady 
 Charlton there?" she inquired, aloud. 
 
 " Yes, my lady : Lady Charlton and Miss Ade- 
 laide. The carriage has been ordered away." 
 
 Blanche went into the house. " "We need not ap- 
 pear, I imagine," she said to Eleanor. " I am supposed 
 to be out ; and if we once put ourselves in the way, 
 there is an end to all our plans for poor Susannah." 
 Eleanor agreed that there was no absolute neces- 
 sity ; but she stopped at the foot of the staircase, 
 and wondered who the visitors could be. 
 
 " We shall be waylaid, undoubtedly," said Blanche, 
 trying to hasten her. 
 
 "Hush! who is that speaking?" asked Eleanor, 
 listening. 
 
 " Sir Hugh scolding Pearson, or Pearson scolding 
 Sir Hugh," said Blanche laughing. " Really, Elea- 
 nor, you are determined to be caught." Blanche 
 spoke in jest, but her words might possibly have 
 been true, for just then the drawing-room door open- 
 ed and a number of voices were heard. 
 
 " We shall be seen, if we attempt to go up-stairs 
 now," said Eleanor decidedly ; but she had no one 
 to hear her observation, for Blanche had already 
 
THE earl's daughter. 147 
 
 escaped to her room. She sat there for some little 
 time very patiently. Eleanor, of course, had waited 
 the one moment too long and been detained ; it was 
 provoking, but there was no help for it, and Blanche 
 took out INIrs. Howard's letter, in order to occupy 
 the intervening time. It was curiously appropriate 
 to that precise moment. So much of it was upon 
 the subject of daily duties, daily interruptions, and 
 the spirit in which they should be borne. 
 
 " I am not in the least surprised at your com- 
 plaints of desultoriness, my dear child," began Mrs. 
 Howard. " All persons situated as you are must in 
 a certain way be desultory, or, more correctly, they 
 must I suppose appear to be so ; for it does not fol- 
 low that you should be so really. "When you laid down 
 your strict rules, before you went away, I was con- 
 vinced in my own mind that you would find a diffi- 
 culty in carrying them out, but I did not like to dis- 
 hearten you, since a plan of life is in itself good, even 
 necessary, if we wish to discipline our minds properly. 
 The great mischief of such plans is when the ful- 
 filment of them is too rigidly insisted upon, and is 
 raised into a virtue in itself, instead of being con- 
 sidered as merely a stepping-stone. However I need 
 not descant upon the danger of too much regularity ; 
 your difficulty seems to lie quite in the other direc- 
 tion. Naturally it would be so, for you cannot pos- 
 sibly be entirely mistress of your own time, and you 
 certainly are bound in duty to consider the comfort 
 of your guests before your own. But there must be 
 a limit to every duty, humanly speaking, or it will 
 encroach upon another, and become a fault. And 
 this limit, I think, is to be found by having a true 
 sense of our position, not only in life but in our 
 families. As a daughter, you are of course bound 
 to obey ; but, as the mistress of a household, you are 
 equally bound to take the lead, and to set an exam- 
 
148 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 pie of order and strictness. I doubt if you are likely 
 to remember this sufficiently. Your mode of life 
 must in a great measure give the tone to your whole 
 household, and one of the most important features in 
 all families, especially in one which like your own 
 possesses influence from rank and wealth, is that it 
 should be under subservdence to a law of duty and 
 not of pleasure. I do not mean that it is possible 
 to make laws for every hour, or every individual ; but 
 it should never be left in doubt that there are claims 
 which ?w!<«<beattended to; employments which are wewer 
 to be neglected except for some very obvious reason. 
 If your mother had been spared, these responsibilities 
 would not have been yours as yet ; but you are pe- 
 culiarly circumstanced, and there are duties incum- 
 bent upon you which seldom fall to the lot of persons 
 of your age. I wish I could give you my ideas more 
 in detail, for I am afraid I shall not satisfy you ; but 
 what I mean is something of this kind — I suppose 
 you breakfast late, but that need not prevent you 
 from rising early. If you set the example, the ser- 
 vants must in a measure follow it, so one great temp- 
 tation in an easy life will be checked. I think you 
 would find it useful not to shut yourself up entirely 
 in your room, but to let your servants see what your 
 habits are — as example is better than reproof, and 
 indeed reproof can scarcely, I imagine, be in the ca- 
 talogue of your duties at present. Then with regard 
 to your mornings — you intended, I know, to study 
 regularly ; and certainly it seems to me that you 
 ought to do so. Could you not manage to give a 
 certain fixed time to your aunt and cousins, and any 
 other guests, directly after breakfast, and then let 
 it be understood that you vdsh to have an hour or 
 two to yourself? I hardly think you would give 
 oflFence, and your absence would by degrees be taken 
 as a matter of course. Perhaps, also, you might be 
 
THE earl's daughter. 149 
 
 able to arrange to practise with your cousins, as you 
 say they are both musical; but then, my dear Blanche, 
 you must take the lead. If your cousin Adelaide 
 likes, what you call, a butterfly life, it does not at all 
 follow that you are to humour her : and though she 
 may be some years older than yourself, that will not 
 prevent your being of great use in keeping her steadily 
 to one object, if you show you are determined to be 
 steady yourself. So, again, I would beg of you if 
 possible to decide upon seeing the poor people on 
 fixed days ; and, when these days come, say you have 
 an engagement, and make any plans for drives, visits, 
 &c., for your friends, independent of yourself. Your 
 reading also may be a great help to you as regards 
 system and regularity, if you can avoid the tempta- 
 tion of beginning every new book that is thrown in 
 your way — a temptation which, I assure you, I can 
 quite sympathise with. We cannot always be study- 
 ing history and metaphysics, but when we do indulge 
 ourselves in light reading it should be for some spe- 
 cified reason — at certain times, and under certain 
 limitations. I really believe that half the mischief 
 of novels, those I mean which are innocent, arises 
 from their being so enticing that we are induced to 
 read them at wrong times. It may seem a very 
 slight fault to skim half a dozen pages more when 
 duty calls us another way ; but I am sure it injures 
 the conscience and untones the mind. If we can 
 read a very interesting book up to a certain moment, 
 and then resolutely close it because we have some- 
 thing else to do, the relaxation can scarcely have 
 done us harm. I am saying nothing about higher 
 rules and motives, because we have talked of them 
 so often before, and I am sure from your letter that 
 you have not forgotten them. 
 
 " This constant self-discipline, no doubt, requires 
 energy and watchfulness, but what is to be done 
 o 9 
 
150 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 without them ? Especially what can be done by per- 
 sons situated as you are, having scarcely any external 
 restraints upon their inclinations ? You must be a 
 law to yourself if you wish to avoid that wretched 
 flittering away of life which is the misery of hun- 
 dreds of persons of your age at the present moment. 
 " All I have said is of course subject to one pro- 
 viso — that your father should not object. If he were 
 to insist, or even evidently to desire, that you should 
 give yourself up entirely to your aunt and cousins, 
 you can but submit : only here again you would find 
 a law, and therefore a satisfaction. It is not what 
 we do, but why we do it, that is of consequence. 
 How often we say to ourselves, speaking of things of 
 this world, 'It does not signify, it is all in the day's 
 work V — and so, neither, does it signify in the con- 
 cerns of another world, whether we are called upon 
 to rule a kingdom or pick up stones from the road, 
 if only what we do is work : work that shall turn to 
 account in the reckoning of the long day of life ; 
 work for Him to whom nothing is great and there- 
 fore nothing can be little." 
 
 Blanche refolded her letter and sat for sometime 
 thinking over it. She could not at once fully enter 
 into Mrs. Howard's views; or, at least, she could not 
 at once see that they were practicable. Yet they had 
 given her an idea, a principle wliich might materially 
 assist her in the little difficulties that often per- 
 plexed her. Blanche's mind was resolute and de- 
 cisive. This was not generally supposed ; but those 
 who were in the habit of interpreting her conduct, 
 too often did so without the least knowledge of the 
 real clue to it. Lady Charlton saw her amiable, 
 agreeable, and attractive, and called her "a sweet 
 girl ;" and Mrs.Wentworth understood, from conver- 
 sation with Eleanor, that she was very much fascinat- 
 ed by Lady Charlton, and accustomed to follow out 
 
THE earl's daughter. 151 
 
 her cousins' wishes, and, in consequence, was likely 
 to lead a desultory objectless life ; and supposed there- 
 fore that she was too gentle to be strong-minded. ' 
 Lord Rutherford indeed understood her better ; per- 
 haps, if he had not done so ; he never could have 
 given her his full affection ; for, like her, he requir- 
 ed respect to bring out his feelings, though it was 
 respect for the intellect, not for the heart ; and one of 
 the most satisfactory discoveries he had made in the 
 progress of their intercourse was that she could have 
 an opinion and a will of her own. But, even to him, 
 it woidd have been a matter of surprise to witness 
 the immediate eifect of Mrs. Howard's advice. He 
 could not have miderstood the working of a mind 
 which obeyed conscience as it were instinctively, and 
 to which the bare possibility of a duty suggested an 
 instant endeavour for its performance. Blanche re- 
 quired only to perceive that Mrs. Howard was right 
 in her views, and of this a very little consideration 
 convinced her, and then her thoughts turned to the 
 practical mode of carrying them out, quickly, sin- 
 cerely, without delay, or reservation, or excuse, and 
 in perfect simplicity : not at all considering it neces- 
 sary to guard against observation, or to hide anything 
 which she intended to do ; but supposing other per- 
 sons would regard her duties as she did herself, as 
 matters of course. She had already solved several 
 difficult questions, when Eleanor's quick step was 
 heard in the gallery, and scarcely pausing to knock 
 at the door she entered the room with the exclama- 
 tion : — 
 
 " My dear Blanche ! I am so — so sorry ; I really 
 am vexed to have kept you ; but — " 
 
 " But if people mil put themselves in the way they 
 must expect to be caught," said Blanche laughing ; 
 " however, we can go now." 
 
 " No, I beg your pardon, that was what I came to 
 
152 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 say," continued Eleanor, hurriedly. " I am afraid 
 we can't go this afternoon. Lady Charlton wishes 
 me so very much to stay : they are going out, — a large 
 party: she quite pressed my joining them. I am to 
 drive with your cousin Adelaide." 
 
 Blanche could not conceal her vexation. " And 
 does my aunt expect me to go, too ?" she inquired. 
 
 " Oh ! no, I assure you, I was very careful. I 
 did not mention your name. No one thinks you are 
 in the house. They suppose I had come to the cas- 
 tle to look for you ; and now I have left them with 
 the excuse, that I must write a note to mamma to tell 
 her what I intend doing." 
 
 "And shall you write?" asked Blanche. 
 
 " Why no, upon second thoughts, I don't see there 
 is a necessity. I was to spend the afternoon with 
 you, but whether I go for a walk or a drive must be 
 a question of indifference." The latter part of the 
 sentence was spoken in that tone of decision which 
 is sometimes used to conceal a doubt. Blanche, 
 without making any observation in reply, put aside 
 the writing materials which she was placing for Elea- 
 nor' s use. 
 
 " Why will you not go with us, Blanche ? " con- 
 tinued Eleanor. " Why can you not wait till to- 
 morrow?" 
 
 "Because to-morrow will be like to-day," said 
 Blanche : " it will have its own duties." 
 
 " But I could walk with you then ; I promise that 
 I will not put myself in the way of temptation 
 again." 
 
 " Then it was temptation," said Blanche, a little 
 reproachfully. 
 
 " Perhaps so ; it might have been : but I see no 
 harm in it. Whether you go alone to Susannah, 
 or whether I am with you, cannot make much differ- 
 ence to her." 
 
THE earl's daughter. 153 
 
 '' But it docs to me," said Blanche, unable to re- 
 press a feeling of vexation that Eleanor should prefer 
 a drive with a party of comparative strangers to a 
 walk with herself. 
 
 Eleanor laughed, and declared that Blanche must 
 be jealous of her cousin Adelaide ; but there was self- 
 dissatisfaction beneath her assumed indifference, and 
 she brought forward a number of excuses for her de- 
 termination. " Lady Charlton pressed it so much," 
 she said, " it was almost impossible to refuse ; in fact, 
 I suspect she wants me as a chaperone. They had 
 not settled how it was all to be arranged. Charles 
 was there, striving hard for the honour of driving your 
 cousin, himself; but Lady Charlton had evidently 
 set her face against it. So, you see, I may be use- 
 ful." 
 
 Blanche did her best to enter into Eleanor's gaiety, 
 but she could not succeed very well ; for, as she began 
 to think of what was to be done, she saw that all her 
 plans were disarranged ; and Eleanor soon perceived 
 it, also. 
 
 At the moment of accepting the invitation to join 
 Lady Charlton's party, she had not remembered that 
 Blanche could not well walk as far as Susannah's cot- 
 tage alone. " However the next day would do just as 
 well," she said, " and Blanche had better make up 
 her mind to give up duty for that afternoon, and go 
 with the rest." 
 
 This Blanche declined ; since she was not wanted, 
 she preferred having the time to herself. " I sup- 
 pose you could not send an excuse to my aunt," she 
 suggested. 
 
 But Eleanor negatived the idea instantly, and after 
 again begging Blanche to forgive her, and promising 
 to behave better for the future, hastened away. 
 
154 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Blanche stood at the window, watching the party, 
 which was collecting in front of the castle. She saw 
 Eleanor join them, and converse a little with Ade- 
 laide ; and, after some delay, they both seated them- 
 selves in the pony carriage, and drove off — closely 
 followed by Mr. Wentworth on horseback. Blanche 
 could almost have repented having refused to accom- 
 pany them ; since there was no apparent obstacle in 
 the way. But she felt that she had done what was 
 best for her own mind, and there was great pleasure 
 in the quietness and solitude now so unusual ; and 
 when the rumbling of the wheels and the echo of the 
 horses' hoofs died away in the distance, she lingered 
 still by the open window to enjoy the unbroken si- 
 lence within the house ; and the low, soothing, 
 mingled sounds of nature without. They are rare 
 and precious moments, which are thus snatched from 
 the whirl of life and spent in stillness and alone. 
 Even when they are not devoted to direct meditation, 
 and appear too fleeting to be productive of good, 
 they yet tend to give us a knowledge of the realities 
 which encompass us. By the depth of their solem- 
 nity and repose, they remind us that beneath the 
 surface of this weary, working existence, there is 
 another world — another, and an enduring life; — 
 imaged in the unchanging sky and the returning sun, 
 and the ever renewed beauty of the trees and flowers, 
 and the steadfastness of the everlasting hills ; and, 
 if our hearts are open to the truth, they inay some- 
 times teach us to remember, that as in far-ofi" years 
 
THE earl's daughter. 155 
 
 the glorious temple rose silently in the city of Jeru- 
 salem, neither axe nor hammer nor tool giving warn- 
 ing or notice of the work, so the more glorious 
 temple — the Church of the Living God, — is at this 
 moment rising unperceived in the midst of a tumul- 
 tuous world; each stone quarried and fashioned by 
 the sharp edge of sorrow and the keen stroke of 
 adversity, until perfected and prepared, it is fitted for 
 that destined position which shall be the place of its 
 rest for eternity. 
 
 Thoughts something like these filled the mind 
 of Blanche as she sat alone, enjoying the unwonted 
 quietness of the summer's afternoon. She had early 
 learnt to look upon what is, not what seems to be ; 
 but, during the last few weeks, the truth had been at 
 times overlooked. Notwithstanding the dissatisfac- 
 tion expressed to Mrs. Howard, she had found much 
 enjoyment in the society of Lady Charlton and her 
 cousins ; perhaps too much, for it had unconsciously 
 relaxed the strict, watchful tone of her character. 
 She perceived this now. Mrs. Howard's letter had 
 given the first warning ; and this short interval of 
 reflection repeated it. Again she reverted to the 
 question of duty, but less practically than before. 
 There is a close connection between the mystery of 
 what we see and the mystery of what we are ; and 
 when Blanche looked upon the glorious landscape 
 beneath her, and the immensity of the sky above 
 her, she was carried away far beyond the immediate 
 consideration of daily pursuits into thoughts and 
 speculations for which no answer could be found. 
 Metaphysical difficulties suggested themselves ; ques- 
 tions upon the origin of duty — its binding power — 
 the irremediable consequences of its neglect — the 
 very fact of its existence, involving the possibility 
 of evil ; and this again opening a new path for the 
 reason to travel, till it stood upon the brink of a pre- 
 
156 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 cipice, and recoiled shuddering from its own presump- 
 tion. There are many amongst the young whom such 
 thoughts harass when it is Uttle suspected ; — many, 
 who are armed with no shield of faith for their pro- 
 tection. We may well pray for them, for their peril 
 is great ! 
 
 " Is that you, Blanche ? " exclaimed a voice from 
 below, as Blanche still stood at the window. 
 
 Blanche started. " Maude ! alone ! I thought I 
 saw you with the rest." 
 
 " No, thank you ; I am not a gregarious animal. 
 And such a set too, as they were ! — just fitted for 
 Adelaide. But come down, I want you." 
 
 Blanche delayed. She had not settled what she 
 was going to do ; but, certainly, she had no intention 
 of spending the afternoon with Maude. 
 
 " Come, you must come," repeated Maude, im- 
 patiently ; "we will have a German lesson. I pro- 
 mised you one. We will sit upon the south terrace ; 
 it is deliciously warm." 
 
 Blanche went to another window, from which the 
 terrace could be seen. It certainly was a most in- 
 viting spot, with the bright slanting rays of the sun 
 upon it, and the flowers bordering it radiant in 
 beauty ; whilst, below, were contrasted the deep shad- 
 ows of the trees on the bank, and the glittering lines 
 of light which flickered on the sides of the distant 
 hills. She paused for a moment to consider ; and it 
 seemed right to go ; — right, since her afternoon was 
 interrupted, to take advantage of Maude's oifer. 
 
 " We will read," said Maude, holding up a book ; 
 " only make haste." 
 
 Blanche threw a shawl round her and ran down 
 stairs. Maude met her at the hall-door. She looked 
 quite satisfied, — an unusual thing for her, — and 
 Blanche was glad that she had assented. 
 
 *' I fancied I was quite alone," observed Maude, 
 
THE earl's daughter. 157 
 
 as she sat down on a bench in the shade. " Why did 
 you not go with the rest ? " 
 
 " I was not asked," repHed Blanche ; " that is," 
 observing Maude's look of surprise, "I did not put 
 myself in the way of being asked. I meant to have 
 gone out with Eleanor." 
 
 " Charity visiting, I suppose ? " said Maude, with 
 a slight sneer. " Well ! you are very good, Blanche ; 
 but, depend upon it, it will be better for you to spend 
 the afternoon in reading ' Egmont ' with me." 
 
 " Egmont ! Goethe's Egmont ! " exclaimed 
 Blanche hastily, and with doubt. 
 
 "Yes. Why not?" 
 
 " Goethe ! " again repeated Blanche. 
 
 "Well!" and Maude looked up almost angrily. 
 " What is the harm of Goethe ? " 
 
 " I don't know, myself. I have never read any- 
 thing of his." 
 
 " Only the name frightens you. Now, my dear 
 Blanche, do for once have an opinion of your own. 
 Don't be a Quixote and convert a windmill into a 
 giant, and then set to work to fight it." 
 
 "But the world is the Quixote," said Blanche, 
 laughing ; " not I. I only go by what I hear." 
 
 " The world ! that is some few bigoted individuals 
 who condemn every creed which is not cut and 
 squared after their own pattern. Your father does 
 not say so, I am sure." 
 
 "No ; he has often promised to read part of Goethe 
 with me. Only part," she added, laying her hand 
 upon the book, as Maude with a triumphant smile 
 opened it. " Egmont is a part — a very grand part, 
 perfectly unexceptionable." 
 
 " Are you sure ? " said Blanche. " I think " — 
 and she raised her eyes to her cousin's face with 
 an expression of child-hke confidence; — " I think I 
 might trust you." 
 
 F 
 
lo8 THE KARl's daughter. 
 
 The sneer whicli still rested upon Maude's lips 
 vanished directly. She turned to Blanche, and said 
 eagerly, " Thank you ; yes, of course you may trust. 
 Whatever I might read myself, I could never ask you 
 to listen to a word which might offend you." 
 
 " Bui Goethe," said Blanche, as if speaking aloud 
 her own thoughts ; "there is such a prejudice agjiinst 
 him — there must be something wrong — something 
 dangerous." 
 
 "Dangerous! absurd folly !" and Maude turned 
 the leaves quickly in her irritation, exclaiming — as 
 she went on, "The fear of weak, narrow-^^iinded 
 cowards — false to their own conviction — envious of a 
 great mind. Blanche, you must not be one of them." 
 
 " I hope I should be always true to my own con- 
 victions," answered Blanche ; " but it is very pos- 
 sible that you may call them narrow-minded. I 
 think you would," she added, boldly. 
 
 Maude fixed upon her a steady, penetrating gaze, 
 and said slowly, " I like that ; better be narrow- 
 minded and firm, than narrow-miuded and weak. 
 You shall read Egmont/' 
 
 " Tell me its faults, first," said Blanche. 
 
 " Faults ! it has none. It is the most wonderfully 
 true, uoble, inspiriting — but, you are a coward, 
 after all ; " and she threw down the book and stood 
 gazing over the edge of the terrace. 
 
 Blanche went up to her. " I hope I am not a 
 coward, Maude ; but we all know the weak points of 
 our own minds. Goethe's works must have some- 
 thing in them which does harm to some persons — I 
 may possibly be one. Tell me if there is anything 
 in Egmont which is generally objected too." 
 
 "By whom?" said Maude, sarcastically. "By 
 Mrs. Smith— Brown— White— Green — Black ? " 
 
 "By persons whose opinions I am bound to re- 
 spect." 
 
THE earl's daughter. 159 
 
 " By yourself, rather," exclaimed Maude, impa- 
 tiently. " Do forget such folly, Blanche, and judge 
 for yourself. As for the story, it is matter of history ; 
 though with Goethe, it is not history, but actual, 
 breathing, reality. It is Egmont as he was, as he 
 lived, and talked, and thought ; with his gallant, 
 chivalric bearing — his openness, generosity, disin- 
 terestedness, love of freedom, fearlessness of the 
 world's censure. One must have loved him, — one 
 must have been Cl'archen, who died with him." 
 
 Blanche repeated quickly, " Died with him ? " 
 
 " Yes ; for him — with him ; she loved him too 
 well to survive him." 
 
 The next words were uttered by Blanche hurriedly, 
 with an eflPort ; " "Who committed suicide, do you 
 mean ? " 
 
 " Pshaw ! yet I might have known it, — it is all 
 education. Suicide ! Yes, what people call suicide;, 
 She kills herself. You are shocked. What a mis- 
 take to have told you ! It is all spoilt now ; but you 
 shall read it still ; and tell me whether Goethe can- 
 not ennoble such a death," 
 
 Maude put her arm round her cousin to draw her 
 back to the seat, but Blanche resisted. " I am not 
 afraid to read it," she said ; " but it will give me 
 pain." 
 
 " Yes ; that pain which is pleasure, — the pain of 
 sympathy and admiration." 
 
 " That was not what I meant. I am sure I should 
 admire it, but I could not sympathize with it." 
 
 " Not with Egmont ? — not with Clarchen ? 
 
 " Not with suicide," said Blanche, quietly. 
 
 " Pooh ! — nonsense ! Why will you harp upon the 
 same subject ? Of course, I do not admire suicide. I 
 allow that it is a crime, per se ; a great crime if you 
 will ; but I do say, and I will always say, that Goethe 
 sanctifies it by the power of his genius ; that such 
 
160 THE earl's daughter, 
 
 love as Clarchen's, is the love of a noble, self-devoting 
 spirit ; that it is beautiful, and true love." 
 
 " No ; no ! " exclaimed Blanche, eagerly. 
 
 " Not beautiful ! Not true ! Then what is so ? " 
 and Maude's eyes flashed with irritation. 
 
 " Love which lives through sorrow," said Blanche, 
 her voice slightly trembling. " Not love which dies 
 to escape it." 
 
 Maude laid dowa the book which she held in her 
 hand, whilst waiting for a further explanation of her 
 cousin's ideas, and fixed upon her a cool, patient gaze, 
 which was peculiarly repelling. 
 
 Blanche turned away her eyes and went on ; " You 
 asked me once about my notions and theories," she 
 said, " and I did not like to tell you ; I am afraid I 
 was wrong, but you must forgive me. I don't think 
 1 have what you would call theories ; but I have prin- 
 ciples. And, since you are kind enough to read with 
 me, and talk to me, I should hke you to know them, 
 because then we shall understand each other better. 
 And, another reason — they are true principles to me ; 
 and when you talk, it seems as if you were trying to 
 uproot them. But it would be unkind to do so," she 
 added, very earnestl}^ as she remembered the maze of 
 perplexities in which but a short time before she had 
 been involved, when suffering her thoughts to wander 
 without check or guidance. " Even, if you could 
 succeed, you would only be making me wretched, for 
 they are my hope and comfort — my happiness." And, 
 in her energy, Blanche clasped her hands, and drew 
 up her slender, graceful figure in an attitude of 
 strength and power, which made the half sneer upon 
 Maude's face melt into a smile of admiration. 
 
 "And these thoughts and principles are what ? " 
 asked Maude, patronizingly. 
 
 Blanche pressed her hands more closely together, 
 and still averting her eyes from her cousin, answered. 
 
THE earl's daughter. IGl 
 
 " They are what you may call narrow-miaded preju- 
 dices — they are religion." 
 
 " Religion ! — yes ; certainly ;— extremely right," 
 said Maude, still in the same manner. " I hope I 
 am religious too." 
 
 Blanche was for an instant distressed and per- 
 plexed. 
 
 " My dear child !" said Maude, speaking in a light 
 playful way, which made Blanche shrink at the recol- 
 lection of her own enthusiasm ; " my poor Blanche ! 
 what an excitement you have worked yourself into ! 
 I declare you look quite ill." 
 
 Blanche with difficulty resisted the temptation to 
 run away. "Thank you," she said, "I am not ill. 
 I did not mean to be excited. I merely wished to 
 say to you why I never could agree in your admira- 
 tion of Egmont." 
 
 "Because of that naughty Clarchen," observed 
 Maude ; " but we will forget her ; we will choose 
 Schiller, if you like it, and give up Goethe for the 
 {)resent. By-and-by, when you have seen a little 
 of the world besides St. Ebbe's, and this grim old 
 castle, you will not be so much shocked at him." 
 
 Blanche drew back from the caress with which 
 these words were about to be accompanied. " I never 
 can wish that time to come," she said. " If it did, I 
 should have learnt to bear with that which my reason, 
 as well as my faith, tells me is utterly false." 
 
 There was a silence of some moments. 
 
 Maude appeared struck with the firmness of her 
 cousin's tone. She dropped the patronizing air which 
 she had assumed, and said, " Goethe's principles 
 cannot be false, for they will find an echo in the heart 
 of every one who can admire generosity and de- 
 votedness, and an undying, unchanging affection." 
 
 " 1 have not read his works," was all the answer 
 p2 
 
1G2 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 which Blanche made. She seemed weary of the 
 argument. 
 
 Maude again had recourse to the volume by her 
 side. Opening it towards the end, she read a few 
 sentences to herself. " I cannot let you have such 
 notions, Blanche," she exclaimed, after a short pause; 
 " they are beneath you. You must read, — you must 
 admire." 
 
 " As I should admire a dream or a fairy tale," said 
 Blanche, smiling. 
 
 "That is what I don't understand ; it is the only 
 thing I can't understand in you," said Maude. 
 " What do you mean by a dream ? Patriotism, the 
 love of liberty, generosity, love, are realities : you 
 cat! feel them yourself; I know, I am sure you can." 
 
 "I hope I can," replied Blanche. "I think them 
 very real, very lovely, and admirable." 
 
 " And therefore true," continued Maude ; " true, 
 that is the point, — that is the object to be sought 
 after, desired, striven, prayed for!" She spoke ear- 
 nestly, her dark grey eyes kindling, and her colour 
 heightened. 
 
 " Yes, truth ; it is the one thing needful," replied 
 Blanche : " but Mrs. Howard says that a half truth 
 must be the greatest of falsehoods." 
 
 " What ? say it again," exclaimed Maude. 
 
 Blanche repeated the words. 
 
 " Goethe's truths are half truths, you mean," 
 continued Maude. 
 
 " I think they must be ; like the half truths of 
 heathenism, which led men to idolatry." 
 
 " But a whole truth, who can find it? — who can be 
 certain of it?" said Maude, in a musing tone. 
 
 " God is truth," replied Blanche, timidly and 
 reverently. 
 
 "Yes," and Maude's manner became reverent 
 
THE earl's daughter. 163 
 
 also ; " but men also are divine — in their noblest 
 feelings, their highest desires." 
 
 " We were made in the image of God," observed 
 Blanche ; " but the image is defaced." 
 
 " Granted, of course. Defaced ; but not utterly 
 ruined — not lost." 
 
 "No, indeed not," exclaimed Blanche, enthusi- 
 astically ; " not lost, — still to be restored, renewed 
 again ; but it must be after the perfect original." 
 
 " I am tired of symbols," said Maude, hastily. 
 
 " Still, may I tell you, will you not think me very 
 presumptuous if I say what such notions as I believe 
 Goethe's to be appear to me to resemble ?" continued 
 Blanche : " those I mean which make persons in- 
 teresting, and in a certain way good, without being 
 Christians. I must use an illustration ; I cannot 
 explain myself else. It is as if he had accidentally 
 met with separate fragments of what had once been 
 the copy of a perfect statue ; and because he admired 
 each portion separately, supposed that by uniting 
 them all together the whole would be beautiful." 
 
 " Of course, of course," interrupted Maude ; " they 
 could not be less beautiful when put together than 
 they were before, supposing they were all the work of 
 the same hand." 
 
 " But if parts were wanting," continued Blanche : 
 "or if Goethe had never seen the perfect original, and 
 therefore, instead of combining them according to 
 the first design, formed a figure after the imagination 
 of his own heart — distorted and deficient, — there 
 would be no beauty in the whole, though every 
 separate member might be perfect." 
 
 " "Well !" was all Maude would say. 
 
 "I think, — it seems to me," continued Blanche, 
 hesitating, " that this is something like such prin- 
 ciples as you tell me are to be found in Egmont. 
 The feelings described may be good and true sepa- 
 
164 THE earl's daxjghtkk. 
 
 rately ; but they can scarcely be so when they are 
 put together, because love and obedience to God are 
 wantmg." 
 
 "No," exclaimed Maude; "Goethe, in Egmont 
 at least, would make men obedient to the principles 
 implanted in them by nature and conscience. You 
 would not wish for a better guide than conscience." 
 
 •' It must be the conscience of the Bible, then," 
 said Blanche ; " not the conscience of a fallen nature. 
 This is setting myself up as being able to decide very 
 weighty questions," she added, blushing ; " but I 
 have gained all my ideas from Mrs. Howard. 
 Thoughts used to come into my head and puzzle me, 
 and I used to talk to her about them ; and she made 
 them clearer." 
 
 " I should like to argue her into admiring Goethe," 
 said Maude, " that would be a triumph." 
 
 " Impossible !" exclaimed Blanche ; " that is, to 
 make her approve would be impossible ; or admire 
 either, in one sense ; because she never admires what 
 is not true." 
 
 "True! true!" repeated Maude to herself. "If 
 one could only find what is true !" 
 
 " We are not true ourselves," said Blanche, " be- 
 cause of our evil nature ; so that if there is truth 
 anywhere, it must be in something distinct from our- 
 selves." 
 
 "Yes; I suppose it may be so," replied Maude, 
 doubtfully. 
 
 "In the Bible, then?" continued Blanche; and 
 finding that Maude did not contradict her, she added, 
 " Goethe and the Bible woiild not agree ; therefore 
 Goethe's principles must be untrue. Am I very 
 obstinate?" 
 
 " You are very provoking," replied Maude, tossing 
 the book from her. "I will never ask you to read 
 Egmont again ; you may be quite certain of that/' 
 
THE earl's daughter. 165 
 
 She spoke with irritation, but Blanche fancied that 
 some portion of it was assumed. " I did not say that 
 I would not read it, and admire it too," she said ; 
 "but you must let me try and think that Clarchen 
 was a heathen." 
 
 Maude looked sullen. She went forward, picked 
 up the book, and turned towards the house. Just 
 then Lord Rutherford came upon the terrace ; he 
 had been riding, and had returned earlier than he 
 expected. Maude's countenance struck him as he 
 passed her, and, when he joined Blanche, he began to 
 inquire what was the matter. 
 
 Blanche did not venture to tell him the whole. 
 She had an intuitive perception of the points upon 
 which they might differ, and avoided them carefully. 
 DiflFerence with him was very unlike difference with 
 her cousin ; it involved so much more. And then 
 she was afraid of him ; afraid of his cool, keen 
 sarcasm ; especially afraid, because she could not 
 feel, as she did when conversing with Maude, that 
 however at variance their sentiments might be, both 
 were earnestly seeking after truth. 
 
166 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 "And you were not inclined to be of your aunt's 
 party, then?" began the earl, after Blanche had 
 briefly told him that she had just finished an argu- 
 ment with Maude, which left them apparently both 
 where they had begun. 
 
 " The party was formed before I came back from 
 the parsonage," replied Blanche ; " and I meant to 
 have gone for a walk with Eleanor." 
 
 "You are wonderfully fond of the parsonage, 
 Blanche. Are you in love with Mrs. Wentworth 
 yet ?" 
 
 A remembrance of the morning interview came 
 to Blanche's mind, and she answered quickly, "Oh, 
 no! not at all in love." Adding, to soften her 
 words, "she requires, I think, to be known well." 
 
 " Better than I ever knew her," observed the earl, 
 with asperity. " She is one of those chill pieces 
 of propriety whose very presence freezes one's blood. 
 Marvellous it is to me that she should have such 
 children. Miss Wentworth is superior in every way; 
 and her brother is a very handsome, agreeable man." 
 
 "They are a handsome family," observed Blanche. 
 " Dr. Wentworth—" 
 
 The earl interrupted her : " My dear, you were 
 going out; into the village, I suppose." 
 
 " Yes, some distance ; but I could not go alone, 
 and the pony-carriage was given up for my aunt'." 
 
 " Well ! I will go with you ; you are not tired, 
 I suppose?" 
 
THE earl's daughter. 1G7 
 
 Blanche thought of Maude. She fancied that it 
 was unkind to leave her. 
 
 Her father drew near the steps which led down 
 the bank. "You are going, — -which way? Can I 
 help you?" 
 
 Blanche mentioned her cousin's name ; but the 
 earl quickly negatived the idea of asking her to join 
 them, ending however with, " unless you particularly 
 wish it, my love. I would have you do whatever 
 you like." 
 
 Blanche did not make a second proposal. She ran 
 lightly down the steps, and taking her father's arm, 
 they followed the path which led them through the 
 underwood, and amongst the scattered trees, down to 
 the edge of the stream. A rough bridge was thrown 
 over it, and Blanche, leading the way, without think- 
 ing it necessary to explain where she was going, 
 crossed it, and pursued the path over a green field to 
 the foot of the steep, broken ground which bordered 
 it. Lord Rutherford walked on in silence, till Blanche 
 began to ascend the bank, when he stopped, and ral- 
 lying her upon her forgetfulness of his age, asked 
 where she intended to carry him. 
 
 " Only a little way — quite a little way by this bad 
 road," rephed Blanche : " we shall be in a straight- 
 forward lane, when we are at the top of the bank. 
 But, papa, I will not go on if you had rather not. I 
 was going to see Susannah Dyer." 
 
 " Susannah who ? Oh ! a poor woman, I suppose." 
 
 '* A blind girl," said Blanche. 
 
 "Blind! poor thing! — extremely sad. Blanche, 
 my darUng, you vnll sit down, and rest first." 
 
 The afternoon was passing rapidly, and Blanche's 
 hopes of visiting Susannah Dyer were becoming very 
 slight ; but she sat down obediently. 
 
 " Susannah was confirmed when I was," she com- 
 menced again. 
 
168 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 " Oh, yes ; I recollect you told me before. There 
 is no harm ia your going to see her : you like it, I 
 suppose ; and you have not much amusement." 
 
 Blanche smiled to herself at the word amusement, 
 for it was not what she generally associated with her 
 visits to the poor. 
 
 " Your aunt has been talking to me," continued 
 the earl, following, as he always did, the train of his 
 own ideas. " She says I bury you here : it is not 
 the season for London, or she would make me take 
 you there directly." 
 
 " Me ! London ! Oh ! papa, I am quite happy 
 where I am." 
 
 " Happy in your ignorance, my love ! I am glad 
 .you are : but ignorance will not do all one's life ; and 
 you must be condemned to London, by-and-by, I 
 am afraid. Condemned to a gay life, — balls, fetes, 
 concerts." 
 
 " They sound pleasant," said Blanche. " I suppose 
 I shall like them ; but Mrs, Wentworth tells Eleanor 
 that she should not like her to be placed within reach 
 of them." 
 
 " Mrs. Wentworth is not your guide, my love. I 
 mean, you are not at all called upon to take her 
 views. I don't wish you to do so. I like you to 
 form your own." 
 
 Blanche was checked, and afraid to say how much 
 she was inclined to respect Mrs. Wentworth's views. 
 Tt was always the case when conversing with her 
 father. With all his partiality — his devotion, it 
 might be called — his eagerness to gain her confi- 
 dence — insensibly, he repelled her. She was always 
 choosing subjects for conversation, thinking whether 
 he would be pleased . There is no real freedom where 
 this feeling exists. 
 
 "Your aunt," again began the earl, "is very 
 diiferent from Mrs. Wentworth. She is a person 
 
THE earl's daughter. 169 
 
 of large, comprehensive mind, and very unpre- 
 judiced. You must find the difference in talking to 
 them." 
 
 "My aunt is much the more agreeable," said 
 Blanche. 
 
 " And her opinions are much the more valuable," 
 continued the earl. " You could not find a safer 
 friend to introduce you into the world. She under- 
 stands the thing so well ; you cannot possibly make 
 mistakes if you follow her advice. She has an intui- 
 tive perception of right and wrong in all cases." 
 
 " I think she has very good, high notions," said 
 Blanche. 
 
 " Yes ; very good, very high : what all persons 
 should have," said the earl quickly. " But I was 
 thinking of society. I have perfect confidence in 
 your good taste, my child ; yet you might, in igno- 
 rance, ofi'end against the customs of the world, if you 
 had no one to direct you. And it is a woman's 
 direction which is required : no man could under- 
 stand what is wanted. I should be quite satisfied if 
 I thought your first introduction into society would 
 be under your amit's chaperonage." 
 
 "And will it not be?" inquired Blanche, in a 
 tone of surprise. 
 
 " There is a doubt. Sir Hugh has odd whims, 
 and sometimes fancies he can only live abroad. I 
 think it possible he \vill not remain in England more 
 than a twelvemonth ; if so, it would be my great 
 wish to give you a little insight into life soon. You 
 will be more than seventeen in the spring." 
 
 " Yes : but that seems a long time off," said 
 Blanche. 
 
 " You might enjoy a season in town, then," con- 
 tinued the earl, and your aunt might be with us ; 
 " and, in the mean time, I think it would be desir- 
 able to show you something more than the routine 
 a 
 
1/0 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 of our present life. Your cousins would like it, so 
 would your aunt, and it might induce her to remain 
 with us longer. She had an idea the other day of 
 persuading Sir Hugh to go down to his own place : 
 and I had some difficulty in talking her out of it. 
 It would be an absurdity. Sir Hugh never rests 
 there : he no sooner feels himself tied down to a 
 place, than he is in an agony to leave it." 
 
 "But is it not right for persons to live on their 
 own property," inquired Blanche; "and take care 
 of it and of the people, as you do?" 
 
 " Right, if they like it, my dear : but Sir Hugh's 
 steward does infinitely more good at Seuilhurst than 
 Sir Hugh himself. However, the question now is 
 not about him. What shall you say, Blanche, to an 
 importation of visitors ?" 
 
 Blanche laughed and blushed, and thought it 
 might be pleasant, quite pleasant, if only her aunt 
 could be the lady of the castle instead of herself. 
 
 " There we must differ," replied the earl, turning 
 upon her a look of fond admiration. " There is 
 but one who can fitly fill that station, — only one," 
 he repeated, in a lower tone. Then, after a short 
 pause, he resumed, " And will you like it, Blanche ? 
 that was my doubt. Tell me, — let me know," he 
 continued, seeing that she was uncertain what to 
 reply. 
 
 Blanche was obliged to speak ; she never dared to 
 delay an answer when her father's manner was im- 
 petuous ; but she could only repeat that it might be 
 pleasant. This she saw did not satisfy him, and 
 making an effort to be candid, she added, " I cannot 
 be sure till I have tried ; and I do not like to say 
 that I wish it, because I think it might do me 
 harm." 
 
 " Harm?" the earl turned to her hastily. 
 
 "I might hke it too well," continued Blanche, 
 
TiiK earl's daughter. 171 
 
 her voice faltering a little, as, with an instinctive 
 feeling that it would be better not to provoke any 
 discussion upon duty; she added, "To-day I do not 
 seem to care about it, because I have been disap- 
 pointed about Mrs. Howard, I looked forward to 
 her visit so much, that now I do not seem to have 
 an interest in other people. I dare say I shall en- 
 joy it though, dear papa," she said, perceiving that 
 he looked disappointed ; " and you will not scold me 
 for being fond of Mrs. Howard." She looked up into 
 his face with a smile, though a tear glistened in her 
 eye. It was a smile of bright, heavenly beauty ; but 
 it brought proud visions of earth to the worldly mind 
 of the Earl of Rutherford. 
 
 " No," he exclaimed ; " I would have you love, 
 venerate, delight in her. Whatever my Blanche 
 loves must be most worthy. But there are affec- 
 tions — feelings to be brought forth under other cir- 
 cumstances. Scenes more fitted for you. You do 
 not think, Blanche, that I could consent to see you 
 wear out the best years of your existence here ; when 
 I have but to speak the word, and you may be the 
 centre of attraction, the star, the guiding light of 
 hundreds. No," he added, as Blanche's colour 
 deepened, till her forehead was dyed of a crimson 
 hue ; " I would not pain you, my child, with your 
 own praises. I speak selfishlj-, for my own happi- 
 ness. To see you wasted at Rutherford would be 
 wretchedness. For my sake, you must forget the 
 dreams of your childhood, and look forward to the 
 prospect opening before you." 
 
 " It will not be very difficult, I dare say," said 
 Blanche, trying to throw her own mind into har- 
 mony with her father's. " 1 dare say I have a taste 
 for gaiety, only I have never had any opportunity of 
 indulging it." 
 
 "Then you shall have it now," exclaimed the 
 
172 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 earl, his face brightening. "I have been remiss, 
 certainly, in my attentions to the people about us ; 
 but we will have a few persons in the house to help 
 us to entertain them, and then we can collect them 
 en masse, and make it agreeable." 
 
 " Soon?" inquired Blanche, with a timidity which 
 she could not hide. 
 
 Lord Rutherford laughed. "The execution-day 
 is not fixed : but, my love," — and his lightness of 
 manner in a moment changed into seriousness — 
 " you must not deceive me as to your wishes. 
 Neither for your aunt, nor for myself, nor for any 
 human being, will I consent to do what you do not 
 like. You have only to say the word, and Ruther- 
 ford shall be as quiet and monotonous for the next 
 six months as it has been up to this moment." 
 
 The word monotonous gave Blanche a quick in- 
 sight into her father's feelings. Though he would 
 not own it, the desire for society was as much for 
 his own sake as for hers. She could not disappoint 
 him ; and, besides, she was not in her heart inclined 
 to do so. Blanche was young and naturally cheerful. 
 She enjoyed change, and amusement, and excite- 
 ment ; and, though she dreaded them as possible 
 evils, she had never experienced any harm from 
 them. Eleanor, too, she knew would enjoy the no- 
 velty, and Adelaide Charlton would be delighted ; and, 
 with all these mingled inducements to bias her in- 
 clinations, she at length answered, as heartily as the 
 earl desired, that " she should certainly like it, pro- 
 vided only that her aunt would undertake the 
 management of every thing ;" and then, hoping that 
 her father would be satisfied, she stood up and pro- 
 posed to continue their walk. 
 
THE earl's daughter. 173 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 When Blanche reached the bhnd girl's cottage, she 
 was not quite in the mood for such a visit. Her 
 fancy had been wandering, — yielding to the gay 
 ideas which her father had suggested. Lord 
 Rutherford went with her till they were within sight 
 of the house, and then he took out his watch and 
 said that it was late, and hoped that Blanche would 
 not stay too long. " It was a strange fancy to like 
 coming to such an ugly place." Blanche was vexed 
 that she had brought him ; and blamed herself for 
 not understanding him better, at least for not con- 
 sulting his wishes more. This was one of the many 
 trifling incidents which were continually reminding 
 her of the little true sympathy there was between 
 them. He did not really care for the things for 
 which she cared, notwithstanding his desire of 
 making her happy. She opened a wicket-gate, and 
 walked up a narrow slip of garden to a square, red 
 brick house, the only ornament of which was a 
 straggling monthly rose. She was almost resolved 
 not to go in : there was a sound of voices in the 
 house, and she said to herself that perhaps it was 
 another visitor, and she should be in the way. Good 
 reasons, or such as are apparently good, always rise 
 up to the aid of inclination. Her father was leaning 
 over the palings, and she feared he was growing im- 
 patient, and her knock at the door was hasty in con- 
 sequence. In answer to her first inquiry, she was 
 told that Susannah was not well, and was only just 
 dressed and coming out of her bedroom. Blanche 
 
174 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 was about to find an excuse, and say that she would 
 call another day ; but conscience reproached her, and 
 she never turned away from that warning. After 
 Mrs. Howard's advice, she certainly ought not to 
 postpone any duty which presented itself, and, con- 
 quering the disinchnation, she said that she could 
 wait till Susannah was ready. 
 
 A delay of some minutes took place before she 
 was admitted. Susannah was to be brought into 
 the room, and seated in her proper chair ; and a 
 bustling neighbour was to be dismissed at a back 
 door; and two children sent out in a hurry, with 
 some broken playthings, which made the room look 
 untidy : but the smile that brightened up the blind 
 girl's intelligent face, when at last Blanche entered, 
 quite rewarded her for her patience. 
 
 "And you are not well, Susannah, I hear?" said 
 Blanche, sitting down by her side, and taking her 
 hand ; whilst Susannah turned to her with a look of 
 gratitude, which did not need the light of the eyes to 
 give it expression. 
 
 " I have not been very well this week, my lady ; 
 I believe I go out rather too much. But I have had 
 a little nephew staying here till yesterday, my sister's 
 child, who lives near your ladyship's aunt, at Senil- 
 hurst. That tempted me to go about with him and 
 the other children ; for he is a sweet little fellow, 
 and I never liked to have him out of the way. We 
 went over the hill to the village one day, and it was 
 too far ; but there is not much the matter." 
 
 " I wish I had known you were not well," said 
 Blanche : " I certainly would have managed to see 
 you before ; but the days pass by, and there are so 
 many things to do. I should have liked, too, to see 
 your little nephew. How old is he?" 
 
 Blanche had touched the right chord to show her 
 sympathy. The blind girl forgot her trials, whilst 
 
THE earl's daughter. 175 
 
 in the pride and deliglit which she felt in her sister's 
 child, she expatiated upon his goodness, and affec- 
 tion, and his beauty too ; for he was beautiful, she 
 declared. She quite knew what he was like ; but a 
 heavy sigh followed. 
 
 "Poor Susannah!" said Blanche, kindly; "it 
 must be a great trial." 
 
 The blind girl recovered herself in an instant. 
 "I am not going to complain, my lady. It's all 
 best, I know ; and I am cheerful enough most 
 times." 
 
 " Only out of spirits to-day, from not being well, 
 I am afraid," said Blanche. " I wish I could stay 
 with you and read to you." 
 
 " Ah ! if you could ! some of the hymns out of the 
 book Miss Wentworth brought, I should like. They 
 seem to be work for me afterwards ; because when I 
 sit knitting, I can remember them. It must be a 
 glorious thing to make verses !" 
 
 Blanche smiled and said, " You told me one day 
 you had tried to make verses yourself, Susannah. I 
 dare say it amuses you." 
 
 " Yes, sometimes, in my poor way ; it makes the 
 time pass to see how the words fit." 
 
 " And verses suit some thoughts better than plain 
 words, do ;" continued Blanche. 
 
 " Yes, than some plain words ; but not the Bible 
 words." 
 
 " Many of them are really verses also, though not 
 quite like ours," replied Blanche. "Just listen to 
 these," and taking up a Bible, she turned to the 
 passage in Isaiah which bears us, in thought, from 
 this evil world to behold "the land which is very 
 far oflf." 
 
 Susannah listened in the attitude of fixed atten- 
 tion, and when Blanche's voice ceased, she en- 
 treated for more. " It was so lovely," she said ; " it 
 
176 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 was like rest — not rest 'though, quite; but moving 
 on without feehng it." 
 
 Blanche could not refuse, and was beginning to 
 read the fifty-fifth chapter, when the earl, unper- 
 ceived, came within sight of the door. " That first 
 verse is a verse for illness, Susannah; is it not?" 
 said Blanche, pausing ; " for the hot, weary days, 
 when our lips are parched and dry ; and a verse also 
 for our sad days, when it seems that we have no 
 pleasure ; when we sit for hours still and lonely, and 
 seem not to have any friends, or comforts, and long 
 and thirst for them ?" 
 
 " But that can never be your case, my lady," said 
 Susannah. 
 
 Blanche answered quietly : " The lonely feeling 
 comes to us all alike, at times, and so does the com- 
 fort. But I know it must be worse for you than for 
 me ; God has given me a great many blessings." 
 
 " Yes, so many to love you," continued Susannah. 
 " I can fancy that better than all the grandeur." 
 
 Blanche could not repress a sigh as she replied, 
 " I hope there are some in the world who love me, 
 certainly — love me very dearly ; but that love is not 
 enough alone." 
 
 " No, not alone ; I know it is not. I can feel it 
 IS not sometimes ;" and the expression of the poor 
 girl's face spoke deep awe and devotion ; " but it 
 comes for a time; and then it goes, and it is all dark — 
 quite dark," she repeated, in a voice of melancholy, 
 as if the privation from which she suffered had given 
 her a keener insight into the meaning of the dark- 
 ness of the soul. 
 
 Blanche paused for a few instants before she re- 
 plied. She turned the pages of the Bible, and as she 
 did so repeated, in an under tone, the first words of the 
 evening prayer, beginning, "Lighten our darkness, 
 we beseech Thee." 
 
THE earl's daughter. 177 
 
 Susannah caught the words and said eagerly, "Does 
 it mean darkness in our hearts ?" 
 
 "Yes, in one sense it must," answered Blanche; 
 " and night must mean the night of this life. It is 
 a beautiful prayer." 
 
 " Lighten our darkness," repeated Susannah, 
 thoughtfully. " Ah ! my lady ; that can never he 
 for me." 
 
 " Not in this world perhaps," continued Blanche ; 
 " but the night will pass, Susannah, and the day will 
 come — the glorious day. It is worth waiting for, 
 worth suflfering and striving for, worth patience." 
 
 Susannah's face lighted up with interest, as she 
 folded her hands together with an air of devotion, 
 and suffered a flower which she had been picking to 
 pieces to fall from her grasp. 
 
 "Just think," pursued Blanche, "what it will be 
 like ; it will be light with no shadow, no cloud, no 
 power of fading away — perfect light both for the 
 body and the soul. And it must come ; though the 
 hours seem ever so long, ever so dreary, it must 
 come. Oh! Susannah, it will be light for us both, 
 and we both promised together to strive for it." 
 
 Susannah did not reply ; the sympathy was be- 
 yond her comprehension. Since that one day which 
 had united them in the same act of self-dedica- 
 tion, their paths had parted to the world's sight far 
 asunder ; and, whilst poverty and privation were 
 her lot, it seemed that both life and death must be 
 light to the envied heiress of Rutherford. 
 
 Blanche read her thoughts with wonderful quick- 
 ness, and as her voice sank and faltered, she added, 
 "You will not think it ; but I have my moments of 
 darkness too — sadness, loneliness, and disappoint- 
 ment. Even for me earth would be often dreary if it 
 were my all." 
 
 The earl's cough at that instant warned her that 
 
178 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 he was within hearing. She looked up and caught 
 his eye. His look startled her. It was stern ; 
 hut the sternness of suffering rather than of anger. 
 He asked only if she was ready, took no notice of 
 Susannah, and scarcely allowing Blanche to bid a 
 hearty good-b'ye, led her from the cottage. 
 
 They walked on in silence for some distance. 
 Blanche was nervous and uncomfortable. She dreaded 
 she knew not what. As they stood again upon 
 the brow of the steep bank they had ascended 
 after crossing the river, and which commanded a 
 splendid view of the castle and park of Rutherford, 
 the earl stopped her suddenly, and whilst he pointed 
 to the domain which was one day to be her own, said 
 in a calm tone, the more bitter from its effort to be 
 indifferent : " Then I have failed, Blanche, to make 
 you happy. I give you all and you are disappointed." 
 
 For a moment Blanche was quite unable to answer. 
 The restraint which she always felt when with her 
 father now amounted to dread ; yet she summoned 
 resolution, and replied, "We must all be disappointed 
 sometimes, I suppose, dear papa ; but I have a great 
 deal to make me happy ; and I am very happy 
 generally. I would not vex you for the world," 
 she added, laying her hand affectionately upon his 
 arm. 
 
 The earl took no notice of the caress, and after 
 continuing his walk for some little distance, exclaim- 
 ed, as if giving vent to a train of secret reflections, 
 " You are right, Blanche ; it must be so. I was 
 a fool to think it might be otherwise. But a last 
 hope, a last wish," he added, iu a lower tone. "Folly 
 though it mav be to cherish it, it is hard to give it 
 up." 
 
 "If it is a wish for me, papa," said Blanche, 
 gaining courage as she spoke, " I think you may be 
 satisfied ; for I desire no change outwardly." 
 
THE earl's daughter. 179 
 
 " Then what would you have ? Why do you speak 
 of disappointment f he inquired, quickly. 
 
 Blanche evaded a direct reply, and replied, " Our 
 sad feelings generally come from our own minds. 
 There wouJd be none, I suppose, if we were perfect." 
 A cloud gathered upon Lord Rutherford's face. 
 "You must be careful," he said. "That morbid 
 tenderness of conscience may lead you, you know not 
 where." 
 
 " I hope it is not morbid," exclaimed Blanche ; 
 "for Mrs. Howard did not call it so: she understood 
 it, and gave me sympathy." 
 
 " Sympathy !" said the earl, in an under tone ; 
 and Blanche repeated the word with an unconscious 
 earnestness, for it expressed the true extent of her 
 needs. They had crossed the bridge, which was 
 divided by a little gate from the castle grounds. The 
 earl opened the gate for Blanche to pass, but he did 
 not follow her, and when she turned to look for him, 
 she saw him leaning over it with his face buried in 
 his hands. She walked on slowly ; her heart was 
 full of anxious, unhappy thoughts, and the sound of 
 voices on the terrace above jarred painfully upon her. 
 The idea of possibly meeting strangers made her 
 hesitate to ascend the bank, and whilst waiting un- 
 decidedly, the earl rejoined her. 
 
 " Not that way," he said, as he heard Ade- 
 laide's laugh ; and he went on before her, so that 
 she had only a momentary glimpse of his countenance; 
 yet, even in that instant, she fancied it looked paler 
 than usual. They turned into a walk at the foot of 
 the bank and reached the castle by a more circuitous 
 path, which led to one of the side wings. A low 
 door at the foot of a turret presented itself at the 
 termination. The earl stopped before it. 
 " You know this way, of course," he said. 
 
180 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 " Yes ; I have explored it once or twice," replied 
 Blanche. 
 
 " You think you know it," he continued, and a 
 ghastly smile overspread his features. " But I 
 doubt if you do. It is a private entrance to your 
 mother's apartments." They passed on and as- 
 cended a winding staircase, which Blanche had 
 only noticed before as leading, she supposed, to 
 the servants' rooms ; and in a few seconds reached 
 a small lobby, into which several doors opened. 
 The earl took a key from his pocket, unlocked the 
 nearest door, and putting another key into Blanche's 
 hand, said, " This room opens behind the bed-room 
 which you have seen. You will find letters and 
 papers in the cabinet. Read them at your leisure, 
 if you will." He did not wait for a reply, but turn- 
 ed into a passage communicating with the other part 
 of the castle. 
 
 Blanche scarcely noticed that he was gone. She 
 stood in her mother's apartment, her place of soli- 
 tude and retirement, and all consciousness of the 
 present was absorbed in feeling for her who slumber- 
 ed with the dead. The room was small, and furnish- 
 ed very simply ; the chairs were without carving or 
 ornament ; the curtains of the plainest pattern ; the 
 carpet worn and colourless from age. But a reading- 
 stand was placed in the oriel window, and upon it 
 lay a large open Bible ; and a low hassock, bearing 
 the marks of long use, was before it ; and near, upon 
 a little table, was a Prayer Book blotted with tears, and 
 open at the service for the Burial of the Dead ; and 
 Blanche, with but one thought in her mind, cast 
 a hasty glance around, and clasping her hands toge- 
 ther, threw herself upon her knees to pray, where 
 her mother must have prayed, for pardon, and 
 strength, and acceptance at the Last Great Day. 
 
THE earl's daughter. 181 
 
 A few moments calmed her mind, and she was able 
 to examine the room more closely. It had evidently 
 been left untouched since her mother's death, for the 
 walls were discoloured and the paper was damp ; 
 and a sense of desolation came over Blanche as she 
 tried to unlock a large inlaid cabinet filling a recess 
 at the lower end, which at first resisted her strongest 
 efforts from the length of time it had remained un- 
 opened. It was the only mark of peculiar refine- 
 ment or expense in the room, with the exception of 
 two small pictures upon sacred subjects, exquisite 
 in design, but fast losing their beauty from the 
 damp that had gathered over them. Blanche suc- 
 ceeded in unlocking the cabinet after some further 
 efforts, and began a hurried inspection of its eon- 
 tents. Stray articles of various kinds were collected 
 in it, of little value in themselves, yet put aside 
 carefully and marked. Remembrances they were of 
 absent friends ; ornaments associated with happy 
 days ; things which once must have had a voice and 
 language for the heait; now, like their possessor, 
 silent in spirit and association. And there were 
 other trifles, more painful perhaps to look upon as 
 recalling the daily life which had since become but a 
 dream : pens, seahng wax, scraps of paper, and me- 
 moranda, the items which form part of our ordinary 
 existence, and which could tell a truer tale of life 
 than the most valued relics. Blanche lingered over 
 these imconsciously. They brought her very near her 
 mother. It was as if but a few hours had passed 
 since she had been seated at her desk, using the 
 pen encrusted with ink, sealing, perhaps, the last let- 
 ter which she ever wrote ; or^the fancy flashed 
 across Blanche's mind, with an overpowering rush 
 of regret, as she caught sight of an infant's coral 
 and rattle — amusing herself with the child who was 
 destined only to learn the value of her care bv its 
 
182 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 loss. But time was passing rapidly. Blanche had 
 but a few minutes more to spare, and, shutting 
 the drawer quickly, she opened another division of 
 the cabinet. Manuscript books, letters, and papers 
 filled it, and days would be required in order to ex- 
 amine them thoroughly. Blanche took the book 
 which lay nearest. It was full of old accounts ; she 
 threw it aside, and opened another, it was the same ; 
 another, and still another, and the gong sounded for 
 dinner ; but Blanche could not go. Paper after 
 paper, book after book, was examined ; but nothing was 
 found which could throw any light upon her mother's 
 personal history ; until, quite underneath the pile, she 
 laid her hand upon a packet of letters and a journal 
 book, marked " Not to be opened till after my death." 
 The second gong sounded as she hastily unfastened 
 the string which bound them ; and, closing the cabi- 
 net, she took up the packet, locked the door of the 
 chamber, and hurried to her own room to dress as 
 quickly as she might, and appear at the dinner table, 
 if possible, as gay and light-hearted as was her 
 wont. 
 
THE earl's daiightfr. J 83 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 " You were a complete truant this afternoon, my 
 love," said Lady Charlton, addressing Blanche, as 
 she threw herself into an arm-chair after dinner, pro- 
 fessing to be too tired either to read, write, or work. 
 " We had a charming drive, and I should have liked 
 to introduce you to my friends the Cuthbert Greys. 
 Very nice people they are in their way ; a httle 
 too fashionable, perhaps, for your taste; but kind- 
 hearted and extremely clever. I quite thought, when 
 Miss Weutworth joined us, that you would be found 
 somewhere." 
 
 Blanche did not exactly like to own that she had 
 absented herself on purpose, and endeavoured to 
 change the subject, by asking where they had been 
 and what they had seen. 
 
 " The carriage party Avent round by Staplehurst 
 Common, and over the hill to the old monument in 
 Lord Hervey's grounds," said Eleanor; but Miss 
 Adelaide Charlton and I drove through the copse." 
 
 " Miss Adelaide did not go with you anywhei'e by 
 her own consent," exclaimed Adelaide, coming for- 
 ward from the window where she had been standing. 
 
 Eleanor laughed, and promised to be less formal 
 another time ; " Though it is an error on the right 
 side," she added. 
 
 '' You must come with me to my room. I want 
 to show you that sketch we were speaking of," con- 
 tinued Adelaide. 
 
 "What sketch?" asked Maude, haughtily and 
 quickly. 
 
184 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 Adelaide's blush was not perceived in the twilight ; 
 but she did blush as she answered, in a tone of 
 affected indifference, " Oh ! only one that was taken 
 for me abroad, — I dare say you don't remember." 
 
 " There was one which I took," said Maude : " is 
 that it?" 
 
 " No, no, Maude ! What can it signify to you?" 
 and, calling to Eleanor, Adelaide hastened out of the 
 room. 
 
 Blanche watched this little scene with surprise, 
 and a feeling of annoyance which she could not ac- 
 count for. She stood in silence for some moments, 
 when Maude's hand was laid upon her shoulder, 
 and Maude's deep voice of satire whispered in her 
 ear, "Jealous, Blanche?" Blanche started; but, 
 before she could reply, Maude had glided past her, 
 and she was left alone with her aunt. She could 
 not go then, although she longed to do so ; but it 
 would have been unkind, when they had scarcely met 
 all day ; and as Lady Charlton drew a chair towards 
 her, and beckoning to Blanche to seat herself in it, 
 said, in her most winning tone, "Now, my child, 
 we will have a few minutes of pleasure," Blanche 
 would have been well contented, but for one reason, 
 to remain. 
 
 " You were grave at dinner, my love, and you are 
 grave now," began Lady Charlton. "What is there 
 to make you so ? must I not know ?" 
 
 " I did not mean to show that I was grave," re- 
 plied Blanche. 
 
 " But you cannot hide it, dear child, — not, at least, 
 from me. You are graver than you ought to be, 
 Blanche, for your years." 
 
 " It is my disposition, I suppose," said Blanche. 
 
 " No, my love, I assure you it is not your disposi- 
 tion. You are naturally light-hearted ; but you 
 
TOE earl's daughter. 185 
 
 suffer yourself to brood too much upon serious 
 subjects." 
 
 " That cannot be, surely?" exclaimed Blanche. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, it can. You would say so, if you 
 had had my experience. You are very like your 
 mother, Blanche." 
 
 " You would not wish to see me different, then, 
 would you?" asked Blanche, almost reproachfully. 
 
 " Not in many things ; but, in that one, perhaps I 
 might. Much more of your happiness may depend 
 upon it than you are at all aware of." 
 
 Lady Charlton spoke so energetically, that Blanche 
 looked at her with astonishment. " Was not my 
 mother happy?" was the question which trembled 
 on her lips ; but then, as often before, she dreaded 
 to ask it. 
 
 "I should like to have my own way with you," 
 continued Lady Charlton, in a lighter tone. " You 
 should not be buried at Rutherford much longer if 
 I had." 
 
 " Papa means to make Rutherford very gay," said 
 Blanche. 
 
 " Ah ! my love, he means — I quite give him credit 
 for his meaning. But can he do it? I know him 
 better than you do, Blanche. There is not a man 
 of greater natural talent, or greater powers of pleasing, 
 in England, than your father, — but not at Ruther- 
 ford ; there is a weight upon him here." 
 
 "What ! how? " asked Blanche, quickly. 
 
 Lady Charlton hesitated, "A weight I called it, — 
 well ! it is one : the weight of the place ; the old 
 walls, and the old furniture ; it even makes me 
 melancholy. Now at Senilhurst, where I would 
 take you if I could, you would find everything 
 different ; a cheerful house, lovely grounds, open 
 and bright, a very pretty pasture country, not 
 overpowering in beauty : you know ; or, at least you 
 - R 2 
 
186 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 will know by-and-by, that nothing is more fatiguing 
 than being always on the mental tiptoe of admiration ; 
 — everything in fact to enliven you. It would be a 
 new phase of existence, and a good introduction to a 
 season in London." 
 
 Blanche liked the description, and said so ; and 
 Lady Charlton was excited too, and gave a yet more 
 glowing picture of the enjoyments she would find 
 at Seuilhurst. 
 
 " I should recommend it far more than remaining 
 here," she said. " There is nothing to be done in 
 a place like Rutherford. Entertainments — young 
 people's entertainments I mean — are out of character. 
 And you would not have the change — I see that is 
 what you want— complete change of scene." 
 
 "When I have been here only a few months?" 
 
 " That does not signify, my love," rephed Lady 
 Charlton ; " it is the effect of the place which is 
 pressing you down. If your father had consulted 
 me, he never would have brought you here. There 
 is nothing so desirable for young persons as cheerful- 
 ness. Grave thoughts and anxieties come quite soon 
 enough," she added, with that sudden transition to 
 a tone of sorrowful feeling, which always gave a pecu- 
 liar interest to her conversation. 
 
 "I should haveno\allage at Senilhurst; no poor peo- 
 ple, or school,' ' said Blanche : " that I should regret." 
 
 "Yes ; but, my dear, you would have them. You 
 should see what we are doing there, and help us. Sir 
 Hugh is a great man for education, and gives me 
 carte blanche to do as I like when we are at home ; 
 and you shall help me. My own girls, unfortunately, 
 have never taken to that sort of thing, and it has 
 been a great vexation to me. Ady is too giddy, and 
 Maude is so wrapt up in German metaphysics. I 
 assure you, Blanche, you could be of the greatest 
 possible use to me." 
 
THE earl's daughter. 187 
 
 "And poor Eleanor," said Blanche, unconsciously 
 giving utterance to her own train of thought. 
 
 *' Yes, she would miss you ; but, my dear, you can- 
 not be always together." 
 
 " We have been so till now," said Blanche. 
 " I could not bear to think of our being really 
 separated." 
 
 " No, indeed, I can quite understand that ; you 
 must be just hke sisters : but the being parted for a 
 time will only make you enjoy being together the 
 more afterwards." 
 
 " It will be such a very long parting," observed 
 Blanche, " if I am to go to London in the spring ; 
 unless — I wonder whether Mrs. Wentworth would let 
 her go with me there." 
 
 " We had better not look forward, my dear child ; 
 take the day as it comes. Go to Senilhurst with 
 me now, and leave the spring to itself." 
 
 " Mrs. Wentworth would not allow it, I am afraid," 
 said Blanche, unheeding the warning ; " and I could 
 never make up my mind to ask her, if I thought she 
 would say No." 
 
 " Mrs. Wentworth's strictness would come in the 
 way, I suppose," said Lady Charlton: "but never 
 mind, my love ; leave it, as I said, and remember 
 you will get on better in London than you would 
 elsewhere, without Miss Wentworth. There will be 
 so much to amuse and interest you. It pleases me 
 immensely, Blanche," she added, bending forward to 
 kiss her niece's forehead, " to find you take to the 
 idea so kindly, as the poor people say ; and I shall 
 tell your father we have settled it." 
 
 "Oh! no, no," began Blanche; but Lady Charlton 
 stopped her — "My dear, you dou't know your own 
 power, and you must be taught it. Believe me, you 
 have but to say the word, and horses would be ordered 
 for Senilhurst to-night. And now you have quite 
 
183 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 cheered me, and I must exert myself, and go and see 
 after Sir Hugh. Shall we have tea soon ? I am 
 tired, and must go to bed early to-night ; so, if you 
 can, don't let that Mr. Weutworth keep us till mid- 
 night sirjging glees and trios." 
 
 Blanche rang for tea, and thought it might be 
 possible to snatch a few moments for solitude and 
 a cursory inspection of her precious packet of papers, 
 before it was brought in. Eleanor and Adelaide 
 were crossing the gallery as she went up stairs. She 
 heard Eleanor say, in a laughing voice, " I shall cer- 
 tainly tell how carefully you have kept your treasure ;" 
 whilst Adelaide replied, by a faint " Oh ! no, no ! 
 indeed you must not !" which, of course, meant pray 
 do. But Blanche did not stop to interpret words, or 
 search into hidden meanings ; only she thought it 
 strange that Eleanor should have found so much to 
 occupy her with Adelaide Charlton as to leave no 
 time for her. 
 
THE earl's daughter. 189 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 It was nearly midnight before Blanche went to her 
 room for the night. Notwithstanding Lady Charlton's 
 injunctions, music had been the order of the even- 
 ing ; and music is, perhaps, of all amusements the 
 most enticing. Lord Rutherford was particularly 
 silent, and seemed quite in the mood for enjoying a 
 gratification which could be obtained without effort ; 
 and Sir Hugh, who generally joined the party for 
 an hour or two before he went to bed, was charmed 
 with the opportunity of displaying his scientific 
 knowledge. Duets, trios, glees, and quartettes, suc- 
 ceeded each other rapidly ; or rather the quartettes 
 were the beginning, and the trios the finale : for, 
 after a short time, Maude, whose voice was of the 
 greatest consequence, professed her determination 
 not to sing another note, and the piano was left to 
 the possession of Adelaide, Eleanor, and Mr. Went- 
 worth ; Blanche only joining them occasionally. 
 Blanche was much occupied with her own thoughts ; 
 but not sufficiently so to render her unobservant of 
 what was going on around. Music was a delight to 
 her, and in general such an evening would have 
 been a great treat ; but when at length the piano was 
 closed, and Eleanor and her brother departed, she 
 felt relieved ; as if something which had annoyed 
 and offended her was removed. Yet it was hard to 
 say what that something was. There had been 
 nothing to find fault with in the singing. Nothing 
 in the manner or behaviour of any one of the party 
 to herself. Eleanor had seemed anxious to make 
 
190 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 amends for any apparent neglect ; and Maude, as if 
 wishing to show that she had quite forgotten their 
 difference of opinion, was particularly gentle, and 
 pointed out a beautiful passage of Egmont, which 
 she assured her she had marked because it was so 
 entirely unobjectionable. Every one had been kind 
 to her ; yet Blanche was fretted. It was so strange, 
 she said to herself, that she should be so ; so odd 
 that she could not bear to watch Adelaide ; that she 
 quite disliked hearing her speak to Mr. Wentworth. 
 She was really very good-natured and sang nicely, and 
 with a good deal of spirit and taste of a certain kind. 
 But it must be the taste, Blanche thought, which 
 jarred upon her. It was too marked — too personal 
 — and there was a system of amiable quarrelling and 
 bantering kept up between Adelaide and Mr. Went- 
 worth in the intervals between the different songs, 
 which was especially disagreeable to her. She could 
 not help hoping that, if this style of intercourse was 
 to go on, Mr. Wentworth would discontinue his visits. 
 
 Thoughts of Adelaide, however, were soon dis- 
 pelled when the door of Blanche's apartment was 
 closed against interruption, and she was at length left 
 at liberty fully to examine her mother's papers. Late 
 though it was, she could not rest satisfied with the 
 slight glance which was all she had before given 
 them, and seizing upon the journal, as being the most 
 likely to afford her the information she desired, she 
 began to read it. 
 
 But disappointment was destined to follow. There 
 was no record of passing events to tell the secret 
 history of the Countess of Rutherford, although 
 there was sufficient to show that she had been sin- 
 gularly gifted with refined taste and powers of obser- 
 vation, chastened by deep piety. The journal was 
 not exactly what its name implied. It was rather a 
 book of remarks, thoughts, extracts, and prayers. To 
 the writer it must have been full of memories and 
 
THE earl's daughter. 191 
 
 suggestions ; for there were dates and private marks, 
 bearing reference, apparently, to the seasons at which 
 the observations had been made ; and there was also 
 a visible change in the style of writing from the com- 
 mencement to the end. The first pages showed more 
 imagination than reflection ; more of hope than con- 
 tentment. The last were almost entirely short ex- 
 tracts from devotional writers, expressive of great 
 mental sufferings, and an endeavour to be resigned 
 under affliction. They were unconnected, and some- 
 times abruptly terminated. The handwriting was 
 often illegible, and a few sentences were introduced, 
 apparently without meaning ; but the concluding 
 words, written several months before death had 
 summoned the Countess of Rutherford to her rest, 
 were the declaration of the Psalmist : " I will pa- 
 tiently abide alway, and will praise Thee more and 
 more." 
 
 Blanche repeated the verse to herself again and 
 again, for it seemed sent as her mother's legacy — her 
 last accents of advice and encouragement. But there 
 was nothing strictly personal in all this ; and she 
 turned to the letters. They also were, for the most 
 part, unsatisfactory, being chiefly written by Lady 
 Rutherford's friends, with the exception of a few 
 from the earl, dated in the first year of his married 
 life, and preserved most carefully in a little silk case. 
 These were kind and considerate ; but implied fre- 
 quent long absences, and gave few indications of any 
 wish to be at Rutherford. Engagements, it was 
 said, kept him in London. He hoped to be in the 
 country soon, but could not promise certainly ; he 
 trusted that the countess was amusing herself, 
 begged her to deny herself no gratification ; was glad 
 to hear that Mrs. Wentworth was with her. These, 
 and many similar wishes, came in every letter. But 
 Blanche was chilled as she perused them ; for it was 
 
192 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 not the love which would have been shown to her- 
 self. 
 
 Surely, she thought, there must have been some- 
 thing more. This could not have been the affection 
 for the sake of which her mother had left home, and 
 friends, and early ties, and pledged herself, by the 
 most solemn and binding engagement, to love, and 
 honour, and obey, until death. One letter of the 
 packet was still unread, and, with a sickening feeling 
 of doubt and disappointment, Blanche unfolded it. 
 It was without a direction, and in her mother's hand- 
 writing, addressed to a dear friend. 
 
 The first sentence attracted her attention by a 
 painful fascination. " You tell me I must struggle 
 against my misery ; but do you know what you re- 
 quire ? You would not be willingly unkind ; yet by 
 such words you raise a barrier between us, which 
 leaves me doubly desolate. Weary and heartsick I 
 have been so long, that sorrow is my natural element, 
 and hitherto I have borne it in silence. But if the 
 captive sinks under the burden of captivity, who 
 shall blame him ? I wander, day after day, seeking 
 for I know not what — longing for rest which never 
 comes ; listening for — I am listening now — but you 
 will find fault with me. God hears me ; I turn to 
 Him. He will hear my child. I give her to Him. 
 —If my husband comes — I am dreaming — too late." 
 And those few sentences, the half-collected, half-un- 
 conscious outpourings of a broken heart, were the 
 only indications granted to Blanche of the cause of 
 that grief which had preyed upon her mother's 
 health, and it seemed too evident, at length, crushed 
 the powers of her mind. 
 
 The morning dawned brilliantly and cloudlessly 
 upon Rutherford Castle, and as Blanche roused her- 
 self from a short slumber, the last words of her 
 mother's letter flashed upon her memory before she 
 
THE earl's daughter. 193 
 
 could recall where she had heard them, or why they 
 should be accompanied by a pang. 
 
 The recollection came but too soon, and with it the 
 conviction that her most painful suspicions were veri- 
 lied — that her mother's life had been rendered miser- 
 able by neglect. For, in the clear thoughts of the 
 morning, Blanche could put together words, and in- 
 cidents, and trifling remarks, which had fixed them- 
 selves in her memory from the very pain they had 
 caused, and by their aid find a clue to many circum- 
 stances hitherto mysterious. Long before the house- 
 hold had risen she sat up in her bed, gazing upon 
 the straggling, nearly illegible, characters which 
 showed the wretchedness of her mother's feelings, 
 almost as much as the words themselves ; whilst in- 
 dignation and fear were succeeded by bitter self-re- 
 proach, as she allowed herself to pity one parent at 
 the expense of her affection for another. Her mother 
 had been lonely and heartsick, and no one had been 
 near to comfort her. She had been left to breathe 
 her anxious wishes, and no one had been at hand to 
 gratify them. She was ill in body and in mind, and 
 there was no one to administer to her needs or calm 
 her distracted spirit. Whose fault could it have 
 been ? Blanche rested her forehead on her hand to 
 still the beating, throbTjing pain, which was settling 
 there. It was no new thought that her father was 
 proud and worldly, and had no sympathy with her 
 highest hopes. Day by day the assurance had become 
 " doubly sure ;" and the gulf between them more 
 widely marked. But could he also be cold and 
 neglectful ; he, who was so devoted to his child's 
 happiness, whose every thought was centred in her 
 gratification, whose eagerness to indulge, was even 
 painful and burdensome ? Alas ! for that most bitter 
 of all doubts, which bids us look with suspicion on 
 those whom duty bids us reverence. 
 
194 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 When the party assembled at the breakfast-table 
 the pale face of Lady Blanche excited general notice. 
 The earl looked at her with uneasy interest, but only 
 asked if she had slept well ; whilst Lady Charlton took 
 occasion to remark that it was evident the place did 
 not agree with her ; she had thought so for a long 
 time but did not like to say so. " Senilhurst would 
 do her a great deal of good, if you would but think 
 so," she added, addressing Lord Rutherford. 
 
 "Senilhurst will do very well, if Blanche likes it," 
 he replied ; " but I very much doubt if she does." 
 
 Blanche smiled faintly, and said she should miss 
 many things at Rutherford extremely. 
 
 " But, my love," and Lady Charlton turned round 
 with a sparkling eye ; " it was only last night you en- 
 tirely entered into my views, and quite enjoyed the 
 idea : you really are very incomprehensible." 
 
 " I don't much care," began Blanche ; but she 
 stopped, for she knew that indifference would vex 
 every one. 
 
 " You don't care, my dear? I wish I could under- 
 stand you. I wish I knew what you were aiming at." 
 
 " She is not aiming at anything, " said the earl, 
 coolly. " She likes staying at Rutherford ; and, if so, 
 at Rutherford we will stay." 
 
 Lady Charlton compressed' her lips and went on 
 with her breakfast. Soon after Adelaide came into 
 the room. Lady Charlton looked up, and said, "You 
 are very late. Is your father dressed?" 
 
 " I don't know," was Adelaide's careless reply, as 
 if the question did not at all concern her. 
 
 " I must know. I wonder what Pearson has been 
 about ; pray inquire," continued Lady Charlton to 
 one of the servants. " Pearson has grown extremely 
 absurd of late," she added to herself; "he never 
 can be in time ; and Sir Hugh won't bear it." 
 
 Pearson made his appearance, and was immediately 
 
THE earl's daughter. 195 
 
 accosted with, " Sir Hugh is not at breakfast, I 
 suppose ?" 
 
 " Yes, my lady ; at breakfast, and quite enjoying 
 it. He hopes to see your ladyship as soon as is con- 
 venient." 
 
 " Oh !" and as Pearson withdrew. Lady Charlton 
 gave a slight push to her plate, and declared she had 
 no appetite, and really felt quite unwell. As it was 
 such a beautiful morning, she thought she should 
 like a little stroll on the terrace for the sake of the 
 air. 
 
 Blanche half rose to accompany her, or at least 
 to ask if she could be of any assistance ; but Lady 
 Chariton motioned to her to remain, and murmuring 
 a few thanks went away. Silence followed. Lord 
 Rutherford took up a newspaper, and Adelaide began 
 reading a letter ; whilst Maude occupied herself in 
 studying a large historical picture that hung opposite 
 to her ; and Blanche tried to finish a breakfast for 
 which she had not any appetite. Maude looked at 
 her from time to time vnth an expression of greater 
 gentleness in her features than they seemed naturally 
 formed to wear ; and as Adelaide lingered, according 
 to her custom, tasting first one thing and then ano- 
 ther, sighing because the tea was cold, and ordering 
 coffee which, when it came, she did not wish for, 
 Maude declared herself ashamed of wasting so much 
 time, and proposed to Blanche to leave her. 
 
 " Yes, do go ; never mind me," exclaimed Adelaide, 
 good naturedly ; " I have quantities of amusement — 
 the most charming letter you ever read, Maude, from 
 Caroline Grey. She is so sorry not to be in the 
 neighbourhood, with her mother and sister, now we 
 are here." Maude's lip curled. "I leave you to 
 your friend very willingly," she said, " so long as I 
 am not required to undergo the penance of reading 
 what she writes." 
 
196 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 " Ah well ! you don't like her ; but that I can't 
 help. Blanche, Caroline Grey would just suit you ; 
 you shall know her some day." 
 
 " And hate her, as I do," whispered Maude, put- 
 ting her arm within that of Blanche, and drawing 
 her out of the room. " Caroline Grey is Adelaide's 
 dearest weakness," she added, laughing, as she led 
 Blanche to the library. " Almost more silly than 
 herself, if that were possible. But we wont talk 
 about her. "What have you done, Blanche, to put 
 my mother in such a ferment?" 
 
 " I ! " exclaimed Blanche. " Is my aunt vexed ? " 
 
 " My dear child, what a perfect innocent you are ! 
 Vexed ? — She is angry, furious." 
 
 •' Oh ! no, surely." 
 
 " Hark ! Here she comes ! " said Maude, and 
 Lady Charlton walked into the room, inquired for 
 some sealing-wax — asked Maude where Adelaide was, 
 and, after a formal " Better, thank you," in reply to 
 Blanche's inquiry of how she felt, again departed. 
 
 "I am afraid she is annoyed," said Blanche, much 
 perplexed. 
 
 " Only annoyed ! " said Maude. " Well, we must 
 hope it may be nothing more. But what concerns 
 me most, Blanche, is yourself. You look wofuUy 
 pale this morning, and I must know the reason 
 why?" 
 
 " I slept badly," said Blanche. 
 
 " But why ? Sleeping badly is never an ultimate 
 cause, and my mind cannot rest till it has reached 
 one." 
 
 " I did sleep badly : but I cannot tell you the 
 reason why," said Blanche, quietly. 
 
 " But I must know. I must insist upon knowing. 
 Had it anythmg to do with our stupid afternoon, 
 yesterday ? Did I bore you by my German uon- 
 
 spnsp '?•'■' 
 
THE earl's daughter. 197 
 
 "Oh ! no, no ; I scarcely thought ahout it." 
 
 " Not compUmentary ; one would rather be hated 
 than forgotten. Still I forgive you. But the pale 
 looks and the bad night,— I shall go backwards, Hke 
 the wonderful history of the House that Jack built, 
 till I find the cause." 
 
 Blanche's eyes filled with tears, and Maude's man- 
 ner altered directly. 
 
 " There is something more in this than a little 
 fever, or a fit of worry," she exclaimed. " Blanche ! 
 I wish I could make you beUeve that I am not quite 
 such a heathenish savage as I appear." 
 
 " Only yourself would call you so," said Blanche, 
 half laughing. 
 
 " No. But a great many would think me so. — 
 And yet, I think, yes ; I am sure," she continued, 
 more seriously ; " that I could be a friend — a true 
 friend — a better friend to you than most people. 
 Blanche, why do you feel yourself so lonely ? " 
 
 Blanche regarded her with a smile of surprise ; 
 and Maude went on. " You are lonely, though you 
 may not choose to own it ; you have no one to sym- 
 pathize with you, though so many love you ; and you 
 have fancies, and worries, and brooding thoughts. — I 
 see it constantly." 
 
 " Are you sure you are not speaking of yourself? " 
 asked Blanche. 
 
 " Never mind me ; I am used to it. I am older, 
 have seen more of the world, and have learnt to live 
 in it by myself. But you have not. And you are 
 not formed to battle with it alone, as I am." 
 
 " It may be the lesson 1 am to learn," said Blanche, 
 gravely. 
 
 " No, no, " exclaimed Maude ; " that is one of 
 your narrow views. We choose our own lessons, and 
 shape our own lives. They do so, at least, who are 
 s 2 
 
198 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 worth anything. Determine that you will not be 
 lonely, — that you will have companionship and sym- 
 pathy, and you will find it." 
 
 " Have you done so ? " asked Blanche. 
 
 " No ; but it is because I do not need it — because 
 I would rather stem the torrent of life's troubles by 
 my own unassisted power ; but you are formed to 
 lean upon others and cling to them. Why must you 
 condemn yourself to reserve and solitude ? " 
 
 "I do not condemn myself," replied Blanche. "I 
 enjoy sympathy when I can have it ; but I do not 
 need it as much as you imagine : or rather," and her 
 colour slightly deepened as she spoke, " I have more 
 than I can explain." 
 
 Maude turned away as if annoyed. 
 
 "Am I unkind?" said Blanche, following her. 
 
 "Incomprehensible, merely," was Maude's cold 
 reply ; " but I have no wish whatever to force your 
 confidence. I might have known, from our conver- 
 sation yesterday, how little our ideas accord." And 
 yet, as she said this, Maude lingered in the room, 
 evidently unwilling to break off the conversation. 
 
 "You are very kind to me, dear Maude," said 
 Blanche, gently. " I wish I could make you believe 
 that I really am obliged ; perhaps, by-and-by, you 
 will, when we understand each other ; for, in some 
 things, I think we agree more than we know. But, 
 as regards confidence, I have none that I should feel 
 it right to give to any one, except Mrs. Howard ; or, 
 perhaps, my aunt." 
 
 " Mamma !" exclaimed Maude. "Confidence to 
 her ! " 
 
 " I don't meanconfidence, exactly," replied Blanche. 
 " But there are some things which she could tell me, 
 which would be a comfort to me ; though I could not 
 ask her about them just now." 
 
THE EARLS DAUGHTER. 199 
 
 " No ; — certainly," answered Maude, with a satiri- 
 cal laugh. " Fond though she is of you, I would 
 not advise you to put yourself in her way again, for 
 some hours at least." 
 
 Blanche looked distressed, and said she was scarcely 
 aware what she had done, though -she supposed it 
 was being so foohshly changeable, as to going to 
 Senilhurst. 
 
 " I suppose it was that : but leave her to herself ; 
 she will come round again ; and she will bear a great 
 deal from you." 
 
 " I am glad she is fond of me," said Blanche ; 
 though she said it with an uncomfortable feeling or 
 distrust and disappointment. 
 
 " Yes ! mamma is always fond of persons she is 
 proud of." 
 
 Blanche's face showed that she was puzzled ; 
 and Maude continued, laughingly, " Now, my dear 
 Blanche, there is a certain limit to simplicity, be- 
 yond which it becomes silliness. You really are 
 much too sensible not to know that you possess 
 a great deal of which the world is proud — rank, 
 wealth, beauty. Nay ; don't shrink from the truth," 
 she added, as Blanche suflFered an expression of dis- 
 taste to escape her lips. " I am not flattering you ; 
 I am not a man paying court to you ; if I were, I 
 should be wiser than to praise you to your face. But 
 I long to see you make the most of yourself; and I 
 am sure no one can ever do that who has not a 
 thorough appreciation of his or her peculiar advan- 
 tages. So you must understand that mamma is 
 proud of you ; and, as a consequence, fond of you ; 
 and if you choose to go and confide your griefs to her, 
 don't let me prevent you. Only, I should have ima- 
 gined — ■' ' 
 
 "What?" 
 
200 THE earl's daughter, 
 
 Maude thought for a moment, and then answered, 
 " I should have thought that your taste might have 
 led you in a different direction." 
 
 " It is not a question of taste," replied Blanche. 
 " If I did not love my aunt, she would still be the 
 only person to help me now ; unless, perhaps, Mrs. 
 Wentworth could." 
 
 " Then go to Mrs. Wentworth," exclaimed Maude, 
 hastily. " Cold, though she is, stiff, unbending, — 
 go to her, Blanche. You wonder at me, and I shock 
 you ; but I am not thinking of my mother, as my 
 mother — only as suiting you. Mrs. Wentworth will 
 tell you more of what you wish to know than 
 mamma will," she added, fixing her large piercing 
 eyes upon Blanche, as if she knew her inmost heart. 
 
 " But I cannot go to Mrs. Wentworth ; I cannot 
 learn from one who is not a member of my family — " 
 
 "The secrets of that family," added Maude, 
 quietly. " Suppose I could tell them, Blanche ? " 
 
 " Do you know ? Can you tell ? " exclaimed 
 Blanche, and the faint shade of colour in her cheeks 
 went and came rapidly. 
 
 " If I cannot tell myself, I might learn," pursued 
 Maude. 
 
 Blanche shook her head in disappointment. " No ; 
 you are very kind, very good ; but it will not do." 
 
 "And there is to be no confidence between us, 
 then?" said Maude. 
 
 Blanche did not answer. They had been standing 
 together at the window, and as she was about to turn 
 away from it, Maude laid a detaining hand upon her 
 arm, and pointing to a bird which was winging its flight 
 far into the blue sky, said, " I had a dreani of two 
 minds soaring together, leaving the delusions of this 
 paltry world behind them, and seeking a higher life 
 in the glorious light of truth." 
 
 Blanche sighed. 
 
THE earl's daughter. 201 
 
 " Must it be a dream ? " said Maude, almost ten- 
 derly. 
 
 Blanclie raised her eyes timidly to her cousin's 
 face, as she replied unhesitatingly, " There is a false 
 light as well as a true one. Before we soar together, 
 Maude, we must know which we are seeking." 
 
 " Truth," answered Maude. " In other words, spi- 
 ritual, intellectual beauty, which is another name for 
 truth." 
 
 Blanche passed her hand over her eyes, and said, 
 with a faint smile, '' I cannot talk as we did yester- 
 day — my head aches too much ; I cannot fix my 
 thoughts." 
 
 There was a tone of indescribable depression and 
 weariness in her voice. Maude looked at her com- 
 passionately and kissed her, and said she would not 
 tease her ; and the sympathy overcame the self-com- 
 mand which Blanche had been exercising, and large 
 tears filled her eyes, and rolled down her cheeks. 
 
 Maude made her sit down. " Can't I help you?" 
 she said. " Are you quite sure ?" 
 
 " Quite sure ; unless you know." She thought 
 for a few moments, and then added, " Does my aunt 
 ever talk to you about herself?" 
 
 " About past days ?" said Maude. " Yes, some- 
 times ; but not often." 
 
 " Not of interesting things ; things which would 
 interest me ?" and Blanche looked up imploringly. 
 
 " I don't know," said Maude doubtfully ; "that 
 is, they would interest you in a way." 
 
 " But does she ever mention my mother?" The 
 last words were uttered with painful unwillingness, 
 and when they were spoken Blanche sat with her 
 hands tightly elapsed together, as with an effort to 
 conceal the working of some keen emotion. 
 
 The perplexed expression of Maude's face in- 
 creased as she looked at her. "What is it that 
 
202 THE earl's dadghter. 
 
 troubles you, Blanche ?" she said. " Surely nothing 
 connected with days so long gone by ; sorrows that 
 have so long ceased ?" 
 
 " Then she was sorrowful ; she was miserable," 
 exclaimed Blanche, rising impetuously. "Oh, Maude, 
 in pity tell me what you know." 
 
 " Sorrowful, miserable," repeated Maude slowly. 
 " One must always fear it in such cases ; but it may 
 have been better than we think." 
 
 Blanche grasped her cousin's hand, and the bright- 
 ness of her eye was terrible in its eagerness. 
 
 " There are sadder moments of sanity than of de- 
 lusion," continued Maude, gently ; and Blanche's 
 fingers relaxed their grasp, and she fell back in her 
 chair nearly fainting. Maude was not in the least 
 hurried out of her usual steadiness of manner ; she 
 sprinkled some water on her cousin's forehead from 
 a flower-glass near, and when Blanche a little re- 
 vived, and uttered mournfully the word " delusion," 
 answered, without any reference to her transient 
 weakness, " I thought you knew it, dear." 
 
 " No, no ; they kept it from me. But tell me 
 now, quickly." 
 
 " Only delusion," answered Maude ; " nothing 
 more. Nothing to distress you, Blanche. Pray be- 
 lieve me," she added, as Blanche's eyes again filled 
 with tears. 
 
 "But what delusion? of what kind?" asked 
 Blanche, faintly. 
 
 " Quiet melancholy ; only that, I assure you ; 
 nothing really hereditary to frighten you." 
 
 Blanche scarcely seemed to hear this comfort ; she 
 only said in reply, " Was she alone ? " 
 
 " Yes, sometimes, when it could not be helped," 
 replied Maude, with evident hesitation. 
 
 " Quite alone ; sorrowful, miserable," murmured 
 
THE earl's daughter. 203 
 
 Blanche, and she leant her head upon her hand, and 
 cried bitterly. 
 
 " I will tell you all I know," said Maude. " She 
 was not strong naturally, mamma says ; and she was 
 a great deal by herself ; and she must have been like 
 you, Blanche, fond of brooding over her own fancies, 
 for they never could persuade her to see people and 
 go out, except occasionally, when Lord Rutherford 
 was here." 
 
 " And she went out then? she was happy then ?" 
 exclaimed Blanche, raising her head quickly. 
 
 " Yes, she went out a little to please him," con- 
 tinued Maude. " But you know he was absent a great 
 deal, especially at last." 
 
 Blanche's head sunk despondingly. Maude's quick 
 eye remarked the change, but she went on — " I do 
 not think there was really anything to distress you 
 so much ; of course, she had every comfort, and her 
 mind" — she stopped, considering how to approach 
 the subject in the way least likely to give pain ; but 
 Blanche made a slight motion of the hand, and said, 
 " I can bear it," and Maude continued, in a rather 
 hurried voice, " It was not so very dreadful ; not 
 common insanity. She was very quiet, and gentle, and 
 good. Mamma used to come and see her very often, 
 and for a long time people said it was only melan- 
 choly, it came on so gradually. She used to write a 
 great deal, I believe ; but almost all her papers were 
 destroyed when Lord Rutherford came back from 
 abroad." 
 
 "But he was with her; quite at the last ? " said 
 Blanche, in a low voice. 
 
 " No ; he was not here in time. It was very un- 
 fortunate ; for the longing to see him was so great, 
 it was worse than anything. But Blanche, my dear, 
 - I am doing you harm," she said, observing her 
 cousin's look of intense suffering. 
 
204 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 " No, no ; go on ;" was all that Blanche ventured 
 to utter. 
 
 " There is not much besides to tell," answered 
 Maude. " But indeed, Blanche, I am very anxious 
 you should not think it at all worse than it really 
 was. She was ill and depressed very long before it was 
 thought necessary to have any one with her ; a com- 
 panion," she added, as Blanche slightly shuddered. 
 " And, even to the very last, there were intervals 
 when she knew everything and everybody quite well ; 
 and the only way in which they discovered when the 
 attacks were coming on worse, was that she would 
 then kneel for hours together in her room, repeating 
 portions of the Burial Service." 
 
 Blanche put her hand before her eyes to hide the 
 light of the glorious sun. Many moments elapsed 
 before she spoke. Then she rose from her seat, and 
 kissed Maude, and said, " Thank you ; you have 
 been very kind; you must not say that you have told 
 me," and walked slowly out of the room. 
 
THE EARL S DAUGHTER. 205 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV, 
 
 Mrs. Wentworth was sitting alone in her little 
 room : the post was just come in, and she was 
 busied in answering her letters. She looked particu- 
 larly old that morning ; perhaps her dress was unbe- 
 coming — perhaps her letters had been annoying ; at 
 any rate, her care-worn expression was sufficient to 
 attract observation ; and as Dr. Wentworth passed 
 the window, and stopped to say a few cheerful words, 
 it made him delay the business he was bent upon, and 
 re-enter the house. " There is nothing amiss in them ; 
 is there, my love ?" he inquired, taking up the letters 
 on the table. " I did not read them through." 
 
 " Oh, no ! nothing : they are mere chit-chat ; not 
 of any consequence. Why should you ask?" 
 
 " You seemed uncomfortable — that is all ; but if 
 there is nothing the matter, well and good. It must 
 be the cap, I think, which makes you look different. 
 I think I told you I was going to the Union this 
 morning." 
 
 " Yes : you will be back to dinner, I suppose, at 
 six o'clock." 
 
 " Say half-past ; we shall be more punctual. Good- 
 b'ye ;" and Dr. Wentworth departed. 
 
 Mrs. Wentworth leant back in her chair, in a 
 reverie, a strange and painful one. It carried her 
 back many years, to that early romance of first 
 love — that entire sympathy of thought and feeling, 
 which she had imagined was to last undiminished for 
 ever. Dr. Wentworth was a good man, an earnest 
 man : his heart was given to his duties, first ; his 
 
206 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 family afterwards. His wife did not wish it should 
 be otherwise ; but she did not resemble him. The 
 romance of her early years had not, like his, been 
 extinguished by the constant pressure of parochial 
 cares. She was poetical, enthusiastic still, in secret. 
 She had, as it were, two characters — the one of great 
 imagination, the other of strong common sense. Her 
 husband's affections had been won by the former ; 
 they were retained by the latter. Imagination, 
 with him, had been the amusement of boyhood ; with 
 her, it was the present beauty of life : and if Mrs. 
 Wentworth had been endued with a less portion of 
 right feeling and self-command, the discovery of this 
 essential difference in their characters might have 
 been made at the risk of the happiness of both. As 
 it was, it only served to throw her back into herself, 
 to chill the outward show of enthusiasm, and to con- 
 centrate all the intensity of her hopes and interests 
 upon her children. Perfect respect, and a true, 
 though unimpassioned, love, were still her husband's ; 
 but she had learnt to live her inward life without him : 
 and whilst sharing his pleasures, and sympathising 
 in his sorrows, she concealed, as by a natural instinct, 
 those keener, more sensitive feelings, which he would 
 not have understood. There were times when this 
 sense of uncongeniality was very oppressive. When 
 Mrs. Wentworth thought of her children, she most 
 ielt the absence of that perfect sympathy, which 
 would have supported and soothed her under the 
 anxieties they occasioned. It was a fear for them 
 which was now pressing heavily upon her spirits ; 
 that boding, shadowy fear which cannot be combated, 
 because it assumes no tangible form. She indulged 
 the reverie of the past for a few moments only. It 
 was dangerous to her peace, and contrary to her 
 strict conscientiousness ; but, as it faded away, there 
 rose up the long vista of futurity, and who can blame 
 
THE EARl/s DAUGHTER. 207 
 
 a mother's momentary longing to pierce into its 
 secrets ? It is so hard to persuade ourselves that 
 the children whom we love so fondly, and guard so 
 tenderly, must one day bear, as we do, the burden of 
 this evil world. When we are sinking ourselves be- 
 neath pressing cares, we can least endure the thought 
 that they must sink likewise. When we are strug- 
 gling with the claims of conflicting duties, or worn 
 with exertions for their happiness, we can least look 
 forward to the same conflict for them. We watch 
 them in their hours of mirth, and listen to their 
 joyful expectations, and in pity suffer the delusion to 
 last whilst yet it may ; and at length we ourselves 
 become sharers in it, and, closing our eyes to reality, 
 whisper to our own hearts, " To-morrow shall be as 
 this day, and much more abundant." Happy is 
 it that a truer love and a wiser forethought is 
 steadily, unshrinkingly, yet most mercifully, pre- 
 paring for them the cup of trial which we would so 
 weakly withhold. 
 
 A knock at the door disturbed the train of Mrs. 
 Wentworth's thoughts. " Come in," was the order, 
 spoken quickly and nervously ; but Mrs. Wentworth 
 did not look round, 
 
 "Did you want me, mamma?" asked Eleanor, 
 standing as if unwilling to enter. 
 
 " Yes ; if you are not engaged. Is Susan at her 
 lessons?" 
 
 " She was just going to say them ; but she can do 
 something by herself, if you wish it, mamma," and 
 Eleanor retired. 
 
 Several minutes passed before her return, more, it 
 seemed, than were necessary, and Mrs. Wentworth 
 had a hasty word on her lips in consequence ; but it 
 was not uttered, and served only to give a sadder 
 tone to her voice, as she said, " I would not have 
 
208 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 interrupted you, my dear, if there had not been a 
 necessity." 
 
 A Uttle awkwardness was perceptible in Eleanor's 
 manner as she approached her mother ; and a certain 
 consciousness that the necessity alluded to was not 
 an agreeable one. 
 
 " You were very late returning from the castle 
 last night, my love," continued Mrs. Wentworth. 
 " I did not like to vex you by saying anything about 
 it at the time ; but I was sorry. I did not expect, 
 indeed, that you would have stayed to dine." 
 
 " I did not mean to doit," replied Eleanor; "but 
 we went out driving and riding, and came back late ; 
 and then Lady Charlton and Adelaide persuaded me, 
 and I thought you would not be angry," 
 
 " Adelaide," repeated Mrs. Wentworth in a musing 
 tone ; but she made no other comment upon the 
 familiarity. " I am not angry, my dear child," she 
 added ; " and, perhaps, I should not even be vexed if 
 you were alone." 
 
 " You are afraid for Charles," replied Eleanor ; 
 " but, mamma, it is his only amusement." 
 
 " Yes, I know it ; but it makes me very anxious." 
 
 Eleanor looked steadily in her mother's face, whilst 
 a smile, which she vainly strove to repress, stole over 
 her features, as she said, " You are afraid of his 
 falling in love, mamma?" 
 
 " Falling in love, my dear ! No !" and Mrs. Went- 
 worth' s lips curled in disgust. " I could never fear 
 that Charles would fall in love with anything so 
 vain and frivolous as Miss Charlton ; but I am afraid 
 of his being led on to say and do foolish things ; to 
 flatter and talk nonsense, and go further than he 
 knows ; to flirt, in fact : and I am afraid of your 
 seeing it, and perhaps being induced to join in it in 
 a certain way. 1 could not bear that sort of thing, 
 
THE earl's daughter. 209 
 
 Eleanor ; it would be so utterly against my taste, not 
 to put it upon higher grounds." 
 
 " Charles likes Miss Charlton very well," said 
 Eleanor ; " but he does not really care for her." 
 
 " I do not see that it makes much difference 
 whether he does or does not," replied Mrs. Went- 
 worth ; '•' for a young man just preparing for ordina- 
 tion to waste his time and lower his character by 
 dancing attendance upon a silly girl, whom he does 
 not care for, merely because he wants amusement, is, 
 to say the least, unworthy." 
 
 " The Charltons will be going soon," said Eleanor. 
 " Lady Charlton talks of spending the winter at 
 Senilhurst, and taking Blanche with her." 
 
 " Indeed ! " Mrs. Wentworth's face brightened in- 
 stantly. 
 
 " Yes ; it is nearly settled ;" but Eleanor looked as 
 much vexed as her mother was relieved. 
 
 INIrs. Wentworth observed the expression of her 
 face: "My dear child, you must forgive me for being 
 glad ; I do feel for you." 
 
 Eleanor only drew up with an air of reserve, and 
 said, " I am not disappointed ; I have known that it 
 must be so from the beginning." 
 
 " It will smooth every difficulty if they go," con- 
 tinued Mrs. Wentworth, evidently trying to be frank 
 and unconstrained ; " that was why I sent for you, 
 Eleanor, to know if you could tell me anything of 
 their movements. If they were to remain, I must 
 urge your father to make some other arrangement 
 for Charles. I have such a great dread of the inti- 
 macy. Can you not understand me?" she added, 
 watching Eleanor's countenance narrowly. " I think 
 you must see yourself how bad it is." 
 
 " Certainly," replied Eleanor, flattered by her 
 mother's confidence, " Adelaide Charlton is not the 
 T 2 
 
210 THE eakl's daughter. 
 
 person to improve him ; but, there is more in her, 
 mamma, tlian you would give her credit for." 
 
 " That may be ; but Charles must have a superior 
 wife, if he is ever to do anything in life. He must 
 marry a woman whom he respects." 
 
 " And loves, too," said Eleanor. 
 
 " Yes, assuredly ; but the love in which there is 
 no respect is but a broken reed to rest upon. How- 
 ever, I need not take up your time any longer, my 
 love. If Lady Charlton goes soon, all my trouble 
 will be at an end ; and, in the mean time, I must trust 
 to you not to do more than you can help in bringing 
 them together." 
 
 " I will not do anything you dislike, dear mamma," 
 was Eleanor's reply; "if you will only look less 
 anxious than you did when I came in." 
 
 " Anxious, did I ? My face is not generally a tell- 
 tale." 
 
 " I understand it always," answered Eleanor. 
 " You have been uncomfortable very often lately." 
 
 Mrs. Wentworth did not contradict the assertion. 
 
 " I think you would be happier," added Eleanor, 
 "if the castle was far off; and yet, mamma," and 
 she hesitated, "you suffered me to be brought up 
 with Blanche." 
 
 " Yes, I did ; possibly it was a mistake," Mrs. 
 Wentworth thought for a few moments, and then con- 
 tinued, " Yet I acted for the best at the time. When 
 you first went to Mrs. Howard I was very ill ; I could 
 not take proper care of you myself. Mrs. Howard 
 urged me to let you go for the sake of Lady Blanche, 
 and for her mother's sake. At that time there seemed 
 little probability that Lord Rutherford would ever 
 settle permanently in England ; or, if he did, that 
 he would choose to reside at Rutherford. The cir- 
 cumstaixces under which he left it were such that I 
 
THE earl's daughter. 211 
 
 myself could not have contemplated his return. He 
 has another place in the north ; I imagined that he 
 would have preferred it. Yet it might have been an 
 error, a want of due forethought. Oh ! Eleanor, you 
 will not make me regret it !" 
 
 Eleanor's feelings were touched by the earnestness 
 with which her mother spoke. "Mamma!" she 
 exclaimed, " I have been fooUsh, I know, of late ; 
 but, indeed, you may trust me. I can only learn 
 good from Blanche, and I cannot really be led away 
 by a person like Adelaide Charlton." 
 
 " God forbid you ever should be, my love," replied 
 Mrs. Wentworth. " You do not know all that such 
 an influence brings ; how it lowers, wastes, vitiates 
 the whole tone of the character ; how its effects are 
 felt for years and years. Such a mind as yours, 
 Eleanor, if it is not bent upon the highest objects 
 destroys itself ; it cannot rest in mean pursuits, and 
 it turns inward and gnaws at the root of its own 
 happiness. And you may be — shall I tell you what 
 you maybe? — what I have sometimes pleased myself 
 by imagining you to be ?" 
 
 " Somethmg much better than I can ever imagine 
 myself, I am sure," said Eleanor. 
 
 " Yet nothing beyond your power," continued her 
 mother. " A woman vnih all a woman's tastes, and 
 gentleness, and modesty ; yet earnest, untiring, ex- 
 alted in your aims, enlarged in your views, sufficient 
 for your own happiness, from having fixed it where 
 alone it may be safely centred, whilst living in the 
 happiness of others, because your whole life is devoted 
 to the promotion of their welfare; and having a 
 power over their minds, because you have kept such 
 a strict watch over your own. That is what you 
 may be." 
 
 "And what shall I be, mamma?" The question 
 was put in a tone of great thoughtfulness. 
 
212 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 " Mrs. Wentworth paused," and her voice sank 
 again into its quiet stillness, as she said, " One only 
 knows." 
 
 " But tell me ; help me, if you can," said Eleanor ; 
 " tell me what I must be if I am not what you de- 
 scribe. Mamma, it may do me more good than you 
 can think." 
 
 "Would you wish to hear?" replied Mrs. Went- 
 worth. "You will think me exaggerating, yet I have 
 watched the downward progress of many charac- 
 ters like yours, and the general outline is alike in all. 
 First, self-dissatisfaction and a longing for the respect 
 which might be deserved, and then an endeavour 
 to be satisfied with mere admiration instead ; admira- 
 tion becoming necessary, and sinking gradually into 
 the craving of a miserable vanity ; and this changing 
 in old age into a sharp, cynical narrowness of mind, 
 which is vrretchedness to itself and others. I am 
 not speaking in the least too strongly, Eleanor. 
 I have seen it, and grieved over it ; and the first 
 symptom has always been that fickleness of action, 
 though not of intention, in little things, which you 
 are always regretting." 
 
 " And never amending," said Eleanor. " Mamma, 
 I must do so, I will." The house-bell rang at that 
 moment ; Eleanor coloured deeply. " It is Adelaide 
 Charlton," she said. " I did very wrong ; I asked her 
 to come." 
 
 " Mrs. Wentworth strove hard not to show her real 
 annoyance." 
 
 " She shall stay but a few minutes," continued 
 Eleanor. " She has only to look over some music, 
 and she knows I shall be busy." 
 
 Miss Charlton was announced in the drawing-room. 
 
 Mrs. Wentworth rose and said she would receive 
 her, and, collecting her letters, was preparing to go, 
 when Dr. Wentworth's voice was heard. The meet- 
 
THE earl's daughter. 213 
 
 ing at the Union was deferred ; he was returned un- 
 expectedly, and he came to the window to say so. 
 
 " I want you, my dear, particularly. I must have 
 you for a few minutes to go into the village with me." 
 
 " Is it really necessary ? There are visitors in the 
 drawing-room." 
 
 " What visitors ? Only Miss Charlton. Charles 
 and Eleanor will entertain her." 
 
 Mrs. Wentworth's conscience smote her for the 
 pride which had made her shut up from her husband 
 the anxieties which she imagined he could not sym- 
 pathise with. Now, when she wanted his assistance, 
 he was working unknowingly against her. 
 
 " Indeed, I must have you, my dear," he continued. 
 " I am in a hurry." 
 
 Mrs. Wentworth could say no more ; but she 
 looked at Eleanor as she joined him, and Eleanor 
 answered the look with, " Adelaide will only stay a 
 few minutes. I shall not let her do so." 
 
214 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 " I HOPE I am not interrupting you," began Ade- 
 laide Charlton, as Eleanor welcomed her with a gravity 
 of manner which she could not hide. 
 
 " Oh ! pray don't name it. I shall find the music 
 I mentioned almost immediately," and Eleanor 
 began searching for it hurriedly ; inquiring at the 
 same time for every one at the castle. 
 
 Adelaide rattled on in her usual style. They 
 must have had a bad night, she supposed, for they 
 all seemed cross ; but she made a point of never in- 
 qinring what was the matter. She had left Maude 
 aud Blanche in close conversation ; but, of course, she 
 did not know what it was about : they were becoming 
 such desperate friends, it would not do to pry into 
 their secrets. 
 
 Eleanor bent over the music-stand, and regretted 
 that the lost piece of music was not forthcoming ; 
 but promised to look for it, and send it to the castle 
 in the course of the day. 
 
 " Oh ! it does not signify ; " was Adelaide's in- 
 different reply. "One never really cares for any 
 particular piece ; I dare say you have a good manv 
 that I don't know. May I look?" She took up a 
 piece of music, hummed a few notes, thought it 
 seemed pretty, and seated herself at the piano to try 
 it. " Awfully difficult all this style of music is, and 
 not in good taste, people say; at least, Maude says 
 so, and she is the oracle. After all, instrumental 
 music is worth nothing compared witli vocal. How 
 badly your brother and I sang last night ! We really 
 
THE earl's daughter. 215 
 
 must practise before we exhibit again. Don't you 
 think it would be a good thing to have practising 
 days?" 
 
 " If one had time, it might be," said Eleanor. 
 " Oh, but we must make time. I have no notion 
 of persons not finding sufficient time for anything 
 they wish. I protest, there is that enchanting trio 
 we were talking of; you must try it." 
 
 "A trio for two persons !" said Eleanor, laughing; 
 " that will not quite do." 
 
 *' Never mind ; just try your part." 
 She struck the first few chords ; Eleanor grew 
 hopeless of escape. Adelaide's visit was from her 
 own invitation, and she could not summon courage 
 to shorten it by confessing her engagements. 
 
 "You very good people are so methodical," con- 
 tinued Adelaide ; " you quite put one to the blush. 
 I declare, to see the way Blanche goes on is enough 
 to convert one into an automaton, I must have 
 some music this morning to put me in good humour." 
 " Can that ever be needed ?" asked a voice from be- 
 hind her ; and, to Eleanor's extreme annoyance, her 
 brother joined them. 
 
 Adelaide Charlton's maimer showed instantaneously 
 the working of her mind. There was a little blushing, 
 a little bantering, a good many quick upward glances, 
 interspersed with a few downcast modest ones ; some 
 pretty nonsense about music and flowers, and a pre- 
 tence at shyness, when Mr. Wentworth asked her to 
 sing, with an evident disinclination to leave off when 
 she had begun. It was vanity, unmistakeable ; and 
 Eleanor stood by and compared Adelaide's flirting 
 with her own dignity ; and, in the pleasure of self- 
 satisfaction, forgot her mother's cautiou and her own 
 promises. And so the minutes went by, and Eleanor 
 satisfied herself that the waste of time could not be 
 
216 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 avoided, and therefore it could not be wrong to enjoy 
 it. And she did enjoy it in a measure. 
 
 There is generally something agreeable in that sort 
 of light, quick conversation which accompanies 
 music, and Adelaide Charlton was not deficient in 
 talent of a certain kind. She had travelled and 
 could relate amusing adventures herself, and assist 
 Mr. Wentworth in remembering his ; and she had 
 seen more of the world than Eleanor, and laughed at 
 many of her simple notions ; she was older also, and 
 had been presented at court, and was acquainted with 
 people of rank and fashion. These were all ingre- 
 dients of influence, especially when mingled with 
 them was the thought " Notwithstanding all these 
 advantages, I am the superior." 
 
 "And now, Charles, we really must be steady," was 
 at length Eleanor's faint endeavour to stop the flow of 
 the conversation. "I am doing very wrong in staying 
 here, and you are doing very wrong too, Adelaide. 
 I must be rude and send you away, or we shall both 
 get into disgrace." 
 
 Adelaide started from her seat ; " Go, must I ? 
 Well, I suppose I have been here an immense time. 
 I did not mean to stay a quarter of an hour. Mr. 
 Wentworth, I must trouble you to return my glove : 
 you seem bent upon keeping possession of it ; but I 
 am afraid it will not be quite as useful to you as to 
 me." She held out her hand, and to her surprise, 
 the glove was given as a matter of course, and Mr. 
 Wentworth, turning suddenly to his sister, said, in a 
 tone of quiet politeness, " Eleanor, you do not see — 
 Lady Blanche Evelyn." 
 
 Blanche was at the window, and Mr. Wentworth 
 stepped forward to open it. His manner was quite 
 diff^erent ; thoughtful and respectful, as if some 
 sudden spell had been cast over him. Yet Blanche 
 
THE earl's daughter. 217 
 
 was thoroughly at her ease, smiled and shook hands, 
 and rallied him upon his musical mania. Perhaps he 
 saw that the words were words of course, spoken to 
 smoothe the little stiffness of the party, for there was 
 no real gaiety in what she said. She looked ill and 
 harassed, and when Adelaide declared her intention 
 to return to the castle, Blanche made no remark, and 
 allowed her to say " Good b'ye," without asking her 
 to wait. So Adelaide, after a little more lingering 
 and sighing, and laughing, departed, taking care when 
 she had gone a few steps to attract attention, by an 
 " Oh ! j\Ir. Wentworth, I forgot ; " which drew him 
 after her, and induced him to accompany her more 
 than half-way home. 
 
 Eleanor stood watching them until they were 
 fairly out of sight, and then going up to Blanche, 
 said, as she stooped to kiss her, " Blanche, I am 
 thankful you are not your cousin Adelaide." 
 
 Blanche smiled, and replied, " Perhaps, I am glad 
 too ; and yet that is wrong," she added, correct- 
 ing herself; though one may be glad one is not 
 forced to lead the same life. But, Eleanor, I was 
 not prepared for your having any one here ; and 
 I thought Susan's lesson would be over by this 
 time. If Adelaide has been with you that of course 
 is impossible." 
 
 Eleanor had seldom felt less inclined to attend to 
 lessons, and, as an excuse to herself, said, that Susan 
 could do very well without her for the present ; she 
 wished first to know what had brought Blanche to the 
 rectory. 
 
 "Business that can wait very well," replied Blanche, 
 "so please go, if you have anything to do, and I will 
 sit here and write a letter till you are ready." 
 
 "But you look fagged and worried, Blanche; 
 what has been going wrong ? " 
 
 The eyes of Blanche filled with tears, but not one 
 u 
 
218 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 was suffered to escape, and, avoiding a direct reply, 
 she said, " I came here partly to tell you that we 
 shall all probably go to Senilhurst immediately." 
 
 Eleanor's couatenaace betokened blank disappoint- 
 ment ; she was not prepared for such a sudden 
 move. , 
 
 "Yes," continued Blanche quickly, as if anxious 
 to avoid questions; "it is my aunt's wish, and I 
 shall vex her if I refuse, and I don't think papa will 
 dislike it. INIy aunt says it is the best thing for 
 
 me ; and, and I don't much care myself what " 
 
 her voice failed her, and she burst into tears. 
 
 Eleanor was at her side in an instant, soothing and 
 caressing her, and entreating to be told what was the 
 cause of her grief, Blanche seemed distressed at her 
 own weakness, but had no power of controlling it 
 when she had once given way. 
 
 " Oh, Eleanor !" she exclaimed, " if they had only 
 told me ; if they had not brought me up in ignorance!" 
 
 " Ignorance, dearest Blanche ! Of what ? " 
 
 " Of everything ; of what I ought to have known; 
 what all the world knows except myself," replied 
 Blanche, impetuously ; a feeling of pride mingling 
 unperceived with her sorrow. 
 
 " All the world ! what? how?" inquired Eleanor, 
 frightened at her unusual vehemence. 
 
 " You know," continued Blanche, and she grasped 
 her friend's arm nervously, until Eleanor said, " I can 
 know nothing which you will not tell me ;" and then 
 Blanche dropped her hand, and leaning her fore- 
 head upon the table, murmured, " I am unkind too ! 
 and I thought I had self-command ! " 
 
 " You must not have self-command witli me, 
 dearest," said Eleanor. "If you cannot talk openly 
 to me, whom can you go to ? " 
 
 "No one; no one;" was the mournful answer. 
 " But I think I could bear it better if I knew all. 
 Oh, Eleanor ! are you sure ? did your mother never 
 
THE earl's daughter. 219 
 
 talk to you ? did she never tell you of — of my owu 
 mother — my sweet mother ?" — she paused, and her 
 voice sank almost to a whisper ; but it was a whisper 
 clear and thrilliug, and Eleanor's cheek turned pale, 
 and a shudder passed through her frame as she 
 heard, " Eleanor , she was insane." 
 
 There followed a long pause, until Eleanor said 
 very gently, " Mamma, if it is true, would tell you 
 all.'' 
 
 Blanche shook her head : " I could not ask her. 
 I had a thought — a foolish one — that you might 
 know." 
 
 "No, never. Could I have hidden it from you?" 
 
 "Perhaps so; they all did. They thought it 
 right : it was a cruel kindness." 
 
 " Are you quite certain it is true ?" asked Eleanor. 
 
 " Maude says so ; and I feel it. I understand 
 things now. Oh ! if I could have comforted her but 
 for one hour!" and Blanche groaned in agony for the 
 past, whilst Eleanor trembled at the horrible train of 
 thought which in those few moments had been con- 
 jured up for the future. 
 
 Blanche recovered herself by degrees. She re- 
 lated what had passed with Maude, and showed 
 Eleanor how the fact was confirmed by her mother's 
 papers, and the strange silence and mystery in which 
 everything connected with her was involved. She 
 seemed to shrink from any attempt to persuade her 
 into disbelief. " It was better," she said, "to face 
 the truth at once ; that was what she was now long- 
 ing to do entirely. A few days ago she could have 
 gone to her aunt ; but there had been an unhappy 
 misunderstanding ; she scarcely knew how it had 
 arisen ; from some fooUsh changeableness of her own, 
 she believed. It had worried Lady Charlton ex- 
 tremely, and she had not recovered it. Th?re is no 
 one besides her, except your mother," continued 
 Blanche, and Eleanor assented. She did not ven- 
 
220 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 ture to ask why Lord Rutherford's name was not 
 mentioned. 
 
 " And why should you not go to mamma?" she 
 said, as Blanche again repeated her longing wish to 
 hear the particulars of her mother's history. 
 
 The answer was given with some reluctance : " Be- 
 cause I am afraid of her." 
 
 " Afraid of her ! so good, and gentle, and charita- 
 ble, as she is. Oh, Blanche I" 
 
 " Yet still I am afraid. Do you know what it is 
 to have an intuitive perception of being misunder- 
 stood — misjudged ? Her interest in you absorbs 
 her; and well it may. It is a mother's love." 
 Blanche turned away her head to hide her unbidden 
 tears. " I am very wrong to regret," she added, 
 "only sometimes I think that, if my mother had 
 lived, I might have been better ; but then ■ ." 
 
 It was an awful thought which suggested itself to 
 both, and Eleanor, willing to divert it, said, " Even a 
 mother's love, Blanche, cannot always be our safe- 
 guard." 
 
 " It seems so, as if it must be," replied Blanche 
 musingly. " Your home, and its quietness and peace; 
 all your time marked out, and your duties fixed, and a 
 friend to go to always ; — it must be safer than mine." 
 
 Eleanor made no direct answer. " When do you 
 go to Senilhurst?" she said abruptly. 
 
 " Directly, I think ; but the day is not fixed." 
 
 This was said with an air of such melancholy in- 
 difference as to recall Eleanor from all thoughts of 
 herself. 
 
 " You must be made happier before you go, 
 Blanche," she exclaimed. 
 
 " That cannot be. I must try and bear it, and 
 the pain may lessen." 
 
 " But not the ignorance and mystery ; and if you 
 chose, there would be nothing easier than to learn 
 everything. Mamma would tell you every little de- 
 
THE earl's daughter. 221 
 
 tail, if she thought you were aware of the truth ; and 
 you would feel her value then." 
 
 Blanche recollected the request for her mother's 
 picture, and was silent. 
 
 Just then Mrs. Weutworth came into the room, 
 accompanied by Susan. Blanche looked nervous and 
 agitated. Mrs. Wentworth spoke to her, but seemed 
 to have an instant perception that all was not right ; 
 and addressing Eleanor, reminded her that the morn- 
 ing was fast passing away, and that Susan's lessons 
 could not possibly be finished in time if she was left 
 to herself. " I make no apology to Lady Blanche," 
 she added; "she will not require ..it. I am glad 
 you have been detained by her." A meaning stress 
 was laid upon the pronoun, and Eleanor's sincere 
 conscience would not suffer her to misunderstand it. 
 
 "Blanche has been here but a short time," she 
 said. "Adelaide Charlton stayed longer than I thought 
 she would, and Charles came in, and they sang," 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 There was no further remark or comment. Eleanor 
 kissed her mother, and the kiss was returned warmly ; 
 but the sigh which accompanied it spoke volumes of 
 disappointment. Mrs. Wentworth sat down when 
 she was gone ; her manner was less self-possessed 
 than usual. She asked a few unconnected questions, 
 and when Blanche mentioned the plan of going to 
 Senilhurst directly, she did not appear to take in the 
 idea ; her mind was wandering to another subject. 
 At length, Blanche asked if she might stay and 
 write a letter, and occupy herself till Eleanor was at 
 leisure again ; and this seemed to put Mrs. Went- 
 worth at ease, and she placed the portfolio for her, 
 and laughed at the bad pens which she had to offer, 
 and afterwards, saying she would leave her at libertj^ 
 went away. 
 
 V 2 
 
222 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 "Your master is much better this morning, Pear- 
 son," said Lady CharUon, addressing the civil man- 
 servant, as he stood aside, condensing himself into 
 the smallest possible compass, whilst she passed. 
 
 " Rather better, my lady. I am afraid he has 
 been in a good (^al of pain the last half hour." 
 
 " But he is better, Pearson ; a good deal. Mr. 
 Stone said so yesterday. He will be able to go to 
 Senilhurst soon." 
 
 " Certainly, my lady ; certainly, if you wish it. 
 Did you say soon?" 
 
 " Yes ; very soon ; next week. Your master will 
 be quite ready for the journey by that time." 
 
 " Certainly, my lady ; " and a faint smile played 
 upon the lips of the well-instructed Pearson. " The 
 change is to do bira good, I imagine, my lady." 
 
 " Of course ; and this weather will do very well for 
 travelling ; later in the season might be running a 
 risk." 
 
 " Certainly, my lady ; and it might be bad for 
 your ladyship and the young ladies." 
 
 " Yes ; in fact, we must be at Senilhurst next week. 
 Lord Rutherford and Lady Blanche will accompany 
 us." Pearson bowed low. " I shall see your master 
 presently, Pearson." Another bow. 
 
 Lady Charlton went to the drawing-room, and 
 Pearson repaired to the library, to see if the fire 
 was getting low. The glance with which Sir Hugh 
 repaid his attention was discouraging ; so were his 
 words. As usual, they were a reproach for the length 
 
THE earl's daughter. 223 
 
 of time lie had been left, and, as usual, Pearson made 
 no attempt at explanation, and only answered, *' Very 
 sorry, Sir Hugh ; extremely sorry ; might I be al- 
 lowed ? — I think I could put your pillow more com- 
 fortable." 
 
 " Not at all ; I don't want to be comfortable. Left 
 alone two full hours ! it's unbearable." 
 
 " I was certainly forgetful," began Pearson. 
 
 " Forgetful ! idiot, you forget everything ! AVhere's 
 my medicine ? " 
 
 Pearson poured it out, and as he handed it to his 
 master, ventured to observe that the day was so fine, 
 he hoped it might do for a drive. 
 
 "Where is the good of driving?" muttered Sir 
 Hugh, "the hills stop one at every half-mile." 
 
 " Exactly what I was saying to the bailiff just 
 now. Sir Hugh. Mr. Denham, said I, this place is 
 very different from Senilhurst. There we have a fine 
 open country, where my master can drive about and 
 get plenty of fresh air ; beautiful soft in the valleys, 
 bracing upon the downs. Trust me, if you could 
 come to Senilhurst, you would never wish to go back 
 to Rutherford." 
 
 " Then you talked nonsense, Pearson," exclaimed 
 Sir Hugh more mildly than before. 
 
 Pearson did not seem to notice the interruption, 
 but went on, " Mr. Denham is hard of belief; a very 
 narrow mind ; never has travelled at all. Sir Hugh. 
 He wouldn't credit a word I told him of your crop 
 of turnips the year before last." Sir Hugh leaned 
 his head upon his hand in a soothed attitude. "Won- 
 derful, those turnips were ! " continued Pearson ', 
 " but, as I told Mr. Denham, — my master, said I, 
 understands these things ; he's an experiencing gen- 
 tleman ; he takes nothing upon trust." 
 
 "And Denham wouldn't believe you, eh?" said 
 Sir Hush. 
 
224 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 "Wouldn't believe a word," said Pearson; "said 
 there never was such a crop known, and he couldn't 
 understand it. But, said I, Mr. Denham, it's not for 
 you and me to try and understand these things. My 
 master is a man of science, and what he does he does 
 upon principle — strict principle; the turnips, d'ye 
 see, grew upon principle." 
 
 " Hem, nonsense," muttered Sir Hugh, whilst the 
 frown upon his forehead gradually subsided, and a 
 pleased smile stole over his features. " Why don't 
 you bring him to Senilhurst, Pearson, instead of try- 
 ing to talk him over here?" 
 
 " Undoubtedly, Sir Hugh ; it's the only thing to 
 be done ; but, as I said, if we are to stay the vnnter 
 at Rutherford, there is no good in thinking of Senil- 
 hurst." 
 
 " And who said we were to spend the winter at 
 Rutherford?" inquired Sir Hugh sharply. 
 
 " I understood from my lady," began Pearson ; 
 but Sir Hugh broke in, " I have told you fifty times 
 before, Pearson, that you are to understand from me ; 
 your lady knows nothing about the matter." 
 
 " I imagined it was my lady's wish," began Pear- 
 son again. 
 
 " And what did you think then was my vrish ? 
 Did you suppose that I meant to be cooped up here 
 for the next six months, with nothing to do but to 
 follow your lady's beck and call?" 
 
 " My lady seemed to think it was fixed," continued 
 Pearson, " and of course it was not my place to say 
 anything ; though I could see, like every one else. 
 Sir Hugh, that it would be better for you to be at 
 home." 
 
 " And what is to hinder me from going home ? " 
 inquired Sir Hugh. 
 
 " Nothing, sir, nothing ; if you desire it : only my 
 lady—" 
 
THK earl's datjghteu. 225 
 
 "Don't talk to mc of vour lady; my will is her 
 will." 
 
 " Unquestionably, Sir Hugh ; and no doubt my 
 lady's health, and that of the young ladies, would be 
 materially benefited. As I said to Mr. Denham, 
 Senilhurst air is quite renovating." 
 
 "And what did Denham say to that?" 
 
 " He was amazed, Sir Hugh ; never saw a man 
 more so. Mr. Pearson, said he, Senilhurst must be 
 a paradise. Mr. Denham, said I, it is." 
 
 "Hem!" muttered Sir Hugh; "Denham's got 
 more sense than I gave him credit for. To see how 
 he manages the estate here, one would think him an 
 ignorant booby. Young Wentworth knows much 
 more about farming than he does." 
 
 " Mr. Wentworth has had great advantages," ob- 
 served Pearson, " going about with a gentleman of 
 such experience as yourself. Sir Hugh." 
 
 " Wentworth's a sensible fellow," continued Sir 
 Hugh; "he has his eyes about him, and he's not 
 conceited. He has my geology pamphlet by heart ; 
 in fact, he's quite the life of the place." 
 
 " Mr. Wentworth would take a great interest in 
 the farming at Senilhurst," said Pearson insinu- 
 atingly. 
 
 "Yes, he might; he would, I think. There 
 would be a good deal for him to learn there ;" and 
 Sir Hugh fell into a short reverie, which was appa- 
 rently caused by some difficulty in the contemplated 
 return home, as he tapped his finger on the table 
 and began reckoning — " Lady Charlton, one ; Maude 
 and Ady, three ; young Wentworth, four ; it's one 
 too many." 
 
 " The earl and Lady Blanche will have a great 
 loss in your absence. Sir Hugh," began Pearson, a 
 little alarmed at not hearing their names mentioned. 
 
 " Well, yes ; I suppose they will," said Sir Hugh, 
 
226 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 stroking his chin ; " the earl and I have pursuits in 
 common, we are both hterary men." 
 
 " There's a thought of his lordship and Ladj^ 
 Blanche remaining here through the winter, I sup- 
 pose," said Pearson ; " at least my lady seemed to 
 say so the other day." 
 
 "What should your lady know ahout it?" ex- 
 claimed Sir Hugh ; " the earl has no fixed plans, he 
 told me so confidentially. If I were to ask him to 
 Senilhurst he would go." 
 
 " And be delighted, no doubt," replied Pearson ; 
 "he has not been looking at all well lately." 
 
 " No wonder, living at this place. He and young 
 Wentworth together," — Sir Hugh mused again, but 
 whether upon the travelling plans, or the probable 
 indignation of Lady Charlton if he presumed to give 
 Mr. Wentworth an invitation to Senilhurst, it is 
 impossible to say. The difficulty which perplexed 
 him, whatever it was, seemed, however, to be insur- 
 mountable, for after the silence of a few minutes, he 
 exclaimed, " It won't do ; no, it wont do ; and after 
 all, spring is the best time for seeing a place. If we 
 stay here a few weeks longer we shall help them on 
 into the winter, and they can come to us early in the 
 spring." 
 
 Pearson was in dismay ; but he was h man of 
 singular patience, and having reached the point from 
 which he had started, he steadily set forth to traverse 
 the same ground again ; pulling Sir Hugh one way, 
 in the conviction that he would be sure to go the 
 other, until at length he had once more brought him 
 to face the possibility of removing to Senilhurst im- 
 mediately, taking Lord Rutherford and Lady Blanche 
 with them, and giving an indirect invitation to Mr. 
 Wentworth to follow at his earliest convenience. This 
 last resolution, however. Sir Hugh did not fail to 
 qualify by repeating, " I shan't imite him ; I hate 
 
THE earl's daughter. 227 
 
 regular invitations. Only if he likes it of course 
 he will be welcome. Mind, Pearson, I have no in- 
 tention of inviting him." 
 
 Pearson assented both to the letter and the spirit 
 of this declaration, and having arranged his master's 
 pillows for about the twentieth time since the con- 
 versation began, ventured to suggest that Lady 
 Charlton might be glad to know of Sir Hugh's 
 definite plan. A gracious permission was given, and 
 Sir Hugh raised himself in his arm-chair to look 
 imposing, and spreading a blank sheet of paper 
 before him, chose a new pen that he might make 
 a legible Ust of imperative orders for the journey. 
 
 " Sir Hugh would be glad to speak with you, my 
 lady," said Pearson, as he met Lady Charlton at the 
 foot of the stairs. His face was impenetrable, but 
 his self-satisfied tone showed that all difficulties had 
 been smoothed away. 
 
 " I will be with him directly," was Lady Charlton's 
 soft reply ; and Pearson went off to the servant's hall, 
 charmed at his own cleverness, in having ruled his 
 master, pleased his mistress, and been instrumental 
 in suggesting an idea, which he had good reason to 
 think would gratify one at least of the young ladies ; 
 and all without committing himself. 
 
228 THE eaul's daughter. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 It was not a long interview between Sir Hugh and 
 Lady Charlton ; no interviews of this kind ever were 
 long ; for Lady Charlton, when she had once gained 
 a point, took care not to dwell sufficiently upon it 
 to give time for a change of feeling. The determi- 
 nation of returning to Senilhurst was especially im- 
 portant to her at this moment, as the neighbourhood 
 of the Rectory was, in her eyes, becoming every day 
 more undesirable. Even if the earl and Blanche 
 persisted in remaining at Rutherford, she had resolved 
 to go ; but independently of her own pleasure, their 
 society would, she knew, be a great inducement to 
 Sir Hugh to consent to her wishes. His vanity 
 would be ilattered by the idea of showing Blanche 
 his ovra place and his own plans ; and, as she had 
 calculated upon this as the easy mode of obtain- 
 ing her point, she was the more provoked at the in- 
 decision which Blanche had evinced. Still she did 
 not doubt of gaining her object eventually. Pearson's 
 skill was almost always successful in winning Sir 
 Hugh's consent, even against his favourite wishes ; 
 and Blanche was too gentle not to be easily brought 
 round. Yet Lady Charlton allowed no surprise or 
 satisfaction to be visible when she entered the hbrary. 
 She was quietly indifferent, and even put a few ob- 
 stacles in the way of a sudden removal ; obstacles 
 which, of course, only strengthened Sir Hugh's re- 
 solution, and gave him a sense of power in showing 
 the clever way in which he could surmount them. 
 " Lord Rutherford and Blanche must be talked 
 
THE earl's daughter. 229 
 
 over," he said ; and Lady Charlton agreed ; not 
 even a smile betraying that the suggestion had been 
 made to them previously. 
 
 The day of departure was next to be fixed. Sir 
 Hugh named it — determined the hour of starting — 
 wrote down the names of the few villages through 
 which they were to pass before they reached a rail- 
 way station, and the time which the distance might 
 be expected to take ; and then proceeded to copy out 
 the after details of the journey from a railway guide. 
 Lady Charlton assisting him by reading out 11 •25, 
 12*50, &c., in due succession. 
 
 When, at length, the word Senilhurst was written, 
 in legible characters, at the bottom of the paper, 
 announcing the termination of the journey, Sir 
 Hugh threw himself back in his chair and ex- 
 claimed, " There, my dear ; now I think I have done 
 my part. I have saved you all the trouble of ar- 
 rangement, and you will have nothing in the world 
 to do but just to obey orders — the easiest thing of 
 all — ^justi to obey orders — nothing more. We leave 
 this place at half-past eight precisely ; we reach Se- 
 nilhurst at twenty minutes past six. Don't trouble 
 yourself ; don't distress yourself about anything : 
 you see when a man is once accustomed to this sort 
 of thing it becomes quite easy. You may tell 
 Maude and Ady, if you like it ; but it will be as 
 well to leave Rutherford to me. Gentlemen always 
 manage these things best with each other. 1 shall 
 hint my wishes gently, and bring him round by 
 degrees." 
 
 " Perhaps it might be the best way," said Lady 
 Charlton, and she rose to leave the room. 
 
 " Stop, my dear Frances ; Lady Charlton, you are 
 in such a hurry. Sit down, will you. One thing we 
 have forgotten — dinner. Let me see ; we start 
 at half-past eight ; we reach Walton at 10 ; Ditch- 
 ley, 12-35; Hoxley Road, 2-40; Suabridge, 5-15; 
 
 X 
 
230 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 reckoning a quarter of an hour for delay ; Senil- 
 hurst, 6"20 ; that leaves us forty minutes — one hour 
 and forty minutes till eight o'clock. Will one hour 
 and forty minutes be sufficient ? Consider now — to 
 settle yourselves — dress — be, in fact, quite ready for 
 dinner! Can you promise to be in the drawing- 
 room by eight ?" 
 
 Lady Charlton thought there would be no diffi- 
 culty. 
 
 " Very well, then, that is another point decided. 
 You may write to Mrs. Corrie, and tell her to have 
 dinner ready at eight precisely. And, stay, don't I 
 hear Lord Rutherford's voice?" The earl opened 
 the door. " The very person I wanted to see. I 
 must have a few words with you ; I must consult 
 you." 
 
 But Lord Rutherford interrupted him. " I beg 
 your pardon ; I. will return to you, but, at this mo- 
 ment, I have pressing business. Lady Charlton, can 
 vou give me a few moments of your leisure?" The 
 tone was unusually haughty, and before Lady Charl- 
 ton had time to answer he was gone. 
 
 Lady Charlton followed him instantly, in spite of 
 Sir Hugh's entreaties, that she would wait and con- 
 sider what further arrangements were to be made. 
 
 Lord Rutherford went before her till he reached 
 his private study, the door of which he opened, and 
 motioned to her to enter it, and then closing and 
 bolting it carefully, he sat down opposite to her. 
 Lady Charlton turned pale. There was something in 
 his countenance which would, in itself, have been 
 sufficient to alarm her ; a look of hardly repressed 
 indignation, reproach, and over-excited feeling : a 
 curling lip — a frowning brow — a fire in his flashing 
 eye, only softened by the indescribable, expres- 
 sion of mental anguish that pervaded his whole 
 countenance. He did not speak for some moments, 
 but sat resting his forehead upon his hand. Lady 
 
THE earl's daughter. 231 
 
 Charlton tried to shake off her fear. She went up 
 to him, laid her hand upon his shoulder, and said in 
 a light, unconstrained tone, " You must not treat 
 me in this way. I must know at once what is the 
 matter." 
 
 He looked up and said sternly, " You can tell." 
 
 Lady Charlton's tone was unchanged as she replied, 
 " You are mistaken. I know nothing that has hap- 
 pened to put you into this strange mood." 
 
 " Not that you have deceived me — betrayed me — 
 broken your most solemn promise?" 
 
 A momentary indignation clouded Lady Charlton's 
 face, but she subdued the rising feeling, and said 
 gravely but calmly, " My dear Rutherford, this is 
 not language which I ought to hear. I have not 
 betrayed, or deceived you, or broken any solemn pro- 
 mise ; and I have not the most remote idea what 
 it is you refer to. I must insist upon your explain- 
 ing yourself more clearly." 
 
 " You have told her," he said, " you have done 
 the very thing which" — he stopped, and Lady 
 Charlton said eagerly, " Blanche ? do you mean that 
 she knows?" 
 
 " All that I would have kept from her at any 
 sacrifice. Frances, I thought I could have trusted 
 you better." 
 
 Lady Charlton looked extremely pained, and the 
 colour rushed to her cheeks as she said hesitatingly, 
 " It was not I who told her." 
 
 " No," exclaimed the earl, " it was not you ; it 
 was Maude. But from whom did ISIaude learn such 
 facts ? and who put it into my darling's head to in- 
 quire?" 
 
 Lady Charlton recovered from her embarrassment 
 when this question was asked reproachfully. 
 
 " You are still speaking mysteries," she said ; " if 
 you will say clearly what you refer to, I will give you 
 the best expUauation I can." 
 
232 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 " They are simple facts," replied the earl, sarcas- 
 tically ; " Blanche was missing this morning when I 
 wanted her ; I went to her room, and found her in 
 an agony of grief. When I would have forced her 
 to tell me what distressed her, she said — you know 
 what she said. She knew it. Her whole life is em- 
 bittered — her happiness is blighted — her love for me 
 — but I will not think of that— I dare not." 
 
 " And Maude told her?" inquired Lady Charlton. 
 
 " Yes, Maude told her." 
 
 " And what? how much does Blanche know ?" 
 
 " Do you think I could bear to ask?" exclaimed 
 the earl, bitterly, " Was it a story that I could en- 
 dure to have the details repeated ; that I could listen 
 patiently whilst my child described her own misery ?" 
 
 " It might have been as well," said Lady Charlton, 
 coldly ; " you might have spared me much pain, and 
 yourself much after-reproach for injustice. Maude 
 has heard from me little beyond what all the 
 world is acquainted with. What she may have 
 guessed or learnt from other sources I cannot answer 
 for. She is of an inquisitive disposition ; from a 
 child she was strangely interested in the fate of my 
 most unhappy sister. To satisfy her, I told her the 
 bare fact of her melancholy depression of spirits ; 
 but of other sufferings," — and Lady Charlton's voice 
 became eager, and her eye kindled as she went on — 
 " of neglect, loneliness, disappointed affection ; trials 
 which crushed her intellect, and brought her to an 
 early grave, I said nothing." 
 
 Lord Rutherford sank upon a chair and groaned. 
 
 " It may seem cruel to upbraid you now with an 
 error of judgment," continued Lady Charlton ; "but, 
 in my own justification, I must remind you that you 
 were long since warned against the mistake of keep- 
 ing from Blanche the secret of her mother's his- 
 tory." 
 
THE earl's daughter. 233 
 
 " I did not wish to keep it from her," exclaimed 
 the earl, starting from his seat ; " but I would have 
 prepared her for it gradually. I would, yes," he 
 added, his voice sinking from its tone of proud ex- 
 citement into an accent of the most mournful ten- 
 derness, " I would have won her to myself, — I would 
 have made myself her all, and then I would have ap- 
 pealed to her love, — her reverence,- — her devotion, — 
 for pardon." 
 
 " You must have had sympathies in common 
 first," said Lady Charlton, with a quiet sarcasm 
 which escaped her almost involuntarily. 
 
 The earl writhed under the censure which he 
 knew was intended, yet he answered firmly, " We 
 have many, — art, and taste, and refinement." 
 
 " And religion!" added Lady Charlton. 
 
 Lord Rutherford bit his lip, and was silent. 
 
 " That is the key to her affections," continued 
 Lady Charlton ; " without it I fear you may find the 
 barrier between you greater than you are aware of." 
 
 The earl regarded her steadily as if he would 
 have said. Do not try me too far, — but Lady Charlton 
 knew her own power — the power which almost 
 necessarily accompanies the knowledge of a strong 
 mind's weakness — and she went on, " If it were 
 possible to humour her upon the point ; — if you 
 could, at whatever sacrifice, bring yourself even to 
 appear" — but the earl broke in upon the observation. 
 
 "Appear! — to Blanche! — to my own child! — 
 appear to be what I am not ? Oh ! Frances, how 
 little you understand us both !" 
 
 " Blanche, at least, I understand," said Lady 
 Cbarlton calmly — " she is like her mother." 
 
 The name acted like an electric shock upon Lord 
 Rutherford. "Yes," he exclaimed shuddering, "like 
 her in form — in feature — in mind — in fate." The 
 last •word sank into a whisper. 
 - x2 
 
234 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 " There is little fear of it," replied Lady Charlton, 
 " except in your own imagination, and in possible 
 circumstances, which are entirely under your control. 
 Loneliness and want of sympathy preyed upon poor 
 Emily's mind. There was no positive hereditary 
 disease. Her case might be the case of any one in 
 the same situation. Loneliness, Blanche will never 
 feel ; want of sympathy she may not, if " 
 
 " If," repeated the earl, bitterly. " I tell you, 
 Frances, I have not the power, even if I had the will, 
 to deceive my sweet child. Pure-minded, simple, 
 transparent and true as she is ; the very earnestness 
 of her own feelings must make her alive to hypocrisy 
 in others. Would not the tone of my voice — the turn 
 of my sentences,^ — would not every action of my life 
 betray me ? No, better far that she should see me 
 as I am — admire me for what I am — even hate me, 
 — hate me, if it were possible, for what I am not — 
 than be the dupe of professions which must, sooner 
 or later, be discovered, and bring wretchedness upon 
 us both." 
 
 " As you will," replied Lady Charlton. " It 
 would be useless to try and persuade you, that I do 
 not wish you either to deceive, or make a profession. 
 All that I desire is, that you should not shock her — 
 prejudices, as you call them — principles, as I call 
 them." She paused, but the earl was silent. " You 
 make the same sacrifice to the world continually," 
 pursued Lady Charlton ; " you mix with persons 
 whom you dislike ; you join in amusements which 
 do not interest you." 
 
 " Yes," interrupted the earl vehemently ; " I 
 make a sacrifice to the world, which the world sanc- 
 tions and understands. I speak its owii language, 
 and take advantage of its permitted customs. It is 
 not deceived by civilities and professions. But reli- 
 gion — Frances, I was never a hypocrite. If I had 
 
THE earl's daughter. 235 
 
 been, I might have spared myself the bitterness of 
 this hour." 
 
 " I think you are unnecessarily anxious," replied 
 Lady Charlton. 
 
 The Earl did not notice the remark. He was en- 
 gaged in his own reflections, and in an under tone he 
 said, " Poor child ! one could almost be inclined to 
 envy her." 
 
 "Can you en^-y what you consider error ?" replied 
 Lady Charlton. 
 
 "Error!" repeated the earl, musingly. 
 " You think it so," said Lady Charlton. 
 He looked up quickly : " Have you never, Frances, 
 watched a sunset, and seen mountains, and islands, 
 and glittering lakes amongst the clouds, and look- 
 ed till you believed — till you almost knew them 
 to be real ? So have I watched Blanche — daily, 
 hourly, since my return. She has been to me a 
 vision of beauty and purity beyond all that I have 
 known, or could have dreamt ; and I have gazed upon 
 her until almost I could persuade myself that her 
 enthusiasm was reality." 
 
 "It is real, doubtless, to a certain extent," replied 
 Lady Charlton. " Blanche is young, and a little car- 
 ried away by feeling ; but her principles are unques- 
 tionably sound and high ; and we ought to be most 
 grateful to Mrs. Howard for having made her what 
 she is." 
 
 A sudden check seemed to have been given to 
 Lord Rutherford's earnestness. He drew himself up 
 coldly, and said, " We have wandered very far from 
 our first subject. I should be glad to be quite as- 
 sured that you have not disobeyed my wishes." 
 
 "You are really provoking," rephed Lady Charl- 
 ton, petulantly. " I could never have taken upon 
 myself such a responsibility. Blanche must have 
 had her suspicions previously raised, and then exag- 
 
236 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 gerated what Maude told her." Lady Charlton 
 stopped and after considering for a moment added — 
 "You told me you had given her her mother's 
 papers." 
 
 "Yesterday : it was an impulse, after a conversation, 
 a few words only which passed between us. I felt they 
 might interest her, for I saw she longed for sympathy, 
 and I thought they might be something of a bond of 
 closer union between us. But I had long before 
 determined upon doing so when I could summon 
 resolution." 
 
 " They must have betrayed the secret," said Lady 
 Charlton. 
 
 " Impossible ! There were a few letters of my own, 
 including some written years ago, and a journal ; 
 you must remember it. I thought it might please 
 Blanche, but there was little in it beyond extracts." 
 
 "Are you sure that was all?" inquired Lady 
 Charlton. 
 
 " Certain. I destroyed every paper which was in 
 any way painful before I left England." 
 
 "Then it must have been Blanche's own fancy," 
 said Lady Charlton, "or — " 
 
 The earl turned to her hastily ; " Or whom ? — • 
 what?" 
 
 "Or Mrs. Went'worth!" 
 
 " Yes," exclaimed Lord Rutherford, as if the idea 
 had in an instant brought conviction to his mind ; 
 " yes, it must have been her. How could I have been 
 so blind ? But I thought she knew my wishes through 
 you." 
 
 "I wrote to her," said Lady Charlton, "when 
 you first thought of returning to Rutherford, im- 
 pressing upon her the necessity of caution. Her 
 reply was stiff and unsatisfactory, like everything she 
 does or says ; but I certainly oould not have imagined 
 her capable of telling Blanche what you wanted to 
 keep fron> her." 
 
THE earl's daughter. 237 
 
 " She supposed it her duty, perhaps," said Lord 
 llutherford, with a sueer. " She is very much bent 
 upon duty." 
 
 " Her own, and other persons too, in this case," 
 observed Lady Charlton ; " but you must not be 
 hard upon her. Remember, we have as yet only 
 suspicion." 
 
 " It shall be certainty, one way or the other, soon," 
 exclaimed the earl ; and without adding- another word, 
 he seized his hat, opened the window, and the next 
 minute was walking at a rapid pace down the steep 
 path which led to the rectory. 
 
 Lady Charlton looked after him for a few seconds, 
 and then murmuring to herself, " Impetuous as ever ! 
 but I have diverted his thoughts for the present," 
 she went to seek Maude, and give her a maternal and 
 not very gentle reproof, for the extreme imprudence 
 which had led her to divulge facts, only a portion of 
 which had as yet been intended to reach the ears of 
 Blanche. 
 
 Lord Rutherford and Mrs. Wentworth disliked 
 each other, as persons must do who, without mutual 
 sympathy or respect, have been compelled by circum- 
 stances to learn the secrets of each other's lives, 
 without caring to know the secrets of the heart. 
 Years before, when Lord Rutherford had brought his 
 bride to her stately home, and offered her luxury and 
 gaiety, she had turned from all to seek the com- 
 panionship of Mrs. Wentworth. The earl was not 
 jealous — he did not love sufficiently to care where 
 his wife found happiness, as long as he was not called 
 upon to give up his own -wishes to contribute to it ; 
 but he chafed at the strictness of Mrs. Wentworth's 
 principles, dreaded her influence, and was repulsed by 
 the coldness of her manner — and the aversion was 
 quickly recipi'ocal. If ]\Irs. Wentworth reverenced 
 the Countess of Rutherford for her piety, and pitied 
 her for her lonely position ; she could scarcely feel 
 
238 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 cordial towards the selfish, worldly hushand, who by 
 civil unkindness blighted her hopes and mocked her 
 affections. And, as years went on, and absence and 
 neglect did their fatal work in wrecking not only the 
 peace, but the mind of the unhappy countess, the 
 first feeling of dislike almost necessarily deepened 
 into intensity. 
 
 But that time was long gone by. The Countess 
 of Rutherford was resting in her quiet grave, safe from 
 the weariness of' disappointment and the bitterness 
 of unrequited love ; and the earl was returned to his 
 home, to begin, as it were, a new life, and repay the 
 debt which he owed to the memory of his wife by the 
 devoted affection which he lavished upon her child. 
 The past was forgotten ; — so it seemed to many 
 but himself; forgotten by the countess's rela- 
 tions ; forgotten, if it had ever been remembered, by 
 the woi'ld. Yet, was it so ? — does the tide of life in- 
 deed sweep by and bear away all traces of the joys 
 and griefs, the good and evil, of our vanished years ; 
 or is there, even upon earth, a record of the deeds of 
 former days, written upon the memories of our friends 
 and companions, and bearing a witness which few can 
 recollect and feel towards us as if such things had 
 never been ? 
 
 But Lord Rutherford did Mrs. Wentworth great 
 injustice, when he considered her capable of biassing 
 the mind of his daughter in any way against himself; 
 or even of endeavouring to fix her affections upon 
 her mother's memory at his expense. Even if Mrs. 
 Wentworth had felt for Blanche as she had once felt 
 for the countess, she would have shrunk from such 
 an act as worse than cruelty. But, in truth, she 
 was not sufficiently attracted by the gentle girl, who 
 seemed to have no will but her father's, to attempt 
 to gain an influence over her. She was interested in 
 Blanche for her mother's sake and for Eleanor's ; but 
 
THE earl's daughter. 239 
 
 being a persou of strong impulse and prepossessions, 
 and peculiarly alive to the impression which she made 
 upon others, she could not help seeing, from the very 
 beginning of their acquaintance, that Blanche was not 
 likely to seek her confidence. This was an offence 
 which Mrs. Wentworth was not incUned easily to 
 overlook. It awoke a sense of injustice, as if some- 
 thing was denied her which she had aright to claim. 
 Her natural stiffness and reserve also made her seek 
 for the opposite qualities in others ; and symptoms 
 of shyness, especially in young people, were generally 
 attributed to some instinctive difference of feeling, 
 caused possibly by her own defect of manner, which 
 it would be useless to endeavour to overcome. Thus 
 it was that, when Mrs. Wentworth was met with more 
 than her own cordiality, she could love, and love in- 
 tensely ; but when she did not love, she was indifferent, 
 and not unfrequently prejudiced. 
 
 Lord Rutherford knew nothing of all this. He 
 was not an observer of human nature in general ; 
 and seldom took the trouble to think what people 
 were like, or why they pleased or displeased him. 
 A spoilt child from infancy, he only knew what 
 offended his taste, or shocked his self-esteem, and 
 avoided it. It was always an effort to him to be with 
 Mrs. Wentworth, and he would have shunned, instead 
 of seeking, an interview, if he had not been carried 
 forward by indignation and something like revenge. 
 For it is pleasant to our unchecked natural instincts 
 to have a clear cause of complaint against a person 
 whom we dislike, and yet respect ; and, by the time 
 the earl had reached the parsonage, he had worked 
 himself up into the persuasion, not only that the 
 accusation against Mrs. Wentworth was true, but 
 that no extenuation could be offered. 
 
 Blanche saw him pass the drawing-room window 
 as she sat writing her letter and waiting for Eleanor, 
 
240 THE earl's daughter. 
 
 but she did not go to meet him. His look of anguish 
 as he turned away from Iier, when in their short morn- 
 ing interview she told him the cause of her distress, 
 was still present to her recollection, and she dreaded 
 ' to encounter it again. In her simplicity, she could 
 not read its entire meaning ; but it had warned her 
 that the subject must never again be alluded to, unless 
 by him. The earl was shown into Mrs. Wentworth's 
 morning- room ; and through the thin partition 
 Blanche could hear his voice, as the conversation 
 began — first formal, and subdued, then gradually ris- 
 ing into energy and excitement ; whilst Mrs. Went- 
 worth's answers seemed only rather more de- 
 cided than usual. The interview was soon over ; 
 Blanche heard, as she supposed, the parting words, and 
 a pause followed. She thought her father was gone ; 
 but as she drew near the window to see, she again 
 caught Mrs. Wentworth's voice. The words were 
 distinctly audible — " Your lordship must forgive me, 
 if I earnestly warn you to be cautious. No one 
 knows better than myself the many reasons for being 
 so ; and, in pity to your child, you must remember, 
 that the germ of the evil, at least, may be hereditary." 
 There was a faint, sharp cry of exceeding misery, 
 and Blanche fell senseless to the ground. 
 
 END OF VOL. I, 
 
 Stevens and Co., Printers, Bell lard, Temiik iJar. 
 

 
 
 i> :2*:^- 
 
 u^!i»>o» 
 
 
 ZJar:*-^'^- 
 
 y-iy '-m^ :>> >---^, 
 
 
 
 
 
 :^,^ ■TJ»\'J>^m3> ]!*Dii^- ,:».>]