i 
 
 ^±1J2L 
 
 THE ETHEL CARR PEACOCK 
 
 MEMORIAL COLLECTION 
 
 Main's amort monumentum 
 
 TRINITY COLLEGE LIBRARY 
 
 DURHAM, N. C. 
 1903 
 
 Gift of Dr. and Mrs. Dred Peacock 
 
 I? 
 
 
SELF-COJVTROL. ^^-O. 
 
 
 tts warfare u within.^rw uitfauraeJ 
 «^ ferrent spirit labou„.-Ther. he fi^ht, 
 At-^ there obtain, fi^. triun.ph, o'er h«.self 
 And nev.^^^^,^^^^^^^ with. 
 
 *^**"»"»P» are weeds. 
 
 PVBLISHED BY DAVID LONGWORTH, 
 
 AT THE SHAKSPBARE GALLERY. 
 
 C s. Van Winkle, PrinttfTv 
 
 1811. 
 
,W . -Vii': 
 
 ^ 
 
 ■ \ 
 
 \ 
 
 
/^yfU^t Ud /"^ 
 
 '-'^W^^: 
 
 TO 
 
 MISS JOANNA BAILLIE. 
 
 IMADAM, 
 
 You Would smile to hear the insect of a 
 day pay the tribute of its praise to the lasting 
 oali which aided its fii^ feeble soaring — Smile 
 then ; — for a person whom nature, foil une, and 
 inclination, alike haVe marked for obscurity, 
 one whose very name m^ nev-er reach your 
 ear, offers this tribute' of respect to the author 
 of Plays on the Passions. 
 
 Th^ pleasure of expressing heart-felt admi- 
 ration is not, however, my only motive for 
 inscribing this tale to you. Unknown to the 
 world both as an individual and as an author, 
 I own myself desirous of giving a pledge of 
 j^potless intention in my work, by adorning it 
 v» ith the name of one whose writincrs force everv 
 unvitiated heart to glow with a wanner love of 
 virtue. On one solitary point I claim equality 
 with you: — In purity of intention I yield not 
 
 f ven to J O A>7NA B A JLLIE. 
 
May I venture to avow another feeling which 
 has prompted this intrusion? What point so 
 small that vanity cannot build on it a resting 
 place ! Will you believe that this trifle claims 
 affinity with the Plays on the Passions ? Your 
 portraitures of the progress and of the conse- 
 quences of passion — ^portraitures whose ex- 
 quisite truth gives them the force of living 
 examples — are powerful warnings to watch the 
 first risings of the insidious rebel. No guard 
 but one is equal to the task. The regulation of 
 the passions is the province, it is the triumph 
 of Religion. In the character of Laura Mon- 
 treville, the religious principle is exhibited as 
 rejecting the bribes of ambition ; bestowing for- 
 titude in want and sorrow ; as restraining just 
 displeasure; overcoming constitutional timidi- 
 ty; conquering misplaced affection; and tri- 
 umphing over the fear of death and disgrace. 
 
 This little tale was begun at first merely for 
 my own amusement. It is published that I may 
 reconcile my conscience to the time which it 
 has employed, by making it in some degree 
 useful. Let not the term so applied provoke a 
 smile ! If my book is read, its uses to the au- 
 thor are obvious. Nor is a work of fiction ne- 
 cessarily unprofitable to the reader?. Wlieri th^ 
 vitiated appetite refuses its proper fo 
 
tefative may 1)e administered in a sweetmeat. 
 It may be imprudent to confess the presence of 
 the medicine, lest the sickly palate, thus warn- 
 ed, turn from it with loathing. Bat I rely in 
 this instance on the word of the philosopher, 
 who avers that " young ladies never read pre- 
 faces;" and I am not without hope that with 
 you, and with all who form exceptions to his 
 rule, the avowal of a useful purpose may be an 
 inducement to tolerate what otherwise might be 
 thouglit unworthy of regard. 
 
 Perhaps in an age whose lax morality, de- 
 clining the glorious toils of virtue, is poorly 
 " content to dwell in decencies for ever," emu- 
 lation may be repressed by the eminence which 
 the character of Laura claims over the ordinary 
 standard of the times. A virtue which, thougli 
 essentially Christian, is ceitainly not very po- 
 pular in this Christian country, may be stigma- 
 tized as romantic ; a chilling term of reproach, 
 which has blighted many a fair blossom of 
 goodness ere it ripened into fruit. Perhaps 
 some of my fair countrywomen, finding it dif- 
 ficult to trace in the delineation of Self-Co ntrol 
 any striking feature of their own minds, may 
 pronounce my picture unnatural. It might be 
 enough to reply, that I do not ascribe any of 
 the vhtues of Laura to nature, and, least of alb 
 
the one whose office is to reorulate and control 
 nature. But if my principal figure want the 
 air and vivacity of life, the blame lies in the 
 painter, not in the subject. Laura is indebted 
 to fancy for her di'apery and attitudes alone. I 
 have had the happiness of witnessins;, in real 
 life, a self-command operating with as much 
 force, pemianence and uniformity, as that which 
 is depicted in the following volumes. To you. 
 Madam, I should perhaps rather apologize for 
 having left in my model some traces of human 
 imperfection ; while, for the generality of my 
 readers, I breathe a fervent wish, that these 
 pages may assist in enabling their own hearts to 
 furnish proof that the character of Lama, how- 
 ever unnatural, is yet not unattainable. 
 
 I have the honour to be, 
 with great respect. 
 Madam, 
 
 your obedient servant, 
 
 THE AUTHOB. 
 
 January i 181L 
 
SELF-CONTROL. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 IT was on a still evening' in June, that Laura Montreville left 
 her father's cottage, in the little villag-e of Glenalbert, to begin 
 a solitary ramble. Her countenance was mournful, and her step 
 languid ; for her health had suffered from confinement, and her 
 spirits were exhausted by long attendance on the deathbed of her 
 mother. That labour of duty had been lessened by no extrinsic 
 circumstance ; for Lady Harriet Montreville was a peevish and 
 refractory patient ; her disorder had been tedious as well as hope- 
 less ; and the humble establishment of a half-pay officer furnished 
 no one who could lighten to Laura the burden of constant attend- 
 ance. But Laura had in herself that which softens all difficulty, 
 and beguiles all fatigue — an active mind, a strong sense of duty, 
 and the habit of meeting and of overcoming adverse circumstan- 
 ces. 
 
 Captain Montreville was of a family ancient and respectable, 
 but so far from affluent, that, at the death of his father, he found 
 his wealth, as a younger son, to consist only of 500/. besides the 
 emoluments arising from a lieutenancy in a regiment of foot. 
 Nature had given him a fine person and a pleasing address : and 
 to the national opinions of a Scottish mother, he was indebted 
 for an education, of which the liberality suited better with his birth 
 than with his fortunes. He was in London negociating for the 
 purchase of a company, when he accidentally met with Lady Har- 
 riet Bircham. Her person was shewy, and her manners had the 
 glare, even more than the polish of high life. She had a lively 
 imagination, and some wit; had read a little, and knew how to shew- 
 that little to advantage. The fine person of Montreville soon 
 awakened the only sort of sensibility of which Lady Harriet was 
 possessed ; and her preference was sufficiently visible in every 
 step of its progress. To be distinguished by a lady of such rank 
 and attractions, raised in Montreville all the vanity of three-and- 
 twenty; and, seen through that medium. Lady Harriet's charm* 
 were magnified to perfections. Montreville soon was, or fancied 
 
 himself, d^^wateiy in lore- Bq ^ued^ an4 yrn^ accepted with a 
 
fraiikness, tu \vhic*i hoii.e ^aii ad-ocivs lor fcmulc tlcCfiTUTll 
 mig-ht give rhc haish name of forwardness. Montreville was in 
 iove, and he wus pleased to call it the candour of a noble 
 mind. 
 
 A.shis regijiient was at ttiis time under orders for tlie West In- 
 dies, Lady Harriet prevailed on him to exchange to lialf-pay ; and 
 her fortune being- no more than 5000/. economy, no lesh than the 
 fondness for solitude natural to young' men in love, induced him to 
 retire to the country with his bride, who had reasons of her own 
 for wisliing to quit London. He had been educated in Scotland, 
 and he remembered its wild scenery with the enthusiasm of a man 
 of taste, and a painter. He settled' therefore in the village of Gle- 
 r.albert, near Perth ; and to relieve his conscience from the load of 
 utter idleness at twenty-three, began the superintendence of a lit- 
 tle farm. Here the ease ,iud vivacity of Lady Harriet made her 
 for a while the deliglit of her new accptaintance. She understood 
 all the arts of courtesy ; and, happy herself, was for a while con- 
 tent to practise them. The store of anecdote, which had accumu- 
 lated in her iirlercourse with the great, passed with her country 
 neighbours for ki^owledge of the world. To Scottish ears, the ac- 
 cent of the higher ranks of Knglish conveys an idea of smartness, 
 as well as of gentility ; and Lady Harriet became an uuiversal fa- 
 vourite. 
 
 Those who succeed best in amusing strangers, are not, it has 
 been remarked, the most pleasing in domestic life : they are not 
 even the most entertaining. Lady Harriet's spirits had ebbs, 
 which iommonly took place during a t^te-a tete with Captain Mon- 
 treville. Outward attractions, real or imaginary, are the natural 
 food of passion ; but sound principles must win confidence, and 
 kindness of heart gain affection. Poor Montreville soon gave a 
 mournful assent to these truths ; for Lady Harriet had no princi- 
 ples, and her heart was a mere " pulsation on the left side.'* Her 
 passion for her husband soon declined ; and iier more permanent 
 appetite for admiration finding but scanty food in a sblitary villagCj 
 her days passed in secret discontent or open murmurings. The 
 narrowness of their finances made her feel the necessity of econo- 
 my, though it could not immediately instruct her in the art of it, 
 and Montreville, driven from domestic habits by the turmoil of a 
 household, bustling without usefulness, and parsimonious without 
 frugality, was on the point of returning to his profession, or of seek- 
 ing relief in such dissipation as he had the means of obtaining, 
 when the birth of a daughter gave a new tiu'n to all his hopes and 
 wishes. 
 
 " I should not wish the girl to be a beauty," said he to his 
 friend, the village pastor. " A pretty face is of no use but to 
 blind a lover ;" — and he sighed, as he recollected his own blind- 
 ness. Yet he was delighted to see that Laura grew every day 
 .more lovely. " Wit only makes women troublesome," said he ; 
 but before Latira wasold enough to shew the uncommon acute- 
 neas of Usr unde*staiMlii>g, he had quite forgotten that lie ever ap- 
 
plie4 Uie ren-* ark to her. To amuse Iier infancy becftme lils chosen - 
 recreation. ^> instruct her youth was afterwards liis favourite 
 employment. Lady Harriet, too, eirly began to seek food for her . 
 vanity in the superior endowments of her child, and she forthwith 
 determined that Laura should be a paragon. To perfect her on 
 nature's plan, never entered the head of this judicious matron > 
 she preferred a plan of her own, and scorned to be indebted to tlve 
 assistance of nature, even for any pan of the perfect sti'uclure 
 which she resolved to rear. I'he temper of Laura, uniformly calm 
 and placid, was by nature slightly inclined to obstinacy. Lady 
 Harriet had predetermined that her daughter should be a model 
 of yielding' softness Laura's spirits were inexhaustible ; Lady 
 Harriet thought nothing so interesting as a pensive beauty. Laura 
 was both a reasojiable and a reasoning creature: her mother 
 chose that she should use the latter faculty iii every instance, ex- 
 cept where maternal authority or opinion was cor*cerned. Innu- 
 merable diiHculties, therefore, opposed Lady Harriet's system ; 
 and as violent measures ever occur first to those who are destitute 
 of other resources, she had recourse to so many blows, disgraces, 
 and deprivations, as must have effectually ruined the temper and 
 dispositions of her pupil, if Laura had not soon learnt to look upon 
 the ungorerned anger of her mother as a disease, to v/hich she 
 owed pity and concealment. This lesson was taught her partly 
 by the example of her father, partly by the admonitions of Mrs. 
 Douglas, wife to the clergyman of the parish. 
 
 This lady was in every respect Lady Harriet's opposite. Of 
 sound sense, rather than of brilliant abilities ; reserved in her man- 
 ners, gentle in her temper, pious, humble, and upright; she 
 spent her life in the diligent and unostentatious discharge of 
 Christian and feminine duty ; beloved without effort to engage the 
 love, respected without care to secure the praise of man. She 
 ^ad always treated the little Laura with more than common ten- 
 <Jerness ; and the child, unused to the fascinations of feminine 
 ki'.dness, repaid her attention with the utmost enthusiasm of love 
 and veneration. With her she passed every moment allowed her 
 for recreation ; to her she applied in every little difficulty ; from 
 her she solicited every childish indulgence. The influence of thi3 
 excellent woman increased with Laura's age, till her approbation 
 became essential to the peace of her young friend, who instinctive- 
 ly sought to read, in the eripressive coimtcnance of Mrs. Douglas, 
 an opinion of all her v/ords and actions. Mrs. Douglas, ever 
 watchful for the good of all who approached her, used every efiort 
 to render this attachment as useful as it was delightful, and 
 gradually laid the foundation of the most valuable quahties in the 
 nvind of Laur.-i. By dcgi'ces she taught her to know and to love 
 the Author of her being, to adoie Ivim as tjie bestower of all het 
 innocent ])lcasures, to seek his favour, or to tremble at his disap- 
 probation in every hour of Iier life. I^ady H.in-iet had been edu- 
 ■ 'd ^mong those wlio despised or neglected the peculiar tenets of 
 . Christian faitli ; she never thought of them, therefore, but a* 
 uu affair that gave scope to lively argument. On Mrs. Douglas.'^ 
 
JO' 
 
 own mind they bad their proper effect ; and slie convinced Laura 
 that they were not subjects for cavil, Jbut for humble and thankful 
 acceptation. 
 
 In as far as the relit^ious character can be traced to causes mere- 
 ly nati^ral, it may be fcrmed by 'hose Kvbo <,lnain ovei* a mind of 
 sensibility and reflection the infltitnce wb'ch uffi ction bestows, 
 provided that they are tbemselves duly impressed wiih the im- 
 portance, the harmony, the excellence of whrtt they teach, l^aura 
 early saw the Christian doctrines, preccjvts and promises, warm the 
 heart, and guide tlie conduct, and animate the l)opes of her whom 
 she loved best. Sympathy and imitation, the strcmgest tendencies 
 of infuncy, first formed the disposition which reason aiu^iwards 
 streng'thened into principle, and Laura p:rew up a pious christian. 
 
 It is the fashion of the ag-e to accoimt for every striking- feature of 
 k character from education or external circumstance, 'i'hose who 
 are fond of such speculations may trace, if they can, the self-de- 
 nying- habits of Laura, to the eagerness with wl.'ich hep enthusias- 
 tic mind imbibed tlie stories of self-devoting- patriots and martyrjs, 
 and may find, in one lesson of her preceptress, the tint which co- 
 loured her future days. TJie child had been reading a narrative of 
 the triumphant death of one of the first reformers, and, full of the 
 emulation which the tale of heroic virtue inspires, exclaimed, her 
 eyes flashing through their tears, her little form erect with noble 
 daring, — " Let them persecute mii, and 1 will fee a martyr." ** You 
 maybe fco now, to-day, every day,*' returned Mrs. Doug-Ins. " Jt 
 was not at the stake that these lioly men beg-an their self-denial. 
 They had before taken up their cro;ss daily ; and whenever, from a 
 regard to duty, you resign any tldng that is pleasing or valuable to 
 you, you are for the time a little martyr." 
 
 In a solitary village, remote from her equals in age and rank, 
 Laura necessarily lived much alone, and in solitude she acquired a. 
 Ifrave and contemplative turn of mind. Far from the scenes of dis- 
 sipation and frivolity, conversant with the grand and the subhme 
 in nature, her sentiments assumed a corresponding elevation. F»i3 
 had heard that there was vice in the world ; she knew that there 
 was virtue in it ; and, little acquainted witli other minds, deeply 
 studious of her own, she concluded that all mankind were, like 
 herself, engaged in a constant endeavour after excellence ; thnt 
 success in this stnig-gle was at once virtue and hajipincss, wliile 
 failure included misery as well as guilt. The hiibit of self-exami- 
 nation, early formed, "and steadily maintained, made even venial 
 trespass appear the woist of evils :— while, in the labours of duty 
 and the pleasures of devotion, she found jays which sometimes 
 •ose to rapture. 
 
 The capricious unkindnc.-s of her mother gave constant exer- 
 cise to her fo; tiiude and foi bearance, w}\ile the pjinGijjIe of charit}-, 
 no less than the feellngj of benevolence, led to frequent efforts of 
 self-denial. The latter virtue became daily more necessary, for 
 mismanagement had now brought her mother's fortune alnwst to 
 a close ; and Captain Montreville, while he felt that she was in- 
 juring bis child, could not prevail on himself to wixhhold ff»m L:i.>Vv 
 
11 
 
 Harriet the control of what he considered as her o^^-n, especially 
 as her healtli was sucli as to afford a plea for indulgence. 
 
 Laura had reached her sixteenth year, when Mr. Doug-las was 
 induced, by a larger benefice, to remove to a parish almost twenty 
 miles distant from Glenalbert ; and parting- with her early friend, 
 was the severest sorrow that Laura had ever yet known. Captain 
 Moutreville promised, however, that his daughter should often 
 visit the new parsonage ; but Lady Harriet's increasing illness 
 long prevented the performance of his promise. After a confine- 
 ment of many months she died, and was lamented l>y her husband, 
 with that sortof son'ow which it usually costs a man to part with 
 an object which he is accustomed to see, when lie knows that he 
 shall see it no moi e. 
 
 It was on the third evening after her mother's funeral, that Cap- 
 tain Montreville prevailed on liis daughter to take a solitary walk. 
 Slowly she ascended the hill that overlooked the village, and stop- 
 ping near its brow, looked back towards the churchyard, to ob- 
 serve a brown hillock that mai ked the spot where her mother slept. 
 Tears filled her eyes, as, passing over long intervals of unkindness, 
 she recollected some casual proof of maternal love ; and they fell 
 fa:it as she remembered, that for that love she could now make no 
 return. Siie turned to proceed ; — and the moist eye sparkled with 
 pleasure, tlie faded cheek glowed with more than the flush of 
 health, when, springing towards her, ^he beheld the elegant, the 
 i accomplished Culanel Margrave. Forgotten was languor; forgot- 
 1 ten vvas sorrow; tor Laura was just seventeen, and Colonel Har- 
 I giave was tlie most ardent, the most favoured of lovers. His per- 
 l^son was symmetry itself; his manners had all the fascination that 
 /vivacity and intelligence, joined to tlie highest polish, can bestow, 
 i- His love for Laura suited with the impetuosity of his character, 
 I and for more than a year he had laboured with assiduity and suc- 
 1 ccsi to inspire a passion corresponding to his own. Yet it was not 
 I Ha'grave whom Laura loved ; for the being on whom she doated 
 had no resemblance to him but in externals. It was a creature in 
 her imagination, pure as her own heart, yet impassioned as the 
 wildest dreams of fiction — intensely susceptible of pleasure, and 
 I keenly alive to pain, yet ever ready to sacrifice the one, and to dc- 
 ; spise the other. This ideal being, clothed with the fine form, and 
 adorned with the insinuating manners, and animated with the in- 
 fectious love of Hargrave, what heart of woman could resist ? 
 Laur:i's was completely captivated. 
 
 Hargrave, charmed with her consummate loveliness, pleased 
 with lier cheerful good sense, and fascinated with her matchless 
 simplicity, at first sought her society without thought but of pre- 
 sent f^-ratificalion till he was no longer master of himself He 
 possessed an ample fortune, besides the near prospect of a title ; 
 and nothing was farther from his thoughts, than to make the poo:- 
 unknown Laura a shi) er in these advantages. But Hargrave was 
 not yet a villain, ani he shuddered at the tliought of seduction, 
 "twill see her only once more," said he, "and the.i tear myself 
 
12 
 
 fiOiA her for ever."-—*' Only this once," said he, while day iftcr 
 day he continued to visit her, — to watch with delight, and to che- 
 rish with eager solicitude, the tenderness which, amidst her daily 
 increasing' reserve, his practised eye could distinguisii. The pas- 
 sion which we do not conquer will in time reconcile us to any 
 means that can aid its Ratification. " To leave her now would be 
 dishonourable, it would be barbarous," was his answer to his 
 remonstrating conscience, as he marked the glow of her complex- 
 ion at his approach, the tremor of her hand at his pressure. " I 
 cannot, indeed, make her my wife. The woman whom I marry 
 must assist in supporting^ the rank which she is to fill. But Laura 
 is not made for high life. Short commerce with the world would 
 destroy lialf her witchery. Love will compensate to us for every 
 privation. 1 will hide her and myself from a censorious world ; 
 she loves solitude ; and, with her, solitude will be delightful."— 
 lie forgot that solitude is delightful to the innocent alone. 
 
 Meantime, the artless Laura saw, in his highly coloured pic- 
 tures of happy love, only scenes of domestic peace and literary 
 leisure; and judging of liis feelings by her own, dreamed not of 
 aught that vt^ould have disgraced the loves of angels. Tedious 
 weeks of absence had intervened since their last meeting ; and 
 Hargrave's resolution was taken. To live without her was im- 
 possible ; and he was determined to try whether he had overrated 
 the strengtli of her affection, when he ventured to hope that to it 
 she would sacrifice her all. To meet her thus unexpectedly filled 
 him with joy, and the heart of Laura throbbed quick as he ex- 
 pressed his rapture. Never had his professions been so ardent ; 
 and, softened by sorrow and by absence, never had Laura felt such 
 seducing tenderness as now stole upon her. Unable to speak, and 
 unconscious of her path, she listened with sileiit rapture to the 
 glowing language of her lover, till his entreaties wrung from her a 
 reluctant confession of her preference. Unmindful of the feeling 
 of humiliation, that makes the moment of such a confession, of all 
 others, the least favourable to a lover's boldness, Hargrave pour- 
 ed forth the most vehement expressions of passion ; while, shrink- 
 ing into herself, Laura now first ob&erved, that the shades of e\en- 
 ing were closing fast, while their lonely path led through a wood 
 that Climbed the rocky hilL—She stopped.—" I must return," said 
 »he, " my father will be anxious for me at this hour." — " Talk not 
 now of returning," cried Hargrave impetuously, "trust yourself 
 to a heart that adores you. Keward all my lingering pains, andi 
 let this happy hour begin a life of love and rapture." — Laura, 
 wholly unconscious of his meaning, looked up in his face with an 
 innocent snriilc. " I have often taxed you with raving," said 
 she, "novv-, I am sure, you must admit the charge."— " Do not 
 sport with me, loveliest," cried Hargrave, " nor waste those pre- 
 cious moments in cold delay. Leave forms to the frozen hearts 
 that wait tliem, and be from this hour mine, wholly and forever." 
 Laura threw a tearful glance on her moumirg habit. "Is this 
 like bridal attire '" said sh&: "Would you bring your nuptial 
 
13 
 
 festivities into the house of deatl^ and minp^lc .^^^.^^^^^^^^f 
 T^arriaec vow with my mother's drmgr R:roans .' ^ »" ,^^>^^ ^ "^l^'!" 
 Sty be affected > thought Havfcrave. Is .t that she Nvdl not umlc r- 
 s and me? He examiLd her countcnaiice. All there was candour 
 und unsuspecting love. Herarm rested onh.s vvitheonfidiuffpn..s- 
 sure, and For a moment Har^-ave faltered m Ins purpose. 1 he 
 next he imagined that he had gone too far to i-ecede ; and pressing 
 her to his breast with all the vehentence of passion, he. in hurried 
 half-articulate whispers, informed her of his real uesigi^ /"'* 
 words can express her feelings, wlien, the ved thus rudely torn 
 from her eves, she saw her pure, her magnanimous Hurgrave— 
 tlie god of' her idolatry, degraded to a sensualist-^a- seducer. 
 Casting on him a look of mingled horror, dismay, and anguish, 
 she exclaimed, " Are you so base?" and freeing herself wilh con- 
 vulsive struggle, from his gra^p, sunk without sense or moUon to 
 the ground. v' , 
 
 -As he gazed on the death-pale face of Laura, and raised her iitc- 
 'less form from the earth, compassion, which so often survives prin- 
 ciple, overpowered all Hargrave's impetuous feehngs; and they 
 were succeeded by the chill of horror, as the dreadful idea occur- 
 red to him, that she was gone for ever. In vain he cliafed her cold 
 -hands, tried to warm her to life in his bosom, bared hers to the eve- 
 ning-breeze, and distractedly called for help ; while, with agony, 
 which every moment increased, he remembered, what so lately he 
 had thought of with delight, that no human help was near. No 
 sign of returning life appeai'ed. At last he recollected that, in tht.'^r 
 w.dk, they had at some distance crossed a little stream, and start- 
 ing up with renovated hope, he ran to it with the speed of liglittiing .- 
 but the way, which was so short as he passed it before, -now seem - 
 'Cd lengthened witliout end. At last he reached it; and filling liis 
 hat witk water, returned with bis utmost speed. He <lartcd for 
 ward till he found himself at the verge of tlie wood, and then fiis-' 
 perceived that he had mistaken tlie path. As he retraced his steps, 
 a thousand times he cursed his precipitancy, and w ished that he 
 had more cautiously ascertained the sentiments of his mistress, ere 
 he permitted his licentious purpose to be seen. After a seaixh, 
 prolonged by liis own frantic impatience, he arrived at tl\e spot 
 w^here he left her; — but no Laura was there He called wildly on 
 her name — he was answered by the mountain-echo alor.c. Aftci- 
 seeking her loag, a hope arose that ;she had been able to reach the 
 village; and thither he determined to return, that, should liis liop6 
 prove groundless, he might atlea$t pi'ocui'e assistance in his search. 
 
 As he approached the little garden that surrounded Captain 
 Montrevilie's cottage, lie with joy perceived a Ught at the wliidow 
 of Laura's apaitmeut; and nevc^, in the cheerfukst scenes, had he 
 beheld her with such delight as he did now, wlicn every gesture 
 «eemed the expression of unutterable anguish. He drew nearer, 
 and saw despair painted on every feature ; and he felt how tender 
 was the love that could thus mourn liis degeneracy, and its own 
 b5iglued hepc£. If slie cc^id thus feel.for bis guilt, the thouglit iri 
 
 B 
 
u 
 
 nesislibly pressed on his miiid, with what bitterness would she feel 
 her o\vn. Seduction, he perceived, would with her be a work of time 
 and difficulty ; while, could he determine to make her his wife he 
 was secure of her utmost gratitude and tenderness. The known 
 honour, too, of Captain MontreviUe made the seduction of his 
 daug-hter rather a dangerous exploit; and Colonel Hargrave knew, 
 that, jn spite. of the license of the times, should he destroy the 
 daughter s honour, and the father's life, he would no longer be re- 
 ceived, even m the most fashionable circles, with the cordiahty he 
 could at present command. The dignified beauty of Laura would 
 grace a coronet, and more than excuse the weakness which raised 
 her to tliat distinction:— his wife would be admired and followed, 
 whae all her affections would be his alone. In fancy he presented 
 her glittering with splendour, or majestic in unboiTowed loveliness, 
 to hib companions ; saw the gaze of admiration follow wherever she 
 turned;— and that thought determined him. He would go next 
 morning, and in form commence honourable lover, by laying his pre- 
 tensions before Captain MontreviUe. Should Laura have acquaint- 
 ed her father with the adventures of the evening, he might feel some 
 little awkwardness in his first visit ;'but she might perhaps have kept 
 hU secret ; and, at all events, his generous intentions would repair 
 his offence. Satisfied with himself, he retired to rest, and enjoyed a 
 repose that visited not the pillow of the innocent Laura. 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 ScA-ncELv had Hargrave quitted Laura, when her senses be- 
 \;an to return, and with them an indefinite feeling of danger and 
 .alarm. The blood gushing from her mouth and nostrils, she quickly 
 revived to a full sense of her situation, and instinctively endeavour- 
 ed to quit a spot now so dark and lonely. Terror gave her sti'ength 
 to proceed. Every path in Irer native woods was familiar to her ; 
 she darted through them with what speed she could command ; and, 
 reckless of all danger but that from which she fled, she leapt from 
 the projecting rocks, or gradually descended from the more fearful 
 dechvities, by clinging to the trees which burst from the fissures ; 
 till, exhausted with fatigue, she reached the valley, and entered the 
 garden that surrounded her home. Here, supported no longer by 
 the sense of danger, her spirits utterly failed her; and she threw 
 herself on the ground, without a wish but to die. 
 
 From this state she was roused by the voice of her father, who, 
 on the outside of the fence, was inquiring of one of the villagers, 
 whether she had been seen. Wishing, she scarcely knew why, to 
 escape all human eyes, she rose, and, without meeting Captain 
 MontreviUe, gained her own apartment. As she closed her door, 
 and felt for a moment the sense of security, which every one expe- 
 riences in the chamber which he calls his own,-^^* Oh !" cried she 
 " that I could thus shut out the base wcrld for ever." 
 
^ 
 
 15 
 
 There was In Laura's chamber one spot, which had, in her eyes, 
 SDmethinjj of holy, for it was hallowed by tiic regular devotions of • 
 luT life. On it she had breatlied her first infant prayer. Thtre shore 
 on her the eastern sun, as sheoftcred her morning tribute of prai«e. 
 There first fell the shades of evening that invited her to implore 
 the protection of her God. On that spot she had so often sought 
 consolation, so often found her chief delight, that it was associated 
 in her mind with images of hope and comfort ; and springing towards 
 it, she now almost unconsciou.sly dropped upon her knees. While 
 she poured forth her soul in prayer, her anguish softened into re- 
 signation ; and with tlie bitter tears of disappointment, those of gra- 
 titude mingled, while she thanked Him who, though He had visited 
 her with affliction, had preserved her from guilt. 
 
 She rose, composed though wretched, resi^»ed though hopeless ; 
 and, when summoned to supper, had sufficient recollection to com- 
 mand her voice, while she excused herself on the plea of a violent 
 head-ache. Left to herself, she passed Lhe sleepless night, now in 
 framing excuses for her lover, now in tormenting reflections on her 
 mistaken estimate of his character ; and in bitter regrets that what 
 seemed so excellent should be marred witli so foul a stain. But 
 Laura's thoughts were so habitually the prelude to action, that, even 
 in the severest conflict of her powers, she was not likely to rempia 
 long in a state of ineffective meditation. " What ought I no^^ to 
 do ?'' was a question which, from childhood, Laura had every hour 
 habitually asked herself; and the iri'esistible force of the habit of 
 many years, brought the same question to her mind when she rose 
 with the dawn. 
 
 With a heavy hea^^, she was obliged to confess, that delicacy, no 
 less than prudence, must forbid all future intercourse with Har- 
 grave. But he had for sometime been a constant visitor at the cot- 
 tage, till excluded _by the increasing illness of lady Harriet. He 
 might now renew his visits, and how was it possible to prev«nt this ? 
 Should she refuse to see him, her father must be made acquainted 
 with the cause of such a refusal, and she could not doubt that the 
 consequences would be such as she shuddered to think of. She 
 groaned aloud as the horrid possibility occurred to her, that hor 
 father might avenge her wrongs at the expense of his virtue and his 
 nte— become for her sake a murderer, or fall bv a murderer's hand 
 She mstantly resolved to conceal for ever the insuh she had receiv- 
 ed ; and to this resolution she determined that all other circxim- 
 stances should bend. Yet should she receive Colonel Hargi-uve as 
 formerly, what might he not have the audaucity to infer ? How could 
 she make him fully sensible of her indignant feelings, vet act such a 
 part as might deceive the penetration of her father ? 'Act a part'— 
 deceive her father ! Laura's thoughts were usuallv clear and dis- 
 tinct ; and there was something in this distinct idea of evasion and 
 deceit, that sickened her very soul. This was the first svstem of 
 concealment that had ever darkened her fair and candid mind • 
 and she wept bitterly when she convinced herself, that from such 
 conduct there was oo escape. 
 
16 
 
 bhesatlostin those distressing reilecticms, till the clock struck 
 "he hour of breakfast; then recollecting- that she must not suffer her 
 :ippearance to betray her, she ran to her glass, and witli more inter- 
 est than she had perhaps ever before felt in tlie employment, pro- 
 r-ecdod to dress her countenance to advantage. She bathed her 
 s'.voltcn eyes, shaded them with the natural ringlets of her dark 
 iiair, rubbed her wan cheeks till tlieir colour returned, and then en- 
 tered the parlour with an overacted gaiety that surprised Captain 
 Montreville. "- 1 scarcely expected/' said he, " to see you so very 
 : nimatcd, after being so ill as to go to rest last night, for the fir&.t 
 lime in yovir life, without your father's blessing." 
 
 Laura, instantly sensible of her mistake, colouring, stammered 
 -oinethingofthe cheering itifluence of the morning air; and then 
 meditating- on a proper medium in bcr demeanour, sunk into so long 
 :i silence, as Captain Montreville qould not have failed to remark, 
 had not his attention been diverted by the arrival of the newspaper, 
 which he continued to study till breakfast was ended, when Laura 
 jjladiy retired to her room. 
 
 Though the understanding of Laura was aboi^ her voars, she had. 
 not escaped a mistake common to the youth of both' sexes, when 
 sm-uting under a reoent disappointment 'in love, — the mistake of aup- 
 5'osingj that alt the intei-est of life is, with respect to them, at an end, 
 :ind t!) at their days must thenceforth bring only a dull routine of 
 duties without incitement, and of toile without hope. But the lead- 
 ing principle of Laura'ahfe was capable of giving, usefulness, and 
 almost respectability, even to her errors ; and the gloom of the wild- 
 e:'ness through which her path seemed to lie, only brightened, by 
 contrast, the splendour that Lay bcj-^ond. "The world,'/ thought 
 s le, *♦ has now nothing to offer that I covet, and little to tlireaten 
 tiat I fear. What then remains but to do my duty, unawed by its. 
 tiireatcnings, unbribed by its joys. Ere this cloud dai-kcned all my 
 earthly prospects, I was not untaught, though I had too much for-- 
 goiten the lesson, that it was not for pastime 1 was sent hither. I 
 vin here as a soldier, who strives in an enemy's land ; as one who 
 -n ist run — must wrestle— must strain every nerve — exert every 
 power, nor once sb.rink from the struggle till the priae is my own. 
 N;>r do I live for nnsclf alone I have a friend; to gratifj- — the 
 ; jor to relieve — the sorrowful to console— a father's age to comfort 
 -a God to serve. And shall selfish feeling disincline mc to sudi 
 >i'ities as these ? No, with more > ban sjeeming cliccrfulness, I will 
 perform them all. I will thank Heaven for exempting mo. from tlie 
 \\d' iicavier task of honouring and obeying a profligate. 
 
 A prodigate ! Must she apply such' a name to Hargrave! The 
 . nthusiusm of the moment expired attlie word, and the glow of vir. 
 iUDU.s resolution faded to he paleness of despondency and pai)i. 
 
 From a long and melancholy reverie, Laura was awakened by the 
 
 ound of the garden gate, and she perceived that it was entered hy 
 
 Colonel Harg-rave. Instinctively she v*as retreating from the win- " 
 
 flow, when she saw him joined by her father; and, trembling lest 
 
 ■ aiulour was about to confess, or inydvcrtencQ tp betj-ay, what eHj 
 
 kV 
 
1/ 
 
 17 
 
 so much wished to conceal, she continued witli breallilesa ansrety 
 vo watch their conference. 
 
 Though Colonel Hargrave was certainly one of the best bred 
 men in the khigdom, and, of consequence, entirely divested of the 
 awkwardness of mauvaise honte^ it must be confessed, that he en- 
 tered the presence of the father of Laura with rather less than his 
 accustomed ease ; but the cordial solution of Captain Montrevillc 
 banishing all fear that the lady had been too communicative, our 
 lover proceeded, without any remaining embarrassment, to unfold 
 the purpose of his visit Nor could any one have conjectured, from 
 the courtly condescension of the great man, that he conceived he 
 was bestov ing a benefit, nor from the manly frankness of the other, 
 that he considered himself aS receiving a favour. Notbullhavthc 
 Colonel was in full possession of the pleasures of conscious gene- 
 rosity and condescension. So complete, indeed, was his self-ap- 
 probation, that he doubted not but his present magnanimous re- 
 solve would efface from the mind of Laura all resentment for his 
 ottence. Her displeasure he thought Would be very short lived, 
 if he were able to convince her that his fault was not premeditated. 
 This he conceived to be an amj^le excuse, because lie chose to 
 consider the insult he had offered, apart from the base propensities, 
 the unbridled selfishness which it indicated. AsLaurahad so well 
 concealed his indiscretion, he was too good a politician himself to 
 expose it; and he proceeded to make such offers in regard to set- 
 tlements, as suited the liberality of his character. 
 
 Captain Montreville listened with undisguised satisfaction to pro- 
 posals apparently so advantageous to his beloved child; but, wliile 
 he expressed his entire approbation of the Colonel's suit, regard to 
 feminine decorum made him add, " that he was determined to put 
 no constraint on the inclinations of his daughter." The Colonel 
 felt a strong conviction, that no constraint would be necessary :_ 
 nevertheless, turning a neat period, importing his willingness to 
 resign his love, rather than interfere with the happiness of Miss 
 Montreville, he closed the conference, by intreating that the Cap- 
 fain would give him an immecFiate opportunity of learning his fate 
 fi'onti the hps of the fair Laura herself. 
 
 Laura had continued to follow them with her eyes, till they en- 
 tered the house together; and the next minute Captain Montre* 
 ville knocked at her door. 
 
 •*lf yom- head-ache is not quite gone," said he, with a signifi- 
 cant smile, " I will venture to recommend a physician. Colonel 
 Hargrave is waiting to prescribe for you ; and you may repay him 
 in kind, for he tells me he has^ a case' for your consideration " 
 
 Laura was on the point of protesting against any communicatiwi 
 with Colonel Hargrave; but instantly recollecting the explanation 
 th at would be necessary, " I will go to him this instant," she cx- 
 cl aimed with an eagerness that astonished her father. 
 
 " Surely, you will first smooth these reddish locks of yours,*" 
 a aid he, fondly stroking his hand over her dark auburn hair. " I 
 iear so much ImjtQ may make the Colonel rain." 
 
 3^ 
 
18 
 
 Laura c(»loarccl violently-; for, amidst all Ijerfeai's of a tliscovc- 
 IT, slie found place for a strong feeling of resentment, at the easy 
 fiecuritv of forgiveness that seemed intimated by a visit so immedi- 
 ately succeeding the ofFcnce. Having employed the few momenta 
 she passed at her toilette in collecting her thoughts, she descended 
 to tl)e p:irlour, fully resolved to give no countenance to the hopes 
 iier lover might have built on her sujjposed weakness. ^ 
 
 The Colonel was akne ; and, as she opened tlie door, eagerly acT 
 vanced towards her. " My adored Laura," cried he, " this conde- 
 scension -." Had he staid to read the pale, but resolute coun^ 
 
 tcnance of his " adored'* Laura, he would have spared his thanks 
 for her condescension. 
 
 She interrupted him. "Colonel Hargi-ave,'*' said she, with im* 
 posing seriousness, " I have a request to make to you- Perhaps 
 the peace of my life depends upon your compliance," 
 
 " Ah, Laura ! what request can I refuse, where I have so much 
 to ask ?" 
 
 " Promise me, that you will never make knmvn to my father- 
 that you will take every means to conceal from him the — ," she he- 
 sitated, " the — our meeting last night," she added, rejoiced to have 
 found a palliative expression for her meaning. 
 
 *' Qh ! dearest Laura ! forget it; think of it no more." 
 
 '* Promise — promise solemnly- If indeed," added she shudder.^ 
 ing, M hile an expression of sudden anguish crossed her features, 
 " if indeed promises can weigh \\ ith such a one as you." 
 
 *' For pity's sake, speak not such cutting words as those." 
 
 ** Colonel Hargrave, will you give me )?our promise !" 
 
 " I do promise — solemnly promise. Say, but that you forgive 
 mo." 
 
 *' I thank you, Sir, for so far insuring the safety of my dear fa- 
 thc-, since he might have risked his life to avenge the wrongs of 
 his child. You cannot be surprised, if I now wish to close our ac- 
 qviaintancCj'as speedily as may be consistent witli the concealment 
 so imfortunately neces.^.ary.'* 
 
 Impatient to conclude, an interview which tasked her fortitude to 
 the utmost, Laura was about to retire. Hargi'ave seized her hand. 
 "Surely, Laura, you will not leave me thus. You cannot I'efuse 
 forgiveness to a fault caused by intemperate passion alone. The 
 only atonement in my power, I now come to offer : my hand — my 
 fortune — my future rank;" 
 
 The native spirit, and wounded delicacy of Laura,, flashed from 
 her eyes, while she replied .- " I fear. Sir, I shall not be suitably 
 grateful for your generosity, while I recollect the alternative you 
 would have preferred." . . ' 
 
 i'his was. the first time that Laura had ever appeared to her lo* 
 .cr, other than the tendci-, the timid girl. From this character she 
 ;'?emed to have started at once into tlie high-spirited, the dignified 
 ^voman; and, witli a truly masculine passion for variety, Hargiave 
 i!iou;;;lil r.e had never seen her half so. fascinating. .** My angelic 
 ' "■ ■ ■ . , L; kneU before h^v, " JoyeUcr in yovu- cruelty. 
 
19 
 
 Buffer me to prove to you my repentance— my reverence— my ado- 
 ration ; suffer me to prove them to tlie world, by uniting oui* fates 
 for ever." 
 
 *• It is fit the guilty should kneel," said Laura, turning awny, 
 "* but not to their fellow mortals. Rise, Sir, tliis homage to me is 
 but mockeiy." 
 
 «* Say, then, that you forgive me ; say, ^hat you will accept the 
 tenderness, the duty of my future life." 
 
 *' What ! rather tlian control your passions, will you now stoop 
 to receive as your wife, her wliom so iaiely you ihougjit vile 
 er^ough for the lowest degradation ? Impossible ! yours I can 
 never be. Our views, our principles, are opposite as light and 
 darkness* How shall I call heaven to witness the prost'itution of 
 its own ordinances? How siiall I ask the blessing of my Maker, 
 on my union with a being at enmity with him V 
 
 « Good heavens, Laura, will you sacriilce to a punctilio — to a fit 
 of Calvinistic enthusiasm, the peace of my life, the peace of youi' 
 owni I You have owned that you love mc — 1 have seen it— tlchght- 
 cd seen it a thousand times — and will you now desert me for 
 ever ?" 
 
 " 1 do not act upon punctilio," returned Laura Cvilmly: — " I 
 believe 1 am no entliusiast. "What have been my sentiments, is now 
 of no importance; to ui\itc myself with vice would be deliberate 
 w ickedncss — to hope for happmess from such an union would be 
 desperate folly." 
 
 *' Dearest Laura, boimd by your charms, allured by your exam- 
 ple, my reformation would be certain, my virtue secure." 
 
 " Oh, hope it not! — Familiar with my form, my only hold on 
 5^our regard, you would neglect, forsake, despise me ; and, who 
 should say that my punishment was not just," 
 
 " And will you then," cried Hargrave, in an agony; ** Will you 
 then cast mc off for ever ? Will you drive me for ever from your 
 heart ?" 
 
 " 1 have now no choice — leaA'e me— forget mc — seek some woman 
 less fivstidious; or rather endeavour, by your virtues, to deserve 
 one superior far. Then honoured, beloved, as a husbruid, as a fa- 
 
 ther" The fcrtitude of Laura failed before the pictiue of her 
 
 fancy, dnd she was unable to pi'oceed. Determined to conceal her 
 weakness from Hargrave, she broke from him, and hurried towards 
 the door; — but, melting into tenderness at the thought that this 
 interview was perhaps the last, she turned. "Oh, Hargrave," she 
 cried, clasping her hands as in supplication, " have pity oi\ your- 
 self — have pity on me forsake tlie fatal path on which you have 
 
 entered, that, though for ever torn from } ou here, I may yet meet 
 you in a better world. ^ , 
 
 She then darted from the roGm,leavingher lover.ittdtunb amaze- 
 ment, at the conclusion of an interview so different from his ex- 
 pectations. For the resentment of Laura he had been prepared; but 
 uponher-determuied refusal, he had never calculated, and scarcely 
 could he now admit the reality. Could he give her credit for ^Jie 
 
20 
 
 pirofesscd motive of her rejection? CdlOftd KafgtaVchad nothing 
 in himself that made it natural for him to suppose passion sacrificed 
 to reason and principle. Had he then deceived himself, — had she 
 never really loved him ? — the sug'gtjstioh \^as too mortifying to be 
 admitted. Had resentment given rise to her determination ? She 
 had spoken from the first with calmness, — at last with tenderness. 
 Was all this but a sfcene of coquetry, desigiled to enhance her 
 favours ? The simple, the noble, the candid Laura gtiilty of cO*- 
 quetry ? — impossible ! While these thoughts darted -witli confused 
 rapidity through his mind, one idea alone was distinct and perma- 
 nent — Laura had rejected him. This thought was torture. Strongs 
 resentment mingled with his anguish ; and to inflict, on the \im<y- 
 cent cause of it, pangs answering to those he felt, would have af- 
 forded to Hargrave the highest gratification. Though his passion 
 for Laura was the most ardent of which he was capable, its effects, 
 for the present, more resembled those of the bitterest hatred. That 
 she loved him, he would not allow liimself to doubt ; and, there- 
 fore, he concluded that neglect would inflict the surest, as well as 
 the most painful wound. Swearing that he wo\dd make her feel 
 it at her heart's core, he left the cottage, strode to the village inn^ 
 siu'lily ordered his horses, and, in a humour compounded of re- 
 venge, impatient passion, and wounded pride, returned to his quar- 
 ters at . His scheme of revenge had all the success that such 
 
 schemes usually have or deserve ; and while, for one whole week, 
 he deigned not, by visit or letter, to notice his mistress, the real 
 suflering which he inflicted, did not exactly fall on her for whom 
 he intended the pain. 
 
 CHAPTER ra. 
 
 To an interview which he presumed Would Be as delightful ^s^ 
 interesting. Captain Montreville chose to give no interruption; and 
 therefore he had walked out to superintend his hay -making : But, 
 after staying abroad for two hours, which he judged to be a rea- 
 sonable length for a tete-a-tete, he retui-ned, and was a little sur- 
 prised to find that the Colonel Was gone. Though he entertained not 
 a doubt of the issue of the conference, he had some curiosity to 
 know the particulars, and summoned Laura to commui)icate them. 
 
 " Well, my love," said he, as the conscious Laura shut the par- 
 Vour door, ** is Colonel Hargrave gone ?*' 
 
 « Long ago. Sir." 
 
 ** 1 thought he would have waited my return." 
 
 Laura made no answer. 
 
 " When are we to see him agaip ?" 
 
 Laura did mot know. 
 
 
21 
 
 •' Well, well," said CapUiu Monlrevl'lc, a little iir.putienUy, 
 " since the Colonel is g-one without talking to me, 1 must just he ai- 
 from you what it is you have both determined on,'* 
 
 Laura trembled in evefv limb. " I knew,'* said she, xrithout 
 venturing- to lift her eye, "that you would never srxrifice your 
 child to rank or fortune ; and therefore I had no hesitation in re- 
 fusinjj Colonel Har^ave." 
 
 Captain Montreville started back with astonishment, — " Re- 
 fused Colonel Hargrave ?" cried he. — " Impossible — you cannot be 
 in earnest. 
 
 Laura, with much truth, assured him that she never in her life 
 had been more serious. 
 
 [Captain Montreville was thunderstruck. Surprise for a few 
 moments kept him silent. At last recovering' himself,—" Why, 
 Laura," said he, "what objection covdd you possibly make to Har- 
 grave ? — he is young", handsome, accomplished, and hcis shewn 
 such generosity in his choice of you" — 
 
 "Generosity! Sir," repealed Laur?. 
 
 " Yes ; it was generous in Colonel Hargrave, who mii^ht pretend 
 to the first woman in the kingdom, to think of oifcring to share 
 bis fortune and his rank with you, who have neither.'* 
 
 LaiU'a's sentiments on this subject did not ex::iCtjy coincide with 
 her father's, but she remained silent while he continued : " I 
 think I have a right to hear your objections, for 1 am entirely at a 
 loss to guess them. 1 don't indeed know a fault Hargrave has» 
 except perhaps a few gallantries ; which most girls of your age 
 think a very pardonable error." 
 
 A sickness, as of death, seized Laura; but she answered steadi- 
 ly, " Indeed, Sir, the Colonel's views are so diiierent from mine-^ 
 his dispositions so vciy unlike — so opposite, that nothing but un- 
 happlness could possibly resuat from such an union. But,'* added 
 she, forcing a languid smile, "we shi 11, if you please, discuss all 
 this to-morrow ; foi-, indeed, to-d:.y, I am unable to diefend m} own 
 cause with )ou. 1 have been indisposed all day." 
 
 ^Captain Montieville looked at Laura, andy in the alarm which 
 he*" unusual paleness excited, lost all sense of the disiippointment 
 she had just caused him. He ihitw his arm tenderly round her — 
 suppoiled her to her own apartment — begged siic would try to 
 rest, — ran to seek a cordial for his darling ; and tl^en, fearii^g that 
 llie dread of his displeasure should add to her disorder, hastened 
 back to assure her that, 'hough hec happiness was his dearest con- 
 cern, he never meajit to interfere with her judgment of the means 
 by which it was to be promoled. 
 
 Tears of affectionate gratitude burst from the eyes of Laura. 
 '< My dear kind father," she cried, "let me love— ki me please 
 you — and I ask no other eartldy happiness." 
 
 Captain Monircviile then kn her to rest; and, quite exhausted 
 with illness, fatigue, and sorrow, she slept soundly for many hours 
 
 The c..«pt-dn speritmostof the eveniig in rinoinatii g on tl.e oc- 
 . rcncG of the dav; nor did his medications at all diixiinish his 
 
22 
 
 surprise at his daughter's unaccountablierejectlon of his favourite. 
 He recollected many instances in which iiethoughthe had perceiv- 
 ed her partiaUty to the Colonel; — he perplexed himself in vain to 
 reconcile them with her present behaviour- He was compelled at 
 last 10 defer his conclusions till Laura herself sliould solve the 
 difficulty. The subject was imleed, so vexatious to him, that he 
 longed to have liis curiosity satisfied, in order finally to dismiss the 
 affair from his mind. 
 
 Laura had long" been accustomed, when assailed by any adverse 
 circumstances, wiiether more trivial, or more important^ to seize 
 the first opportunity of calmly considei-hig- how far she had her- 
 self contributed to the disaster; and, as nothing- is more hostile to 
 good humour than an ill-defined feeUng of self-reproach, the habit 
 was no less useful to the regulation of our heroi!ie's temper, than 
 to her improvement in the rarer virtues of prudence and candoup. 
 Her first waking hour, except that which was uniformly dedicated 
 to a more sacred purpose, siie now employed in strict and impar- 
 tial self-examination. She endeavoured to call to mind every part 
 of her behaviour to Colonel Hargrave lest her own conduct might 
 have seemed to countenance his presumption. But in vain. She 
 could not recollect a word, a look, even a thought, that could have 
 encouraged his profligacy. *' Yet. why should I wonder," she ex- 
 claimed, " if he expjected that temptation might seduce, or weak- 
 ness betray me, s'mce he knew me Nibble, and of the power by 
 which I am upheld he thought not." 
 
 Satisfied of the purity of her conduct, she next proceeded to 
 examine its prudence : but here she found little reason for self- 
 g-ratulation. Her conscience, indeed, completely acquitted her of 
 levity or forwardness, but its charges of imprudence she could 
 not so easily parry. Why had she admitted a preference for a man 
 whose moral character was so little known to her ? Where slept 
 her discretion, while she suffered that prrference to strengthen 
 into passion ? Why had she indulged in dreams of idejdperfectioii ? 
 Why had she looked for consistent virtue in a breast where she had 
 not ascertained that piety resided ? Had she allowed herself time 
 for consideration, would she have forgotten that religion was the 
 only foundation strong enough to support the self-denying, the 
 purifying virtues ? These prudent reflections came, in part, too 
 late ; for to love, Laura was persuaded she must henceforth be a 
 stranger. But to her friendships, she conceived, that they might 
 be applicable ; and she determined to make them useful in her fu- 
 ture intercourse with her own sex , to whom, perhaps, they may be 
 appUed even with more justice than to the otlier. 
 
 The mind of Laura had been early stored with just and rational sen- 
 timents. These were the bullion — but it was necessar}' that experi- 
 ence should give the stamp that was to make them current in the 
 ordinary business of Ufe. Had she called prudence to her aid, in the 
 first stage of her ae<|uaintance with the insinuating Hargrave, what 
 anguish would slie not have spared herself. But if the higher wis- 
 dom is to foresee and prevent misfortime, the next degree is Hk 
 
 5\ 
 
ITiake the best of it when unavoidable ; and Laura resolved that 
 this pra'ise at least should i>e hers. Fortified by this resolutiofi, 
 she quitted her apartment, busied herself in her domestic affairs, 
 met her father almost with cheerfulness ; and, when he renewed 
 the subject of their last conversation, repeated, with such compo- 
 sure, her conviction of the dissimilarity of Hargrave's dispositions 
 to her own, that Captain Montreville began to believe that he had • 
 been mistaken in his opinion of her preference. Still, however, he 
 could not account for her rejection of an offer so unobjectionable -, 
 and he hinted a suspicion, that some of Hargrave's gallantries had 
 beenrepeatedto her, and perhaps with exaggeration. With tremb- 
 ling lips, Laura assured hjm she had never heard the slightest in- 
 sinuation against Colonel Hargrave. Though Laura had little of 
 romance in her composition, her father now began to imagine, that 
 she allowed herself to cherish the romantic dream, that sympathy 
 of souls, atid exactly concordant tastes and propensities, were ne- 
 cessary to the happiness of wedded hfe. But Laura calmly declar- 
 ed, that her tastes were not inflexible ; and that, had she intended .. 
 to marrj', she should have found it an easy duty to conform them 
 to those of her husband ; hut that the thought of marriage was 
 shocking to her, and that she trusted no man would ever again 
 think of her as a wife. Montreville, who for once suspected his 
 daughter of a little affectation, made no effort to combat this un- 
 natural antipathy, but trusted to time and nature for its cure. 
 
 As soon as her father left her, Laura, determined not to be brave 
 by halves, began the painful task of destroying every relic of Har- 
 grave's presence. She banished from her port-folio the designs 
 he had made for her drawings, destroyed the music from which 
 he had accompanied her, and effaced from her books the marks 
 of his pencil. She had amused her solitary hours fby drawing, in 
 chalks, a portrait of features indelibly engraven on her recollection, 
 and her fortitude failed her when about to consign it to the flames. " 
 *' No;" she exclaimed, ♦' lean never part with this. This, at least, 
 I may love uureproved," and she pressed it in agony to her heart 
 —inwardly vowing that no human being should fill its place. But 
 such thoughts as these could not linger in the reasonable mind of 
 Laura. The next moment she blushed for her weakness ; and, 
 casting away its last treasure, averted her eyes till the flames had 
 consumed it to ashes. ** Now all is over," she cried, as she threw 
 herself upon a chau- and burst into tears. But, quickly wiping 
 them away, she resolved that she would not wilfully bind herself 
 to the rack of recollection, and hastened to exert herself in some 
 of her ordinary employments. 
 
 Laura was aware that the cottage, where every walk, every 
 shrub, every flower spoke of Hargrave, was a scene unlikely to 
 aid her purpose of forgetting him ; and, therefore, she that even- 
 ing proposed to her father that^they should pay their long pro-- 
 mised visit to Mrs. Douglas. He readily consented. Their jour- 
 ney was fixed for the following day, and Laura occupied herself 
 • Til preparing for Uieir departure, though with feeling ft* different 
 
froiii the delight with which, a few days before^ she V.-CV.U1 luv 
 anticipated a meeting' withhercarly frienJ. 
 
 CHAPTER lY 
 
 INIiis. I)oL-GLAs observed, with satisfaction, the improved sta- 
 lure and increasing' gracefulness of her young favourite; but she 
 remarked, with painful interest, tliat the* hectic of pleasure which 
 tinged the cheek of Laura, at their meeting, faded fitst to the hue 
 of aim >3t sickly delicacy. She soon noticed that an expression, as 
 of sudden torture^ would aometimcs contract, . for a moment, the 
 polished forehead of Laura; that it was now succeeded by the 
 smothered sigh, the compressed lip, the hasty motion that spoke 
 strong mental effort, now subsided into the languor of deep uncon- 
 qucred melancholy. Such depression Mrs. Douglas could not at- 
 tribute to the loss of a mother, whose treatment furnished more 
 occasions of patience than of gratitude ; and she anxiou.sly longed 
 to discover its real cause. But it was soon evident that this was a 
 secret which I-aura had no intention to disclose. A glance from 
 the inquiring eye of Mrs. Douglas, at once recalled her to con- 
 strained cheerfulness ; and the presence of Captain IMontreville 
 seemed always to put her entirely upon her guard. AVhile he was 
 in the room, she talked, read aloud, or played with the children, 
 as if determined to be amused ; but as soon as he retired, she re- 
 lapsed, like one wearied with effort, into languor and melancholy, 
 till recalled to herself by the scrutinizing looks of Mrs. Douglas. — 
 Even in iheir most private conversations, the name of Ilargravc ne- 
 ver passed her lips. Months indeed, had elapsed since Laura coxikl 
 have pronounced that name without palr.ful emotion — to utter it 
 now w;is become almost impossibL-. She. felt that she had no right 
 to publish, while she rejected, his addresses ; and she felt an in- 
 vincible repugnance to expo >c even his failings, but much more 
 his vices, to the censure of ilie respectable Mrs. Douglas. Soon 
 after she first saw Hargravo, she had written to her friend a warm 
 culogium of his fine person, captivating manners, and elegant ac- 
 complishments. Mrs. Douglas, in reply, had desired to hear more 
 of this phoenix ; but before Laura again found leisure to write, she 
 was no longer inclined to make Hargrave her subject, and her 
 friend had desisted from fruitless inquiries. Mrs. Douglas hud 
 lately had an opportunity of judging for herself of the Coloncl*s 
 attractions ; and, so great did they appear to her, that it was with 
 exti-cnie asto.ushm.ent she heard of his late disappointment ftom 
 Captain Monticvillc, who did not feel his daughter's delicacy on 
 tl^e subject. 'I'liis conimu.-iication served only to increase her per- 
 plcxity a^ to the cau*c of Laura';? depression ; yet* she tcU licrrs^If 
 
* 25 
 
 relieved from the apprehension, thai hopeless love foi- Ifargi-avc 
 was wastmi^thc health and peace of her dear Laura: Still, liowever, 
 she continued to watch that expressive countenance, to weigh eve- 
 ry word that might tend to unfold the enigma. In vain ; — Laura 
 studiousJiy avoided all approach to an explanation. Mrs-Douglas't, 
 anxiety now increased to a painful extreme. She felt how neces- 
 sary to female inexperience is the advice of a female, — how indis- 
 pensable to feminine sorrows are the consolations of feminine sym.- 
 pathy ; and she resolved that no false delicacy should withhold her 
 from offering such relief as she might liave power to bestow. 
 
 One morning after the gentlemen had left them alone together, 
 Mrs. Douglas, meditating on the best means of introducing the 
 " subject she had so much at heart, had fallen into a long silence ; 
 when, looking up, she perceived that Laura liad let fall her v.ork, 
 and was sitting with her -eyes fixed, and her arms dropj^d, in the 
 attitude of one whose thoughts had no connection with present ob- 
 jects. At the heavy sigh with which Mrs. Douglas surveyed her, 
 she started, and was rousing her attention to some indifferent sub- 
 ject, when Mrs. Douglas, kindly taking her hand, said, " My dear 
 child, whatever may be necessary with othei-^s, I bes<iechyou to be 
 under no constraint with mc. I am far from wishing to intrude 
 into your confidence, but do not add the pain of constraint to an- 
 guish that already seems so oppressive. 
 
 Large tears stole from under Laura's <lowncast eyelids ; but she 
 spoke not. Mrs. Douglas continued — " If my best advice, my 
 most affectionate sympathy, can be of use to you, I need net say 
 you may command tliem." 
 
 Laura threw herself into the anns of her friend, and for some 
 moments sobbed with uncontrolled emotion ; but soon composing 
 herself, she replied: " If advice coidd haveprofited, if consolation 
 could have reached me, where should I have sought them unless 
 fi«om you, respected friend of my youth; — but the warning voice 
 of wisdom comes now too late, and even your sjmpathv would be 
 bestowed in vain.'* 
 
 "Heaven forbid that my dearest l^aura should be beyond the 
 reach of comfoi't. That is the lot of guilt alone." 
 
 « I am grateful to Heaven," said Laura, « that I have been less 
 guilty than imprudent. Bui, my best friend, let us quit this sub- 
 ject. This wretchedness cannot, shall not last. Only let me im- 
 plore you not to notice it to my father. You know not what hor- 
 rors might be the consequence." 
 
 Mrs. Douglas shook her head. « Ah ! Laura," said she, " that 
 path is not the path of safety in which you would elude a father's 
 eye." Laura's glance met that of her'friend ; and she read sus- 
 picion there. The thought was so painful to her, t!iat she was on 
 the point of disclosing all ; but she remembered that the reasons 
 which had at first determined her to silence, were not altered bv 
 any one's suspicions, and she restrained hersclfc Colonel Hargrav'e 
 had cruelly wronged and insulted her— she oaglit therefore to be 
 douljly cautious how she injured him. Svmpathv in licr case, she 
 
 C 
 
26 
 
 i'-lt, would be a dang-crous indulgence ; and, above id], she shrunk 
 with horror from exposing her lover, or his aclions to detestation 
 or contempt. " Perhaps the time may come," said she, pursuing 
 her reflections aloud, '* when you will be convinced that 1 am in- 
 txapablc of any cjundestine purpose. At present your compassion 
 might be a treacherous balm to me, when my best wisdom must 
 be to forget tiiat I have need of pity" 
 
 Mrs. Douglas looked on the open candid countenance of Laura, 
 and her suspicions vanished in a moment ; but they returned when" 
 her young friend reiterated her intreaties that she would not hint 
 the subject to her father. Laura was, however, fortified in her re- 
 solutions of concealment, by an opinion she had often heard Mrs. 
 Douglas express, that the feelings of disappointed love should by 
 women be kept inviolably a secret She was decisively giving a 
 new turn to the conversation, when it was interrupted by the en- 
 trance of the gentlemen; and Mrs. Douglas, a little hurt at the 
 steadiness of her young friend, naore than half determined to re- 
 new the subject no more. 
 
 A letter lay on the table, which the post had brought for Cap- 
 'ain Montreville ; he read it witli visible uneasiness and immedi- 
 ately left the room. Laura perceived his emotion ; and, ever alive 
 to the painful subject nearest her heart, instantly concluded that the 
 letter brought a confession fi-om Hargrave. She heard her father's 
 disordered steps pacing the apartment above, and earnestly' longed, 
 yet feared to join him. Anxiety at length prevailed ; and she timid- 
 ly approached the door of Captain INIontreville's chamber. She 
 laid her hand upon the lock; paused again, with failing courage, 
 find was about to retire, when her father opeived the door. " Come 
 in, my love,** said he, *' I wish to speak with you." Laura, trem- 
 bling, followed him into the room. " I find," said he, " we must 
 shorten our visit to our kind friends here, and travel homewardse 
 I must prepare,** continued he, and he sighed heavily, " I must 
 prepare for a much longer journey.'* 
 
 Laura's imagination took the alarm ; and, forgetting how un- 
 likely it was that Captain Montreville should di.sclose such a reso- 
 lution to her, she thought only of his intending to prepare for a 
 jourjiey whence there is no return ; before he should stake his life 
 against that of Hargrave. She had not power to speak ; but, lay- 
 ing her hand on her father's arm, she cast on him a look of implor- 
 ing agony. " Do not be alarmed, my love," said he : "I shall in 
 a few days, carry your commands to London ; but I do not mean 
 to be long absent.** 
 
 Laura's heart leaped light. " To London, Sir r" said she, in a f 
 tone of cheerful inquiry. 
 
 " Yes, my dear child ; I roust go, and leave you alone at home- 
 while yet 1 have a home to shelter you. Had you resembled any , 
 other girlof your age, I shovdd have said no more of this — btH^f/ 
 will have no concealments from you. Read this letter." 
 
 It was from Captain Montreviile's agent, and briefly staled, that 
 tiiC merchant in whose hands he hadlatclv vested his all, ia an an- 
 
niiitv on his daughter's life, was dead ; and iluit, owing to sonic 
 iuformalitv in the deed,. the heirs refused to make any payment.— 
 Havine read the letter, Laura continued for some nioments to muse 
 on its contents, with her eyes vacantly fixed on the civil expres- 
 s-on of concern with which it concluded. "How mcrciiul it is, 
 • uc exclaimed, "that this blow fell not tUl my mother was inscu- 
 .ible of the stroke." , ,., , 
 
 « For rnyself," said Captain Mcntreville, *' 1 think I could have 
 borne it well ; but this was the little independence I thought I had 
 secured for vou, dear darling of my heart ; and now'* The fa- 
 ther's lip quivered, and his eyes filled ; but he turned aside, for he 
 eould 6e tender — but would not seem so. 
 
 « Dearest father," said Laura, " think not of me. Could you 
 have given me millions, I should still have been dependent on the 
 care of Providence, even for mv daily bread. My dependence will 
 now only be a little more perceptible. But perhaps," added she, 
 cheerfully, '* something may be done to repuir this disaster. War- 
 ren's heirs will undoubtedly rectify this mistake, when they find it 
 has been merely accidental. At all events, a journey to London 
 will am\ise you'; and I shall manage your harvest so actively in 
 vour absence." 
 
 Captain Montreville had, from Laura's infancy, been accustom- 
 ed to witness instances of her fortitude, to sefe her firm under un- 
 merited and merciless chastisement, and patient under intense bo- 
 dily suffering — but her composure on this occasion, so far surpass- 
 ed his expectations, that he was inclined to attribute it less to for- 
 titude than to inconsideration. " How light-hearted is youth,"— 
 thought he, as he quitted her. " This poor child has never seen 
 the harsh features of poverity, but when distance softened their 
 deformity, and she now beholds lus approach without alarm." — 
 He was mistaken. Laura had often taken a near survey of pover- 
 ty. She had entered the cabins of the very poor— seen infancy 
 squalid, and youth spiritless — manhood exhausted by toil, and age 
 pining without comfort. In fancy she had substituted herself in 
 the place of these victims of want ; felt by sympathy their varieties 
 of wretchedness ; and she justly considered poverty among the 
 heaviest of human calamities. But slie was sensible that her firm- 
 ness might support her father's spirit.'?, or her weakness serve to 
 aggravate his distress ; and she wisely pushed aside the more for- 
 midable mischief, which she could not surmount, to attend to the 
 more immediate evil, which she felt it in her power to alleviate. 
 
 The moment she was alone, Laura fell on licr knees : " Oh ! 
 Heavenly Providence," she cried, *' save, if it be thy will, my 
 dear father's age from poverty, though, like my great Master, I 
 should not have where to lay my head." She continued to pray 
 long and fervently, for spirits to cheer her father under his misfor- 
 tiBVfi ; and for fortitude to endure her ov/n peculiar sorrow, in 
 her estimation so much more bitter. Having implored the bless- 
 uig of Heaven on her exertions, she ne:it began to practise thera. 
 
28 
 
 S)ie wandered out to court the exhilarating hifluencc of the 
 mountain ah-; and, studiously turning- lier attention to uU that 
 was g-ay, soug-ht to rouse l\er spirits for the task, she had assig-ned 
 them. She was so successful, that she was that evening the life of 
 the little friendly ciixle. She talked, sang, and recited — she exer- 
 ted all the wit and vivacity of which she was mistress — she em- 
 ployed powers of humour which she herself had scarcely been 
 tonscious of possessing. Her gaiety soon became contagious— 
 Scarcely a trace appeared of tlie anxious fears of Mrs. Douglas, 
 or the parental uneasiness of Captain Montreville, and fewer .still of 
 the death-stroke which disappointed confidence had carried to the 
 peace of poor Laura. But, retired to the solitude of her chamber, 
 her exhausted spirits found relief in tears. She felt, that long to 
 tontinue her exertion would be impossible; and, in spite of reason, 
 which told of the danger of solitude, anticipated v.ith pleasure, tlie 
 moment when total seclusion should leave her free to laidisguiscd. 
 wretcliediiess. 
 
 Luura was not yet, however, destined to the hopeless task of 
 combating misplaced affection in entire seclusion. On the follow- 
 ing morning she found a stranger at the breakfast-table. He seem^- 
 . d a man of informaticn and accomplishments. An enthusiast hi 
 landscape, he was come to prosecute his favourite study amidst 
 Uie piclarcsque magnificence of Highland scenery; and the ap- 
 pearance and manners of a gentleman, furnished him with a suffi- 
 cient introduction to Highland hospitality. Relieved, by his pre- 
 L-ence, from the task of entertaining^, Laura scarcely listened to the 
 conversation, till the stranger, having risen from table, began 
 to examine a picture which occupied a distinguished phaee in Mrs. 
 Douglas's p?.rlour. It was the work of Laura, who was no m.ean 
 proficient. She had early discovered what is called a genius for. 
 painting; that is to say, she had exercised much of her native in- 
 veTition, and habitual industry on the art. Captain Montretille 
 .vkied to his personal instructioJis, every flicility which it was in his 
 nowcr to bestow. Even wlien he\; performances had little in thcin 
 •)f wonderful but their number, her acquaintance pronounced thera 
 wonderful; and thev obtained the more useful approbation of a 
 Mcighbounng nobleman, who invited her to use, as copies, any 
 -.a-'t of his excellent collection. Her progi-ess was now, indeed, 
 znai-vellous to those who were new to the effects of unremitting m- 
 dustrv, guided by models of exquisite skill. Having long and se- 
 dulously copied, from pieces of acknowledged merit, she next a^ 
 ■cnipted an original; and having, with great care composed, and 
 ^vith incredible labour finished her design, she dedicated to Mrs. 
 i)ou-las the first fruits of her improved talents, m the pictxu-e 
 which the stranger was now contemplating. Willing that heryoung 
 ;riend should reap advantage from the criticisms of a judicious ar- 
 (IsS Mrs. Douglas encouraged him to speak freely of the beauties 
 -.nd defects of the piece. After remarking that there was some 
 ik'U i\i ihe composition, much iet.rcst in the principal figure, and 
 
id 
 
 Aon3iderablo freedom in ihelouch, lie ndded ; "If tbf.s be. as Tsup- 
 pose! ihe work of a voun^ urtist, I shall not be surprised ihat he 
 one dav rise both to fume and fortune.'* ..•,,«• i «,^„.„ 
 
 Ml- ■ Doi'iclsis was about to direct his praise to its nghttul ownei . 
 but Laura silenced her by alook. The stranger's last expression 
 h-id excited ai\ interest which no other ciMrthly subject could have 
 awakened. Her labours might, it appeared, relieve the wants o? 
 increase the comforts of her father's age ; and, with a tace tha. 
 fflowed with enthusiasm, and eyes that sparkled with re- 
 novated hope, she eagerly advanced to question tiie crit:c as to the 
 value of hv-r work. In replv, he named a price so far exceeding- 
 her expectation?, that her resolution was formed in a moment — 
 She would accompany her father to London, and there try what 
 pecuniary advantage was to be derived from her talent. On a 
 scheme ivhich was to repair all her father's losses, prudence had 
 not time to pause; and, feeling company rather a lestraint on her 
 pleasure, Laura ran to her apartment, rather to tnjoy than to re- 
 consider her plan. Having spent some time in delighted anticipa- 
 tion of the pleasure which her father would take in the new team 
 and threshing-mill with which she would adorn his farm ; and the 
 comfort he would enjoy in, the new books and easy sofa with which 
 her labours would furnish his library, she recollected a hundred 
 questions that she wished to ask the stranger, concerning the best 
 means of disposing of her future productions, j.nd she ran down 
 stairs to I'enew the conversation— but the parloiu- was empty, the 
 stranger was gone. No matter. No iritle could at this moment 
 have discomposed Laiu-a ; and, with, steps as light as a heart from 
 which, for a time, all selfish griefs were ban.shed, she crossed the 
 little lawn in search of her father. 
 
 The moment she overtoojc liim, locking her arm in his, and 
 'ooking smilingly up in his face, she began so urgent axt entreaty 
 o he admitted as the companion of his journey, that Captain Mon- 
 leville, witii some curiosity, inquired wliat had excited in her this 
 -adden inclination to travel? Laura blushed and hesitated; for 
 though her plan had, in her own opinion, all the charms which wc 
 usually attribute to the new-born children cf our fancy, she felt 
 that an air of more prudence and forethought might be requisite 
 to render it equally attractive in the eyes of Captain Montrev lie. 
 She exerted, however, all the rhetoric she could at that moment 
 command, to give her scheme a plausible appearance. Witli res- 
 pect to herself, she was entirely successful; and she ventured to 
 cast a look of tiiumphant appeal on her father. Captain Montre- 
 ville, unwilling- to refuse the request of liis darling-, remained si- 
 ent; but kt the detail of her phin, he shook his hc:.d. Now, to 
 a projector of eighteen, a shake of the head is, of all gestures, 
 the most offensive; -and the smile which usually accompanies it, 
 miserably perverts the oOice of a smile. Tears, half of sorrow, 
 half of vexation, forced their way to the eyes d Laura; and she 
 walked silently on, without courage to renew the attack, till they 
 vcr? joingd by Mrs. JPouglas. Disconcerted by her ill success 
 
with licr lather, Laura felt little inclination to subject her scheme 
 to the ttirnnudvcrsidns of her friend; bat Captain 'Montreville, ex- 
 p^niTig- . -in auxiliary, by %vhose aidlie mig-ht conquer the weakness 
 otyiekling- without conviction, called upon iMrs Douglas, in a man- 
 ner which shev.cd him secure of her reph% to give lier opinion of 
 Laura's proposal. Mrs. Doug-las, v.'ho had heard, with a degree 
 of horror, of the intention to consign Laura to solitude in her pre- 
 sent state of snppresscd dejection, and who considered new scenes 
 and nevr interests as indispensable to her restoration, interpreting- 
 the asking- looks of the fair petitioner, surprised Captain Montre- 
 ville by a decided verdict in her favour. Rapturously tlianking- her 
 advocate, Laura Uow renewed her entreaties with such warmth, 
 that her father, not possessed of that facility in refusing which results 
 irom practice, gave a half-reluctant acquiescence. The delight 
 which his consent conveyed to Laura, which sparkled in her ex- 
 pressive feUtures, and animated her artless gestures, converted his 
 half-extorted assent into cordial concurrence ; for to the defects of 
 any scheme that gave her pleasure, he was habitually blind. 
 
 In the course of the evening, captain IMontreviUe announced 
 ^h:.;, in order to give his daughter time to prepare for her jouriiey. 
 It V ould }/€ necessary for them to retiur. to Glenalbert on the fol- 
 lowing morning. 
 
 While Mrs. Douglas was assisting Laura to pack up her little 
 wardrobe, she attempted to break her guarded silence on the 
 subject of Hargrave, by saying, " I doul)t this same journey of 
 •ours will prevent Colonel Hargrave from trying the elfects of per- 
 severance, which I used to think the most imfallible resort in love, 
 ns well as in more seriotis vmdcrtakinga .*' Laura began a most 
 Oil] gent search for something upon the carpet. " Poor Hargrave," 
 Mrs. Douglas resumed, ••' he is a great favorite of mine. I wish he 
 had beeii more successful." Laura continued uidustriously cram- 
 ming a bandbox. . " All tliesc goAViis Aud petticoats will crush your 
 new bonntt to pieces, my dear.'* Laura suddenly desisted from 
 her employment, rose, and turning full towards Mrs. Douglas, said 
 — " It is ur.kind, it is cruel, thus to urge me, when you know that 
 duty more thnn inclination keeps me silent. *' Pardon me my dear 
 J^aura," said Mrs. Douglas, " 1 have no wish to persecute you; but 
 you know 1 v;as ignorant that Colonel Hargrave was our interdicted 
 vabject." 
 
 She then entered on another topic ; and Laura, vexed at the par- 
 tial disclosure she had inadvertently ma'le, uneasy at being the ob- 
 ject of constant scrutiny, and hurt at being obliged to thwart the 
 habitual openness of her temper, felt less sorrow than relieved as she 
 sprung into the carriage that was to convey her to Glenalbert.^ So 
 true is it, that concealment is the bane of friendship. 
 
 Other interests too, quickened her desire to return home. She 
 longed, wiih a feeling which could not be called hope, though it far 
 exceeded curiosity, to know whether Hargrave had called or writ- 
 ten during her absence ; and the moment the chaise stopped, she 
 liew to Lhe table Mhcig the letters were deposited to wait their K- 
 
- 'i- Si..- ■ " 
 
 lam. There were none fer her. She interrupted Nanny's expres- 
 sion of joy at the sight of her mistress, by asking >\ho had called 
 wliile they were from home. " Nobody but Miss Willis. ' Laura's 
 eyes filled witli teai's of bitterness. "I am easily rehnq ished," 
 thought she — " :but it is better that it should be so ;" and she dash- 
 ed away the drops us they rose. 
 
 She would fain' have vented her feelings in tlie solitude of her 
 chamber ; but this was her father s first return to a widowed home, 
 and she would not leave him to its loneliness. She entered tl.e par- 
 lour. Captain Monti'eville was already there; and cheerfully wel- 
 coming liim home, she shook up the cushion of an elbow-chair by the 
 fire-side, and invited him to sit. '- No lore," said he, gently com- 
 pelling her, " do you take that seat ; it was your mother's.'* Laura 
 saw his lip quiver, and, suppressing the sob that swelled her bosom, 
 she tenderly withdrew him from the room, led him to the garden, 
 invited his attention to her ncw-biown carnations, and giaduully 
 diverted his regard to such cheerful objects, that, had Capt. n 
 ^lontreville examined vdi3it was passing in his own mind, he must 
 have confessed that he felt the loss of Liidy Harriet less us a com- 
 panion than an antagonist. She was more a customary something 
 which it was unpleasant to miss from its place, than area! want which 
 no substitute could supply. Laura's conversation, on the contra- 
 ry, amusing without ettort, ingenious \v'ithout constraint, and ra- 
 tional without stifthess, furnished to her father a real and constant 
 source of enjoyment ; because, wholly exempt from all desire to 
 shine, she had leisure to direct to the more practicable art of pleas- 
 ing, tliose efforts by which so many Qthcrs Miinlv attempt to daz- 
 zle. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The three following days Laura emplo)-ed in making arrange- 
 liicnts for her journey. Desrirous to enliven the solitude in which 
 she was about to leave her only attendant, she consigned the care 
 of the cottage, during her absence, to the girl's mother, Avho was 
 likewise her own nui-se ; and cautious of leaving to the tempta- 
 tions of idleness, one for whose conduct she felt herself in some 
 sort accountable, she allotted to Nanny the task of making winter 
 clothing for some of the poorest inhabitants of Glenalbert ; a task 
 which her journey prevented her from executing herself. Nor 
 were the materials of this little charity substracted from her fa- 
 ther's scanty income, but deducted from comforts exclusively her 
 own. 
 
 Though in the bustle of preparation, scarcely a moment remain- 
 ed unoccupied, Laura could not always forbe'ar from starting at 
 the sound of the knocker, or following with her eyes the form of a 
 horseman winding through the trees. In vahi she looked—in v; in 
 she listened. The expected stranger came not— tlic expected 
 
voice was unlieard. She tried to rejoice at the deseition : «« I am 
 g-lad of it,'' she would say to herself, while bitter tears were burst- 
 ing from her eyes She often reproached herself with the severi- 
 ty of her lanci^uage at her last interview v/ith Hurj^rave. She ask- 
 ed herself what ritjht she had to embitter disappointment by un- 
 kindncss, or to avcng-e msult by disdain. Her behaviour appeared 
 to her, in the retrospect, ung-entle, unfemhiine^ unchristian. Yet 
 she did not for a moment repent her rejection, nor waver for a mo- 
 ment in her resolution to adhere to it. Her soul sickened at the 
 thought, that she had been tlie object of lice?itious passion mere- 
 ly ; and she loathed to look upon her own lovely form, while she 
 thought that it had seduced the senses, but failed to touch the 
 soul of Hargrave. 
 
 Amidst these employments and feelings the week had closed ; 
 and the Sabbath evening was the last which Laura was to spend 
 at Gleualbert. That evening had long been her chosen season of 
 meditation, the village chiirch-yard the scene where she loved to 
 " go forth to meditate." The way which led to it, and to it alone, 
 was a shady green lane, gay with veronica and hare -bell, undefa- 
 ced by wheels, but marked in the middle with one distinct track ; 
 and impressed towards the sides witli several straggling half- 
 formed foot-paths. The church itself stood detached from the vil- 
 lage, on a little knoll, on the west side of which the burial-ground 
 sloped towards the woody bank that bounded a brawling moun- 
 tain stream. Thitlier Laura stole, when the svm, which had been 
 liid by the rugged hill, again rolling forth from behind the preci- 
 pitous ascent, poured through the long dale his rays upon this 
 rustic cemetary ; the only spot m the valley sufficiently elevated 
 to ratch his parting beam. 
 
 " How long, how deep is the shadow — how glorious in bright- 
 ness the reverse," said she, as she seated herself under the shade 
 of the newly raised grave-stone that marked the place of her mo- 
 ther's rest; and turning her mind's eye from what seemed a world 
 of darkness, she raised it to scenes of everlasting light. Her fan- 
 cv, as. it soai'ed to regions of bliss without alloy, k)oi:ed back with 
 something like disgust on the labours that were to prepai-e her 
 for their enjoyment, and a feeling almost of disappointn\ent and 
 impatience accompanied the recollection, that her pilgrimage was 
 to all appearance only beginning. Bvit she checked the feeling as 
 it rose, and, in penitence and resignation, raisedhcr eyes to heaven. 
 They rested as tliey fell upon a stone marked v ith the name and 
 vears of one who died in early youth. Laura remembered her 
 well— she was the beauty of Glcnalbert; but her lover left her for 
 a nchcr bride, aiul her proud spirit sunk beneath the stroke. The 
 village artist had depicted her want of resignation in a rude sculp- 
 ture of the prophet's lamentation over his withered gourtl. •♦ My 
 gourd, too. Is v/ithered," said Laura. "Do- 1 well to be ang«y 
 even \mto death ? Will the giver of all good leave me even here 
 without comfort ? Shall I refuse to find pleasure in any duties 
 but 3WcU as arc of my owti sckctiou ? 13ecavise the g^ratiticationot 
 
one passion — one misplaced passion, is refused, has this world no 
 more to ottcv' this fair world, which its great Creator has stamp- 
 ed with his power, and stored by his bounty, and ennobled by mak- 
 ing- it tlie temple of his worshippers, tlic avenue to heaven 1 Shall 
 I find no balm in the consolations of friendship, the endearments of 
 parental love — no joy in the sweets of benevolence, the stores of 
 knowledge, the mu'acles of grace! Oh! may 1 ever fearlessly 
 confide in the fatherly care, that snatched me from the precipice 
 from which my rash confidence was about to plunge me to my ruin 
 — that opened my eyes on my danger ere retreat was impossible.'* 
 
 The reflections of Laui-a were disturbed by the noise of some 
 -one springing over tlie fence ; and, tlie next moment, Ilargrave 
 was at her side. Laura uttered neither shriek nor exclamation— but 
 she turned; and, with steps as precipitate as would bear the name 
 of walking, proceeded tov/ards the gate. Hargrave followed her. 
 " Ami indeed so happy as to find you alone?" said he. Laura 
 replied not, by word or look. " Suffer me to detain you for a 
 few momenta." Laura rather quickened her pace. " Will you 
 not speak to me Miss Monti-eville T' said Hargrave, in a tone of 
 tender repi-oaci!. Laura continued to advance. " Stay but one 
 moment," fiaid he, in a voice of supplication. Laura laid her hand 
 upon the g^te. Hargrave's patience was exhausted. *' By heaven 
 you shall hear me !" he cried, and, throwing his arm round her, 
 compelled her to be seated on the stone bench at the gate. Laura 
 coldly withdrew herself. " By what right. Sir," said she, " i}^o^ 
 you presume to detain me ?" " By the right of wretchedness — of 
 misery not to be endured. Since I last saw you, 1 have never 
 known rest or peace. Surely, Laura, you are now sufficiently 
 avenged — surely your stubborn pride may now condescend to hear 
 nie.'' — " Well, Sir,*' said Laura, without attempting to depart ; 
 "what are your commands >'* ♦* Oh, Laura, I cannot bear your 
 displeasure — it makes me supremely miserable. If you have any 
 pity, grant me your forgiveness.'' " If my forgiveness is of any 
 value to you, I give it you, I ti'ust like a Cliristian — from the heart. 
 Now, then, suffer me to go." 
 
 " What — think you it is the frozen forgiveness of duty that wIH 
 content me ? Torn, as I am, by every passion that can drive man 
 to frenzy, think you that I will accept — that I will endure this heart- 
 less, scornful pardon? Laura, you loved me once. I have doated 
 on you— pined for you — and passion— passion only — ^will I accept, 
 or bear from you.'' 
 
 Laura shrunk trembling from his violence, " Colonel Hargrave/* 
 said she, " if you do not restrain this vehemence, I must, I will be 
 gone. I would fain spare you unnecessary' pain ; but while you thus 
 agitate yourself, my stay is useless to you, and to me most distres- 
 sing." « Say, then, that you accept my vows — that, hopeless oi 
 happiness but with me, you bind yourself to me alone, and for ever. 
 Speak, heavenly creature, and bless me beyond the fairest dreams 
 - hope." 
 
 ■J Colonel Hargrave,'* said Laura, "you have my forgiveness, 
 
34 
 
 My— -what shall I say.--my esteem you have cast from you— -my 
 best wishes for your happiness shall ever be yours — more I cannot 
 ^ve. In pity to yourself, then— in pity to me— renounce one who 
 never can be j^ours." 
 
 Harg-ravc's eyes flashed fire, while his countenance faded to 
 ghastly paleness. ♦• Yes ;" he exclaimed, cold, pitiless, insensible 
 woman— yes I renounce you. In the haunts of riot, in the roar of 
 intcmperence, will I forget that form, that voice— and, when I am 
 
 com— amidst the attractions of others, you will forget me. 
 
 « For-^'-et you ! Never. While I have life, I will follow vou— sup- 
 plicate— persecute you.— Mine you shall be, though infamy and 
 death ensue. Dare not," said he grasping her arm,—" dare not to 
 seek the protection of anotlier. — Dare but to give him one smile, 
 and his life shall be the forfeit." 
 
 " Alas ! Alas !" cried Laura, v^ringing her hands in anguish, 
 *' this is real fi-enzy. Compose yourself,^ 1 implore you— there is 
 no other — there never can be." — 
 
 Her tears recalled Hargrave to something like composure, 
 ** Dearest Laura," said he, " 1 wish to soften — I only terrify you. 
 Fear not, beloved of my soul — speak to me without alarm. ' I will 
 hear you, if it be possible, with calmness — but say not, oh ! say 
 Bot, that you reject me I" Laura averted her face. ♦* Wl\y prolong" 
 this distressing interview ?" said she, — " You have heard my deter- 
 mination. I know that it is right, and I cannot relinquish it." 
 
 The triumph of self-conquest gave firmness to her voice; and 
 Hargrave, dx'iven ;iga;n from composure by her self-command, 
 sprang from her side. " It is well, Madam,'* he cried: *' triumph 
 in the destruction of my peace ; but think not I will so tamely re- 
 sign you. No; by Heaven. I will go this moment to your father 
 —I will tell him my gffence ; and ask if he thinks it deserves such 
 punishment. I.^t hiiT\ take my life — I abhor it." 
 
 " Is your promise, tlien, of such small avail ?" said Laura, 
 sternly. 
 
 *' Shall a promise bind me to a life of wretchedness ? Shall I 
 regard the feelings of one who takes an inliuman pleasure in my 
 sxiflfcrings r*' At tliis moment Laura's eyes fell on her father, who 
 was entering the little avenue. Hargrave's glance followed hers, 
 and he prepared to join Captain Montreville. In an agony of ter- 
 ror, Laura grasped his arm. " Spare me, spare me," slie said, 
 *'and do with me what you will'.'" Captain Montreville saw that 
 the .Avalk was occupied ; he tm-ned from it, and Laura had again 
 time to breathe. ** Say, then," said Hargrave, softened by her emo- 
 tion, — " say" that, when years of penitence have atoned my offence, 
 you will yet be mine," Laura covered her face with her hands. 
 •• Let me not hear you — let me not look upon you," said Laura ;— 
 *' leave me to think, if it be possible," — and slie poured a silent 
 prayer to heaven for help in this her sorest trial. The effort com- 
 
35 
 
 posed her, and the Ttiujesiy of virtue gave dignity to her form, and 
 firmness to her voice, v/hile she said,—" My father's life is in the 
 hands of Providence— it will still be so, wl\en I have repeated to 
 yoti, that I dare not trust to principles such as yours the guardian- 
 ship of this the infancy of my being. I dare not incur certain guilt 
 to escape contingent evil. I cannot make you the companion of this 
 uncertain life, while your conduct is such, as to make our eternal 
 separation the object of my dreadful hope." 
 
 Hargravc had trusted that the tenderness of Laura would se- 
 duce, or his ardour overpower her firmness ; but he reiid the ex- 
 pression of her pale determined countenance, and felt assured tliat 
 she was lost to him for ever. Convinced that all appeal to her feel- 
 ings would be hopeless, he would deign to make none ; but, in a 
 voice made almost inarticulate by the struggle of pride and an- 
 guish, he said, ♦' Miss Montreville, your father's hfe is safe from 
 
 me— J Will not lift my hand against it.' That he should take uiine 
 is of small importance, either to you or myself. A violent death," 
 continued he, his pale lip quivering with a smile of bitterness,— 
 *' may perhaps procure me ypui tardy pity." 
 
 From the storm of passion, Laura had shrunk with terror and 
 dismay ; but the voice of suppressed anguish struck her to tlic 
 soul. " Oh ! Hargrave, she cried, with tears no longer to be re- 
 strained, " you have my tenderest pity — would to Heaven that the 
 purity of your future life would restore me to the happiness of es- 
 teeming you!" ' 
 
 Laura's tenderness revived, in a moment, the hopes of Ilai-grave. 
 " Angel of sweetness," he exclaimed, "m.ould me to your will — 
 say that, when purified by years of repentance, you will again 
 bless me with your love ; and no exertion will be too severe — no 
 virtue too arduous." 
 
 "No; this I dare not promise; let a higher motive influence 
 jou ; for it is not merely the conduct— it is the heart that must 
 liave changed, ere I durst expose my feeble virtue to the trial of 
 your example— your authority ; ere I durst make it my duty to 
 shut my eyes against your faults, or to see them with the indul- 
 gence of love " 
 
 "Dearest Lam-a, one word from you will lure me back to the 
 path of virtue — ^will you Wilfully destroy even the wish to return . 
 If for a year— tor two years— my conduct should bear the strictest 
 scrutiny — wdl you not except this as a proof that my heart is 
 changed — changed in every thing but its love for you — will you 
 not then receive me ?'* 
 
 Laura had resisted entreaty— had withstood alarm— had con- 
 quered strong aftcction ; but the hope of rousing Ilargrave to^he 
 views, the pursuits, the habits of a christian, betrayed her caution, 
 and gladdened her heart to rapture. " If for two years," said she, 
 her youthful countenance brightening with delight, *• your con- 
 duct is such as you describe— if it will bear the inspection of the 
 wise, of the sober-minded, of the pious,— as my father's fricr^d, a^ 
 rfty own friend, wJU I welcome you." 
 
Wi-^/^ 
 
 36 
 
 Thus suddenly raised from despair, HaTj^avc seemed at tJie 
 .s\immit of felicity. Once admitted as her ** father's friend, as her 
 own,*' he was secure of the accomplishment of his wishes. The 
 time that must first elapse, appeared to him but a moment ; and 
 
 the labours of duty required of him seemed a smiling- dream. 
 
 Love and joy animated every feature of his fine countenance ; he 
 threw himself at the feet of Laura, and rapturously blessed her for 
 her condescension. His ecstacies first made her sensible of the 
 -extent of her concession ; and she feared that she had gone too far. 
 But with her, a promise, however inadvertent, was a sacreA thing, 
 which she would neither qualify- nor retract. She contented herself, 
 therefore, with merely repeating thetemis of it, emphatically guar- 
 ding the conditions. Desirous now to have leisure for reflection, 
 she reminded him that the lateness of the hour made it fit.that he 
 sliould depart ; and, uiwardly persuaded that she would not long 
 cbdiu'ately refuse him another interview, he obeyed without much 
 opposition. 
 
 CHAPTER \l. 
 
 The lovers were no sooner separated, than Hargrave began to 
 repent that he had not mor« distinctly ascertained the kind and 
 manner of the intercourse which he was to hold with his mistress 
 during the term of Jiis probation ; and though he had little fear that 
 she would be very rigid, he considered this as a point of such im- 
 portance, that he resolved not to quit Glenalbert without having the 
 matter settled to his satisfaction. For this reason he condescended 
 to accept the accommodations of the httle straw-roofed cottage, by 
 courtesy called the Inn, where he had already left his horse ; and 
 thither he retired accordingly, not without some natiorial misgivings 
 of raind on the subject of Scottish nastiness and its consequences. 
 His apartment, however, though small, was decent, liis bed was 
 clean, his sleep refi*eshing, and his dreams pleasant; nor was it tiU 
 a late hour the following morning, that he rose to the homely com- 
 fort, and clumsy abundance o.f a Highland breakfast. As soon as he 
 had finished his repast, he walked towards Montreville's cottage, 
 ostensibly to pay his respects to the Captain, bui, in reality, with 
 the hope of obtaining a private interview with Laura. He entered 
 tlae garden, where he expected to find Captain Montreville. It was 
 empty. He approached th€ house The shutters were barred He 
 knocked at the door, which was opened by the old woman ; and, on 
 inquiring for Captain Montreville, he was' answered, " Wow, Sir, 
 him an' Miss Laura's awa' at six o'clock this moi*ning." *' Away," 
 repeated the Colonel,—" Where are they gone ?" " To London, 
 Sir ; and I'm sure a lanely fchne we'll hae till they come hame again.'* 
 '' What stay do they intend making?" " Heth/Sir, I dare say that's 
 
37 
 
 what they diaua kcn'thcmsels." " Wliat is their address r' inquired 
 the Colonel. " What's your will, Sir .?" " Where are they to be 
 found r" " Am'n I tellan you they're in London, Sir. I'm sure ye 
 ken whar that is ?" " But how are } ou to send their letters ?'* 
 ** Wow ! they never got mony letters but frae England ; and now 
 'at they're in London, ye ken the folk may gie them into their aiii 
 hand.' " But suppose you should have occasion to write to them 
 yourself?" said Hargrave, whose smaU stock of patience wore fast 
 to a close. " Heth, Sir, sorrow a scrape can I write. They learn 
 a' hae newfangled things now ; but, trouth, i' my young days, we 
 were na' sae upsettan " Hargrave was in no Immour to canvas the 
 merits of the different modes of education, and, muttering an ejacu- 
 lation, in which the word devil was distinctly audible, he turned 
 awav. 
 
 A cxed and disappointed, he wandered down the churchyard-l:.na 
 and reached the spot w^here he had last seen Laura. He threw 
 himself on the seat that had supported her graceful form — called 
 to mind her consuminate loveliness — her ill repressed tenderness — 
 and most, cordially consigned himself to Sutan for neglecting to 
 wring from her some further concessions. §he was now removed 
 from the solitude where he had reigned without a rival. Hers 
 would be the gaze of every eye — hers tlie command of every heart. 
 " She may soon choose among numbers," cried he, — •' she will 
 meet witli people of her own humour, and some canting hypocriti- 
 chI scourwlrel will drive me completely from her mind." By the 
 time he had uttered this prediction, and bit his lip half tlu'ough — 
 he was some steps on his w-ay to order his horses, that he might 
 purs le his fair fugitive, in the hope of extorting from her some less 
 equivocal kind ot promise. Fortunately for his reputation foi- 
 sanit}-, however, he recollect<^d, before he began his pursuit, that 
 ere he could ovei'tuke her, Laura must have reached Ediii burgh, 
 where, without a direction, it might be difficult to discover her 
 abode. In this dilemma, he was again obliged to have recourse to 
 the old woman at the cottage; but she could give him no informa- 
 tion She neither knew how fong Captain lyfontreviile purposed 
 remaining iji Edmburgh, nor m what part of the towni he intended 
 to reside. 
 
 Thus baffled in his enquiries, Hargrave was convinced that his 
 pursuit must be ineffectual ; and, in no very placid frame of mind, 
 he changed his destination from Edinburgh to his quarters. He ar- 
 rived th^re in time for a late dinner, but his wine was msipid, his 
 companions tiresome; and he retired early, that, early next moming, 
 he might set out on a visit to Mrs. Douglas, from whom he purpo- 
 sed to learn C^tain Montreville's address. 
 
 On comparing the suppressed melancholy of Laura, her embar- 
 rassanent at the mention of Hargrave, and her inadvertant disclo- 
 sure, wath her father's detail ot her rejection of the iasmuating y.)ung 
 soldier, a suspicion wot very remote from truth, had entered tiio 
 mind of Mrs. Douglas, ^he imagined that Captain Montroville hud 
 in sonic way J^eeu deceived as to the. kind, of proposals made to lus 
 
 Vet I D 
 
38 
 
 'iaug-litev; and that Laura had rejected no offers bat such as It 
 ^vOuld liavc been infamy to accept. Under this conviction, it is hot 
 surprising- that her reception of the Colonel was far from being 
 cordial ; nor that, guessing his con-espondence to be rather intend- 
 ixi for the young lady than for the old gentleman, slie chose to af- 
 ford no facility to an intercourse which she consickred as both dan- 
 gerous and degi-ading. To Hargrave's questions, therefore, she 
 answered, thvt until she should hear from London, she was ignorant 
 of Captain Montrevillc's address; and that the time of his return 
 was utterly unknown to her. When the Colonel, with the same in- 
 io!ition, soon after repeated his visit, she quietly, but stcadilv, eva- 
 ded all his inquiries, equally unmoved by his entreaties, and the pa- 
 roxysms of impatience with which he endured his disapp(5intment. 
 
 Hargrave was the only cliild of a widow — an easv, indolent, good 
 sort of a woman, wlio would g^ladly have seen hnn become every 
 thing that man ought to be, provided she could have accomphshed 
 tills laudable desire without recourse to such harsh instruments as 
 contradiction and restraint. But of these she disliked the use, as 
 mucli as her son did the endurance : and thus the young gentleman 
 vras educated, or rather gi*ew up, without the slightest acquaintance 
 w ith either. Of consequence, his naturally warm temper became 
 ^ iolent, and his constitutionally strong passions ungovernable. 
 
 HargTave was the imdoubted heir of a title, and of a fine estate. — 
 Of money he had never felt the want, and did not know the value ; 
 he was, therefore, so far as money was concerned, generous even to 
 profusion. His abilities were naturally of the highest order. To 
 force him to the improvement of them, was an effort above the pow- 
 er of Mrs. Hargi'ave ; but, fortunately for him, ere his habits of 
 mental inaction were irremediable, a tedious illness confined him to 
 recreations in v/hich mind had some share, however small. During 
 tlie interdiction of bats and balls, he, by accident, stumbled on a 
 volume of Peregrine Pickle, which he devoured with great eager- 
 ness ; and his mother, delighted with what she was pleased to call 
 a turn for reading, took care that this new appetite, shoidd not, any 
 more than the old ones, pine for want of gratification. To direct it 
 to food wholesome and invigorating, would have required unremit-' 
 ting tlioiigh gentle labour : and to labour of all kinds Mrs Hargrave 
 had a practical antipathy. But it was very easy to supply the young 
 man with romances, poetry, and plays ; audit was pleasing to mis- 
 take their intoxicating effects for the bursts of mental vigour. A 
 taste for works of fiction, once firmly established, never after yielded 
 to the attractions of sober truth ; and, though his knov.'ledge of his- 
 toiywas neither accurate nor extensive, Hargrave could boast an- 
 intimate acquaintance with all the plays, v.ith almost all the poetry, 
 ar.d, as far as it is attainable by human diligence, with all the myri- 
 ads of romances i'.i his mother tongue. He had chosen, of his own 
 free-will, to study the art of playing on the flute; the violin requir- 
 ii!g more patience tlian he had to bestow ; and emidation, which 
 fulcd to incite him to more useful pursuits, induced him to ti-y 
 vvUcthcrhc could not drjvw j\s w^U US his play-fellovr", De Coercy.— 
 
39 
 
 At liie age oi' s-eventcen lie liad entered the army. As lie was of 
 good famdv, of an elcg-ant figure, and furnisbed by nature with one 
 of the finest countenances she ever formed, his company was court- 
 
 1 ed in the highest circles, and to the ladies he was particularly rc- 
 
 ' ceptable. Among such associates, his manners acquired a liiLih ]io- 
 lish ; and he improved in what is culled knowledge of the world ; 
 tliAtis, a facility of discovering, and a dexterity in managing the 
 weaknesses of others One year — one tedious year, his regime iil 
 had been quartered in the neighbourhood of the retircmcr^t where 
 the aforesaid De Courcy was improving his " few patemul ucrcs ;" 
 and, partly by his persuasion and example, partly from having little 
 else to do, partly because it was the fashionable science of the day, 
 
 ^ , Hargrave hud prosecuted the study of Chemistry. I'hus have \\\: 
 
 • detailed, and in some measure accounted for, the whole of Colonel 
 Hargravc's accomplishments, excepting only, perhaps, the one in 
 which he most excelled — he danced inimitably For the rest, he 
 had what is called a good heart ; that is, he disliked to witness or 
 infiict pain, except from some incitement stronger than advantage 
 to the sufierer. His fine eyes had been seen to fdl with tears at a 
 tale of e'egatit distress : he could even compassionate the more vul- 
 gar sorrov.'s of cold and hunger to the extent of relieving them, pro- 
 vided always that the relief cost nothing but money. Some casual 
 instances of his feeling, and of his charity, had fallen under the ob- 
 . servation of Laura; and upon these, i»pon the fascination of his man- 
 ners, and the expression of his countenance, her fervid imagination 
 had grafted every virtue that can exalt or adorn humarity. Gentle 
 reader, excuse the delusion. Laura was only seventeen — Hai'gravc 
 
 I w^as the first handsome man of fashion she had ever knov.n, the first 
 who had ever poured into her ear the sootlnng voice of love. 
 
 Unprepared to find, in an obscure village in Scotland, the most 
 
 I perfect modtil of dignified loveliness, Hargrave became tlic sudden 
 captive of her charms ; and her manner, so void of all design, — ths 
 
 \ energy — the sometimes v»-ild poetic grace of her language — tlie 
 shrewdness with wliich she detected, and the simplicity with which 
 she unveiled, the latent motives of action, v-hether in herself or iu 
 ©thers, struck him with all the force of contrast, as he compared them 
 with the moulded artificial standard of the day. His interest in licr 
 was the strongest he had ever felt, even before it was heightened by 
 a reserve that came too lace to repress or conceal the tenderness v. iih 
 which she repaid his passion. Yet Hargrave was not less insensible 
 to the real charms of Laura's mind, than she was unconscious of llic 
 defects in his. Her benevolence pleased him ; for bright eyes look 
 brighter through tears of sympathy, and no smile is so lovely as tlial: 
 which shines on the joys of others. Her modesty charmed him ; 
 for every voluptuary can tell what allurements blushes add to beau- 
 ty. But of her self-denial and humility he m.ade no account. Her 
 piety, never obtruded on his notice, had at first escaped his obser- 
 vation altogether; and, now that it thwarted his favourite pursvii^ 
 he considered it merely as a troublesome prejudice. Of idl her va- 
 luable qualities, her unfailing sweetness of temper Wf.s perhaps ho 
 
40 
 
 ovily one that he valued for its own sake. But her person heidoiized. 
 To obtain lier no exertion would have appeared too formidable ; and, 
 j'cmemLcring the conditions of their future reconciliation, he began, 
 JOY the first time in liis life, to consider his conduct with a view to 
 iis moral fitness. 
 
 This he found a subject of inextricable difficulty He was igjio- 
 rant of the standard by which Laura would judge him. He was 
 v;illing" to believe that, if she were left to herself, it would not be se- 
 vere ; but the v/ords of her promise seemed to imply, that his con- 
 duct v,-as to be subjected to tiic scrutiny of less partial censors, and 
 he felt some anxiety to know who were to be his " wise," " sober- 
 minded," " pious" inspectors. He did not game, his expenses did 
 not much exceed his mcome, therefore he could imagine no change 
 in his dcportm.ent necessary to conciHate the " wise." Though, un- 
 der the name of sociality, he indulged freely in wine, he seldom ex- 
 ceeded to intoxication. Here again reform seemed needless. But, 
 that he might give no offence to the '* sober-minded," he intended to 
 conduct his indispensable gallantries with great discretion, he de- 
 ierm/ined to refrain from all approach to seduction, and magnani- 
 mously resolved to abstain from the molestation of innocent country 
 twirls and decent maid-servants. Finally, to secure the favour of the 
 **pio\is," he forthwith made a purchase of Blair's sermons, and re- 
 solved to be seen in church once at least every Sunday. 
 
 It might be supposed that when the scale of duty which we trace 
 Is low, we should be the more hkely to reach the httle eminence at 
 which v/e aspire ; but experience shows us, tliat they vho poorly 
 circumscribe the Christian race, stop as much short of their humbfe 
 design, as does he of his nobler purpose, whose glorious goal is per- 
 fection. The sequel will shov/ the attainments of Colonel Hargrave 
 in the v.'ays of virtue In the meantime his magnet of attraction to 
 Perthshire was gone ; he soon began to grow weary of the feeling of 
 restraint, occasioned by supposing himself the subject of a system of 
 es*}ionage .- and to kill the time, and relieve himself from his imagi- 
 iiary shackles, he sought the assistance of the Edinburgh races ; de- 
 termined, that if Laura prolonged her stay in London, he would ob- 
 ■' tin leaA'C of absence, and seek her there. 
 
 CHAPTER Vll. 
 
 The gray lights of n^oniing shone mild on Gfenalbert, as the car- 
 tiage, which was conveying Laura to scenes unknown, wound slowly 
 up the hill. With waterv eves she looked back on the quiet beauties 
 of her native valley. She hstened to the da.shing of its stream, till 
 the murmur died on her ear. Her lowly home soon glided behmd 
 the woods ; but its early smoke rose peaceful ft'om amidst its shel- 
 tering oaks, till it blended with the mists of the morning : and Lau- 
 
41 
 
 fa ^zed on it as on the parting steps of a friend. " Oh, vales 1" 
 she exchiimed, ** where my childhood sported— mountains that have 
 echoed to my songs of praise, amidst your shades may my age find 
 shelter— may your wild flowers bloom on my grave !"— Captain 
 MonU-eville pressed the fair enthusiast to his breast and smiled. It 
 was a smile of pity— for M<jntreville's days of enthusiasm were past. 
 It was a smile of pleasure— for we love to look upon the transcript 
 of om- early feelings. But, whatever it expressed, it was discord 
 with the tone of Laura's mind. It struck cold on her glowing heart ; 
 and she carefully avoided uttering a word that might call forth such 
 another, till, bright gleaming in the setting sun, she first beheld ro- 
 mantic Edinburgh. " Is it not glorious !" she cried, tears of wonder 
 and delight glittering in her eyes, and slie longed for its re-appear- 
 ance, when the descent of the httle eminence which had favoured 
 their view, excluded the city from their sight. 
 
 As tlie travellers approached the town, Laura, whose attention 
 was rivetted by the castle and its rocks, now frowning majestic in 
 the shades of twihght, and by the antique piles that seemed the work 
 of giants, scarcely bestowed a glance on the neat rov/ of modem 
 buildings along which she was passing, and she was sorry v^iien the 
 carriage turned from the objects of her admiration tov. ards the hotel 
 wliere Captain MontreVilleMntended to lodge. 
 
 Next morning, Laura, eager to renew the pleasure of the even- 
 ing, proposed a walk; not without some dvei.d of eiicountering 
 the crowd which she expected to find hi such a city. Of tliis crowd 
 she had, indeed, seen nothing tlie night before ; but she conclud- 
 ed, ere that she reached town, most of the inhabitants had soberly 
 retired to rest. At the season of the year, however, when Laura 
 reached Edinburgh, slie had little cause for apprehension. The 
 noble streets through which slie passed had the appearance of be- 
 ing depopulated by pestilence. The houses were uninhi.b't.ed, the 
 window-shutters were closed, and the gra;is grew from tlic crevi- 
 ces of the pavement. The few well-dresstd people whom she sav/, 
 stared upon her with such oppressive curiosity, as gave the unini- 
 tiated Laura a serious uneasiness. At first she thoug'ht that some 
 peculiarity in her dress occasione^l this embarrassing scrutiny. — 
 IJut her dress was simple mourning, and its form tiie least con- 
 spicuous possible. She next imagined, that to her rather unusua! 
 stature she owed this unenviable notice- ; and, with a little displea- 
 sure, she remarked to her father, that it argoicd a strange want </i' 
 delicacy to appear to notice the peculiarities of any one's f/gurc ; 
 and that, in this respect, the upper ranks seemed more destitute 
 of politeness than their inferiors. Captain Montreviile answered, 
 with a smile, that he did not think it was her liejght v»Jiich drew 
 such attention. "Well," said she, with great simplicity, "I must 
 endeavour to find food for my vanity in tins not ce, tljough it is ra- 
 ther against my doing so, that the women stare more tremendous- 
 ly titan the gentlemen." 
 
 As they passed the magnificient shops, the windows, gay v.ith 
 very variety of color, constantly .attracted Laura's inexperienced 
 D2 
 
42 
 
 eye; and she asked Montreviile to accGmpany her into one where 
 she wished to purchase some necessary trifle. The shopman ob- 
 serving- licr attention fixed on a box of artificial flowers, spread 
 them before her; and tried to invite lier to purchase, byextolling- 
 the cheapness and beauty of his g^oods. "Here isacharmuig' 
 sprig- of myrtle, ma'am ; and here is a geranium-v*rreath, the most 
 becoming* thing- for the liair — only seven shillings each, ma'am/' 
 I.:iura owned the flowers were beautiful. "Bat I fear," said she, 
 looking- compassionately at the man, "you will never be able to 
 {;ell tlxem all. There are so few people who would give seven shil- 
 iing-s for what is of no use whatever." " I am i*eally sorry for 
 that poor young man," said she to her father, when they left the 
 shop. " Tall, robutit, in the very flower of his age, how lie must 
 feel humbled by being obliged to attend to such trumpery ?'»— 
 " Why is your pity confined to him ?" said Montreviile. " There 
 were several otliers in the same situation." "Oh ! but they were 
 children, and rnay do something better by and by. But the tall 
 one, I suppose, is the son of some*reak mother, who fears to trust 
 him to fight his country's battles. It is hard that she should have 
 power to compel hini to such degi-adation ; I really felt for him 
 when he -twirled those fiov.ers between his finger and thumb, and 
 looked so much in earnest about nothing.'' The next thing which 
 drew Laura's attention, v.^as a staymaker's sign. " Do the gentle- 
 men here wear corsets ?" said she' to Monti-eville. " Not many of 
 them, I believe," said Montreviile. " What makes you inquu-e ?" 
 " Because tliei'e is a Tnan opposite who makes corsets. It cannot 
 surely be for w^omen." 
 
 Captain Montreviile had only one female acquaintance in Edin- 
 burgh, a lady of some fashion, and hearing that she was come to 
 town to remain till after the races, he that forenoon carried Laura 
 to wait upon her. The lady received them most graciously, in- 
 quired how long they intended to stay in Edinburgh ; and on be - 
 ing answered that they wfere to leave it in two days, overwhelmed 
 them with regrets, that the shortness of their stay ^precluded her 
 from the pleasure of their company for a longer visit. Laura re- 
 j^retted it too ; but utterly ignorant of the time wliich must alapse 
 "oetweena fashionable invitation and the consequent visit, she could 
 not help wondering whetlier the lady was really engaged for each 
 of the four daily meals of two succeeding days. 
 
 These days, Captain Montreviile and his daugliter passed in ex- 
 ;imining this picturesque city — its public libraries, its antique cas- 
 '.le,its forsaken palace, and its splendid scenery. But notliing in 
 its cjinguliir environs more charmed the eye of Laura than one de- 
 serted vialk, where, though tlie noise of multitudes stole sofiened 
 on the ear, scarcely a trace of human existence v/us visible, except 
 the ruin of a little chaple which peeped fancifully from the ledge 
 of a rock, and reminded lier of the antic gambol* of the red deer 
 or. her naxive hills, v.hen, from the brink of the precipice, th?y 
 look fearless ;nlo tlie dell below. Captain Montreviile next €on^ 
 ■vlucted his daughter to the top of the fantastic mountuiu Uwt 
 
43 
 
 adorns the immediate neighbourhood of Edinburgh, and triumph' 
 antly demanded whether ahe had ever seen such a prospect: IJut 
 Laura was by no means disposed to let Perthshire yield the palm 
 to Lowland scenerj'. Here indeed, the prospect was varied and 
 rxtensive, but the objects were too various, too distant, too gay — 
 they glared on the eye— the interest was lost. The serpentine 
 corn-ridges, offensive to agricultural skill ; the school, with it« 
 well frequented Gean-tree ; the bright green clover fields, seen 
 at intervals through the oak coppice ; the church, half hid by its 
 venerable ash trees ; the feathery birch, trembling in the brciith 
 of evening; the smoking hamlet, its soft colors blending with those 
 of the rocks that sheltered it; the rill, dashing with fiiiry anger in 
 the channel which its winter fury had furrowed — these wei-c the 
 simple objecis which hud charms for Laura, not to be rivaled by 
 neat inclosures and whitened villas. Yet the scenes before her 
 were delightful, and had not captain MontrevlUe's appeal recalled 
 the comparison, she would in the pleasure whichthey excited, have 
 forgotten the less splendid be.:uties of Gienulbert- 
 
 Montreville pointed out the road that led to England. Laura 
 sent a longing look towards it, as it wotmd amid woods and vil- 
 lages and gentle swells, and was lost tQ the eye in a cotmtry which 
 smiled rich and uiviting from afar. She turned her eyes where 
 the Forth is lost in the boundless ocean, andsighed as she thought 
 on tlie perils and hardships of them who go down to the sea in 
 ships. Montreville, unwilling to subject her to the inconveniences 
 of a voyage, had proposed to continue his journey by land, and 
 Laura herself cotild not ihmk. without reluctance of tempting the 
 faithless deep. The scenery too, which a journey promised to pre- 
 sent, glowed in her fervid imagination with more than nature's 
 beauty. Yet feeling the necessity of rigid ecojiom}-, and determin- 
 ed not to permit her too indulgent parent to ctmsu'lt her accommo- 
 dation at the expense oi" his prudence, she it was, who persuaded 
 
 , Montreville to prefer a passage by sea, as the mode of conveyance 
 best suited to his finances. 
 
 The next day otur travellers embarked for London. The wea- 
 ther was fine, and Laura remained all day upon deck, amused with 
 the novelty of her situation. Till she left her native solitude, she 
 
 ! had never even seen the sea, except when from a mountain top, it 
 seemed far off to mingle with the sky ; and to her, the majestic 
 Forth, as it widened into an estuary, seemed itself a « world of 
 waters,** But when on one side the land receded from the view, 
 when the great deep lay before her, Laura looked upon it for a mo- 
 ment, and sliuddering, tui-ned away. « It is too mournful," said 
 she to her father— «* were there but one spot, however small, how- 
 ever dimly descried, which fancy might people with beings like 
 ourselves, I could look with pleasure on the gulf between— but 
 berethere is no resting place Thus cUsmal, thus overpowerijig, 
 methinks eternity would have appeared, had not a haven of rest been 
 iiiade known to us.'* Compared with the boundless expanse of 
 waters, the little bark in which she was floating seemed « dimin- 
 
44 
 
 1 
 
 ished to a pohiC ; and Laura raising her eyes to the stars, that were 
 beginning to glimmer tliroiigh the twilight, thougiit that such a 
 speck was the wide world itself, amid the immeasureable space 
 in which it rolled. This was Laura's hour of prayer, and far less 
 inviting circvmistances can recall us to the acts of a settled habit. 
 
 Five days tliey ghded smoothly along the coast On the moi'U- 
 ing of the sixth, tliey entered the river, and the -same evening 
 reached London. Laura listened with something like dismay, to 
 the mingled discord that now burst upon her ear. The thun- 
 dering of loaded carriages, the wild cries of the sailors, the strange 
 dialect, the ferocious oaths of the populace, seemed but parts of 
 the deafening tumult. When they were seated in the coach which 
 was to convey them from tlie quay, Laura begged her father to 
 prevail on the driver to wait till the unusual concourse of carts and 
 sledges should pass, and heard With astonishment that the delay 
 would be vain. At last they anuved at the inn where Captaiji 
 Montreville interided to remain till he could find lodgings ; and, 
 to Laura's great surprise, they completed their journey without be- 
 ing jostled by any carriages, or overturn (.,d by any waggoner— for 
 aught she knew, without running over any children. 
 
 Being shown into a front parlour, Laura seated herself at a win- 
 dow, to contemplate the busy multitudes that thronged the streets ; 
 -and she could not help contrasting their number and appearance 
 with those of the inhabitants'of Edinburgh. There the loiter'ng 
 step, the gay attire, the vacant look, or the inquisitive glnnce, told 
 that mere amusement v/as tlie object of their walk, if indeed it had 
 an object. Here, every face was full of business — none stared, 
 none sauntered, or had indeed the power to saunter, the double 
 tide carrying them resistlessly along in one direction or the other. 
 Among all the varieties of feature tliat passed before her, Laura 
 saw not one familiar countenance ; and she uivoluntarily pressed 
 closer to her father, while she thought, that among these m} riads 
 ihe should, but for him, be alone. 
 
 Captain Montreville easily found an abode suited to his humble 
 ch'curastances ; and, the day after his arrival, he removed with his 
 daughter to the second floor above a shop in Holborn. The land- . 
 lady was a widow, a decent orderly-looking person ; the apart- 
 ments, though far from elegant, were clean and commodious.— 
 They consisted of a parlour, two bedchambers, and a small room, 
 or rather closet, which Laura immediately appropriated as her 
 painting-room. Here she found amusement hi arrangmg the ma- 
 terials of her ail, while Captain Montreville walked to the wcst end^ 
 of the town, to confer with his agent on the unfortunate c;aise of 
 his visit to London. He was absent for some hours ; and Laura, 
 utierly Ignorant of the length of his walk, and of its difticuiues to 
 one who had seen the metropolis for twenty years, began to be 
 uneasy at his stay. He reUuned at last, fatigued and dispirited, 
 w.diout having seen Mr. Baynard, who w is indisposed, and could 
 not admit him. After a silent dinner, he threw himself upon a so- 
 fa, juid dismissed his daughter, saying that he felt inclined to 
 
45 
 
 sleep. Laura look this opportunity to wi-ltc to >frs. Douj^las a 
 piirticular account of lier travels. She mentiontri wth affect ion tUe 
 interest some of her few acquaintances n.t Glenalbert, and inquired 
 for all the individuals cl Mrs Douglas's family; but the name of 
 Hargrave did not once occur in Ik v letter, though nothing could 
 exceed her curiosity to know how the Colonel had borne her de- 
 parture, of wliich, afraid of liis vehemence, she had, at their last 
 interview, jnirposely avoided Vo inform him. 
 
 Having ttnishedher letter, L-iura, that she might not appear to 
 repress civility, availed herself of her landlady's invitation to 
 " come now and ther," as she expressed it, « to have a chat ;" and 
 descended to the parlour below. On perceiving that Mrs. Dcwkins 
 was busily arrangiiigthe tea equipage, with an air that showed she 
 expected'company, Laura would have retreated, but her hostess 
 would not suffer her to go. «' No, no, Miss,^ said she, " lexpects 
 nobody but my daughter Kate, as is married to Mr. Jones the ha- 
 beidaslier ; and you mustn't go, for she can tell you all about 
 -Scotland ; and it is but natural to think that you'd like to hear 
 about your owi\ countn*, now when you are in a foreign land, as a 
 body may say." 
 
 The good woman had judged well hi the bribe she offered to her 
 giiest, who immediately consented to join her party; and who, 
 perceiving that -Mrs. Dawkins was industrioiisty spreading innume- 
 rable slices of bread and butter, courteously offered to share her 
 toils. Mrs. Dawkins thanked her, und accepted her services, ad- 
 ding, "indeed it's very hard as I should have all them there things 
 to do myself, when I have a grown up daughter in the house. 
 But, poor thing, it a'n't her fault after all, for she never was 
 lavnt to do noOiingof use." "That was very unfortunate," said 
 - Laura. ** Yes, but it might*nthave been so misfortunate neither, 
 only, you see, I'll tell you how it was. My sister, Mi*s. Smitli, 
 had a matter of 10,000/. left her by her husband, and so she took 
 a fancy when July was born as she'd have her called a gi'and 
 name ; and Tm sure an unlucky name it W:ts for her; for many a 
 fine freak it has put into her head. Well, and so as I was say- 
 ing, she took July home to herself, and had her larnt to paint 
 and to make fillagree, and play on the piano, and what not : 
 and to be sure we thought she would never do no less than 
 provide for her. But what do }ou think? why, two years ago, 
 she ran away wiih a }oung ensign, as had nothing in the var- 
 sal world but his pay; and so July came home just as she 
 went; and what was woi*st of all, she could'nt do no more in 
 the shop nor ihe d^ty she was bovn." 
 
 " That was hard, indeed," said Laura. 
 
 " Wasn't it now ?--but one comfort was, I had Kate brought up 
 in another guess-way ; fori larnt her plain work and writing, and 
 how to cast accounts ; and never let her touch a book, except the 
 prayer-book a-Sundays ; and see what's the upshot on't. Why, 
 though July's all to nothing the prettiest, nobody has never made 
 an offer for she, and Kate's got married to a warm man as any in 
 
46 
 
 Ills line hereabouts, and a man as has a Iiousc not ten doors off;— . 
 and besides, as snug a box in the country as ever you seed,— so con- 
 venient you've no idear. Why, I dare say, there's a matter of ten 
 stag-e coaches pass by the door every day." 
 
 To all this family history, Laura listened witli great patience, 
 wondering, however, what could induce the narrator to take so much 
 trouble for the information of a strang;er. 
 
 The conversation, if it deserves the name, .was now interrupted l>y 
 the entrance of a youn^ woman, whom Mrs. Dawkins introduced as 
 her daughter July. Her figure was short, incUning to embonpoint, 
 — her face, though ratlier pretty, round and rosy,— and her whole 
 appearance seemed the antipodes of sentiment. She had, however, 
 a book in Iver hand, on which, after exchanging compliments with 
 Laura7 she cost a languishing look, and said, '' I have been paying 
 a watery tribute to the sorrows of my fair name-sake.*' Then point- 
 ing out the title-page to Laura, she added, " You, I supp:>se, have 
 of' en done so.' 
 
 It WHS the tragedy of The Minister, and Laui*a, reading tlie 
 name aloud, said, she was not acquainted with it. 
 
 " Oh," cried Mrs. Dawkins, " that's the young woman as swears 
 so horridly. No, I dares to say. Miss Montreville never read no 
 such thing. If it an't a shame to be seen in a Christian woman 
 hands, it is. And if she would read it by herself, it would be nothing ; 
 but there she goes, ranting about the house like an actress, cursing- 
 all aloud, worser nor the drunken apple-woman at the corner of the 
 street." 
 
 " Pray Mamma, forbear," said Miss Julia Dawkins, in a plaintive 
 tone ; •* it wounds my feelings to hear you. I am sure, if Miss 
 Montreville would read this play, she would own that the expres- 
 sions which you austerely denominate curses, give irresistible ener- 
 gy to the language." 
 
 " This kind of energy," said Laura, with a smile, " has at least 
 die merit of being very generally attainable." This remark was 
 not in Miss Julia's line She had, therefore, recourse to her book, 
 end with great variety of grimace, read aloud one of Casimir's im- 
 passioned, or, As Laura thought, frantic speeches. The curious 
 contrast of the reader's manner, with her appearance, of the affected 
 sentlrnentality of har air, with the robust vidgarity of her figure, 
 struck Laura as so irresistibly ludicrous, that, though of all young 
 ladies, she was the least addicted to tittering, her politeness would 
 have been fairly defeated in the struggle, had it not been reinforce|^t 
 by the entrance of Mr. and Mrs. Jones. The former was a little 
 man, in a snuff-colored coat, and a brown wig, who seemed to be 
 about fifty, — the latter was a good-humoured common-place looking 
 woman, of about half that age. Laura was pleased with the cordi- 
 lity with which Mr. Jones shook his mother-in-law by the hand, say- 
 ing, " W.'ll, Mother, Is brought you Kate pure and hearty again, 
 and the little fellow in fine and well, tho'f he be too young to come 
 a wisiti ng." 
 
 As soon as the commotion occasioned by their entrance was over. 
 
47 
 
 M(d i^:\ur:. iv.ri.i.iily in.ule acquainted wiUidie lady, Mrs. D;i\iKii,'i 
 bcg-an, " 1 hopes, Kate, you ha'nt furg-ot how to tell about your 
 jauiit toScolliind; for this here yount^ lady staid tea just o* pur- 
 pose to hear it." " Oh, that 1 ha"'nt," said Mrs. Jones, " I'm sure 
 1 shall xcnicmber it the longest day I have to live." " Pray Miss," 
 added she, turning to Luura, "was you ever in Glasgow :" Never,'* 
 said Laura ; " but 1 have heard that it is a fine city." " Ay, but 
 I've been there first and last eleven days ; and I can say f3r it, it 
 is really a handsome town, and a mortof good white-stone houses 
 in it. For you see, when Mr. Jones married me, he had not been 
 allogeth r satisfied with his rider, and he thoft as he'd go down to 
 Glasgow himself and do business ; and that he'd make it do for his 
 wedding jaunt, and that would be killing two dogs with one stone." 
 "That was certainly an excellent plan," said Laura. "Well," 
 continued Mrs. Jones, "when we*d been about a week in Glasgow, 
 wc were had to dine one day with Mr. Mactavish, as supplies Mr. 
 Jones with ginghams ; and he talked about some grand house of 
 one of your Scotch dukes, and said as how we must'nt go home 
 williout seeing it- So we thought since we had come so tar, we 
 might as well see what was to be seen." "Certainly," said Lau- 
 ra, at the pause which was made to take breath, and receive ap- 
 probation. " Well, we went down along the river, which, to say- 
 truth, is very pretty, tka'f it be not turfed, nor kept neat around the 
 edges, to a place they calli^d Dumbarton ; where there is a rock, 
 for all the world, like an ill-hiade sugar loaf, with a slice out o' 
 the middle on't ; and they told us there Wus a castle on it, but such 
 a castle I" "Pray, sister," said Mjss Julia, "have you an accu- 
 rate idea of what conslitutes a castle ? of the keeps, the turrets, the 
 winding staircases, and the portcuUis ?" " Bless you, my dear," 
 returned the traveller, " ha'nt I seen Windsor b-stie, and t'other's 
 r.omore like it — no more tlian nothing at rdl. Howsoever, we olcpt 
 that night at. a very decent sort of an inn ; and Mi-. Jones thought 
 as we were so comfortable, we had best come back to sleep. So 
 as the duke's house was but thirty miles ofi, wc thought ii we set 
 off soon in the morning, we might get back at night. So off' we sot, 
 and went two stages to breakfast, at a place with one of their out- 
 landish names; and to be sartain, when we got there, we were as 
 hungry as hounds. Well, we called for hot rolls ; and, do but 
 think, there was'nt no such thing to be had for love or m.oney." 
 
 Mrs. Jones paused to gnve Lr.ura time for the expression other 
 pity ; but she remained silent and Mrs. Jones resumed : " Well, 
 they brought us a loaf as old as St. Paul's, and somegood enougix 
 butter-, so thinks I, I'll make us some good warm toast ; for Iio>e,s 
 to iv.ake the best of a bad bargain. So I bid the waiter bring us 
 tlic toast-stool ; but if you had seen how he stared, — why, the poor 
 fellor had never heard of no such thing in his life. Then they 
 showed us a huge mountain, as black as a soot-bag, just opposite 
 tiie window, and said as wc must go up there ; but, tliinks 1, catcli 
 us at tiat ; for if we be so bad ofl' here for breakfast, what shall 
 we bv li.cr^ tbr di2incr, So my husband ar.d I were of i\ mind up 
 
49 
 
 on it, to g'et back to Glasgow as fast as we could ; for, thought? 
 be sure it cost us a power of money coming down, yet, thinks we, 
 the first loss is the best.'* 
 
 *' What would I have given," cried Miss Julia, turning up the 
 whites of her eyes, " to have been permitted to mingle my sighs 
 with the movmtuin breezes !'* Mrs. Jones was accustomed to her 
 sister's nonsense, ^nd she only shrugged her shoulders. But INfrs. 
 Dciwkins, provoked that her daughter should be so much more 
 than usually ridiculous before a stranger, said, « Why, child, how 
 can you be so silly ? — what in the world should you do sighing o* 
 top of a Scotch hill ? I dare say, if you were there you might 
 sigh long enough before you'd find such a comfortable cup of tea, 
 as what you have in your hand." Miss Julia disdained reply; but 
 turning to our heroine, she addressed her in a tone so amusingly 
 sentimental, that L.iura feared to listen to the purport of her 
 speech, lest the manner and the matter united should prove too 
 much for her gravity ; and rismg, she apoligized for retaining, by 
 saying, that she heard her father stir, and that she must attend 
 him. 
 
 When two people of very different ages meet tete-a-tete in a 
 room, where they are not thoroughly domesticated, — where there 
 are no books, no musical instruments, nor even that great bond of 
 sociality, a fire, — .t requu'esno common invention and vivacity to 
 pass an evening with tolerable cheerfulness. The little appear- 
 ances of discomfort, however, which imperceptibly lower the 
 spirits of others, had generally an opposite effect upon those of 
 L.iura. Attentive to the comfort of eveiy human being wl\o ap- 
 proached her, she was alw-iys the first to discover the existence 
 and cause of the " petty miseries of life ;" — but, accustomed -to 
 con.sider them mex'ely as calls to exertion, they made not the 
 slightest impression on her spirits or temper. The moment she 
 cast her eyes up an her father, leaning on a tible, where stood a 
 pair of candles that but half-lighted the i-oom ; and on the chim- 
 ney, where fiided fennel occupied the place of a fire, she perceiv- 
 e4 that all her efforts would be necessary to produce any thing 
 like comfort. She began her operations, by enticing her father out 
 of the large vacant room, into the small one, where she intended 
 to work. Here siie prepared his coflee, gave him an account of 
 the party below stair.j, read to him her letter to Mrs. Douglas, and 
 did and said eery thing she co.iid imagine lO amuse him. 
 
 When the efforts to entertain ai'e entirely on one side, it is scarce- 
 ly in human nature to continue tliem ; and Laura was beginning to 
 feel very blank, when it luckily occurred to her, tliatshe had brought 
 )ier little chess-board from Glenalbert. Away she flew, and in tri- 
 umph produced this infallible resort. The match was pretty equal. 
 Captain Montreville had more skill, Laura more resource; and she 
 defended herself long and keenly. At last she was within a move 
 of being check-mated. But the move was hers ; and the Captain in- 
 tlie jieat of victory, overlooked a step by which t. e fortune of the- 
 game would have been reversed, Laui-a saw it, and eagerly exteiv 
 
49 
 
 ded her hand to the piece ; but recollecting that there is something 
 in die pride of man's nature which abhors to be beaten at chess by u 
 lady, she suddenly desisted; and, sweeping her Uly arm across the 
 bo;ird, " Nay, now," she cried, with a look of ineffable good na- 
 ture, " if you were to complete my defeat after all my hair-breadth 
 'scapes, you could not be so unreasonable as to expect tliat I should 
 keep my temper." " And how dare you," said Captain Montrcville 
 in great good humor with his supposed victory, " deprive me at 
 once of the pleasures of novelty and of triumph ?" By the help of 
 this auxiUary, the evening passed pleasantly away; and, before ano- 
 ther came, Laura had provided for it the cheap luxury of some 
 books from a <:irculat'mg library. 
 
 CHAPTER Vra. 
 
 Fon tlie firstfortnight after Captain MontrevlUe's arriAal In Lo;:- 
 don, almost every forcnooo was spent in unavailing attempts to see 
 Mr. Baynard, whose illness, at the end of that time, had increased 
 to such a degree, as left no hope that he could soon be in a condi- 
 tion for attendmg to business. Harrassed by suspense, and weary 
 of waiting for an hiterview which seertled every day more distant, 
 Captain Montreville resolved to stay no longer for his agent*.s in- 
 troduction to Mr. Warren, but to visit the young heir, and himself 
 explain his errand. Having procured Mr. Warren's address from 
 iJaynard's servants, he proceeded to Portlaiid-strcet ; and knocking 
 At the door of a handsome house, was there informed tliat Mr. 
 Warren was gone to Brighton, and was not expected to rctiirn for 
 three weeks. 
 
 Captain Montreville had now no resource but to unfold his de- 
 mands to Mr. Warren in writing. He did so, stating Ixis cla;m.s 
 with all the simple energy of trutli; but no answer was returned. 
 He fatigued himself and Laura in vain, with conjecturing the 
 cause of this silence. He feared that, though dictated by scrupu- 
 lous politeness, his letter might have given offence. He iiiU'igined 
 that it might have miscarried, or that Mr. Warren might have left 
 Bnghton before it reached him. All his conjectures were, how- 
 ever, wide of the truth. The letter had given no ofiencc, for it 
 had never been read. It safely readied tiie person to whom it was 
 addressed, just a^he was adding a finishing touch to Uie graces of 
 a huge silk handkerchief m which he had enveloped his <phiii>.prc- 
 paratory to the exhibition of his person, and of vtn ele^Ut new 
 curricle upon the Steine. A single glance had convinced hlra tlia!. 
 the letter was unwonliy to encroach on this momentous concern — 
 he had thrown it aside, intending to read it when he h.*d notluii;-; 
 else to do, and had seen it no more, till on his return to Londo;;^ 
 
 VOL. t, El. 
 
50 
 
 lie unrolled from it his bottle of esprit de rose, which Jus vuk-; 
 had wrapped in its folds. 
 
 Tlie three wearisome weeks came to an end at last, as well as a 
 fourth, wliicli tlie atti'actions of Brighton prevailed on Mr. War- 
 ren to add to his stay ; and Captain Montreville, making another, 
 almost hopeless, inquiry m Portland-sU'cet, was, to his gi-eat joy, 
 admitted to the long-desired conference. He found the young man 
 in his nightgown, reclining on a sofa, intently studious of tJie 
 Sportsman's Magazine, while he ever and anon refreshed himscll' 
 for ihis his luera.ry toil, by sipping a cup of chocolate. Being 
 courteously invited to partake, the Captain began by apologizing 
 for his intrusion, but pleaded that his business was of such a n:i- 
 ture as to require a personal interview. At the mention of busi- 
 ncs9, the smile forsook its prescriptive station on the smooth face 
 of Mr. Warren. « Oh, pray pardon me. Sir," said he, " my agent 
 manages all my matters—l never meddle with business— I have 
 really no head for it. Here, Du Moulin, give this gentleman Mr. 
 Williams's address.'* " Excuse me, Sh-," said Captain Montreville. 
 ** On this occasion I must entreat that you will so far depart from 
 your rule as to permit me to state my business to you in person.'* 
 "' I assure you. Sir," said the beau rising from his luxurious pos- 
 ture, " I know nothing about business — the very name of it is to 
 me the greatest bore in life ;— it always reminds me of my old 
 dead uncle. The poor man could never talk of any thing but of 
 bank-stock, the price of the best Archangel tar, and the scarcity 
 of hemp. Often did I wish the hemp had been cheap enough to 
 make him apply a little of it to his own use — but the old cock took 
 wing at last without a iialter, he, he, he.'* 
 
 *' I shall endeavour to avoid these offensive subjects,'* said Cap- 
 tain Montreville, smiling. " The affair in which 1 wish to interest 
 you, is less a case of law than of equity, and therefore I must beg 
 permission to state it to } our personal attention, as your agent 
 might not think himself at liberty to do me the justice which I 
 may expect from you.'* 
 
 Mr. Warren at this moment recollected an indispensable engage- 
 ment, and begged that Captain Montreville would do liim the fa- 
 vour to call another time — secretly resolving net to admit him. 
 *« I shall not detain you two minutes," said tire Captaiii ; " I sliall 
 In a few Vvords state my request, and leave )'OU to decide upon it 
 when you are more at leisure." " Well, Sir,'* replied Mr. ^V^ar- 
 ren, with something between a sigh and an ill-suppressed yawn, 
 *' if it must be so."— 
 
 *' About eighteen months ago," resumed the Captain, "my agent, 
 Mr. Baynard, paid 15 Jv>/. to your late vgicle, as the price of an an- 
 nuity on my daughter's hie. The deed is now found to be informal, 
 and Mr. AN illiams has refused to make any payment. Mr. Buy- 
 nai'd's indisposition has prevented me from' Seeing him since my 
 arrival in Loudon ; but 1 have no doubv that he can produce a dis- 
 charge Ibi the price ol the annuity ; in whxh case,l piJcsunie you 
 will allow tlie mistake in the deed to be rectified.'* 
 
51 
 
 *' CertaiMly, ccrtainlv," said Mr. Warren, who had transferred 
 Ills ihougMs from the subject of conversation to the comparative 
 merits of nankeen pc.ntaloons and leaOier-breeches. " But even 
 if Ml-. Bayniu'd sliouhl have no document to produce," continued 
 C.ptain Montrcville, " may I not hope that you will instruct Mr. 
 WiUiams to examine, whetherthere are not in Mr. Warren's books, 
 traces of the aijreefnent for an annuity of 80/. in the name of Laura 
 Montreville r"' " Sir :" said WarrcH, whose ear cauj^ht the tone of 
 interroE^ation, thouc^h the nuuninj? of the speaker had entirely es- 
 caped him. The Captiiin repeated hi.^ request. " Oh, certainly I 
 will," said the voung man, who would have promised any thing 
 to get rid of tlie subject. *' I hope the matter w ill be found to 
 stand as you wish. At all events, such a trifling- sum can be of 
 no sort of consequence." " Pardon me. Sir," said Captain Mon- 
 treville, warmly, " to me it is of the greatest— should this trifle, 
 as you are pleased to call it, be lost to me, my child must at my 
 death be left to uUtlie horrors, all the temptations of want— -tem]?- 
 tations aggi-avatcd a thousand fold, by beauty and mcxperience.'* 
 His last words awakened something hke hiterest in the drowsy soul 
 of his hearer, \cho said, with the returning smile of self-compla- 
 cency, " Beauty, Sir, did you say ? beauty is what I may call iny 
 passior — a pretty girl is always sure of my sympathy and gTjod 
 oflices. 1 shall call for Mr. 'Williams this very day." Captain 
 Montr«villc bit his Up. " Laura Montreville, tliought h.e, an ob- 
 ject of sympathy to such a thing as thou!" He bowed, however, 
 and said, " I hope. Sir, you will find, upon examination, that Miss 
 Montreville's claims rest upon your justice." Tlien laying his ad^ 
 dress upon the table, he took his leave, with an air perhaps a little 
 too stately for one who had come to ask a favour. 
 
 He returned home, hovvcver, much pleased with having at last 
 met with Warren, and with having, as he imagined, put in train 
 the business on account of which he had jjerformed so long a. 
 journey, and suffered so much uneasiness. He found Laura, too, 
 in high spirits. She had just given the finishing touches to a pic- 
 ture on which she had been most busily employed ever since her 
 arrival in London. She had studied the composition, till her head 
 ached with intensity of thought. She had laboured the finishing 
 with care unspeakable; and she now only waited till her work could 
 with safety, be moved, to try the success of her project for the 
 attainment of wealth. Of this success she scarcely entertained a 
 doubt. She was sensible, indeed, that the picture had many fiiults, 
 but not so many as that on which Mrs. Douglas's visitor had fixed 
 so high a price. Since painting the latter, she had improved in 
 skill ; and never had she bestowed such pains as on her present 
 work The stranger had said that the Scipio in .Mrs. Dou^j-las's 
 picture was interesting. The Leonidas in this was much more so 
 — she could not doubt it, for he resembled Hargrave. She had 
 hoped the resemblance would be apparent to no eye but her ov.n. 
 Her father, however, had noticed it, and L lura had tried to alter 
 the head, but the Captain declared she had spoiled it. Laura 
 
■ 52 
 
 tliout^ht so herself, and, after sketching a hundred regularly hand- 
 some countenances, could be satisfied with none that bore not 
 some affinity to her only standard of manly beauty. 
 
 To add to the pleasure with which Laura surveyed the comple- 
 tion of her labours, she had that day received a letter from Mi's?. 
 Douglas, in which mention was made of Hargrave. 
 
 In her first letters to Laura, Mrs. Douglas had entirely avoided 
 this subject. Almost a month Laura had waited, with sickening 
 impatience, for some hint from which she i.-.ight gather intelligence 
 of flargrave's motions — in vain. Her friend had been provolcing- 
 iy determined to believe that th^ subject was disagreeable to her 
 coircspondent. Laura at last ventured to add, to one of her let- 
 ters, a postsci'ipt, in which, without naming the Colonel, she in- 
 quired vdicther the regiment was still at Perth. She blushed 
 
 as she glanced over this posts.cript. She thought it had an air of 
 contrivance and design. She was half tempted to destroy the let- 
 ter; but she could not prevail on herself to make a more direct 
 inquiry ; and to forbear making any was almost impossible. An 
 answer had this day arrived ; and Laura read no part of it with 
 such interest, as that which, with seeming carelessness, informed 
 her that the Colonel had been several times at the parsonage : and 
 that Mrs. Douglas understood from report, that he was soon to 
 visit London. 
 
 Again an<l again did I^aura read this passag-e, anA ponder every 
 v.'ord of it with care. I am playing the foDl, said she to herself, and 
 laid the letter aside ; took it up again to ascertain some particu- 
 lar expression, and again read the paragi-aph which spoke of Har- 
 grave, and again p.aused upon his name. She was so employed whea 
 her father entered, and she made an instinctive motion to conceal 
 the paper ; but the next moment she held it out to him, saying, 
 " This is from Mrs. Douglas." " Vv ell, my love," said the cap- 
 tain, " if there are no secrets in it, read it to me. I delig-ht in 
 ilrs. Douglas's simple aifirctionate style." Laura did as she was 
 desired ; but when she reached the sentence wliich began with 
 the n"me o^ Hargrave, she blushed, hesitated for a moment, and 
 then, passing it over, began the nexi paragraph. 
 
 AS^ithout both caution and self-command, the most upright wo- 
 m:.n v.ill be guilty of subterfuges, where love is in question. Men 
 can talk of the object of their affections — they find pleasure in 
 confuViUg, in describing, in dwelling upon their passion — ^but the 
 ove of women seeks concealment. If she can talk of it, or even of 
 -ny thing that leads to it, tlie fever is imaginary, or it is past. — 
 "■' It is very strange," said the Captain, when Laura had concluded, 
 *• that Mrs. Douglas never mentions Hargrave, when she knows 
 wliat an interest I take in him." Laiu-a colotu-ed crimson, but re- 
 mained silent. ♦' What do you think can be her reason ?" asked 
 the Cr^ptahi. This was a question for which La\U"a could find no 
 cvtision short of actual deceit ; and with an efibrt far more pain* 
 fulthan that from wliich her little artifice had saved her, her lovely 
 face und neck glowing with confusionj she said ; " She docs men • 
 
:'^-r 
 
 55 
 
 tion — only I— I. Please to read it yourself;" and she pointed it out 
 to her father, who prepared by her hesitation to expect something 
 very particular, was surprised to find the passage so entirely un- 
 impoilant. " Why, Laura," said he, «* what was there to prevent 
 you from reading this ?'* To this question Laura could make no 
 reply ; and the Captain, after gazing on her for some moments in 
 vain hope of an explanation, dismissed the subject, saying, with a 
 shrug of his shoulders, " Well, well— women are creatures I don't 
 pretend to understand." 
 
 Laura had often and deeply reflected upon the propriety of con- 
 fiding to her father her engagement with Ilargravc. Vague as it 
 was, she thought a parent had an indisputable right to be infonn- 
 edof it. Her promise too had been conditional, and what judge so 
 proper as her father to watch over the fulfilment of its conditions ? 
 What judge so proper as her father to examine the character, and 
 to inspect the conduct, of the man who might one day become her 
 husband ? But, amidst v\[ the train of delightful visions which 
 tliis thought conjured up, Laura felt that Hargrave's conduct had 
 been such as she could not endure that her father sliould remem- 
 ber against his future son. Captain Montrcville was now at a dis- 
 tance from Hargrave. -Before they could possibly meet, her ar- 
 guments, or her entreaties, might have so far prevailed over the 
 subsiding passions of .her father, as to dissuade him from a fash- 
 ionable vindication of her honour. But what was to restore her lo- 
 ver to his present rank in tlie Captain's regard ? What would blot 
 from his recollection the insult ottered to his child ? Without men- 
 tion of that insult, her tale must be almost unintelligible ; and she 
 was conscious that, if she entered on the subject at all, her father's 
 tenderness, or his autliority, might unlock everv secret of her 
 breast. The time when her engagement could produce any conse- 
 quence was distant. Ere it arrived, something unforeseen might 
 possibly remove her difficulties ; or, at the worst, she hoped thai, 
 before she permitted her father to weigh the fault of Hargi-ave, she 
 should be able to balance against it the exemplary propriety of his 
 after conduct. She was not just satisfied with this reasoning ; but 
 weaker considerations can dissuade us from what we are stronglv 
 disinclined to do ; and to unveiling her own partiality, or the un- 
 -wortliiness of its object, Laura's disinclination v/as extreme. She 
 determined therefore to put off the evil hour ; and withdraw her 
 father's attention from the subject of the letter, by inqui:-ing wheth- 
 er he had seen Warren, and whetlier he had settled his business r,x- 
 tisfactorily ? The Captain replied, that though it was not abso- 
 lutely settled, he hoped it was now in a fair way of Ifeing so ; and 
 informed her of Warren's promise. *' Yet," added he, "" any one 
 of a thousand trifles may make such an animal forget or neglec: 
 the most Important concern.*' " What sort of man did he seem T 
 inquired Laura. "Man!" repeated the Cuptiun, contemptuousj--, 
 *' Why, child, he is a creature entuely new to you. lie talks lik- 
 a parrot, looks like a woman, dress( s like a monkey, and smelL- 
 like a civet-cat. You might have lived at Ghnidbsrt for ^^^f■ - 
 
 ;i.2 
 
r^ii,^ 
 
 $4 
 
 f entury, A\-lthout seeing such a creature." " I hope he will visit 
 us" suid JLauni, *' that we may not return home without seemg at 
 least one of the curiosities of London." 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The next day, as Captain ]Montreville sat reading aloud to his 
 daughter, who was busy with her needle,Mr. AVarren was announc- 
 ed. 
 
 Laura, who concluded that he had business with her father, rose 
 to retire; but her visitor^ intercepting her, took both her hands, 
 sayir.g, *' Pray, :Ma»m, don't let me frigiiten you away." With a 
 constitutional dislike to famiUarity, Laura coolly disengaged her- 
 self, and left the room, without uttering a syllable ; but not before 
 AVarren had seen enough of her to determine, that, if possible, he 
 should see her again. He was struck with her extraordinary beau- 
 t)^, which was heightened by the little hectic his forwardness had 
 <: ailed to her cheek ; and he prolonged his visit to an unfashiona- 
 ble length, in the hope of l».er return. He went over all the topics 
 which he judged proper for the ear of a stranger of his own sex ; 
 t.ukcd of the weather, the news, the emptiness of the town, of 
 horses, ladies, cockfights, and boxing-matches. He infonned the 
 Captain, that he had given directions to his agent to examine into 
 he state of the aimuity ; inquired how long Miss Montreviile was 
 -:o grace London with her presence ; and was told that she was to 
 leave it the moment her father could settle the business, on account 
 of which a^cre he had left Scotland. When it was absolutely ne- 
 cessai-y to conclude his visit, Mr. WaiTen begged permission to re- 
 peat it, that he might acquaint Captain Montreviile with the suc- 
 cess of his agent; secretly hoping, that Laura would another time 
 be less inaccessible. 
 
 Laura meanvvhile thought his visit would never have an end. — 
 Having wandered into every room to which sshe had access, and 
 ibr.nd rest in none of them, she concluded, rather rashly, that she 
 {•hould find more comfort in the one from which his presence ex- 
 cluded her. That disease of the mind in which by eager antici- 
 pations of the future many are unfitted for present enjoyment, was 
 }icw to the active spirit of Laura. The happiness of her life, (ajid 
 :-:pite of the caprices of her mother, it had, upon the whole, been a 
 happy one,) kad chiefly arisen from a constant succession of regu- 
 lar, but varied pursuits. The methodical sequence of domestic, 
 usefulness, andimpioving study, and healthful exercise, afforded, 
 calm yet immediate enjoyment ; and the future pleasure which they 
 promised was of that indefinite and progressive kind which pi o- 
 vokes no eager desires, no impatient expectation. Laura, there- 
 tore, had scarcely ever known what it was to long for the morrow ; 
 but en this day, the mcrruw was jiiUicipated with y/ishful golici- 
 
55 
 
 tucle,— a soiicilude wliich banished from her mind even the 
 thoughts of Ilargrave. Never did youthful btidcgroom look for- 
 ward to his nuptial hour with more ardour, than did Laura to that 
 which was to begin the realization of her prospects- of wealth and 
 independence. The next day was to be devoted to the sale of her 
 picture. Her father was on that day to visit Mr. Baj-nard at Rich- 
 mond, whither he had been removed for the benefit of a purer air ; 
 and she hoped on his return, ta surprise her beloved parent with 
 an unlooked-for treasure. She imagined the satisfaction with 
 which she should spread before him her newly acquired riches,-— 
 the pleasure with which she wduld listen to his praises of her di- 
 ligence ;— above all, her fancy dwelt on the deUght which she 
 should feel in relieving her father from the pecuniary embarrass 
 ment, in which she knew him to be involved by a residence in Lon* 
 don so much longer than he had been prepared to expect. 
 
 That she might add to her intended gift the pleasure of sur- 
 prise, she was resolved not to mention her plan for to-morrow ^ 
 and with such objects ill contemplation, how could she rest'-- 
 of what other subject could she speak ? She tried to banish it 
 from her mind, that she might not be wholly unentertaining to her 
 father, who, on her account, usually spent his evenings at home — 
 But the task of amusing was so laborious, that she was giad to re- 
 ceive in it even the humble assistance of Miss Julia Dawkins. 
 
 This young lady had thought it incumbent on her to assault our 
 heroine with a most violent friendship ; a sentiment which often 
 made her sufficiently impertment, though it was a little kept in 
 check by the calm good sense and natural reserve of Laura, The 
 preposterous affectation c^ Julia somet-mes provoked die smiles, but 
 more frequently the pity of Laura ; for her real good nature could 
 find no pleasure in seeing human behigs make themselves ridicu- 
 lous, and she applied to the cure of Miss Dawkins's foibles, the in- 
 genuity wliich many would have employed to extract amusement , 
 from them. She soon found, however, that she was combating a 
 sort of Hydia, from which, if she succeeded in lopping off one ex- 
 crescence, another was instantly ready to sprout. Having no char- 
 acter of her own, Julia was always, as nearly as she was able, the 
 heroine whom the last /ead novel inclined her to personate. — 
 But as those who forsake the guidance of nature are in im- 
 minent danger of absurdity, her copies were always caricatures. 
 After reading Evelina, she sat with her mouth extended in a 
 perpetual sm.le, and was so very timid, that she would not 
 for the world have looked at a stranger. When Camilla was 
 the model for the day, she became insufferably rattling, infaib- 
 tine, and thoughtless. After perusing the Gossip's story, she, 
 in imitation of the rational Louisa, suddenly waxed verj- v.-ise — 
 spoke in sentences — desplrsed romance— sewed shifts— and read 
 sermons. But, in the midst of this fit, she, in an evil hour, open- 
 ed a volume of the Nouvelle Eloise, which had before disturbed 
 many wiser heads. The shifts were left imfinished, the sermons 
 tlijrown aside, joi^ Mjss Julia retums^J with renewed i7m/«m* to 
 
56 
 
 the sentimental. This aftenioon her studies had changed their di- 
 rection, as Laura instantly guessed by tlie lively air with which 
 she entered the room, saying that she had brought her netting, and 
 would sit will) her for an houi\ «B>it <lo, my dear," added she, 
 " fii'st show me the picture you have be^^n so busy with ; Mamma 
 says it is beiiutiful, for she peeped in at it the other day.*' 
 
 It must be confessed, that Laura had no liigh opinion of Miss 
 Dawkinss skill in painting; but she remembered Moliere's old 
 woman, and went with great g<^S will to bring her performance, 
 " Oh charming," exclaimed M ss Julia, when it was placed before 
 her ; « the figure of the man is quite delightful ; it is the very 
 image of tliat bewitching creature Tom Jones.** « Tom Jones !'» 
 cried Laura, starting back aghast. « Yes, my dear," continued 
 Julia ; " just such must have been the graceful turn of his limbs 
 — j 'St such Jiis hail-, his eyes, those lips, that when they touched 
 her hund, put poor Sophia into such a flutter.*' The astonishment 
 of L Luranow gave way to laughter, while she said, " Really Miss 
 Dawkins you must have a strange idea of Tom Jones, or I a very- 
 extraordinary one of Leonidas.'* " Leonce, vou mean, in Del- 
 phine," said Julia ; " Oh, he is a deligluful creature too." " Del- 
 phine !" repeated Laura, to whom the name was as new as that of 
 the Spartan was to her companion, " No, I mean this for the 
 Greek general taking his last leave of his wife." " And I think," 
 said Captain Montreville, approaching the pictm-e, " the suppres- 
 sed anguish of the matron is admirably expressed, and contrasts 
 well With the scarcely relenting ardour of the hero." Miss 
 Julia again declared, that the picture was chai'ming, and that 
 Leontine, as she M^as pleased to call him, was divinely hand- 
 some ; but having newly replenished her otherwise empty head 
 with Fielding's novel, she could talk of nothing else ; and turning 
 to Laura said, " But why were you so offended, that I compared 
 your Leontine to Tom Jones?— Is he not a favourite of yours?** 
 " Not particularly so," said Laura. '• Oh why not?— 1 am sure he 
 is a delightfiU fellow— so generous — so ardent. Coine, confess—^ 
 should you not like of all things to have such a lover ?** ** No, 
 indeed,*' said Laura, with most unusal energy ; for her thoughts 
 almost unconsciously turned to one whose character she fotmd no 
 pleasure in associating with that of Fielding's hero. "And v.hy 
 no, r'* askeA Miss Julia. ** Because," answered Laura, " 1 could 
 not admire in a lover qualities which would be odious in a hus- 
 bund.** " Oh goodness !'* cried Miss Julia, ** do you think Tom 
 Jones would make an odious husband?" "The term is a little 
 .strong," replied Laura; "but he certainly would not make a 
 pkasaut yoke -fellow. What is your opinion. Sir ?" turning to her 
 fidher. " I confess,'* said the CapUun, " I should rather have 
 wislicd him to marry Squire Western's davighter than mine. But 
 still tlie character is fitted to be popular." " I think," said Laura, 
 " he is indebted for much of the toleration wliich he receives, to 
 a comparison with the despicable BJifil." " Certainly," said the 
 Captain ; " a»id it is unfortunate for t^\<i morality of the book;, 
 
57 
 
 that iW reader Is inclined to excuse the want of religion in tiiC- 
 hero, by seeing its language made ridiculous in Thwackuin, and 
 villanous Blifil. Kven the excellent Mr. Alworthy excites but fee- 
 ble interest ; and it is not by tlie character which we respect, but 
 by that in which we are interested, that the moral effect on our 
 minds is produced." " Oh," said Miss Julia, who very imperfectly 
 comprehended the Captain's observation, ♦* he might make a 
 charming husband without being religious ; and then he is so 
 warm-heai'ted — so generous." " I shall not dispute that point 
 with you just now,'* replied Laura, •' tliough my opinion differy 
 materially from yours ; but Tom Jones's warmtli of heart and 
 genei'osity do not appear tome of that kind which qualify a man 
 fbr adoi-ning domestic life. His seems a constitutional warmth, 
 which in his case, and I behve, in most others, is the concomitant 
 of a warm temper, — a temper as little favourable to gentleness in 
 those who command, as to submission in those who obey. If by 
 generosity you mean tlie cljeerful relinquishing of something which 
 we really value, it is an abuse of the term to apply it to the profu- 
 sion with which your favourite squanders his money." 
 
 " If it is not generous to part with one's money,'* said Miss 
 Julia, " 1 am sure I don't know what is.'* 
 
 ** The quiet domestic generosity which is of daily use," replied 
 Laura, ** is happily not confined to those who have money to be- 
 stow ; but may appear in any of a thousand little acts of self-cleniaL" 
 Julia, whose ideas of generosity, culled from her favorite romances, 
 were on that gigantic kind of scale that makes it unfit for common 
 occasions, and therefore in danger of total extinction, was sdent 
 for some moments, and then said, " I am sure you must allow that 
 it was very noble in Jones to resolve to bury in his own miserable 
 bosom his passion for Sophia, after he knew that she felt a mutual 
 Same." " If I recollect right,'* said Ltiura, s.miling at the oddity 
 of Julia's phrases, " he broke that resolution ; and I fancy the 
 merely reso/tj/n^ to do right, is a degree of virtue, to which even 
 the nioj proH.i-'Me attain muny times in their lives." 
 
 Miss Dawkins, by this time more than half-suspected her com- 
 panion of being a methodist- " You have such strict notions," said 
 she, " that I sec Tom Jones would never have done for you '* " No," 
 said Captain Montreville, "Sir Charles Grandison would have 
 suited I. ill'-;. infinitely better." "Oh no, papa,*' said Laura, laugh- 
 ing; "if two such formal personages as Sir Charles and I had met, 
 am I afraid we never should have had the honour of each other's 
 acquaintance." 
 
 " Then, of all the gentlemen who are mentioned in novels," said 
 Miss Julia, " tell me who is your favourite ? — Is it Lord Orville, or 
 Delville, or Valancourt, or Edward, or Mortimer, or Peregrine Pic- 
 kle, or and she ran on till she was quite out of breath, repeating 
 
 what sounded like a page of the catalogue of a circulating lil rarj'. 
 
 "Really," said Laura, when a pause permitted her to speak, 
 " my acquaintance with these accomplished persons is so limited 
 that I can scarcely venture to decide ; but, I believe, I prefer ihc 
 
o8 
 
 hero of Miss Porter's new publication— Thaddeus of Warsaw.— » 
 Truly generous, and inflexibly uprig-ht, his very tenderness has in it 
 something manly and respectable ; and the whole combination has 
 an air. of nature that interests one as for a real friend." Miss Daw- 
 kins had never read the book, and Laura applied to her father for a 
 confirmation of her opinion. '* Yes, my dear," said the Captain, 
 "your favourite has the same resemblance to a human chai-acter 
 which the Belvidere Apollo has to a human form. It is so like man 
 that one cannot absolutely call it divine, yet so perfect, that it is dif- 
 ficult to believe it human " 
 
 At this moment Mid$ Julia was seized with an uncontrollable de- 
 sire to read the book, Wliich she declared, she should not sleep till 
 she had doiit ; and she went to dispatch a servant in quest of it. 
 
 Laura followed her down stairs, to ask from Mrs. Dawkins a di- 
 rection to a picture-dealer, to whom she might dispose of her per- 
 formance. Mrs. Dawkins said she knew of no such person ; but 
 directed Laura to a printshop, the master of which was her ac- 
 quaintance, where she might get the intelligence st>e wanted. 
 
 On the following morning, as soon as Captain Montreville had 
 set out for Richmond, his daughter, sending for a hackney coach, 
 departed on the most interesting business she had ever undertaken. 
 Her heart fluttered with expectation — her step was buoyant with 
 hope, and she sprunginto the carriage with the lightness of a sylph. 
 Stopping at the shop which her landlady recommended, she was 
 thei-e directed to several of the professional people for whom she 
 was inquiring, and she proceeded to the habitacion of the nearest. 
 As she entered the house, Laura changed colour, and her breath 
 can\e quick. She stopped a moment to recover herself, and then 
 followed her conductor into the presence of the connoisseur. Struck 
 with the sight of so elegant a woman, he rose, bowed very low, and 
 supposing that she came to . make some addition to her cabinet, 
 threw open the door of his picture-room, and obsequiously hoped 
 that she might find something there worthy of her notice. Laura 
 modestly undeceived him, saying, that she had brought in the car- 
 riage wliich waited for her, a picture which she wished to dispose 
 of. ^ This statement instantly put to flight the servility of her hearer ; 
 who, with completely recovered consequence, inquired the name of 
 the artist; and being answered, that the picture was not the work 
 of a professional man, wrinkled his nose into an expression of inef- 
 fable contempt, and said — " I make it a rule never to buy any of 
 these tilings — they are generally such vile daubs. Ilovvever to 
 oblige so pretty a lady," added he, (softening his contumelious as- 
 pect into a leer), " I may look at the thing, and if it is at all tolera- 
 ble"——" There is no occasion to give you tbat trouble," said Lau- 
 ra, turning away with an air which again half convinced the man 
 that she must be a person of consequence. He muttered something 
 of " thinking it no trouble ; to which she gave no attention, i ut hus» 
 tened to her carriage, and ordered the coachman to drive to the 
 *how-room of an Italian. 
 
 haxLi'i did not give hiitt time to fall into the mistake of the other* 
 
59 
 
 but instantly epened her business ; and Mr. Sonlni was obligingly 
 runnini^ himself to lift the picture from the ciirriage, when it was 
 brought in by Mrs. Dawkins' maid, whom Laura had requested to 
 attend her. Having placed the picture, the Itahan retreated a 
 few paces to examine the effect," and then said — " Ah ! I do see — 
 dis is leetle after de manner of Correggio— very pretty — very pretty, 
 indeed.'* The hopes of Laura rose high at these encouraging 
 words ; but suffered mstantaneous depression, when he continued, 
 with a shake of his head, " but *tistoo new — quite modeme paint- 
 ed in dis contri. Painter no name~de picture may be all so good 
 as it vil — it never vil sell Me sorry," adde^ he, reading Laura's 
 look of disappointment, " me sorry displease such bell angela; but 
 caimot buy." " I am sorr} for it,'* said Laura, and, sighing heavily, 
 »he courtesied and withdrew. 
 
 Her next attempt was upon a little pert -looking man, in a foreign 
 di'ess, and spectacles. " Hum," said he, " a picture to sell — well, 
 let us see t — There, tliat s the light. Hum a poor thing enough — 
 no keeping — no costume Well, Ma am, what do you please to ask 
 for this ?" "I should be glad, Sir, diat you would fix a price on it.'* 
 Hum — well — let me think -I suppose fiv guineas will he very fair.'* 
 At this proposal, the blood mounted to the checks of Laura ; and 
 she raised her eyes to examine whether the proposer really had the 
 confidence to look her in the face But finding his eye steadily fix- 
 ed on her, she transfei red her suspicions from the honesty of tlie 
 bidder to the merits of her piece, and mildly answering, " I shall 
 not, I beheve, be disposed to part with it at that price," she motion- 
 ed to the servant to carry it back to the coach. 
 
 One trial still remained; and Laura ordered her carriage to an 
 obscure street in tlic city. She was very politely received by Mr. 
 Colhns, — a young man who had himself been an artist ; but whom 
 bad health had obliged to rehnquish a profession which he loved. 
 " This piece has certainly great merit," said he, after examining it, 
 "and most gladly would I have made the purchase ; but my tittle 
 room is at present overstocked, and, to own the. truth to you, the 
 picture is worth more tlian my wife and four httle ones can afford to 
 rentui-e upon speculation, and such is the purchase of the work, 
 however meritorious, of an unknown artist. But ifyou wt re t;- plate 
 it in the exhibition, 1 have no doubt that it would speedily find a 
 purchaser." Tne prospect which the exhibition held forth, w:.i> far 
 too distant to meet the present exigency ; for Laura well knew that 
 her father would find almost immediate occasion for the price of her 
 labours ; and with a heavy sigh she returned to her carriage. 
 
 What now remained but to return home with the subject of so 
 much fruitless toil. Siill, however, she determined to make one 
 effort, more, and returned to inquire of the printseller, whether he 
 knew any other person to whom she could apply ? He had before 
 given his whole list, and could make no addition to it. But observ- 
 ing the expression of blank disappointment which overcast her fuce, 
 he offered, if she would trust him with the picture, to place it where 
 it wowldbe seen by his customers, ^a expressed, a behef that some 
 
60 
 
 of th^tn might purchase It. Laura thankfully accepted the offer, 
 and after depositing with liina her treasure, which bad lost much of 
 its value in her eyes, and naming the price she expected, she re- 
 turned home ; making on her way as many sombrous reflections en 
 the vanity and uncertainty of all sublunary pursuits, as ever were 
 mude by any young lady in her eighteenth year. 
 
 She sat down in her now solitai'y parlour — suffered dinner to be 
 placed before her and removed, without knowing of what it consist- 
 ed ; and when the servant who brought it disappeared, began, like a 
 true heroine, to vent her disappointment in tears. But soon recol- 
 lecting that, though she had no joyful surprise awai- ing her father's 
 return, she might yet gladden it with a smiling welcome, she start- 
 ed up from her melancholy posture — bathed her eyes — ^placed the 
 tea equipage — ordered the first fire of the season to displace the fa- 
 ded fennel in the chimney — arranged the, apartment in the nicest or- 
 der — and had just given to every thing the greatest possible appear- 
 ance of comfort, when her father arrived. She had need, however, 
 of all her firmness, and of all the elation of conscious self-controul, 
 to resist the contagious depression of countenance and manner with 
 which Captain Montreville accosted her. He had good reason for 
 his melancholy. Mr. Baynard, hi» early acquaintance, almost the 
 only person known to him in this vast city, had that morning breath- 
 ed his last. All access to his papers was of course at present im- 
 possible ; and until a person should be chosen to arrange his affairs, 
 it would be impracticable for Captain Montreville to ascertain whe- 
 ther there exis.ed any voucher for the payment of the price of the 
 annuity. Harrassed by his repeated disappointments, and unendow- 
 ed by nature with the unbending spirit that raises in disaster, he 
 now declared to Laura his resolution to remain in London only till 
 a person was fixed upon for the management of Mr. Baynard's af- 
 fairs — to lay before him the circumstances of his case — and then to 
 return to Scotland, and trust to a correspondence for concluding the 
 business. 
 
 At this moment nothing could have been further from Laura's 
 wish than to quit London. Slie wus unwilling to forfeit her 
 remaining hope that her picture might find a purchase!*, and a still 
 stronger interest bound her to the place wliich was so soon to be 
 the residence of Hargravc. But she saw the prudence of her fa- 
 ther' : determination — she felt the necessity of relinquishing a 
 mode of life so unsuitable to his scanty income, and she cheerfully 
 acquiesced in his proposal of returning home. Still some time 
 must elapse bofoie their departure ; and she indulged a hope, that 
 ere that time expired, the produce of her labours might lighten 
 theii- pecuniary difficulties. 
 
 Capt.xin IMoutrcvilit^ retired early ; and Laui-a, wearied out witli 
 the toils .lud the disappointments of the da} , gladly resigned her- 
 self to the peaceful sleep of innocence. 
 
 Laura was indebxd partly lo nature, but more to her own ex- 
 ertions, for thai happy elasticity of spirit which easily casts oO' 
 lighter evil, while it i-cadiiy seizes, and fully enjoys, plcaswc of 
 
61 
 
 iiioaci"...c i...^, ...v., and of frequent attainment. Fcnv of tlic i-."- 
 ser sorrows of youth can i-eslst the cheering influence of early 
 morn ; and tlie petty miseries which, in the shades of evening, as- 
 sume portentous size and colouring-, diminisJi wonderfully in Ihc 
 lig-ht of the ncAV-risen sun. With recovered spirits, and reviving' 
 hopes, Lam*a awoke to joys which the worldly know not, — the 
 joys of pious g-ratitudc — of devout contemplation — of useful em- 
 ployment ; and so far was her pevsevenng spirit from fiiUini^ under 
 , die disappointments of the. preceding- day, that she detennijied to 
 bc|^m a new picture the moment she was settled at Glenalbert, to 
 <;omposc it with more care, and finish it witli greater accurac}-, 
 than the former ; and to try its fate at the exhibition. Site did 
 not think the season of her father's depression a fit one for reh-ct- 
 , ing-'her mortifying adventures, and she found means to amuse him 
 v.ith other topics' till he left her, with an intention to call in Port- 
 land-street. 
 
 He had not been long gone, when Mr. Warren's cumclc stop- 
 ped at the dooi", and the young gentleman, on being informed that 
 the Captain Y»-as abroad, inquired for Miss ^Montrevillc. After 
 , paying his compliments like one secure of a good reception, he 
 began — *' How could you be so cruel as to refuse me the pleasure 
 X)f seeing you the other day — do you know I waited here a devilish 
 long time just on purpose, thong'h I had promised to take the 
 Countess of Bellamer out an airing, and she was off with Jack 
 Villars before I came." " I am sorry," said Laura, "that I have 
 deprived her ladyship of the pleasure of your coinpany." " I 
 , should not have minded itmucli, if you had but come at last — 
 though the Countess is the prettiest creature in London — curse mc 
 if she isn't — the present company always excepted." " Do you 
 mean ths exception for me, or for yourself r" said Laura, "'oh. 
 novv% how can you ask such a question ? — I am sure you know that 
 yon are confoundedly handsome." Laura gravelvi surve}ed her 
 ;', own face in an opposite looking--glass, and then, with the nonpha- 
 j, lance of one who talks of the most indifferent tiling in nature, le- 
 i. plied, — *' Yes, I think my features are uncommonly regular." War- 
 ^ reu was a little embarrassed by so unusual an answer to wlu-.t h'^ 
 "U'Mided for a compliment. " The girl," thought he, " inu.st bo 
 • tc a fool to own that she tliinks herself so handsome." Hov,'- 
 ■;-, after some consideration, he said, — " It is not so much the 
 iMres, as acertain^t' 72e jcfli quoi — a certain cliiu-m — one docs 
 :i I know v»ell v»'hat to call it, that malces j'ou look .so divbie.'^ 
 " 1 should suppose,'* said Laura, *' from the subject you have 
 chosen to amtise me, that the cliarm, whatever it is, has no great 
 connection with intellect." Wan-en hesitated; for he bcgaji to 
 have some suspicions that she was laughing at him. In spite of the 
 imn)ovealjle gravity of her coTintenance. " It — It isiyi — De'mnie, 
 it isn't so much to amuse you; but when I sec a pretty v/oinait, I 
 ' rievcr can help elling her of it— curse me if I can." ** And^ drt 
 often find that your intelligence lias the advantage of iiovelty r'* 
 1 Laura; an aixh smile beginning to dimple her check, "No, 
 ■''•■• • F 
 
62 
 
 pou honoiiiV replied the beau, "the women are so insufferably 
 conceilecl, they leave one nothing new to tell them." ** But some 
 tj,'entlemcii," said Laura, " have the happy talent of saying old 
 things so well, that the want of novelty is not felt." The moment 
 ihe words had passed her lips, she perceived, by the gracious 
 smile which they produced, that Mr. Warren had applied them 
 to himself; and the thought of being guilty of such egregious 
 flattery, brought the colour to her face. Any explanation, how- 
 ever, would have been actual rudeness ; and while the conscious- 
 Yiess of her involuntary duplicity kept lier silent, her companion 
 enjoyed her confusion; which, together with the compliment, 
 he interpreted in a way most satisfactory to his vanity, and thank- 
 fully repaid with a torrent of praises in his very best styje. 
 
 So little value did Laura affix to his commendations, that she 
 v/as beginning to find extreme difficulty in suppressing a yawn, 
 when it occurred to her that it might save her father a journey to 
 Portland Street, if she could detail* Mr. AVarren till he arrived.— 
 Having made an observation, which has been more frequently made 
 than profited by, that most people prefer talking to listening, she 
 engaged her companion in a description of some of the fashionable 
 places of public resort, none of which she had seen ; in which he 
 -acquitted himself so rnuch to his own satisfaction, that, before 
 vhey separated, he was convinced that Laura was one of the most 
 penetrating judicious women of his acquaintance ; and having 
 before remarked, that, with the help of a little rouge, and a fash- 
 ionable riding-habit, she would look better in a curricle than any 
 woman in London, he resolved, that if it depended on him, her 
 residence in town should not be a short one. In this laudable re- 
 solution, he was confirmed by a consideration of the insolence and 
 extravagance of a certain female, to whose place in his establish- 
 ment he had some vague idea of advancing Miss Montre ville, though 
 'ihere. was a stateliness about both her and her father, which he 
 suspected might somewhat interfere with his designs in her favour. 
 Soon after the Captain arrived, he took his leave, having no new 
 Intelligence to communicate, nor indeed any other purpose in his 
 visit, except that which had been served by his interview with 
 Laura. 
 
 As soon as he was gone, Laura went down stairs to beg that 
 Miss Pawkins would accompany her after dinner to the print-shop, 
 to inquire what luid been the fate of her picture. More than one 
 person, she \vs.s told, had admired it, and expressed a desu-e to 
 become the owner; but the jiricehad been a formidable obstacle, 
 .'ul it remained unsold. 
 
 Almost every evening did Laura, with Mrs. Dawkins or her 
 dui.ghtcv for an escort, direct her steps to the print-shop, and re 
 Uu-n from her fruitless walk witJi fainter and fainter hop. s. 
 
63 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 MoN^TAOUE De Courcy had dined tete-a-tete with an old uncre 
 from whom he had no expectations, and was returning home to sup 
 quietly with his motlier and sister, when his progress was arrested 
 by a g-roup occupying the wliole breadth of the pavement, and ha 
 lieard a female voice, which, though unusually musical, had in iz 
 less of entreaty tlian of command, say, " Pray, Sir, allow us to 
 pass." ** Not till I have seen the face that belohgs to such a figure,'* 
 answered one of a party of young men who were rudely obstructing^ 
 the passage of the lady who had spoken. With this condition, how- 
 ever, she seemed not to intend compliance ; for she had doubled 
 her veil, and pertinaciously resisted the attempts of her persecutor 
 to raise it. 
 
 De Courcy had a rooted antipathy to all manner of violence and 
 oppression, especially when exercised against the more defenceless 
 part of the creation ; and he no sooner ascertained these circum- 
 stances, than, with one thrust of his muscular arm, (which, to say 
 the truth, was more than a match for half a dozen of the puny fry 
 of sloth and intemperance,) he opened a path for the lady and her 
 companion ; steadily detained her tormentors till she made good 
 her retreat ; and then, leaving the gentlemen to answer, as they 
 best could, to their own interrogatories of " What do you meani ' 
 and " Who the d — 1 are you ?" he followed the rescued damsel, 
 with whose appearance, considering the place and tlie hour, he was 
 extremely surprised. 
 
 Her height which certainly rose above the beautiful, perhaps even 
 exceeded the majestic ; her figure, though slender, was admirably 
 proportioned, and had all the appropriate roundness of the feminine 
 form ; her dress, though simple, and of matronly decency, wa§ not 
 unfashionable ; while the dignity of her gait, and the composure of 
 her motion, suited well with the majesty of her stature and mien. 
 
 While De Courcy was making these observations, he had offer- 
 ed the lady his arm, which she accepted, and his escort hoinc, whicix 
 she declined, saying, that she would take refuge in a shop, till a 
 coach could be procured. Nor was he less attentive to her com- 
 panion, although the latter v/as a little, elderly, vulgar-looking wo- 
 man, imperfections which would have utterly disqualified her for 
 the civility of many a polite gentleman. 
 
 This person had no sooner recovered the breath of which her sup- 
 posed danger, and the speed of her escape from it had deprived her, 
 than she began, with extreme volubility, to comment upoft her ad- 
 venture. " Well," cried she, " if that was not the most forwardest 
 thing ever I seed. I am sure I have comed home afore now of an 
 evening a matter of five hunder times, and never met with no suck 
 thing in my life But it*s all along of my being so saving of your 
 n-.oney ; for I might have took a coach as you'd have had me : but 
 r.s no longer ago nor last week, as I comed from my tea, at that 
 y^vy Mr. Wjlkins's, kter nor this, and nobody so much :is spoke 
 
64 
 
 '.o me ; L»ut catch me penny wise again. Howsoever, it's partUns 
 your own doings; for if you hadn't staid so long a-looking at the 
 pictures in tlic shop, we shouldn't have met with them tliere men. 
 Howsoever, Miss Montreville, you did right enough not to let that | 
 *hcre jackTinapes see your face, otherwise we mightn't have got ofF 1 
 *rom them fcUors to nijht." 
 
 The curiosity of DeCourcy thus directed, overcame his habit- 
 rial diilike to staring, and riveted his eyes on a face, which, once 
 •ren, was destined never to be forgotten. Her luxuriant hair, 
 '.wliich De Courcy at first thouglit black, though he afterwards cor- 
 -•ected this opinion,) vras carelessly divided on a forehead, whose 
 .spotless whiteness was varied only by the blue of a rein that shone 
 thro'igh the tx-ansparent skin. As she raised her mild religious dark 
 grey eyes, their silken lashes rested on the well-defined but dehcate 
 ■?ye-brow ; or, when lier glance fell before the gaze of admiration, 
 Ihrew a long shade on a cheek of imeqiialled beauty, both for form 
 and colour. The contour of her features inclining to the Roman, 
 raiglit perhaps been called mascul'ine, had it not been softened to 
 the sweetest model of maideii loveliness, by the delicacy of its size 
 and colouring. The glov/iiig scai-let of tlie lips, formed a contrast 
 with a complexion constitutionally pale, but varying every moment ; 
 Vr'hilc round her easily but firmly closing mouth, lurked not a ti-ace 
 of the sensual or the vain, but all was calm benevolence, and saint- 
 ly purity- In the contemplation of a countenance, the perfect sym- 
 iiietry of which was its meanest charm, De Courcy, who was a 
 physiognomist, suffered the stream of time, as well as that of Mrs. 
 Davvkjns's eloquence, to flow on v.'ithout notice, and first Ijecame 
 sensible that he had profited by neither, when the shop-boy an- 
 r>ounced tliat the coach was at the door. While handing' the ladies 
 .p.to the carriage, De Courcy, again offered his attendance, which 
 I. aura, gracefully thanking him for his attentions, again declined ; 
 vnd they drove off just as he was about to hiquire where they chose 
 o be set down. 
 
 Now, v/hether it was that Laura was offended at De Courcy's in- 
 spection of her face, or whetlicr she saw any thing disagi-eeable in 
 .'.is ; whether it was that her pride disdained lodgings in Holboni, 
 jV that she desired not to be recognized by one who liad met witii 
 'jcr in such a sitviation, certain it is, that she chose the moment 
 when that gentleman was placing her voluble companion in the 
 oach, to give tlie coacliman her directions, in sounds that escaped 
 lie cars of De Courcy. As he had no means of remedying this 
 ..isfoitune, he walked home, and philosophically endeavoured to 
 -'.)rget it in a game at chess with his mother. The fidelity of a his- 
 orian, however, obliges us to confess, that he this evening played 
 11 a manner that would have disgraced a school-boy. After mista- 
 king liis antagonist's men for his own, playing into check, throwing 
 '.vay his pieces, and making false moves, he answered his niothei-'s 
 -juestlun of '•' Montague, what are you doing?" by pushing back 
 ills chuir, uid exclaiming, *' Motiicr, you never beheld such a V/c- 
 man." ' . ' 
 
65 
 
 " Woman!'* repeated Mrs. De Courcy, settlingf her specucki. 
 and looking him full ia the face. " Woman !'' said his sister, la) - 
 ing- down iiruyerc, " who is she ?" 
 
 " 1 know not," answered De Courcy, " but had Lavater seen her, 
 he could scarcely have believed her human.'* 
 
 ** Wliat is her name ? * 
 
 « Tlie woman who attended her called her MontreviUe."' 
 
 ** Where did you meet her ?" 
 
 " In the street." 
 
 " In the street !" cried Harriet, laughing, " Oh, Montague, that 
 is not half sentimental enough for you. You should have found 
 her all in a shady bower, playing on a harp that came there nobody 
 knows how; or, all elegant' in India muslin, dandling a beggar's, 
 brat in a dirty cottage. But let us hear the whole adventure." 
 
 " I iiave already told you all I know," answered De Courcy.-- 
 " Now, Madam, will vou give me my revenge ?" " No, no," said 
 Mrs. De Courcy, " I will play no more ; I should have no glory m 
 conquering such a defenceless enemy." " Well then," said Mon- 
 tague, good-humourcdly, " give me leave to read to you, for I 
 would rather amuse you and Harriet in any other way than by sit* 
 ting quietly to be laughed at. 
 
 After the ladies had retired for the night, De Courcy meditated 
 for full five minutes on the descent from Laura Montreville's fore- 
 head to her nose, and bestowed a proportionable degree of consid- 
 eration upon other important lines in her physiognomy ; but it must 
 be confessed, that by the time he arrived at tlie dimple in her left 
 cheek, he had forgotten both Lavater and his opinions, and that his 
 recollection of her mouth was somewhat confused by that of her 
 parting smile, which lie more than once declared aloud to himself 
 was " heavenly." We are credibly informed, that he repeated the 
 same expression three times in his sleep ; and whether it was that 
 his dreams reminded him of Mrs. Dawkins s eloquence, or whether 
 his memory w^as refreshed by his slumbers, he had not been long 
 awake before' he recollected, that he had heard that lady mention a 
 Mr Wilkins, and hint that he kept a print-shop. By a proper ap- 
 plication to tlie London directory, he easily discovered the- print- 
 seller's abode, and thither he that very day repaired. 
 
 Mr. Wilkins was not in the shop wlien De Courcy entered it, 
 but the shop-boy said his master would be there in a minute. 
 This minute appearing to De Courcy of unusual length, he, to while 
 it away, began to examine the prints which hung round. His eye 
 was presently attracted by the only oil picture in the shop ; and 
 his attention was fixed by observing, that it presented a striking re- 
 semblance of his old school-fellow HargrVive. He turned to make 
 some inquiry of the shop-boy, when Mr. Wilkins came in, and his io- 
 teref.t reverted to a different object. The question, however, which 
 he had tome to ask, and which to ask would have three minutes be- 
 fo i-e appeared the simplest thing in the world, now faltered onlijs 
 tongue ; and it was not without something like hesitation, tliat 
 he v-r^juirsd ^vhetlier, Mr. Welkins knew ?. Miss MoutreviUe. Uc- 
 
 Y2 
 
60 . 
 
 ii-ous to oblige a person of Dc Com-cy's appearance, Wuklns ir,i 
 Mediately related all that he knew of I^aura, either from his otr n 
 oliservalion, or from the report of her loquacious landlady ; and 
 perceiving that he was listened to with attention, he preceded fur- 
 tlier td detail his conjectures. " This picture is painted by her," 
 said he, " andl i-ather think the old Cuptain can't be very rich, 
 she seeme d so anxious to have it sold." De Courcy again turned to 
 llie picture, which he had before examined, and on this second in- 
 spection, was so fortunate as to discover that it bore the stamp of 
 great genius, — an opinion in wliich we believe, he would have been 
 joined by any man of four-and-twenty who had seen the artist. 
 '• So," thought he, " this lovely crea'ture's genius is equal to her 
 Lieauty, and her worth perhaps surpasses both; for she has the 
 courage to rise superior to the silly customs of the world, and can 
 dare to be useful to herself and others. Iknew by the noble arch- 
 ing of her forehead, that she was a'oove all vulgar prejudices :" 
 and he admired Laura tlie more for being a favourable instance of 
 his own penetration, — a feeling so natura'l, that it lessens even our 
 eiimity to the w^icked, vy-hen we ourselves haVe predicted their > 
 vices. It must be owned, that De Courcy was a little hasty in his 
 judgmentcfLr.ura's worth; but the sight of such a face as her.s, 
 gives gi-eat speed to a young man's decision tipon femak character. 
 He instantly purchased the picture, and recollecting that it is high- 
 ly proper to patronize geidus and industry, he desired ISIr. Wilkins 
 to beg tliJ.t a companion might bepainted. He then returned home, 
 leaving orders that his purchase should follow him immediately. 
 * Tiiough nature, a private eduation, and studious habits, made 
 De Courcy rather reserved to strangers, he was, in his domestic 
 circle, one of the most communicative persons in the world; and 
 the moment he saw his mother, he began to inform her of the dis- 
 coveries he had made that inorning". *' Montreville i" said !Mrs. 
 ')e Courcy, when he had ended, " can that be William Montreville 
 
 ■lo was in the regiment when your father was the major of it?" 
 
 Most likely he is," said Montague, eagerly. *' Many a time did 
 he hold ycu upon his horse, and many a paper-kite did he make 
 for you." " It must be the same," said Montague, *' the name ia 
 not a common one ; it certainly must be the same." " I can hard- 
 ly believe it," said IMrs. De Courcy ; " William Montreville mur- 
 ri/ed that strange imprudent woman, lady Harriet Bircham. Poor 
 Montreville! — he deserved a better wife." "It cannot be he," 
 said De Courcy, sorrovrfully ; " no such woman could be the mo- 
 Iki- of Miss Monlrcville."' " He settled in Scotland immediately 
 after Ills m.ajw.ge,'' continued Mrs. De Courcy, "and since tliat 
 time I have never heard of him.'' "It is the same then," said 
 Montague, iiis countenance lightening with pleasure, '* lor Miss 
 Montreville is a ScotcJi woman. 1 remember his kindness. I 
 think I almost recollect his face. He used to set me on hi^ knee 
 and sing to me ; and when he sung the Babes in the Wood, 1 pre- 
 tended to go to sleep in his bosom, for I thought it not manly to 
 '-■ry ; btit v> hen I look'^d up, I saw the tears standing in his own 
 .es. Jwillgoaiul h':<c my old friend this very hour " '• Vov. 
 
G7 
 
 have forgotten,' said Mrs. Do Courcy, " tliat you promised to c<; . 
 cort Harriet to the park, and she will be disappointed if you cu 
 gage yourself elsewhere." De Courcy, who would have postpon- 
 ed any personal gratification rather than disappoint the meanest 
 servant in his household, instantly agreed to defer his visit ; and 
 as it had never occuned to him that the claims of relationship 
 ■were incompatible with those of politeness, he did not once during 
 their walk insinuate to his sister that he would have preferred ano- 
 ther engagement 
 
 Never had he, either as a physiognomist or as a man, admired 
 any woman so much as he did Laura; yet her charms were no lon- 
 ger his only, or oven his chief, magnet of attraction towards the 
 Montrevillcs. Never before had no assemblage of features pos- 
 sessed such power over him, but De Courcy 's was not a heart on 
 which mere beauty could make any very permanent impression ; 
 and, to the eternal disgrace of his gallantry^ it must be confessed, 
 that he scarcely longed more for a second interview with Laura, 
 than he did for an opportunity of paying some grateful civilities to 
 the man who, twenty years before, had good-naturedly forgone 
 the society of his equals in age, to sing ballads and make paper- 
 kites for little Montague. Whatever member of the family occu- 
 pied most of his thoughts, certain it is, that he spoke much more 
 that evening of Captain Monti'cville than of his daugliter, until 
 tiie arrival of the painting afforded him occasion to enlarge on hei' 
 genius, industry, and freedom from vulgar prejudice. On these 
 he continued to descant, till Mrs. De Courcy smiled, and Harriet 
 laughed outright ; a liberty at which Montague testified liis dis- 
 pleasure, by carefully avoiding the subject for the rest of the even- 
 ing. 
 
 Meanwhile the ungrateful Laura had never, from the hour in 
 which they met, bestowed one thought upon her champion. The 
 blackness of his eyes, and the whiteness of his teeth, h.d entirely 
 escaped her observation ; and, even if she had been asked, wlietli- 
 er he was tall or short, slie could scarcely have given a satisfacto- 
 ry reply. For tliis extraordinary stftpidity, the only excuse is, 
 that her heart was already occupied, the reader knows how, and 
 that her thoughts were engrossed by an intention which her father 
 had mentioned, of borrowing money upon his half-pay. 
 
 Though Laura had never knovvn affluence, she was equally .1 
 stranger to all the shames, the distresses and em.barrassments of 
 a debtor ; and the thoughts of borrowing what she could not hope 
 by any economy to repay, gave to her upright mind tlie most cut- 
 ting uneasiness. But no resource remained ; for, even if Captain 
 Montreville could have quitted London within the hour, ht had 
 not the means of defraying the expense of the journey. "SVar- 
 i-en's pron.ises had liitherto produced nothing but hope, and there 
 was no immediate prospect that the payment of tlie unnuity would 
 vel'.eve the difficulty. 
 
 Laura tvirned a despairing wish towards her pictiire, lamenting. 
 ..-;'.t :.]-'; had ever foriried hvr pres'amptuous scheme, aud huting 
 
68 
 
 herself for having, by her presence increased the perplexities of 
 her father. She prevailed on him, however, to defer borrowing the 
 money till the following day ; and once more, accompanied by Ju- 
 lia, bent her almost hopeless steps towards the print-shop. 
 
 Silent and melancholy she passed on, equally regardless of the 
 admiration which she occasionally extorted and of the animadver- 
 sions, called forth by the appearance of so elegant a woman on 
 foot, in the streets of the city. As she entered the shop, she cast 
 a half-despairing look towards the place where her picture had 
 hung, and her heart leapt when she perceived that it was gone. 
 ** Well, Ma'am," said Wilkins, approaching her, " it is sold at 
 last, and here is the money," and he put into her hands by {:\r the 
 largest sum they had ever contained. " You may have as much 
 more whenever you please," continued he, " for the gentleman 
 who bought it wants a companion painted." 
 
 Laura spoke not, — she had not indeed the power to speak ; — but 
 she raised her eyes with a look that intelligibly, said, " Blessed Fa- 
 ther! thy tender mercies are over all thy works." Recollecting her- 
 self, she thanked Wilkins, liberally rewarded him for his trouble, 
 and then taking her companion by the arm, she hastened home- 
 wards. 
 
 The sight of Laura's wealth powerfully affected the mind of 
 Miss Dawkins, and she formed an immediate resolution to grow 
 rich by similar means. One little objection to this scheme occur- 
 red to her, namely, that she had learnt to draw only flowers, and 
 that even this humble branch of the art she had discontinued since 
 she Iqft school. But she thought that a little practice woidd re- 
 pair what she had lost, and that though perhaps flowers might not 
 be quite so productive as historical pieces, she might better her 
 fortune by her works ; at the least, they would famish her with 
 clothes and pocket-money. Upon this judicious plan, she har- 
 angued with great volubility to Laura, wlio, buried in her own re- 
 flections, \^alked silently on, unconscious even of the presence of 
 her loquacious companion. As she approached her home, .she be- 
 gan to frame a little speech, with which she meant to present her 
 treasure to her father ; and, on entering the house, she flev/ with 
 a beating heart to find him. She laid her wealth upon his knee. 
 " My dearest father,'* she began, " the picture" — and she fell up- 
 on his neck and biu-st into tears. Sympathetic tears stood in the 
 eyes of Montreville. He had been surprised at the stoicism with 
 which his daughter appeared to him to support her disappoint- 
 ment, and he was not prepared to expect from her so much sensi- 
 bility to success. But though Laura had learnt from frequent ex- 
 perience, how to check the feelings of disappointment, to pleasure 
 S'-ich as she now felt she was new, and she could not control its 
 emotions. So far was she, however, from thinking tliat sensibility 
 was bestowed merely for an ornament, (an opinion which many 
 fair ladies appear to entertain,) that the expression of it was always 
 with her an occasion of shame. Unable at this moment to contain 
 ii'^rsclf; ske burst trom her father's embrace, and hiding iHTSslfin 
 
 ISl"^ 
 
69 
 
 iici ciiaiviuOi-, poured forUi a fervent thanksgiving' to ILm uli©, 
 '' feedeth the ravens when they cry to him." 
 
 "This money is yours my love," said Captain Montreville to her 
 Mheu she retun^d to the parlour. "I cannot hear to rob you of 
 it. Take it, and you can. supply me when I am in want of it." — 
 The face and neck of Laura flushed crimson. Her whole soul re- 
 volted at the thoujrht of her father's feeling himself a pensioner 
 on her bounty. "No indeed, Sir," she replied with energy-, "iti.s 
 yours — it always was intended for you. But for you, I could ne- 
 ver have acquired it." " I will not disappoint your generosity, my 
 dearest," said Montreville, "part I will receive from you, but the 
 rest you mu.st keep. I know you must have many little wants." — 
 No, Papa,-** said Laura, " so liberal has your kindness been to 
 me, that I cannot at this moment name a single want." " Wishe.s, 
 then, you surely hive," said the Captain, still pressing the money 
 upon her ; " and let the fir:it fruits of your industry supply them." 
 " I have no wishes, ' said Laura ; "none at least which money can 
 gratify : — and when I have," added she, with an affectionate 
 smilc^ "let their gi*atiticationcome from you, that its pleasure may 
 be doubled to me.' 
 
 No creature could less value money for its own sake than did 
 Laura. AUher wealth, the fru>t of so much labour and anxiety, 
 v/ouid not have purchassed the attire of a fashionable lady 
 for one evening. She, who had been accustomed to wander in hap- 
 py freedom among her native hills, was imprisoned amidst the 
 ijmoke and dust of a city. Without a companion, almost without 
 an acquaintance to invigorate her spirits for th.e task, it was hci^ 
 province to revive the fainting hopes, and beguile the tedium cf 
 her father, who was depressed by disappointment in his pursuits, 
 and disconcerted by the absence of his accustomed en^;ploynient£. 
 She was at a distance from the object, not only of a tender affec- 
 tion, but of a romantic passion, — a passion, ardent in proportion 
 as its object was indebted to her imagination for his powci\ Scarce 
 three months had elapsed since the depravity of this idolized being 
 ivmI burst on her in thunder, the thought of it was still dagrrersto 
 her heart, and it was very doubtful whether he ever could give such 
 proofs of reformation as v.'ould make it safe for her to restore him 
 to his place in her regard. Yet be it known to all who, from simi- 
 lar circumstances, feel entitled to fancy themselves miserable, and 
 thus (if they live with bemgs of common humanity) make others 
 really so, that no woman ever passed an evening in more heartfelt 
 content, than Laura did that which our history is nov/ recording. 
 She, did, indeed, possess that v/hich, next to the overdowings of 
 a pious heart, confers the purest happiness on this side Heaven. 
 She felt that she was useful. Nay, in one lespect the conscioush 
 ness of a succcsful discharge of duty has the advantage over the 
 fervours of devotion ; for Providence, wise in its bounty, had de- 
 creed, that while these foretastes of heavenly rapture are transient 
 lest their delights should detach us from the business of life, we 
 arc invited to a religious practice by the permanence of its joys. 
 
^0 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Captain Mdntrevii-le and his daughter were eng'agedin a 
 friendly contest on the subject of a companion fertile picture, when 
 De Courcy made his visit. Thoug'h,as he entered the room, some- 
 thing* unfashionable like a blush visited his face, his manner was 
 iree from rustic embarrassment " I believe,** said he, advancing' 
 towards Captain Montreville, " I must apologize for the intrusion 
 of a stranger." My person must have outgrown your recollection. 
 My name, I hope, has been more fortunate. It is De Courcy.'* 
 "The son I presume of Major De Courcy," said Montreville, 
 cordially extending hi.s hand to him. **yes," replied Montague, 
 heartily takmgthe offered hand; ** the same whose childhood was 
 indebted to you for so many of its pleasures." " My old friend 
 Montague !" cried the Captain, " though your present form is new 
 to me, I remember my lovely little noble-spirited play -fellow with 
 an interest which I have never felt in any other child except this 
 girl." " And who knows," said De Courcy, turning to Laura with 
 a smile, " who knows what cause 1 may find to rue that Miss 
 Montreville is past the age v/hen I might have repaid her father's 
 kindness by assiduities to her doll r' " Tliat return,*' said Laura, 
 colouring, as she recollected her late champion, ** would not have 
 been quite so arduous as the one you have already made. I hope 
 you had no further trouble with those rude people?" " No, Ma- 
 dam," answered De Coiu-cy," " nor did I expect it ; the spirits that 
 are so insolent where they dare, are submissive enough where they 
 must." Laura now explained to her father her obligation to De 
 Courcy ; and the Captain having thanked liim for liis interference, 
 the conversation took a general turn. 
 
 Elated as he was with the successful industry and genius of his 
 child, and pleased with the attentions of the son of his friend, the 
 spirits of Monti-eville rose higher than they had ever done since his 
 arrival in London. Won by the happy mixture of familiarity and 
 respect, of spirit and gentleness, which distinguished the manners 
 of De Courcy, the captain became cheerful, and Laura almost talk- 
 ative; the conversation rose frona easy to animated, from animated 
 to gay; and two hours had passed before any of the party was aware 
 that one-fourth of that time was gone. Laura's general reserve with 
 strangers seemed to have forsaken her while she conversed with 
 De Courcy. But De Covu'cy was not a stranger. By character she 
 knew him welL Hargrave had mentioned to her his intimacy with 
 De Courcy. Nay, De Courcy had, at the hazard of his life, saved 
 the lif of Hargrave. Laura had heard her lover dwell with the 
 eloquence of gratitude upon the courage, the presence of mind with, 
 whicli (while others confounded by his danger, or fearing for their 
 6wn safety, left him to perish wi hout aid), De Courcy had seized 
 a fisher's net, and binding one end of it to a tree, the other to his bo- 
 dy, had plunged into the water, and intercepted Hjurgraye, ju.st ^s 
 
71 
 
 Hie gtream was huffyiag him to the brink of a ti'cmcndous fiill. 
 " All struggle was in vain," had Hargrave said to the breathless 
 Laura; " but for that noble fellow, that minute would have been my 
 last, and I should have died without awakening this interest so dear 
 to my heart." " I wish I could sec this De Courcy," had Laur^ 
 fervently excljumed. " Heaven forbid !" had been the hasty reply, 
 " for your habits — your pursuits— your sentiments are so smiilar, 
 that he would gain without labour, perhaps without a wish, the 
 heart that has cost me such anxious toil." A recollection of this 
 dialogue stole into the mind of Laura, as De Courcy was expressing 
 an opinion which, though not a common one, coincided exactly with 
 her own. For a moment she was absent and thoughtful ; but De 
 '<^ourcy continued the conversation, and she resumed her gaiety. 
 
 When unwillingly at last he rose to take his leave. Captain Mon- 
 treville detained him while he made some friendly inquiries into the 
 history of the family for the last twenty years. As the questions of 
 the Captain, however, were not impertinently minute, nor the ans- 
 wers of De Courcy very copious, it may not be improper to supply 
 what was wanting in the narrative. 
 
 Major De Courcy was the representative of a family which could 
 trace its descent from the times of the Conqueror, — an advantage 
 wliich they valued above the hereditary possessions of their fathers ; 
 and if an advantage ought to be estimated by its durabillity, they 
 were in the right ; for the former, of necessity, was improved by 
 time, the latter seemed tending towards decline. Frederick De 
 Courcy was suffered to follow his inclinations in entering the army ; 
 because that was the profession most suitable to the dignity of an 
 ancient house. That it was of all professions the least likely to 
 improve his fortune was a consideration equally despispd by his fa- 
 ther and himself When be attained hi» seventeenth year, a com- 
 mission was piu-chased for him. Stored with counsels sufficient 
 if he followed them, to conduct him to wisdom and happiness, and 
 with money sufficient to make these counsels of no avail, he set out 
 from his paternal home to join his regiment. Thus was De Courcy, 
 in his dangerous passage fi-om youth to manhood, committed to the 
 guidance of example, and the discretion belonging to his years ; for- 
 tified, indeed, by the injunctions of his parents, awd his own resolu- 
 tions, never to disgrace his descent This i ulwark, he soon found, 
 was too weak to resist the number and variety of the weapons 
 which attacked him The shafts of ridicule assailed him ; his own 
 passions took up arms ; his pride itself turned against him. Una- 
 ble to resist with vigo r, he ceased to resist at all ; and was hurried 
 into every folly in which his companions wished for the assistance 
 of his purse, or the countenance of his example. 
 
 His t^ii' :i-*a liberal allowance was soon insufficicHt to supply 
 hi^ extravag;nice. He contracted debts. After severe but well- 
 mmted reproof, his father paid them ; and De Courcy promised 
 amendment. A whole week of strict sobriety ensued ; and the 
 voi'ng soldier was convinced that his resolution was immutable. 
 JS.nd so he v.oul'.l probably have found it, if now, for the firist time. 
 
Mnte man was made, temptation hud become weaker by vicioi '. 
 or virtue strong-er by defeat. But thou;:^h he had tasteol the g-lit 
 
 tcring' baitof tbily, and though he at tiines confessed its insipidity. 
 the same hire again prevailed, and De Courcy was again entang- 
 led in pecimi:uy embarrassments. ^V'hat was to be done ? His 
 father had declared his irrevocable detei-mination no fui ther to 
 injure the interests of his younger children by supphing the pro- 
 digality of tlic eldest. By the advice of a veteran in profusion, 
 De Courcy had recourse to Jews. As it was in his father's powei* 
 to disinherit liim, it was necessary to conceal these U-ansactions ; 
 and the high spirit of Frederick was compelled to submit to all 
 tlie evasions, embari-assments, and wretchedness tliat attend a 
 clandestine course of action. 
 
 Often did he illustrate the trite observation that no life is more 
 I'emote from happiness than a life of pleasure. The reward of all 
 his labour was satiety ; the wages of all his self-reproaches were 
 the applauses of the thoughtless for his spirit ; the lamentations 
 .of the wise, that an honourable mind should be so perverted. In 
 his twenty-second year, his father's death left him at liberty to pay 
 his old debts, and to contract new. That which has preserved 
 the virtue of many young men, prevented the total ruin of De 
 Courcy. He became attached to a virtuous woman; and, influ- 
 enced m.uch by inclination, more by the wishes of her friends, she 
 married hiin. 
 
 ISIrs. De Courcy brought no dower except the ])eauty whicii 
 had captivated her husband, tlie sweetness which prolonged her 
 pov/er, and the good sense which made that power useful. She 
 ^'-herefore did not thin.k herself entitled to remonstrate very warm- 
 
 \ on the negligence that appeared in the conduct of her husband's 
 
 i Fairs ; and it was not till after she became a mother that she 
 judged it proper to hiterfere. Her gentle remonstrances, howe- 
 \cv, produced little eft'ect beyond promises and vague resolutions, 
 that at some " convenient seaso7i'* the Major would examine into 
 the real state of his fortune. 
 
 Accident at last befriended her endeavovirs. Soon after the 
 
 /iilh of her second child (a daughter,) a demand was made on De 
 Courcy for a debt which lie had not the means of discbarg-ing. He 
 could not apply to the Jevv*; foff he had solemnly pledged his word 
 to Mrs. De Courcy, that he would never more huve recourse to 
 that ruinous expedient. He was discussing with his wife the pos- 
 •^.ibility of procuring the money by a new mortgage, v.hile Mon- 
 
 ; -;no, then a child of fom* years old, was playing in the room. — 
 
 I'lck by tlie melancholy tone of his mother's voice, the child f 'i-- 
 
 )ok his play, and taking hold of her gown, looked anxiously from 
 
 le mournful face to the other, " I am as averse to it as you can 
 
 j-, my dear," said the Major, " but there is no other way of i-aisinn: 
 
 the money." " Wait till I am a man Papa," said the child ; " aii"d 
 
 then Betty s.:ys, I sh.ill have a good two thousand pounds a-year, 
 
 ■A I will give it all to you. A. d here," added he, scarclung his 
 
 il.'pock'.-', " herds my pretty shilHng that Captain MouLrcville 
 
73 
 
 gave me ; take k, and don't look sorry any more.''' Mrs. De Coui'cy 
 passionately loved tliis cliild. Overcome by the feeling- of the mo- 
 ment, she elapsed him in her arms. "My poor wronged child '.'* 
 she exclaimed, and burst into tears. 
 
 These were the first words of bitterness which Major De Cour- 
 cy had cA'er heard from her lips ; and overcome by tJiem, and by 
 her tears, he gave her a hasty promise, tliat he would, that ^ ery 
 hour, begin the examination of his ailairs. Sensible of her ad- 
 vantage, she peiinitted not his purpose to slumber, but persuaded 
 him to a full inquiry into the extent of his debts ; and in order to 
 remove him from f ture temptation, she prevailed on him to sell 
 his commission, and reside at his paternal Norwood. 
 
 After selling so much of his estate as to clear the remainder front 
 all incumbrance, he found his income diminished to little more 
 than a third of its original extent. His family pride reviving at the 
 sight of the halls of his fathers, and a better affection awakening 
 in his intercourse with the descendants of tliose whom his ances- 
 tors had protected, he determined to guard against the possibility 
 of Norwood and its tenants being transferred to strangers, and en* 
 tailed the remains of liis property on Montague De Coui'cy, in tjie 
 strictest forms of English law. For Mrs. De Courcy he made but 
 a slender provision. For his daughter he made none: but he de- 
 termined to save from his income a sum sufficient to supply this 
 deficiency. He was still a young man, and never thought of doubt- 
 ing whether he might live long enough to accomplish his design, or 
 whether the man who had found an income of 2000/. a^}ear too 
 small for his necessities, might be able to make savings from one 
 of 800/. Ii\ spite of the soberness of the establishment, which dur- 
 ing the novelty of his reform he alloweii Mrs. De. Courcy to ar- 
 range, he continued to find uses for all the money he coukl com- 
 mand. His fields wanted inclosures ; his house needed repairs ; 
 his son's education was an increasing expense ; and be died while 
 Montague was yet a boy, w^ithout having realised any part of his 
 plans in favour of his daughter. 
 
 He left the higJiest testimony to tlie understanding and worth 
 of Mrs. De Courcy, by making her tlie sole guardian of his chil- 
 di'en ; and the steady rectitude and propriety of her conduct jus- 
 tified his confidence. Aware of the radical defect of every mode 
 of education tliat neglects or severs the domestic tie, yet convinc- 
 ed that tlie house where he was master, and the dependents whoia 
 he could command, were dtiugerous scenes and companions for a 
 youth ol 31ontague's spirit, she committed him to the ciax- of a cler- 
 gyman, whose residence wasafewiniiesdjstanti'rcm Norwood, and 
 who also took charge of four oiher boys of abovit tlie same age. 
 This gentleman was admii-ubly fitted for his trust; f«>r lie hud a 
 
 .Kivaled understandmir, an aflectionate heart, souv.d piet}-, and a 
 cairn but Jintiexi.bie temper. Add to w iiich, lie had ti*avellc(!, and, 
 in hii youth, associated much witli.men of rank, and more with 
 men of talents ; tjuougii, ^ince he had become a pasior, tJie range 
 of Jiis moral observation iiad been narrowed to the hearts of ufev 
 
74 
 
 simple villages, which were open to him as to their fatlief and 
 their friend. The bo} s studied and played tog-ether ; but they 
 had each a separate apartment ; for Mr. Wentworth had liimself 
 y>een educated at a public school, and never recollected without 
 shuddering-, the hour when his youthful modesty first had shrunk 
 from sharing his bed with a stranger, and when the prayer for his 
 parents, which he was mingling with liis tears, had been disturbed 
 by the jokes of a little rabble. 
 
 Every Saturday did Montague bend his joyful course home- 
 wards, regardless of summer's heat or winter storms. Every Sun- 
 day did his mother spend in mixing the lessons of piety with the 
 endearments of love ; in striving to connect the idea of a super- 
 intending God with all that is beautiful — all that Is majestic — ^in 
 nature. As her children grew up, she unfolded to them tlie pe- 
 culiar doctrines of Christianity, so sublime, so consolatory, so sui- 
 table to the wants of man. Aware how much occasion favours 
 the strength of impressions, she chose the hour of strong remorse 
 on account of a youthful fault, while the culprit yet trembled be- 
 fore the offended majesty of Heaven, to explain to her son the im- 
 possibility that repentance should, of itself, cancel errors past, or 
 that the great law-giver should accept a! few ineffectual tears, or a 
 tardy and imperfect obedience, as a compensation for the breacli 
 of a law that is perfect. When she saw that the intended impres- 
 sion was made, she spoke of the great atonement that once was 
 offered, not to make repentance unnecessary, but to make it effec- 
 tual : and, from that time, using this as one of the great landmarks 
 of faith, she contributed to make it in the mind of Dc Courcy a 
 practical and abiding principle. The peculiar precepts of chi'is- 
 vianity, she taught him to apply to his actions, by applying them 
 herself; and the praise tliatis so often lavished upon boldness, dex- 
 terity, and spirit, she conscientiously reserved for acts of candour, 
 humility, and self-denial. 
 
 Her cares were amply rewra-ded, and Montague became all that 
 she wished him to be. He was a christian from the heart, without 
 being either forward to claim, or ashamed to own, the distinction. 
 He was industrious in his pursuits, and simple in his pleasures. — 
 But the distinctive feature of his character, was the total absence 
 of sclfishnes*. His own pleasure or his own amusement he never 
 hesitated to sacx'ifice to the wishes of others ; or, to speak more 
 correctly, he found his pleasure and amusement in theirs. Upon 
 the whole, we do not say that Montague Ue Courcy had no faults ; 
 but wc are sure he had none ^mt he did not strive to conquer. 
 Like other human beings, he sometimes acted wrong; but we be- 
 lieve he would not deliberately have neglected a known duty to 
 escape any worldly misfortune ; we are sure he would not delibe- 
 rately have coipmitted a crime to attain any earthly advantage. 
 
 Desirious that her darling should enjoy the benefits of the most 
 liberal education, 3-tt afraid to trust him to the temptations of an 
 ]&igiish university, Mrs. De Courcy went for some years to reside 
 ;n Edinburgh during the winter — in summer she retiu-nc^l " ''^ '"' '' 
 
family to Norwood. To his'private studies, and his patei'iial home, 
 Montague rctunied with ever new delicfht ; for his tastes and hi» 
 habits were all domestie. He had no ambitious wishes to lure him 
 from his retreat, for his wants were even more moderate than his 
 fortune. Except in so far as he could make it useful to others, he 
 had no value for rnqney, nor for any thing that money could buy, 
 exclusive of the necessaries of life, books, and implimcnts of che- 
 mistry. The profession which he had chosen wasthat of improv- 
 ing and embellishing his estate ; and, in the tranquil pleasures of 
 a country gentleman, a man of taste, a classical scholar, and -a 
 chemist, he found means to occupj himself without injury to hi.s 
 health, his morals, or his fortune. His favourite amusements wert^ 
 drawing and physiognomy; and, like other favourites, these 
 were sometimes in danger of making encroachments, and advanc- 
 ing into the rank of high concerns. But this he prevented by an 
 exact distribution of his time, ta which he resolutely adhered. 
 
 With his mother and his sister he lived in the most perfect har- 
 mony, though the yoiing lady had the reputation of a wit, and was 
 certainly a little addicted to sarcasm. But she was in other i-es- 
 pects amiable, and incapable of doing any thing to offend her bro- 
 Jier, whose indignation indeed never rose but against crucltv, 
 meanness, or deceit. 
 
 De Courcy had just entered his twenty-fifth year, when a rheu 
 matic fever deprived his mother of the use of her limbs ; and, for- 
 saking all his employments, he had quitted his beloved Norwood to 
 attend her in London, whitiiershe had come for the benefit of medical 
 advice. He had been but a f^ w days in town when he met with 
 Miss Monti-eville, and tlie impression which her beauty made, the 
 second interview tended toconfitm.- 
 
 Montague had never, eveli in imagination, been in love. The re- 
 gulation of his passions, the improvement of his mind, and tlie care 
 of his property, had hitherto left him no leisure for the tender folly. 
 He had scarcely ever thought of a young woman's face, except witli 
 a reference to Lavater's opinion, nor of her manners, except to 
 wonder how she could be so obtrusive. But, in contemplating Lau- 
 ra's face, he forgot the rules of the physiognomist ; and, in the in- 
 teresting reserve of her manners, he found continually^sometliing to 
 desire. If, at the rlose of his visit, he was not in love, he was at 
 least in a f-" ^vay for being so. He was assailed at once by beauty^ 
 ffi.«oe, good sense, and sweetness ; and to these Laura added the 
 smgular charm of being wholly insensible to tlieir effects upon the 
 beholder. No side glance was sent in search of admiration, no care 
 was taken to compose her drapery ; no look of triumph accompanied 
 her judicious remarks; no parade of sensibility disgraced her ten- 
 derness. Every charm was heightened by a matchless absence of 
 all design ; and against this formidable battery had poor De Courcy 
 to make his stand, just at the inauspicious hour wh^n, for the 
 tirst tune in his Ufe, ho had nothing else to do. 
 
76 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Ab soon as Be Couvcy was gone. Captain Monti*eville launched 
 out warmly in his praise. Laura joined in the eulogium ; and, the 
 next, moment, forgot thattliere was such a person in existence, when 
 s4ic read a letter from Mrs. Douglas, of which the following was a. 
 
 part. 
 
 " Before this readies you. Colonel Hargrave will be far on his 
 way to London. It is possible that you may have no interest in this 
 journey ; but, lest you should, I wish to prevent your being taken 
 by surprise. Since your departure he has repeatedly visited us ; 
 and endeavoured, both directly and indirectly, to discover your ad- 
 dress. Perhaps you will think ray caution" ill-timed ; but I acted 
 according to my best judgment, in avoiding to comply with his de- 
 sire. I think, however, that he has elsewhere procured the infor- 
 mation he wanted ; for Kis features wore an air of triumph, as he 
 asked my commands for you. Dear child of my affections, richly 
 endowed as you are with the dangerous gift of beauty, jou have 
 hitherto escaped, as if by miracle, from the snares of folly and fri- 
 volity. My heart*s prayer for you is, that you may be as safe front 
 rhe danger.^ that await you, in the passions of others, and in the ten- 
 derness of your own heart. But, alas ! my beloved Laura, distant 
 as I am from you, ignorant as I am of the peculiarities of your sit- 
 uation, I can onij pray for you. I fear to express my conjectures. 
 Test I should seem to extort your confidence, I fear to caution, lest 
 I should shock or offend you. Yet let me remind you, that it is 
 easier, by one bold effort, to reject temptation, tJsan to resist its con- 
 tinued allurements. Effectually to bar the access of tlie tempter 
 :nay cost a painful effort — to parley with him is destruction. But I 
 must stop. Tears of anxious affection blot v%hat I have written. 
 
 " E. Douglas." 
 
 The joyful expectation of seeing Hargrave filled for a time the 
 }ieart ol* Laura, and left no room for other thoughts. The first that 
 found entrance was of a less pleasing cast. She perceived that Mrs. 
 Douglas suspected Hargrave of the baseriess of deliberate seduc- 
 tion ; and, with a feeling of indignation, she collect*^ her writing 
 materials, and sat down to exculpate him. But, as she aga^r^ read 
 her friend's expressions of affection, and considered how htfle her 
 suspicions were remote from the truth, she accused herself of ingra- 
 titude and injustice in giving way to any thing like resentments- 
 She thanked Mrs. Douglas for her cautions ; but assured her, that 
 the proposals of Hai'grave were honourable, unequivocal, and sane- 
 Lioned by her father; that they had been rejected by herself; and, 
 ^.herefore, that no motive, except that of vmdicatmg him from an 
 xmfounded sAispicion, should have teiTipted her to betray, even to 
 her most confidential friend, a secret ^\•hich she thought a wona^ 
 ]yQund, both in delicsicv and iji honour, to fceep inviolable. She ^d 
 
f^:- 
 
 77 
 
 not once hint at the cause of her rejecting an offer so splendid, nor 
 show a trace of the incUnation which she had so nobly sacrificed to 
 virtue, except what appeared in the warmtli of her defence of her 
 lover For, thoug-h she felt that her storj' would have raised her in 
 her friend's esteem, she scorned to purchase that advantage at the 
 expense of anotherj and retained all her aversion to exposing the 
 faults of Hargrave 
 
 Having finished her letter, she returned to tlie more agreeable 
 subject of contemplation, and began to calculate upon the time 
 when she might expect to see the Colonel. Her concl sion was, 
 th; t he would probably ' isit her on the following day, and her heart 
 throbbed with deliglit at the prospect. 
 
 But from the dream of joy, Laura soon returned to the more ha- 
 bitual consideration of the Une of conduct which it was fit that she 
 should pursue. She saw the folly of committing her happiness to 
 tlie guardianship of one whose passions were his masers; and, 
 while it was her daily prayer that she might not be led into tempta- 
 tion, her conscience revolted from trusting her conduct to the gui - 
 dance, her virtue to the ex; mple, of a man whose principles were 
 doubtful. For Laura's virtue was not of that saint-ertf nt kind that 
 sallies forth in quest of opportunities to signaUze itself, wid inflames 
 its pride by meditation on the wonders it would achieve, if placed 
 in perilous situations. Distrustful of herself— watchful to avoid 
 occasions of falling — she had no ambition for the dangerous glorv 
 of reformmg a rake into a good husband. She therefore adhered 
 to her determination, that she would not consent to a union with 
 her lover, till, by a course of virtuous co;,d . ct he had ^ven proof 
 that his offence had been the sudden fault of a moment, not the de- 
 liberate purpose of a corrupted heart. 
 
 Yet even in this mitigated view, the recollection was poison to 
 the soul of Laura. The painful thought was far from new to her, 
 that the passion of Hargrave was a tribute to her personal charms 
 alone. With such a passion, even were its continuance possible, 
 Liura felt that she could not be satisfied. To be the object of il 
 degi-aded her in her own eyes. •* No, no," she exclaimed, cover 
 rng her fiice with her hands, " let me not even legally occupv on- 
 ly the place which the vilest might fill. If I cannot be the friend, 
 the companion, as well as the mistress, better, far better, were it 
 that we should part for ever." 
 
 No labour is sufficient to acquaint us fully with our own hearts. 
 It never occurred to Laura, that she was, as much as Hargrave 
 the captive oi mere externals ; and that his character would never 
 have deceived her penetration, had it been exliibited in the pei-son 
 of a little red haired man, with bandy legs, who spoke broad 
 Scotch, and smoked tobacco. Till the hour when he had himself 
 dispelled the illusion, the character of Hargrove, such as she chos'- 
 to imagine it, had been to her a tlieme of the most delightful con^ 
 templation; and to its fascinations she had willingly and entirely 
 resi.rned herself The disguise, which was rather the excuse, 
 Uian the cause of her passion, had been dropped in part: vpt the 
 
 G2 * ■' 
 
rs 
 
 tsassion was as stroivgasevcr. It was, indeed, no longer pleasing, no 
 longer blind, no longer paramount; tor her i*eason, which had be- 
 fore been silent, was now permitted to speak, and though it was una- 
 ble to conquer, it could control Slie imagined the vehemence with 
 whicli Hargrave would urge her to shorten the term of his, proba- 
 tion, and she feared that she should find it difficult, perhaps impos- 
 sible, to resist his entreaties. She would not, therefore, expose 
 her prudence to too severe a trial. " Yes," said she, "I will bar 
 the access of the tempter. I will see Hargi-ave only once, and that 
 shall be to bid him farewell, till the stipulated two years are fin- 
 ished. If he really loves me, his affection will survive absence. 
 If it fail in the tiial, I may, though lost to happiness, find in n\y 
 solitude a peace that never can visit a neglected wife." 
 
 This philosophic conclusion was the fruit of her meditations du- 
 ring a restless night ; and having worked herself, as she thought, 
 into a temper indecorously relentless, she proceeded, with all tlie 
 consistency of her sex, to adorn her person with a cai-e she had 
 never before bestowed upon it. She arranged eveiy curl for ef- 
 fect ; chose a dress which shewed to advantage the graeeftil slope 
 of her shoulders ; and heightened the whiteness of her neck and 
 arms, by contrasting it \vith fillets of jet. Though she was but 
 Indifferently pleased with her success,' it proved sufficient for her 
 occasions. The day passed away, and Hargrave did not appear. 
 Laura was disappointed, but not .surprised; for it was barely pos- 
 sible that he could have reached London on that day. On the 
 succeeding one she thought it likely that he might come ; but the 
 succeeding one was equally barren of event. 
 
 On the third she was certain that he would arrive; and, when 
 breakfast was over, she seated herself in expectation at the window 
 of the front parlour, stai'ted if a carriage stopped, and listened to 
 every voice that sounded from below stairs. Half-desirous to es- 
 cape her father's observation, half-wishing that her interview with. 
 Hargrave should be vfithout witnesses, she persuaded Captain 
 Montreviile to go and pay his respects to Mrs. De Courcy. Anx- 
 iously she waited, conjectured, doubted, reconsulted Mrs. Doug- 
 las's letter. The Captain returned ; the hours of visitbig passed 
 away; and still no Hargi-ave came. 
 
 Unwilling to own, even to herself, the extent of her anxiety and 
 disappointment, Laura talked to her father of his visit, with v/hich 
 he had been higlily pleased. He had been amused with Harriet ; 
 charmed with Mrs. De Courcy; and doubly charmed with Mon- 
 rague, whom he praised as a scholar and a man of sense, as an ef- 
 fectionate brotlier and a respectful son ; and, to crown all these 
 commendations, he declared, that De Courcy was more than a 
 match for himself at chess. 
 
 When they retired for the night, Laura returned to her conjee- 
 tures on the cause of Hargi-avc's delay. She considered that he 
 might be detained on the road, or that he might have found it ne- 
 cessary to make a visit on his way. She had little doubt that to ser 
 her was the object of his journey to London at Xhis iinft^siuoDftble 
 
7D 
 
 season. She had none, that he would hu?ry tx> her the first ma»' 
 ment that it was possible. By degT-ees, she persuuded herself into 
 an absolute certainty, that she should see him on the following 
 day ; and on that day, she again took her anxious station in the 
 pnrlour. 
 
 She wa» ashamed to lejui over the window, and could not other- 
 wise see who entered the house ; but she left the room door a-jar, 
 that she might have warning- of his approach, held her breath to 
 distinguish the voices fi'om below, and hstened eagerly to every 
 footstep. At last, she imagined that she heard the wished-for in- 
 quiry. She was sure some one pronounced her name. A man's 
 atep ascended the stair; Laura trembled andher breath came short. 
 She feared to look up, and leant her face on her band to conceal 
 her emotion. 
 
 The voice of her visitor made her start, and turn her head. It 
 was Warren ! 
 
 EjHiectation had been wound up to its highest pitch, and Laur;i 
 rould not instantly recover herself. She paid her compliments 
 V. ith a confusion and trepidation, which Warren interpreted in a 
 v.ay most flattering to his vanity. He approached her with a look, 
 in which ill-suppressed triumph contended with laboured conde- 
 scension; and spoke to her in a voice tliat seemed to say, "Pray, 
 endeavour to reassure yourself." ButXaura'was in no humour 
 to endure his impertinence, and she seized tlie lirat opportunity to 
 leave the room. 
 
 Captain Montreville soon entered on the business in which he 
 took such painful interest, by inquiring whether any traces hadyct 
 been discovered of the sale of his daughter's annuity. Warren, 
 with abundance of regret and condolence, informed him, that Wil- 
 liams had as yet been able to discover no znention of the transac- 
 tion in the books. 
 
 This assertion was so far true, that Williams had as yet seen no 
 record of tlie business in question ; for which Mr. Warren could, 
 if he had chosen, have given a very satisfactory reason. From the 
 moment this gentie^nan had first seen .Laura, he had been deter- 
 mined not wufuily to expedite her departure from London; and 
 therefore he had casually dropped a hint to his man of business, 
 ihat, as he was already overwhelmed with a multiphcity of affairs, 
 it vv'as unnecessaiy to hasten a concern of such trivial importance ; 
 and that he might defer inquiring into the sale of the annuky till 
 he was at perfect leisure. Had- he insinuated to Wdiiams, that 
 tliis delay was detaining from his home a man who could ill aiibrd 
 the consequent expense, or that it -was alarming a father for the 
 future subsistence of his only Child, the man ef business would 
 iiave found leisure to investigate the matter, even if he had sub- 
 tracted the necessary time from his hours of rest. But the up- 
 right Mr. Warren had given no stich intimation; and- in this hon- 
 ourable transaction, he was,fotfthe present, secure from detection, 
 for he knew Uiatbu&ine8sbft^caUedhi& agent to^gilistjinc^ :fi«xD 
 JLondoa. 
 
so 
 
 Captain Montrcviile knew not what to think. He could not 
 doubt the integrity of Mr. Baynard, nor could he imagine to what 
 purpose Warren should deny the transaction; since, if it had real- 
 ly taken place, the vouchers of it must be found among his decea* 
 sed friend's papers. He was persuaded that to examine the books 
 accorduig to the date of the sale, would be the work of only a few 
 hours; and again he inquired whether tKe necessary examination 
 had been made. Mr. Warren answered, that he could not take it 
 upon him to say that every possible search had yet been made ; but 
 his agent, he said, had examined all the most probable records of 
 the concern, and would, on his retui-n to town, make a still more 
 particular scrutiny. 
 
 With this unsatisfactory answer. Captain MonU-eville was obli- 
 ged to content himself He had only one alternative — either to 
 wait in London the appointment of the person who was to aiTange 
 Mr. Baynard's papers, or to return to Scotland, and resign all hopes 
 of the annuity. He feared, too, to offend Warren by urging him- 
 too strongly, since, even should a voucher of the payment of his 
 1500/- be found, the informality in- the deed would still leave room 
 for litigation. No merely personal interest would have induced the 
 higli spirit of Montreville to conciliate a man whom he despised as 
 a fool and a coxcomb. — For nothing that concerned himself alone, 
 would he have submitted to the trouble and anxiety which he had 
 lately undergone. HI calculated by nature to struggle with diffi- 
 culties, he had long been accustomed to let the lesser disasters 
 glide by without notice, and to sink, without effort, under the 
 greater. Disappointed in the woman of his choice, and deprived, 
 by her folly or perverseness, of the domestic pleasures which he lo- 
 ved, his mind had taken a cast of melancholy. Early secluded 
 from society, and tormented by the temper of his wife, he had con- 
 centrated all the affections which solitude confined, and caprice 
 rejected, upon one object : and Laura became the passion of his 
 sold. The thought of leaving her destitute, of leaving her sensi- 
 bility to the scorns, her beauty to the temptations of poverty, was 
 more than he could bear, and it sometimes almost overpowere<l 
 him. He was naturally inclined to indolence, and as, like all indo- 
 lent people, he was the' creature of habit, his spirits had suffered 
 much from the loss of the woman who, though too heartless for a 
 friend, and too bitter for a companion, had, for twenty years, ser- 
 ved him as a sort of stimulous. The same force of habit, joined to 
 her improving graces and confirming worth, made Laura daily 
 more dear to him> and he would willingly have given his life to 
 secure her independence and happiness. 
 
 Brooding on the obscurity in which she must remain, whom he 
 judged worthy to adorn the highest station— on the poverty which 
 Awaited her during his life — on the want to which his death must 
 consign her — removed from his habitual occupations, and dcpriv- 
 ed of the wholesome air, and exhilarating exercise to which he 
 had beenso long accustomed, he allowed his spirits to grow d^iiy 
 aore depressed. Along with the idea of the misfortunes w hicMia* 
 
81 
 
 tleatli wouUl bnng* upon his darling-, the fear of deatli settled oil 
 his mind. The little ailments to which the sedentary are liable, 
 he ma.ffnificd into the symptoms of mortal disease ; and momenta- 
 ry pain seemed to his fancy to foretcl sudden dissolution. Mon- 
 trevillc was fast sinking- into a melancholy hypochondriuc. 
 
 His daughter's spirits, too, failed under continued expectation, 
 and continued disappointment ; for day after day passed on, and 
 still Hargrave came not. Her father's dejection increased her own, 
 and her ill-disg-uised depression had a similar eifect upon him — 
 While, however, Captain Montreville gave way without effort to 
 his feeling's, the more vigorous mind of Laura struggled to sup- 
 press the sorrow whicli she saw v/as C-Qivtagious. She sometimes 
 prevailed upon her father to seek am;usement abroad, sometimes 
 endeavoured to amuse him at home. She read to him, sung to 
 him, exerted all her conversation and talent to entertain him; and 
 often, when all was in vain, when he would answer her by forced 
 smiles, languid gestures, or heavy sighs, slic woidd turn aside to 
 wipe the tears from her eyes, then smile, and attempt her task 
 again. 
 
 In these labours she had now, it is true, the assistance of an in- 
 telllgcnt companion. De Courcy cam.e often ; and the Captain 
 seemed to receive a pleasure from his visits, which even Laura's 
 efforts could not bestow. The tenderness of his child, indeed, ap- 
 peared sometimes to overpower him ; for, when she was exerting 
 . Iierself to divert his melancholy, lie would gaze upon her for a 
 while in an agony of fondjiess, then suddenly desire to be left 
 alone, and dismiss her from his presence. But De Courcy's atten- 
 tions seemed always welcome. He soothed the irritated mind 
 with respectf\d assiduities-»-he felt for its sickly sensibilit}'— and, 
 though ignorant of the cause of Montreville's dejection, foimd in 
 alleviating it a pleasure, which was more than doubled by the un- 
 J^Isg-uisetl appioX>LUlon ai»<J g^irititiul*? of Laura, 
 
 His sister, too,canie to visit Miss Montreville, and, apologi zing fos 
 her mother, who was unable to accompany her, brought an uivita- 
 
 tion for the Captain and his daugliter to dine in Audley-street. 
 
 Laura, in hopes of amusing her father, prevailed on him to accept 
 the invitation ; and an early day was fixed for the visit. She w as 
 pleased with the frankness and gaiety of Harriet's manner, and her 
 curiosity was roused by Captain Montreville's praises of Mi-s. De 
 Courcy. 
 
 The day arrived, and Laura prepared to accompany her father, 
 not without trepidation at the thought of entering, for the fir,sttimc 
 in her life, a room which alie expected to find full of strangers. — 
 When she had finished dressing, he examined her witli triumph ; 
 and thought that nothing in nature was so perfect. The thought 
 wafi legible in his countenance, and Laura, with gi-eat simplicity, 
 answered to it as if it had been spoken "Except to please you/' 
 said. she, "I wish I had been neither tall nor pretty, for then I 
 should Jiave Jaeen allavved to .move. about without notice." " Thcn^ 
 
82 ' 
 
 loo," thoug-ht she with a heavy sigh, •* I should have been lovcu: 
 for myself, and not have been perhaps forgotten.** 
 
 Laura was not ignorant of her own beauty, but no human being 
 co\dd less value the distinction. She was aware of the regularityij 
 of her features ; but as she never used a looking-glass, unless for^ 
 the obvious purpose of arranging her dress, she was insensible of 
 the celestial charm which expression added to her face. The se- 
 riousness and dignity of her manners made it difficult to address 
 her with common-place compliment; and she had accordingly ne- 
 ver experienced any effect of her beauty, but one which was alto- 
 jfether disagreeable to he^,'that of attracting notice. To being the 
 subject of observation, Laiiraretained the Caledonian dislike which 
 ence distinguished her country-V.'omen, before they were polished 
 into that glitter which attracts the vulgar, and paid for the acqui- 
 sition by the loss of the timidity which, like the xrugo of ancient 
 coin, adds value in the eye of taste to intrinsic worth, while it 
 shields even baser merit from contempt.. 
 
 Laura's courage failed her when, throwiftg open the door of a 
 large room, Mrs. De Courcy's servant announced Captain and 
 Miss Montreville. But she revived wheni she perceived that the 
 company consisted only of the mistress of the house, her sou 
 and daughter. Mrs. De Coiu-cy's appearance seemed to Laura 
 ^ery prepossessing. She still wore the dress of a widow ; and 
 her countenance bore the traces of what is called a green old age ; 
 for though the hair tliat shaded her commanding forehead wa:^ 
 silver white, her djii-k eyes retained their brightness ; and though 
 Ler complexion was pale, it glowed at times with the roses of 
 youth. 'Ihe expression of her face, v/hich was serious even to 
 solemnity, brightened with a smile of inexpressible benevolence, 
 as she i*eceived her guest; and, even in the difficulty with which 
 she appeared to move, Laura found sorpewhat interesting-. Her air 
 and manners, without a tincture oi' fashion, spoke the ge4»tlewo- 
 man. Her dress, her person, her demeanor, every thing about 
 her seemed consistently respectable. The dinner was plain, but 
 excellent. The few indispensable pieces of plate were antique and 
 massive; and the only attendant who appeared, seemed to have 
 grown gray in the service of the family. Laura had pleasure in 
 observing, that the reverence with which this old man addressed 
 his lady, softened into affectionate solicitude to please when he at- 
 tended De Courcy, who, in his turn, seemed to treat him witli the 
 most considerate gentleness. 
 
 Mrs. De Courcy behaved to Laura with distinguished politeness ; 
 addressed her often ; endeavoured to draw forth her latent powers ; 
 and soon made her sensible that the impression she had given, was 
 no less favourable than that which she had received. Montague's 
 convers ation had its accustomed effect on Montreville, and the Uve- 
 ly Harriet gave spirit to the whole. The evening passed most 
 agreeably ; and Laura was sorry when the hour of sepai-ation ar- 
 rived. Mrs. De Courcy courteously thanked her for her visit, and 
 
83 
 
 begged her to repeat It ; but Harriet sportively objected ; " No, 
 no," said she, " if you come back, you will not leave a heart among 
 ^ the household — even old John's seems in danger." 
 
 " Well, mamma," continued she, when Laura was gone, " what 
 do you think of my brother's beauty I " I think,'* said Mrs. De 
 Courcy, '"that Montague's praises did her no more than justice. — 
 She is the most lovely, the most elegant woman I ever saw " *' She 
 is no doubt beautiful and interesting," returned Harriet ; " but I 
 must still thiiik she has too much of the buckram of the old school 
 to be elegant" Montague bit his lip, and tried, before he spoke, 
 to ascertain that he was not angfr}'. "Tou are too severe, Harriet," 
 said Mrs. De Courcy. " Miss Montreville's reserve is not stiffness 
 — it is not * buckram ;' it Is rather the graceful drapery, embellish- 
 ing what it veils." « Mother," cried Montague, grasping her 
 hand, " you h.ve more g ndour, sense, and taste, than all the misses 
 in England." " Oh " pray, except Miss Montreville and the present 
 company, "said Harriet, laughing. " She, you know, is all pcrfec- 
 •tion ; and / have really candour, sense, and taste enough to admire 
 her more than ever I did aiiy %vuiiian, except my little self" De 
 Courcy threw liis arm round her — ** I see by that good-natur d 
 smile," said he, " that my dear Harriet has at least candour enough 
 to pardon the folly of a wayward brother." And, for the rest of 
 the evening, he treated her with even more than his usual attentive 
 kindness. 
 
 From this day Misa De Courcy frequently accompanied her bro. 
 iher on his visits to the Montrevilles, and Laura was a welcome 
 guest in Audley Street. By degrees Mrs. De Courcy and she dis- 
 covered, the real worth of each other's character, and their mutual 
 reserve entirely disappeared. Between Laura and De Courcy, al- 
 most from the first hour of their acquaintance, there seemed (to use 
 the language of romance) a sympathy of souls ; — an expression 
 which, if it has any meaning, must mean the facility with which sim- 
 ple, upright, undesigning minds become intelligible to each other. 
 Even the sarcastic Harriet found, in the chaste propriety of Laura's 
 character, something to command respect : and in her gentleness 
 and warmth of heart, something to engage affection ; while in her 
 ideas, which solitude liad slightly tinged witli romance, though 
 strong sense had preserved them from absurdity, and in her lan- 
 guage, which sometimes rose to the very verge of poetry, she found 
 constantly somewhat to interest and amuse. 
 
 Meanwhile Montreville's dejection seemed to increase ; and 
 Laura's health and spirits, in spite of her efforts to support them, 
 daily declined. Hargrave did not appear, and vainly did she en - 
 Acavour to account for his absence. She at first conjectured that 
 he had found it impossible to leave Scotland at the time he pro- 
 posed ; but a second letter from Mrs. Douglas had mentioned his 
 departure, and repeated the assurance that, however obtained, he 
 had infoj mation of Laura's address, since he liad undertaken to be 
 the bearer of a letter from a ncighbourrng gentleman to Captain 
 Monli-evillc. o o r 
 
u 
 
 She next supposed that he had stopped on the road, or quliteiy 
 it on some errand of business or pleasure-^but a newspaper ac- 
 count of a fete champetre, at Lady Bellamer*s elegant villa at Kich- 
 ?nond, was graced, among other fashionable narhcs, with tliat of 
 the handsome Calonel Hargrave, nephew and heir of Lord Lin* 
 court. No supposition remained to be made, except tlie ihortify- 
 ing one, that three months of absence had erased hfer image from 
 the fickle heirt of Hargrate. She, who had herself consigned her 
 lov'er to a banishment of two years, could not bear that he should 
 voUmtan'y undergo ohe of a few weeks. Nay, she had once her- 
 self resigned him; but to be herself resigned without effort, was 
 more than she coold endtife. Her appetite, her sleep forsook her ; 
 her ordinary employments became u-ksome ; and even the picture, 
 the price of which was so soon to be netessary, she had not spir- 
 its to finish. 
 
 But one who w^ accustomed evety night to examine the thoughts 
 and actions of the day. Was riot hkely to remain lon^ a prey to inac- 
 tive melancholy- iSot eAiiofic-d with langTjlH ftiforts in the clischarge 
 of duty, she reproached herself for every failure. She upbraided 
 herself as a wicked and slothful servant, who, when the means of 
 Ubcfulnfess were put within her power, suffered them to r«main un- 
 improved; as a rebel who had deserted the service of her rightful 
 master, to boW to the worse than Egyptian bondage of her passions. 
 She accused herself of having given up her love, her wishes, her 
 iiopes arid fea:rs, altrio^t her worship, to an idol ; and no sooner did 
 this thought occur to the pious mirid of Laura, than she became 
 resigned to her loss. She even feh grateful — with such gratitude 
 as the wretch feels under the knife which amputates the morbid 
 limb. 
 
 Unused to let her s6lf-rcprbaches pass without improvement^ she 
 resolved, by vigoi'ous efforts, to become hergelf again. She even 
 called in the aid of a decent pride. " Shall I," she cried, ** who 
 have vowed to overcome the world — I who have called myself by 
 that glorious name, a Christian, sink from these honours into a love- 
 sick girl ? Shall all my happiness, all my duties, the comfort of 
 my father, the very means of his support, be sacrificed to selfish 
 passion ? Or is a iove, whose transcient duration has proved its Ue- 
 generate nature, of such value to me, that 1 must repay it with my 
 whole heart and soulf" 
 
 These reflections were not made at once, nor were they at once 
 effectual; but, when made, they were called in as oft as the image 
 of Hargrave intruded unbidden ; and constant and regiUar occupa- 
 tion was again employed to second their operation. The picture 
 wus again resorted to ; but, as it afforded rather an unsocial em- 
 ployment, and as Laura's company was more than ever necessary to 
 lici- fatlier, it proceeded but slowly. 
 
 De Courcy was now a daily visitor. Sometimes he brought 
 books, and would spend hours in reading aloud, an uccoroplishment 
 in which he excelled. Sometimes he would amuse the Captain and 
 his daughter by experiments in his favourite science. With a gen- 
 Met\C39 peculiar to hima-ir, he tried to prevent t^ie little annoyances 
 
85 
 
 to which h}'pochondriacs are subject. He invented a hundred little 
 indulgences for the invalid ; and no day passed, in which Montre- 
 ville was not indebted for some comfor' , or some amusement, to the 
 considerate kindness of De Courcy. At times lie would g«ntly ral- 
 ly the Captain on his imaginary ailments, and sometimes prevailed 
 on him to take the air in Mrs. De Courcj^s carriage : thought© such 
 a height had fancy worked upon him, that Montague found it im- 
 possible to persuade him that he was able to endure the fatigue of 
 walkingv 
 
 To Laura, De Courcy's behaviour, uniformly, respectful and at- 
 tentive, was sometimes even tender. But accustomed to see love 
 only in the impassioned iooics of Hargrare, to hear its acceuii. on- 
 ly in his words of fire, she did nocrecotgnize it in aQewfoi^m ; and 
 to consider De Courcy as a lover, never once entered her imagina- 
 tion. Captain Montreville was more clear sigliled ; and hence a- 
 rose much of tlie pleasure which he took in Do Courcy's visits. — 
 Not that he was more knowing in the mysteries of love than his 
 daughter; but he took it for granted, that no moital could with- 
 stand her attractions; and lie was pursuaded that ISaura would not 
 withhold her heart, where she so freelv expressed approbation. 
 This opmionwas a proof of the justice of the Captain's former con- 
 fession, " that women were creatures he did not undei"stand." 
 
 Laura had never praised Hargrave. She never shrunk f om De 
 Courcy's eye, — she never felt embarrassed by his presence, — she 
 treated him with the frankness of a sister ; and tliough she reser- 
 ved her commendations for his absence, she waited only for Uiat 
 to bestow them with all the warmth which his own merit and liis 
 attention to her father could demand. 
 
 Meanwhile the Captain did not, by a premature disclosure of his 
 hopes, endanger their completion ; and De Courcy continued un- 
 conciously to foster in his bosom, a passion that was destined to 
 -destroy his peace. 
 
 CHAPTER Xlir. 
 
 The picture at last was finished, and Laura hersclt, accompa- 
 nied it to the print-shop. Wilkins immediately delivemd to lier 
 the price, which, he said, had been for some time in his hands. It 
 now occurred to Laura to ask who had been the purchaser of her 
 work. ** Why Ma'am," said Wilkins, "the gentleman desired me 
 
 not to mention his name."' ** Indeed !'*said Laura, surprised. 
 
 '' These were his orders, Ma'am, but I shouldn't think tliere could 
 be any great harm in telling it just to you Ma'am." ♦< I ha-ve } (.■ 
 wish txyhear it," said Laura, with a look which compelled the coiifi 
 dent to*mwilling discretion ; and again thanking him for the tro-' 
 ble he had taken, she returned home. The ti'Uth was, t!)4it p - 
 
 Vol. I. H 
 
86 
 
 Coiircy had foreseen the probability of Laura's question ; xnd a- 
 verse io be known to her under a character that savoured of pat- 
 ronag-e and protection, had forbidden the shop-keeper to mention 
 who htid purchased the pictures. 
 
 Ag-uin did Laura, delighted, present te her father the produce of 
 i)er labours, her warm heart glowing' \vith the joys of usefulness. 
 i3ut not as formerly did he with pleasure receiive the gift. With 
 •he fretfulness of disease, he refused to share in her satisfaction. 
 Through the gloom of melancholy, every object appeared distorted; 
 and Captain Montreville saw in his daug-hver's well-earned trea- 
 sure only the wages of degrading toil. "It is hard, very hard," 
 said he with a deep sigh, " that you, my lovely child, the descen- 
 dant of such a family, should be dependent on your daily labour 
 for your support." " Oh call it not hard, my dear father," cried 
 Laura . '^ Thanks, a thousand thanks to your kind foresight, which. 
 In teaching me this blessed art, secured to me the only real mdc- 
 pcndence, by making me independent of allbutmy own exertions." 
 " Child,*' said Montreville, fretfully, "there is an entlxusiasm about 
 you that will draw you into ten tliousand errors — you are quite 
 mistaken in fancying yourself independent Youi* boasted art de- 
 pends upon the taste, the very caprice of the public for its reward; 
 and you, of course, upon the same caprice for your verj' existence." 
 " It is- true," answered Laura mildly, " that my success depends 
 vipon taste, and that the public taste is capricious; but some, I 
 should hope, would never be wanting, who could value and reward 
 ;he labours of industry— you observe," added she with a smile, 
 '« that I rest nothing^ upon genius." " Be that as it may,*' returned 
 Captain Montreville, with increasing- querulousness, ** I cannot en- 
 dure to see you degraded into an artist, and, therefore, I desire 
 there may be no more of this traffic." 
 
 This was the first time that Montreville had ever resorted to the 
 method well known and approved by those persons of both sexes, 
 who, being more accustomed to the exercise of authority than of 
 argument, choose to wield the weapon in the use of which prac- 
 tice has made them the most expert. Laura looked at him with 
 afTectionate concern—" Alas !" thought she, " if bodily disease is 
 pitiable, how far more deplorable are its ravages on the mind." — 
 But even if her father had been in perfect health, she would not 
 Iftive chosen the moment of irritation for reply. Deeply mortified 
 at this unexpected prohibition, she yet endeavoured to consider it 
 as only one of the transient caprices of illness, and to find pleasure 
 in the thought, that the hour was come, when De Courcy's daily 
 visit would restore her father to sdme degree of cheerfulness. 
 
 But De Courcy*s visit made no one cheerful. He was himself 
 melancholy and absent. He saidhe had only a few minutes to spare, 
 yet lingered above an hour; often rose to g^, yet ii*resolutely resu- 
 med his scat. At last, starting up, he said, ** the longer 1 remain 
 here, tue more vmwilling I am to g-o ; and yet I vyust go, without 
 even knowing when I may return.*' " Are you going to leave us ?** 
 sr^.id Montreville, in a tone of despondency, "then we shall be sol: 
 
87 
 
 tai7 indeed." « I fear," said Lauva, looking with kind solicitiu!'- 
 in De Courcy's face, " that somethinjj distressing calls you away." 
 *♦ Distressing indeed,'' said De Courcy. " My excellent old f rienc? 
 Mr. Wcntworth lias lost his only son, and I must bear the news to 
 the parents.'* " Is there no one but you to do this painful office i" 
 asked Montreville. •' None," answered De Courcy, " on whom i\ 
 coidd with such propriety fall. Wentworth was one of my earli- 
 est friends, he was my father's early friend. I owe him a thousand 
 obligations ; and 1 would fain, if it be possible, soften this heavy 
 blow. Besides," added he, endeavouinng to speak more cheerful- 
 ly " Ihave a selfish purpose to serve — ^I wantto seehowaChristiaji 
 bears misfoitune." " And can yon fix tio time for your retuni r" 
 asked the Captain, moumfull) . De Courcy sliook h>s head. « Voi- 
 will not return while your presence is necessary to Mr. Wcntworth," 
 said Laura, less anxious to regain De Courcy's society, than that he 
 should support the character of benevolence with wliich her ima- 
 gination liad justly vested him. Grieved by the prospect of losinp; 
 his companion, fretted by an indefinite idea that he v/as wrong hx 
 his ungracious rejection of his daughter's efibrts to serve him, a- 
 shamed of his distempered selfishness, yet unable to conquer it. 
 Captain Montreville naturally became more peevish ; for the con- 
 sciousness of having acted wrong, without the resolution to repair 
 the fault, is what no temper can stand. " Your charity is mighty 
 excursive Laura,'* said he. ** If Mr.De Courcy delays his return 
 long, I shall proiiably not live to profit by it.'* Laura, whose sweet- 
 netss no captious expressions could ruffle, would hr.ve spoken to 
 tijrn her father's view to brighter prospects ; but tiie rising sob 
 9.^ipl;ed her voice, and cur,tesying hastily to De Courcv, slie Icf : 
 t^9 5001^1. De Courcy now no longer found it diihcult to de- 
 pai:t. ij^ soon bade the Captain farewell, promising to renirn as 
 sx>6n as it was possible, though he had no great faith in Montre- 
 ville's dismal prediction, uttered in the true spirit of hypochon- 
 driasis, that he would come but to lay his head in the gprave. 
 ' As he was descending the stairs, Laura, who never iorgot in scI 
 {ish feeling to provide for the comfort of others, followed him, to 
 beg that when he had leisure, he would write to her father. Lau- 
 ra blushed and hesitated as she made tliis request, not because she 
 had in making it any selfish motive whatever, but purely because 
 she was unused to ask favours. Flattered by the request, bu- 
 much more by her confusion, the countenance of De Courcy glo<v- 
 ed with pleasure. '* Certainly I shall write,"' said he with grea- 
 animation, *« if you — I mean if Captain Montreville wish it.' These 
 words, and the tone iii which tliey were uttered, made Laura di- 
 rect a look of inquiry to the speaker's face, where his thoughts 
 were distinctly legible; and she no sooner read them than 
 stately and displeased, she drew back. " 1 believe it will give my 
 latlier pleasure to hear from you, sir," said she, and coldlv turned 
 away. «« Is tliere no man," thought she, " exempt from this des- 
 picable vanity — from the insignificant Warren to the respectabJo 
 uo Courcy T' Poor Montague would fain have besought her for 
 
88 
 
 v^ivoiess ibr bis presumption in supposing* it possible that: 
 could have any pleasure in hearing- of him ; but the look witbi'] 
 which she turned from him ; left him no courag-e to speak to her 
 again, and he mournfully pursued his way to Audley Street. 
 
 He was scarcely gone when Warren called, and Laura, very lit- 
 tle disposed for his company, took shelter in her own room. Her 
 father, however, suffered no inconvenience from being left alone to 
 ihe task. of entertaining his visitor, for Warren found means to 
 make the conversation sufficiently interesting. 
 
 He began by lamenting the Captain's long detention from his 
 borne, and condoled with him upon the effects which London air 
 had produced upon his health. 'He regretted that Mr. Williams's 
 Absence from town had retarded the final settlement of Montre- 
 viile's business ; informed him that Mr. Baynard's executors had 
 rt}>pomted an agent to inspect his papers ; and finally, surprised 
 lira by an unconditional offer to sign a new bond for the annuity. 
 rfc could not bear, he said, to think of the Captain's being detain- 
 r.d in London to the prejudice of his health, especially as it was 
 evident that?Jibs Montreville's suffered from the same cause. He 
 begged that a regidar bond might be drawn up, which he would 
 sign at a moment's notice, and which he would trust to the Cap- 
 tain's honour to destroy, if it sliould be found that the 1500/. men- 
 tioned as the price of the annuity, bad never been paid. 
 
 At this generous proposal, surprise and joy almost deprived 
 Montrevilleof the power of utterance ; gratefully clasping War- 
 ren's hand, " Oh, sir," he exclaimed, you have, I hope, secured an 
 independen.ce for my child. I thank you— with what fervour, you 
 can never know till you are yourself a father.'* Seemingly anxious 
 'o escape from his thanks, Warren again promised that he would 
 be refidy to sign the bond on the following day, or as soon as it \t-as 
 ready for signature. Captain Montreville again began to make ac- 
 knowledgments, but Warren, who appeared rather distressed than 
 gratifiedby them, took his leave, and left the Captain to the joyful 
 -ask of communicating the news to Laura. 
 
 She listened witlf grateful pleasure, " How much have I bet n 
 to blame," said she, " for allowing myself to believe that a little 
 vanity necessarily excluded every kmd and generous fueling r 
 What a pity it is that this man should condescend to such an effe- 
 minate attention to trifles ?" Lost to the expectation, almost to 
 ihe desire of seeing Hargrave, she had now n6 tie to London, but 
 one which was soon to be broken, for Mrs. and Miss De Courcy 
 .vere about to return to Norwood. With almost unmixed satis- 
 faction, therefore, she heard her father declare, that in less than a 
 week he should be on his way to Scotland. With pleasure she 
 looked forward to revisiting her dear Glenalbert, and anticipated 
 the eflects of its quiet shades and healthful air upon her father. — 
 Already she beheld her home, peaceful and inviting, as when, 
 from the hill that sheltered it, she last looked back upon its sira- 
 plig beauties. Slie heard the ripple of its waters ; she trod the 
 ^y(^^kno^vn path ; m.ct the kind fumiUar face, and libtcaed to the 
 
F^ 
 
 89 
 
 cordial welcome, with such joy as they feel who return from the' 
 land of strangers. 
 
 Nor was Montreville less pleased with tlie prospects of retur;; 
 ing- to his accustomed comforts and employments — of feeling him- 
 self once more among objects which he could call his own. His 
 own! There waSmagicintlie word, that transformed the cottage 
 at Glensflbert into a fairy palace — the garden and the farm into a 
 little \roi-ld. To leave London interfered indeed with his hopes ot 
 De Coui'cy as a lover for his daughter ; but he doubted not that the 
 impression was already made, and that Montague would follov,- 
 Laura to Scotland. 
 
 His mind suddenly relieved from anxiety, his spirits rose, all his 
 constitutional good nature returned, and he caressed his daughter 
 with a fondness that seemed intended to atone for the captious be- 
 haviour of the morning. At dinner he called for wine, a luxury, 
 in wMch he rarely indulged, drank to their safe arrival at Glenal- 
 bert, and obfiged Laura to pledge him to the health of Warren. 
 To witness her father's cheerfulness was a j)leasure which Laurri 
 had' of late tasted so sparingly, that it had the most exhilarating 
 effect upon her spirits ; and neither De Courcy nor Hai*gi*ave woukl 
 have been much gratified, could they have seen the gaiety with 
 Which she supported Uie absence of tlie one, and the neglect of 
 tfic'other. ' ' 
 
 She was beginning to enjoy one of those cheerful domestic 
 evenings which had always been her delight, when Miss Dawkins 
 came to propose that she should accompany her and her mother 
 oh k visit to Mrs. Jones. Laura would have excused herself, by 
 saj'injg, that she could not leave her father alone ; but the Captain 
 insi^d'upon her going, antl declared that he would himself be 
 tjf thfe-^arty. She had therefore no apology, and deprived of the 
 ainui^emeiit which she would have preferred, contentedly betook 
 herself to that which was within her reaih. She did not sit in si- 
 feiit contemplation of her bwn superiority, or of the vulgarity of 
 ller companions ;' nor did she introduce topics of conversatioit 
 talculated to illustrate either ; but having observed that even the 
 ttiost i^orknt have some subject on which they can talk with ease 
 knd pleasure, and 6ven be heard with advantage, she suffered 
 lothefs to lead the discourse, tightly conjecturing that they would 
 jgUide it to the dhannel which tiiey judged most favoiu-able to their 
 own powers. She was soon engaged with Mrs. Duwkins in a dis- 
 sertation on various branches of household economy, and to the 
 e».ei^al degi-adation of her charactet as a heroine, actually listened 
 with interest to the means of improving the cleanliness, beauty, 
 iind comfort of her dv, cllmg. 
 
 "\ Mrs. Jones wiis highly flattered hy the Captain's visit, and exer- 
 ted herself to entertain hini, her hiisband being inclined to tacitur- 
 nity by a reason which Bi hop Butler has pronounced to be a good 
 one Perceiving the t Montreville was an Enghshman, she conclud- 
 ed that nothing but dire necessity could have exiled him to Scotland. 
 She in^ivUred what town lie liye^ '^ ; and being answered th;4t his 
 ' ■ H 2 ■ -• ■ ^ 
 
^ • : ■■■■ -l/^^ 
 
 90 
 
 i'csidence was many miles distant from any to vvii, siie held up ne; 
 hands in pity and amazement. But when she heard tliat Montre- 
 villc had been obliged to learn the language of the Highlands, and that 
 it was Laura's vernacular tongue, she burst into an exclamation of 
 'Aouder. " Mercy upon me,'* cried she, " can you make that out- 
 l.md.sii spluttering so as them savages can know what you says ? — 
 Well, if I had been among them a thousand years, I should never 
 have made out a word of tlieir gibberish." 
 
 " The sound of it is very uncouth to a stranger," said Captain , 
 Montreville, " but now I have learnt to like it/' " And do them 
 their wild men make you wear them little red and green petd- I 
 coats ?'' asked Mrs Jones, in a tone of compassionate inquiry. — 
 *' Oh no," said Captain Montreville," " they never interfered with 
 my dress. But you seem quite acquainted with the Highlands. — 
 M:iy I ask if you have been there ?" Ay, that I have, to my sorrow," 
 said Mrs. Jones -, and forthwith proceeded to recount her adven- 
 tures, pretty nearly in the same terms as she had formei'ly done to 
 Laura. ** And what was the name of this unfortunate place ?" in- 
 quired the Captain, when, having narrated the deficiency of hot 
 rolls, Mrs. Jones made the pause in which her auditors were accus- 
 tomed to express their astonishment and horror. " That was what 
 1 asked the waiter often and often." replied she, ** but I never could 
 muke head or tail of what he said. Sometimes it sounded like A 
 rookery ; sometimes like one thing, sometimes like another. So I 
 takes the rood-book and looks it out, ad it looked something like 
 A rasher, only n ot right spelt So, thinks I, they'll call it J rasher, 
 because there is good bacon here ; and I asked the man if they 
 Acre famous for pigs ; and he said, no, they got all their pigs from 
 the manufactory in Glasgow, and that they weren't famous for any 
 thing but fresh herrings, as are catched in that black Loch-Lomond, 
 %vhere they wanted me to go." 
 
 *' Kate," said Mr. Jones, se ting down his tea-cup, and settling 
 bis hands upon his knees, ** you know I think you're wrong about 
 them herrings." " Mr. Jones," returned the lady, with a look that 
 shewed that the herrings had been the subject of former alterca- 
 tion, *' for certain the waiter tdid me that they came out of the loch, 
 and to what purpose should he tell lies about it ?'' *' I teHs you, 
 Kate, that herrings come out of the sea," said Mr.. Jones. " Well, 
 that loch is a great fresh water sea," said Mrs. Jones. " Out of 
 the salt sea," insisted Mr. Jones. " Ay," said Mrs Jones, " them 
 salt herrings as we gets here, but it stands to reason, Mr. Jones, 
 that the fresh herri gs should come out of fresh water.'' " I say, 
 cod is fresh, and does'n't it come but of the sea ? answer me that, 
 Mrs. Jones.'' " It is no wonder the cod is fr€sh," returned the la- 
 dy, " when the fishmongers keep fresh water running on it day and 
 night.'' " Kate, it's of no use argufying, I say herrings come out of 
 the sea. What say you. Sir ?" turning to Captain Montreville. — 
 The Captain softened his verdict in the gentleman's favour, by say- 
 ing, that Mrs. Jones was right in her account of the waiter s reportj 
 though the man in speaking of ** the loch," pieant not Loch-Lo- 
 
91 
 
 mond, but an arm of the sex " I know'd it," said Mr. Jones, Ui_ 
 umphantly, for havnt I read it in the newspaper as government oi- 
 fers a reward to any body that'll put most salt upon them bcotcli 
 herrings, and is n't that what makes the salt so dear ?" So having 
 settled this knotty point to his own satisfaction, Mr. Jones agam ap- 
 plied liimself to his tea, ^ , . ^ j ,« 
 
 « Did you return to Glasgow by the way of Loch-Lomond ? 
 inquired Captain MontreviUe. " Ay," cried Mrs Jones, " that 
 was what the people of the mn wanted us to do ; but then I looked 
 o»it, and seed a matter of forty of them there savages, witli me 
 little petticoats and red and white stockings, loitering and lolling 
 about the inn-door, doing nothing in the varsal world, except wait 
 till it was dark to rob and murder us all, bless us ! So, thinks I, 
 let me once get out from among you in a whole skin, and catch me 
 in the Highlands again : so as soon as the chaise could be got, we 
 Tust went the way we came." " Did you find good accommoda- 
 tion at Glasgow ?" said the Captain. " Yes," replied Mrs. Jones ; 
 «* but after ^, Captain, there's no country like our own ;— do you 
 know, 1 never got so much as buttered muffin all tlie while I was 
 in Scotland ?^ 
 
 The conversation was here interrupted by an exclamation from 
 Mrs. Dawkins, who knowing that she had nothing new to expect 
 'A^ her daughter's memoirs of her Scotish excursion, had continued 
 to talk with Laura apart. "Goodness me!'* she cried, "why 
 Kate, as sure as eggs, here's Miss never seed a play in all her life ?" 
 <' Never saw a play ! Never saw a play l" exclaimed the landlord 
 and landlady at once. *' Well, that's so odd ; but to be sure, poor 
 soul, how should she, among them there hills." " Suppose," said 
 Mrs. Jones, " we should make a party, and go to-night. We 
 shall be just in time." Laura was desirous to go : her father made 
 no objection ; and Mr. Jones, with that feeling of good-natured 
 self-complacency which most people have experienced, arising 
 fi-om the discovery that another is new to a pleasure with which 
 he himself is familiar, offered, as he expressed it, "to do the gen- 
 teel thing, and treat her himself." 
 
 The party was speedily arranged, and Laura soon found herself 
 seated in the pit of the theatre. The scene was quite new to her ; 
 for her ignorance of public places was even greater than her com- 
 panions had discovered it to be. She was dazzled with the glare of the 
 lights, and the brilliancy of the company, andconfused with the mur- 
 mur of innumerable voices ; but the curtain rose, and her atten- 
 tion was soon confined to the stage. The play was the Gamester, 
 the most domestic of our tragedies j and, in the inimitable repre- 
 sentation of Mrs. Beverly, Laura found an illusion strong enough 
 to absorb for the time every faculty of her soul. Of the actress 
 she thought not ; but she loved and pitied Mrs. Beverly with a fer- 
 vour that made her insensible to the amusement wliich she afford- 
 ed to her companions. Meanwhile her countenance, as beautiful, 
 almost as expressive, followed every change in that of Mrs. Sid- 
 dons. She**wept with her ; listenedj started, rejoiced with her j 
 
92 
 
 uid wben IVIi's. ^eyej^y repii)sed tUe viUain Stukely, l.aiira's ^ye? 
 00 $asiied with ** heaven Vown lightnings "' By tWt!me the re. 
 presentation was ended, she was so much exhausted'ty the strength 
 and rapidity of her emotions, that she was scarcely a^il^'to ans\\er 
 to the questions of '* How have you teen amused ?** and *' How 
 didyouhke it," with Which her companions all at once assailed 
 her. " Well," said Miss Julia, when they were arrived at hoiine, 
 " I think nothing is so delightful as a play. I should like to go 
 every night— shouldn't you ?'' «* No," answered Laura. *' Once or 
 twice in a year would be quite sufficient for me. It occupies my 
 thoughts too much for a mere amusement.'* 
 
 In the course of the two following days, Laura had sketched 
 more than twenty heads of Mrs. Siddons, besides completing the 
 preparations for her journey to Scotland. On the third, the Cap- 
 tain, who could now smile at his own imaginary debility, propos- 
 ed to carry the bond to receive Mr. Warren's signature. The 
 fourth was to be spent with Mrs. De Courcy ; and on the morning 
 of the ftftli, the travellers intended to depart. 
 
 On the appointed morning. Captain Montreville set out on an 
 early visit to Portland Street, gaily telling his daughter at partmg 
 tliat he would return in an hour or two, with her dowry in his pock- 
 et- \Vhen he knocked at Mr. Warren*s door, the servant inform- 
 fid him tha,t his master had gone out, but that expecting the Cap- 
 tain to call, lie had left a message to beg that Montreville would 
 wait till he returned, which would be very soon. 
 
 Ttie Captawi was then shown into a back parlour, where he en- 
 deavoured to amuse himself with some books that were scattered 
 round the room. They consisted of amatory poems and loose no- 
 vels, and one by one he threw them aside in disgust, lamendn'g that 
 one wh» was capable of a ki d and generous action should seek 
 pleasure in such debasing studies. The room was hung with prints 
 and pictures, but they partook of the same licentious character; and 
 Montreville shuddered, as the momentary thought darted acrosi 
 his mind, that it was atr^n^e that the charms of Laura had made ho 
 impression on one whose libertinism in regard to her sex was so ap- 
 parent. It was but momentary. " No !** thought he, " her purity 
 ^ould awe the most licentious ; and I am uncandld, ungrateful to 
 harbour even for a moment such ^h idea of the man who has acted 
 towards her and me with the most disinterestedness." 
 
 He waited long, but Warren did not appear ; and he began to 
 blame himself for having neglected to fix t'^e exact time of his visit. 
 To reime^y this ojnission, he wrang for writing materials, and tel- 
 ^ng the servant that be could stay no longer, left a note to inform^ 
 .Mr. W^rrren that he would wait upon him at twelve o'clock next 
 day. The servant, who was Mr "Wan-en's own valet, seemed un- 
 willing to allow the Captain to depart, and asstired him that he ex- 
 pected Ills master every minute ; but Montreyille, who knew that 
 (there was no depending upon the motions of a mere man of plea- 
 sure, would be detained no longer. 
 
 He ygtvmcd home, andlaj^ipjg.the parlour ej^p^y* ^^^ leaving it 
 
93 
 
 to seek Laura Ini her painting-room, when he observed a letter ly* 
 ing on the table addressed to himself. The hand-uTiting" was knew 
 to him. He opened it— the signature was equally so. The contents 
 were as follows ; — 
 
 " Sir, 
 " The writer of this letter is even by name a stranger to you. 
 If this circumstance should induce you to discredit my information, 
 I offer no proof of my veracity but this simple one, that obviously 
 no selfish end can be served by my present interference. Of the 
 force of my motive you cannot judge, unless you have yourself lured 
 to destruction tlie heart that trusted you, — seen it refuse all comfort, 
 —reject all reparation. — and sink at l?st in untimely decay. From 
 afiite like tliis, though not sof'ened like this by anxious tenderness, 
 nor mourned like this by remorseless pity, but aggravated by being 
 endured for one incapable of any tender or generous feeling, it is 
 my purpose. Sir, to save your daughter. I was last night one of a 
 party where her name was mentioned ; — where she was described as 
 lovely, innocent, and respectable ; yet the person who so described 
 her, scrupled not to boast of a plan for her destruction. In the hope 
 (why should I pretend a better motive) of softening the pangs of 
 late but bitter self-reproach, by sav ng one fellow-creature from per- 
 haps reluctant ruin, one family from domestic shame, I drew from 
 him your address, and learnt that to ingratiate himself with you, 
 and with his intended victim, he has pretended to offer as a gift, 
 what he knew that he could not long withhold. He means to take 
 the earliest opportunity of inveigling her from your care, secure, 
 as he boasts, of her pardon in her attachment. Ill, indeed, does 
 her character, even as described by him, accord with such a boast ; 
 yet even indifference might prove no guard against fraud, which, 
 thus warned, you may defy A fear that my intention should be 
 frustrated by the merited contempt attached to annonymous informa- 
 tion, inclines me to add my name, though aware that it can claim no 
 authority v/ith a stranger. 
 
 I am, Sir, 
 
 Your obedient Servant, 
 
 " Philip Wilmot." 
 
 Captain Montreville read this letter more than once. It bore 
 mar s of such sincerity that he knew not how to doubt of tlie intel- 
 ligence it gave; and he perceived with dismay, that the business 
 which he had considered as closed, was as far a ever from a con- 
 clusion; for how could he accept a favour which he had been warned 
 to consider as the wages of dishonour? For Laura he had indeed 
 no fear. She was no less safe in her own virtue and discretion, than 
 in the contemptuous pity with which she regarded Warren. This 
 letter would put her upon her guard against leaving the house with 
 him, which Captain Montreville now recollected that he had often 
 solicited her to do, upon pretence of taking the air in his cun-icle. 
 
 But must he Still linger in London; stijl be cheated witli vain 
 
94 
 
 hopes ; stillfear. for the futwe subsistence of his cluld ; still ap- 
 proach tlie very verge of poverty ; perhaps be obliged tp defepd his 
 rights by a tedious law-suit ? Bis heart sunk at tlie prospect, and 
 he tlirew himself on a seat, disconsolate and cheerless. 
 
 He had been long in the habit of seeking relief from every pain- 
 ful feeling in the tenderness of Laura,— of finding in her enduring 
 spirit a support to the weakness of his own ; and he now sought her 
 in the conviction that she would either discover some advantage to 
 be drawn from this disappointment, or hghten it to him by her af- 
 fectionate sympathy. He knocked at the door- She did not ans- 
 wer. He called her. — All was silent. He rang the hell, and in- 
 quired whether she was below, and was answered that she had gone 
 put with Mr. Warren in his curricle two hours before. The unfor- 
 tunate father heard no morp. Wildly striking his hand upon his 
 breast, "She is lost!" he cried, and sunk to the ground. The 
 blood burst violently from his mouth and nostrils, and he became in- 
 sensible. 
 
 The family vfcrc soon assembled round him ; and a surgeon be- 
 ing procured, he declared that lyipntreyille had burst a blood vessel^ 
 and that nothing but the utmost care and quiet could save his hfe. 
 3(f rs. Dawkins with grea,t humanity, attended him herself, venting 
 in wliispers to the surgepn her compassion, fbr Montreville, and her 
 indignation gainst thp unnatural desertion of Laura, whom she 
 abus d as a metho 'istocal hypocrite, against whom her wrath was 
 the stronger because she could n^v.er ha,ve suspected her. 
 
 Montreville no sooner returned to recollection, than he declared 
 liis resolution instantly to set oir in search:^ lys child In vain did 
 the surgeon ex,ppstulate, and assure him Xl^aX lus life \yould be the 
 forfeit : his only answer was, " Why should I live ? She is lost.'* 
 I,n pursuance of his design, he tried to rise from the bed on which 
 he had been laid ; but exliausted nature refused to second him, and 
 again he sunk back insensible- 
 
 \Yhen :^J[ontreville called in Portland Street, the s^ryaiiithad de- 
 ceived h;in in saying that Warren was not at home. He was not 
 only in the house, but expecting the Captain's visit, and prepared 
 to take advantage of it, for the accomphshment of tlie honourable 
 scheme of which he had boasted to his associates. As soon, there- 
 fore, as the servant had disposed of ^Montreville, Warren mounted 
 his curricle, which v/as in waiting at a li'.tle distance, and driving 
 to Ml s. Dawkins's, informed Laura that he had been sent to h^ 
 by her father, who proposed carrying her to see the British Muse- 
 um, and for that purpose was waiting her arrival in Portland Street. 
 Entirely unsuspicious of any design, Laura accompanied him with- 
 out hesitation ; and though Portland Street appeared to her great- 
 ly more distant than she had imagined it, it was not till havmg ta- 
 ken innumerable turns, she found herself in an open road, that she 
 began to suspect her conductor of having deceived her. 
 
 " Whither have you taken me, Mr. Warren !" she inquired : — 
 ** This road does not lead to Portland Street." " Oli yes, it does," 
 answered Warren, " only the tAftcl is a Uttl^ circuitous.'* " Let us 
 
m. 
 
 95 
 
 immediately return to Hjp^traight one then,*' said Lanra. " My 
 father will be alarmed, and conclude that some accident has hap- 
 pened to us." " Surely, my charming- Miss Montreville," said 
 Warren, still continuing- to drive on, " you do not fear to trust 
 yourself with me." "J?ear^'o«/" repeated Laura, with involunta- 
 ry disdain. " No, but I am at a loss to guess what has incourag- 
 ed you to make me the companion of so silly a frolic, 1 suppose 
 you Inean this for an ingenious joke \ipon my father." " No, 'pon 
 ray soul," said the beau, a little alarmed by the sternness of her 
 'manner. " I meant nothing but to have an opportunity of telling 
 you that I am quite in love with you, — dying for you,— faith 1 am," 
 *' You should first have ascertained," answered Laura, with ineffia- 
 ble scorn, ** whether 1 was likely to think the secret worth a hear- 
 ing. I desire you wUl instantly return." 
 
 The perfect composure of Laura's look and manner (for feelmg 
 no alarm she shewed none) made Warren conclude that she was 
 not averse to being detained; and he thought it only necessary 
 that he should continue to moke love, to induce her quietly to sub- 
 mit to go on for another half mile, which would bring them to a 
 •place where he thought she would be secure. He began, there- 
 fore, to act the lover with all tlie energy he could muster ; but 
 'taura interrupted him. " It is a pity," said she, with a smile of 
 calm contempt, " to put a stop to such well-timed gallantry, which 
 is indeed just such as I should have expected from Mr. Warren's 
 sense and delicacy. But I would not for the sake of Mr. Warren's 
 ' raptures, nor all else that he has to offer, give my father the most 
 ittomentary pain, and therefore if you do not suffer me to aHght 
 this instant, I shall be obliged to claim the assistance of passengers 
 on an occasion very little worthy of their notice." Her contume- 
 li<»us mahner entirely undeceived her companion in regard to her 
 sentiments ; but it had no other effect upon him, except that of 
 adding revenge to the number of his incitements ; and perceiving 
 that they were now at a short distance from the house whither he 
 intended to convey her, he continued to pursue his way. 
 
 Laura now rose from her seat, and seizing the reins with a force 
 that made the horses rear, she coolly chose that moment to spring 
 from the curricle ; and walked back towards the town, leaving hc-r 
 inamorato in the utmost astonishment at her self-possession, as well 
 as rtige at her disdainful treatment. 
 
 She proceeded till she came to a decent-looking shop, where she 
 entered ; and, begging permission to sit down, dispatched one of 
 the shop-bo} s in search of a hackney-coach. A carriage was soon 
 procured, and Lu.ira, concluding that her father, tired of waiting 
 for her, must have left Portland Street, desired to be driven direct- 
 ly home. 
 
 As she entered the house, she was met by Mrs. Dawkins. " So 
 M-ss," cried she, " you have made a fine spot of work on't. You 
 h:ivc murdered your father " " Good heavens 1" cried Laura, tur- 
 ning as pale as deatli, " -vhat is it you mean ? where is my father ?'* 
 '* Yoi:r fatlier is on his death-bed Miss, and you may thank your 
 
96 
 
 .- _ 
 
 morning ride for it. Thinking you wes^^^rfl^ lie burst a blood-ves- 
 sel in the fright, and the doctor says, tlpe'Teast stir in the world will 
 finish him.'* 
 
 Laura turned sick to death. Cold drops stood upon her fore- 
 head ; and she shook in every limb. She ihade an instinctive at- 
 tempt to ascend the stair ; but her strength failed hea-, and 
 she sunk upon the steps. The sight of her agony changed 
 in a moment Mrs. Dawkins' indignation into pity. "Don't 
 take on so. Miss," said she, " to be sure you did'ntmeanit. If he 
 is kept quiet, he may mend still, and now that you're come back 
 too. By the bye, I may as well run up and tell him." " Oh stop !'* 
 cried Laura, reviving al once in the sudden dread that such incau- 
 tious news would desti'oy her father, '* Stay," said she, pressing 
 with one hand her bursting forehead, while with the other she de- 
 tained Mrs. Dawkins. " Let me think, that we may Tiot agitate 
 him. Ch no ! I cannot ttiink ;" and leaning her head on Mrs. 
 Dawkins' shoulder, she burst into an agony of tears. 
 
 These salutary tears restored her recollection, and she inquired 
 whether the surgeon, of whom Mrs. Dawkins had spoken, was 
 still in the house. Being answered, that he was in Montreville's a- 
 partment she sent to beg that he would speak with her. He carae, 
 and she entreated him to infoi*m her father, with the caution which 
 his situation required, that she was returned and safe. She follow- 
 ed him to the door of Montreville's apartment, and stood listening 
 in trembling expectation to every thing thai stirred within. At 
 
 last she received the wished-for summons. She entered ; she 
 
 sprang towards the bed. " My child !" cried Montreville, and he 
 clasped her to his bosom, and sobbed aloud. , When he was able 
 to speak, *' Oh Laura," said he, *' tell me again that you are safe, 
 and say by what miracle, by what unheard-of mercy, you have es- 
 caped." " Compose yourself, my dearest father, for Heaven's sake," 
 cried Laura. " 1 am indeed safe, and never have been in danger. 
 When Wari'en found that 1 refused to join in his frolic, he did not 
 attempt to prevent me from returning home."' She then briefly re- 
 lated the affair as it had appeared to her, suppressing Warren's 
 rhapsodies, from the fear of irritating her father ; and he, percei- 
 ving that she considered the whole as a frolic, frivolous in its inten- 
 tion, though dreadful in its effects, suffered her to remain in that 
 persuasion. She passed the night by his bed-side, devoting every 
 moment of Ms disturbed repose to fervent prayers for his reccv 
 rv. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 From feverish and inten-upted sleep, Montreville awoke unre- 
 freshed ; ai.d the surgeon, when he repeated his visit, again alarm- 
 ed Laura witii representations of her father's danger, andassuran- 
 
J^ 
 
 97 
 
 cea that nothing but the most vigilant attention to his qukt could 
 presefve his life. The anguisli with which I^aura listened lo thi^i 
 sentence she suppressed, lest it sljould injure her father. She ne- 
 ver approached him but to bring comfort ; she spoke to him cheer- 
 fully, while the tearsforccd themselves to her eyes ; and smiled 
 *ipon him while her heart was breaking-. She felt what he must 
 suffer, should the thought occur to him that he was about to leave 
 h^r to the world, unfriended and alone ; and she never mentioned 
 his illness to him unless with the voice of hope. But of the dan- 
 ger which she strove to disguise, Montreville was fully sensible ; 
 and though he forebore to shock her by avowing it explicitly, he 
 could not, like her, suppress his fehrs. He would sometimes fer- 
 vently wish that he could see his child safe intlie protection of Mrs. 
 Douglas ; and sometimes, when Laura was bcndmg over him in 
 the tendcrest sympathy, he woidd clasp her neck, and cry, with an 
 agony that shook his whole frame, "What — Oh what will become 
 of thee !" 
 
 He seemed anxious to know how long Mrs. Dc Couvcy was to 
 remain u\ town, and inquired eveiy hour whether Montague was 
 not returned. Full well did Laura guess the mournful me;ining- 1^' 
 these questions. Full well did they remind her, that wlien the Dc 
 ('ourcy family left London, she v.'ith her dying father would amidii': 
 this populous wilderness be alone. She anticipated the last scene 
 of this sad tragedy ; when, amidst busy thousands, a senseless 
 corpse would be her sole companion. She looked forward to its 
 close, when even this sad society v. ould be witlidrawn. Human 
 fortitude could not support the prospect; and she would rush from 
 her father's presence, to give vent to agonies of son-ow. 
 
 But the piety of Laura could half-invest misfonunc with thf 
 cliaracter of blessing; as the mists that rise to darken the cvcrning- 
 Sim are themselves tinged v/ith his glory. She called to mijul the 
 gracious assurance wliich marks the afflicted Avho .suffer not hv 
 their own guilt or folly as the favoured of Heaven ; and tlie more 
 her earthly connexions seemed dissolving, the more did sivc strive 
 to acquaint herself with Him, from v.hose care no accident can ••c 
 ver. To this care she fervently committed her f..ther ; pru-, Ir.-- 
 that no selfish indulgence of b,cr grief might embUter his dtp:irt';irc' ; 
 and resolving by her fortitude to convince hiui that she was afile »'; 
 struggle with the storm from wiiich he was tio longer to slieltcr 
 her. 
 
 The day succeeding that on which :MontrevUle was taken ill had 
 been «et apart for a farewell visit to Mrs.De Courcy; and Laura's 
 note of mournful apology, was answered by u kind visit ironi Har- 
 riet. Unconscious of the chief cause of her father's impatience 
 for Montague's return, Laura wishing to be the hearer of inifU;. 
 gcnce which she knew would clieer him, inquired airxicusly wlicw 
 M'ss De Courcy expected her brother. 15ut De Covircy's motions 
 depended upon tiie spirits of his venerable friend, and Harriet 
 knew not when he might be able to leave Mr. Wentworth. It was 
 even uncertain whether for th« present he wouhiTelWTi to town £*- 
 
 vb-f-. <. I 
 
1^ 
 
 » 
 
 .•ul, a;, in auotlier week Mrs. De Courcy meant to set out for Nor- 
 wood. Laura softened this unpleasing news to her fiather; she 
 lid not niimc the particular time of Mrs. De Courcy's departure, 
 and. she suffered him still confidently to expect the " return of hig 
 lavourite. 
 
 Tlic next day biouglit a letter from De Courcy himself, full of 
 affectionate solicitude for the Captain's health and spirits ; but evi- 
 dently written in ignorance of the fatal change that had takenplace 
 since Iiis departure. Li this letter the name of Laura was not 
 jpentioned, not even in a common compliment, and Montreville re- 
 marked to her this omission. «* He has forg-ottcn it," answered 
 
 Laura, — " his warm heart is full of his fi-iend's distress and yours, 
 and has not room for mere ceremony." "I hope," said Montre- 
 ville, emphatically, " that is not the reason." " AVhat is then the 
 reason?" inquired Laura; but Montreville did not speak, and she 
 'Jioug'ht no more of De Courcy's little omission. 
 
 Her father, indeed, for the present, occupied almost all her 
 earthly thoug'hts, and. even her prayers rose more frequently for 
 him than for herself. Except during- the visits of the surgeon, she 
 was JNIontrcville's sole attendant ; and, regardless of fatigue, she 
 passed, every night by his bed-side, every day in ministering to his 
 c«mfort. It^ worn out with watcliing, she dropt asleep, she started 
 again at his slightest motion, and obstinately refused to seek .'n her 
 own chamber a less interrupted repose. " No," thoug'ht she, " let 
 my strength serve me while 1 have duties to perform, while yet my 
 fatlier Uves to need my eflbrts ; then may I be peraiitted to smk to 
 early rest, and the weary lalBourer, yet while it is but morning, be 
 culled to receive his hire." 
 
 The desertion of Hargravc, whom she had loved with all the ar- 
 loui- of a warm heart and a fervid ims gination, the death of her 
 iather so fast approaching, her separation from every living being 
 with whom she could claim friendship or kindred, seemed signals 
 for her to withdi-aw her affections from a world where she would 
 soon have nothing left to love or to cherish. " And be it so," thought 
 she, — "let me no longer grovel here m search of objects which 
 .<.-ai'th has not to offer — objects fitted for unbotmded and unchange- 
 able regard. Nor let me peevishly reject what this world really 
 has to give, the opportunity to prepare fora better. This it bestows 
 even on me ; and a few childish baubles arc all else tluit it reserves 
 for those who worship it with all their soul, and strength and 
 mind." ' 
 
 No mortal ean exist without forming some wish or hope. Laura 
 hoped that she sliould live while she could be uscfid to l.er father ; 
 and .she 'oishtd that she might not survive him. One only other 
 wish she had, and that was ibr De Courcy's return; for Montre- 
 ville, whose spirits more than shaved his bodily larguor, now sel- 
 dom »poke, but to express his longing for the presence of his fa- 
 vourite. Laura continued to cheer him with a hoi)e which she 
 herself no longer felt ; for now three days only remained ere Mrs , 
 Dc Courcy was to quit. London, The departure of ihcir friende 
 
ILl-^ IfCcw^u )^mic 
 
 iv 
 
 Laura resolved to conceal from her fatlier, that, beiie\ in^ them w 
 be near, he might feel hiraselfthclcssforloni ; and thi?i she thought 
 mig-ht be pi-acticablt, as he had never since his illness expres:;- 
 ed any wish to qQit his bed, or to see Miss De Courcy when she 
 came. 
 
 In Montrerillc*s darkened apartment, v.itho at occupation but in 
 her cares for liim, almost v.ithont rest, had Laura pa.ssed a week, 
 when she was one morning sunimQne<llVom her mclancholychargr, 
 o attend a visitor. She entered tlic parlour. "Mr. De Cou3cy :" 
 
 to exclaimed, springing* joyfully to meet him, "thank Heaven 
 you are come !'* But not with eq'.ial Vv-armth did De Courcy ac- 
 ipost her. Tiie repulsive look she had given him at palling v.:-.3 
 still fresh in his recollection ; and, with a respectful distant bow, 
 he expressed his sorrow for Captain Montreville's illness. " OU 
 lie is ill, indeed!'* said I, lura ; tJie faint hectic of pleasure fading- 
 
 uldenly from her cheek. " Earnestly has he longed for yourrc- 
 
 un ; and we beared," said she, Vvith a violent eiibrt suppressing 
 
 '-r tears, "we feared that you might not have come till — till all 
 :as over." "Surely Miss lilontrcville," said De Courcy, cxtreme- 
 J3' shocked, "surely you are causelessly alarmed." •* Oh no," cried 
 Laura, " he cannot live !'* and no longer able to contain her emo- 
 tion, she burst into a passion of teai's. Forced entirely from his 
 guard by her grief, Montague threw himself on tlie scat by her. 
 " Dearest of human beings," he exclaimed, " Oh that I could 
 shield thee f-om every sorrow 1" But absorbed in her distress ^ 
 Laura heeded him not ; and tho next moment, sensible of his im 
 .prudence, he started from her side, and reU-eated. to a distant par: 
 of the room. 
 
 As soon as slie Vv'as again able to command herself, fshe wcn^ U; 
 inform her father of De Courcy's arrival. Though told with Uiw 
 gentlest caution, Montreville iiearu the news with er.irc me c:no- 
 lion. He grasped Laura's hand ; and, witli tears ofjoy Htre:nr>lng 
 down his pale cheeks, s.aid, — '' Heaven be praised ! I shall not, 
 leave thee quite desolate." Laura herself felt less desolate; and 
 she rejoiced even for herself,- wlic!i she once more saw De Cour- 
 cy seated beside her father. 
 
 It was only the morning before, that a letter from Harriet had 
 informed her brother of Montreville's illi^.ess and cf liaura's dis- 
 tress. To hear of that distress, and to remain at a distance vatj 
 impossible ; and Montague had left Mr. Wentwor? h's within the hour. 
 He had travelled all night; and, without v.tcu seeing his mothci- 
 and sister, had come directly to Captain "vloi.treville'b lodginV- 
 He was shocked at the death-l'ikc looks of Montreville, and still 
 more so at those of Laura. Her eyes were sunk, her lips coloiu'- 
 less, and her whole appearance indicated that she was worn ou' 
 witli fatigue and v, retchedness. Yet De Courcy felt, that never iu 
 the bloom of health and beauty, had she been so dear to him, and 
 scarcely could he forbear from addressing her in the accents and 
 r.oninn-:inn -.nd of love Montreville wishir.g to speak v/ith hln» 
 
100 
 
 ^Ii:.uo, b<rg-gt^<i oi" Laura to leave him for a whiie to De Courcy^s 
 •arc, and endeavour to take some rest. She objected that Mon- 
 :i^ac had himseif need of rest, having travelled all night ; but av hen 
 lc assured her, that even if she drove hiin av/ay he would not at- 
 \:.n-;jit to Sleep, she consented to retire, and seek the repose of 
 rliich she was so much in v.ant. 
 
 When they v/cre alojie, Montrcville shewed Dc Coupcy tlic 
 '.irnin (J letter ; and related to him the baseness of Warreii, and 
 
 .:iuva's escape. Montag-ue lir.tened to him with intense interest. 
 Ic often changed colour, and his lips quivered with emotion ; and, 
 
 hen her fatlier described the manner in v;hich slie had accom-' 
 ,)lished hcv csc?.pe, he exclaimed w-th enthusiasm, "Yes, she is 
 -tpcrior to every weakness, a^s she is alive to every gentle feeling." 
 JMonti'cvillc ilicu dwelt upon her unremitting care of him— on the 
 ortitadc with wliich she suppressed her sorrow, even while its vi- 
 'ilci-ce was perceptibly injurivig her health. '*And is it to be won- 
 •rred at," K*id he, " that 1 look forv»ard witli horror to leaving 
 ills lovely excellent creature in such a world, alone and friend- 
 "ss V* " ^lie shall TiCvcr be friendless," cried De Courcy. — 
 
 My mother, my sister, shall be her friends, and I will" ^Hc 
 
 •■.opped abruptly, and a heavy righ burst from hym. 
 
 il: covering himself, he resumed, " You must not talk so des- 
 Jttndingly. You v/iil long live, 1 trust, to enjoy tlie blcsshig of 
 >7uch a thlld." Montreville shock his head, and remained silent. 
 ile was persuaded that De Courcy loved his daughter, and would 
 
 •Jn Iiave heard an explicit avowal that he did so. To hare secur- 
 
 d to her the protection of Montag-ue would have destroyed the 
 ;utternc.ss of death. Had Lu.ura been the heiress of millions, he 
 .ouldhave rejoiced to bestow her and them upon De Courcy. — 
 »{ut ho licorned to force him to a declaration, and respected her 
 '30 l^uch to make nil ai'JJiuaeii luwatus oifering liCr to an}' man*s 
 acceptance. 
 
 He was at a loss to imagine v»hat reason withheld De Com-cy 
 ;om avoAving an attachment v/liich he was convinced that he felt. 
 When he considered his fivourlte's grave reflecting character, he 
 :> as rnthcr inclined to believe that he was cautiously ascertaining 
 
 •'ic temper and habits of tlic woman v.ith whom he meant to .spend 
 its lite. B ut the warmth of approbation with which he mentioned 
 f.s-.va, seemed to indicate that his opinion of her was already fix- 
 ed.* it waa possible, too, that De Courcy v.ished to secure an in- 
 toiTSbt in her regard before he ventured formally to petition for it. 
 Whatever was the cause of Montague's silence, the C^iptain anli- 
 intxited tlte liapplcst consequences from liis renewed intercourse 
 w ith Laura ; and he resolved that he wohUI not, by any indelicate 
 'iiterffrence, compel him to precipitate his declaration. He there- 
 fore ch:uige(l thTi conversation, by inquiring when Mrs. De Cour- 
 „y was to leavo town. Mont.ague ansv.crcd, that as he had not 
 
 >een his mother since his return, he did not e::actly linow what 
 f-.mc was ftxed for her departure : "but," said he, *' whenever 
 ^h • ffo's, I 'i'j.'iU oid\- a'.ler\'l licr to Norwood, and return on the 
 
101 
 
 instant ; nor v ill I quit you again, till yon arc much, much better, 
 
 or till you will no longer suffer me to stay." Montreviile received 
 
 this promise with gratitude and joy ; and Dc Courcy persuaded 
 himself, that in making it, he was actu::ted chiefly by motives oi" 
 friendship an4 humanity. He remained with Montreviile till the 
 
 day was far advanced, and then w^ent to take a late dinner in Aud 
 
 ley Street. 
 
 Next morning, and for several succeeding days, he retumcdj 
 
 .md spent the greatest part of his time in attending, comfortnjg, 
 and amusing the invalid. He prevailed on his mother to delay her 
 departure, that he might not be obliged immediately to leave hi^. 
 charge. He soothed the little impatience of disease ; coutrived 
 means to mitigate the oppressiveness 'of debility ; knew how to - 
 exhilarate the hour of ease ; and watched the moment, v.ell known 
 to the sickly, when amusement becomes fatigue. 
 
 Laura repaid these attentions to her tather with gratitude unut- 
 
 crable. Often did she wish to thank De Courcy as lie tlcser\-cd ; 
 
 )Ut she felt that her acknowledgments must fall far short of he; 
 lUelings and of his deserts, if they were not nicide with a wanntl). 
 which to a man, and to a young man, she revolted from express- 
 ing. She imagined, too, that to one who soup-ht for fricndsliip, 
 mere gratitude might be mortifying; and that il might wound tl:f 
 generous nature of Montague to be thanked as a benefactor, where 
 lie wished to be loved as an equal. She therefore did not cpeak 
 of, or but sUghtly mentioned, her own and her f«*ther's obligation.*-: 
 to him ; but she strove to repay them in the way that ^vould have 
 been most acceptable to herself, by every mark of confidence and 
 goodwill. Here no timidity restrained her ; for no feeling that 
 could excite timidity at all mingled with her regard for De Cour- 
 cy. But, confined to her own breast, her gratitude became tlic 
 stronger ; and if s^p had now had a heart- to give, to Montague it 
 would have been fi'eely given. 
 
 Meanwhile the spirits of Montreviile lightened of a heavy load, 
 by the assurance that, even in case of his death, Jiis daughter would 
 have a friend to comfort and protect her, his health began to im- 
 prove. He was able to rise ; and one day, with the assistance of 
 Montague's arm, surprised Laura with a visit in the parlour. Th<-; 
 heart of Laura swelled witli transport when she saw him oncfi 
 more occupy his accustomed seat in the family-room, and received 
 him as one returned from the grave. She sat by liim, holding his 
 hand between her own, but did not try to speak. " If it would no?: 
 make you jealous, Laura,'* said Montreviile, " I slwuld tell you 
 that Mr. De Courcy is a better nurse than you are. I have recrui- 
 ted wonderfully since he undertook the care of me. More indeed 
 Uian 1 thought I should ever have done." Laura answered only b\- 
 glancing upon De Courcy a look of heartfelt benevolence ami 
 pleasure. " And yet," said Montague, " it is alleged, that no at- 
 tentions from our own sex are sa effectual as those wi)ich we re- 
 ceive from the other. How cheaply would bodily suffering pur 
 ehase ths sympathy, the endearments of'*--— the name of Lau»ft 
 
 21 
 
102 
 
 iDse to his Hp5, bvit he. suppressed it, and changed the expression 
 to *• an amiable woman.*' *'ls it indeed so r" cried Laura, raising- 
 her eyes full of grateful tears to his face. " Oh then, if sickness 
 or sorrow must be your portion, may your kindness liere be repaid 
 by some spirit of peace in woman's form — some gentleness yet 
 more feminine than De Gourc^'s !'* 
 
 The enlliusiasm of gratitude had hurried Laura into a warmtli 
 which the next moment covered her with confusion ; and she with- 
 drew her eyes from De Courcy's face before she had time to re- 
 iiiark the effect of these, the first words of emotion that ever she 
 ?iad addressed to him. The transport excited by the ardour of 
 her expressions, and the cordial approbation which they implied, 
 iListantly gave Vvay to extreme mortification. " She wishes,^ 
 thought he, " that some 'v^^cman may repay me. She would then» 
 lot only v.ith indifference, but with pleasure, see me imited to 
 unotlier ; resign me vv'ithout a pang to some mere common-place 
 iniiipkl piece of sweetness; and give her noble self to one wh« 
 CDUJd better feel her value." 
 
 De Courcy had never declared his preference for Laura ; he was 
 ■ovei'. determined not to declare it. Yet to find that she had not evei> 
 a wish to secure it fbr herself, gave him such acute vexation, tkat 
 he was unable to remain in her presence. He abruptly rose and 
 Sook his leave. He soon however reproached himself with the un- 
 .yeaaonableness of his feelings ; and returned to his oft repeated re- 
 ii^solution to cultivate the friendship without aspiring to the love of 
 J:.aura. He even persuaded himself that he rejoiced in ber freedom 
 iVom a passion which coidd not be gratified without a sacrifice of 
 <he most important duties. He had a sister for whotn no provision 
 had been made ; a mcrther, worthy of his warmest affection, whose 
 increasing infirmities required increased indulgence. Mrs. De 
 Oourcy's jointure was a very small one ; andfthough she consented 
 ibr the present to share the comforts of his establishment, Mon- 
 tague knew her too w- ell to imagine, that she would accept of any 
 addition to hev income deducted from the necessary expences of 
 ■'lis wife and family. His generous nature revolted from suflFering 
 ■ his sister to feel herself a mere pensioner on his bounty, or to see&K. 
 iear-bought independence in a marriage of convenience, a sort of 
 hargain upon which he looked with donble aversion since h© had 
 iumself felt the power of an exclusive attachment. 
 
 Here even Jus sense of justice was concerned ; for he knew that, 
 if his father had lived, it v/as his intention to have saved from his 
 .income a provision for Harriet From the time that the estate de- 
 volved to Montague, he had begun to execute his father's intenticm ; 
 and he had resolved, thai no selfish purpose should interfere with 
 its fulfilment. The destined sum, however ; WiS as yet httle more 
 than half collected, and it was now likely to accumulate still more 
 slowly ; for, as Mrs. De Courcy had almost entirely lost the use cHT 
 ber limbs, a carriage was to her an absolute necessary of hfe. 
 
 Most joy fully would Montague have sacrificed every luxury, un- 
 dergone livqpty privjk^i, to «oure the po9scs}»ion of Livira: butt<? 
 
103 
 
 would not sacvifice his mothers healUi nor his sister's independence 
 to any selfish gratification; nw would Jie subject the woman of his 
 choice to the endless embarrassments of a revenue too small for 
 its purposes. 
 
 These reasons had determined him against addressing Laura. — 
 At their first interview he had been struck with her as the most 
 lovely woman he had ever beheld : but he was in no fear that his 
 affections should be entangled. They had escaped from a hundred 
 lovely women, who had done their utmost to ensnare them, while 
 she was evidently void of any such design. Besides, Montreville 
 was his old friend, and it was quite necessary that he should visit 
 him. Laura*8 manners had charmed De Courcy as rnuch as her 
 person. Still might not a man be pleased and entertained, without 
 being in love ? Further acquaintance gradually laid open to him 
 the gi'eat and amiable qualities of her mind; and was it not natu^, 
 lal and proper to love virtue ? But this was not being in love. 
 
 Symptoms at last grew so strong upon poor De Courcy, that he 
 could no longer disguise them frora himself; but it was pleasing 
 to love excellence. He would never reveal his passion. It should, 
 be the secret joy of his heart; and why cast away a treasure which 
 he might enjoy without injury to any? Laura*s love indeed he 
 could not seek ; but her frien^ijhip he might cherish ; and who 
 would exchange the friendship of such a woman for the silly fond- 
 ness of a thousand vulgar minds ? 
 
 In this pursuit he had all the success that he could desire ; for 
 Laura treated him with undisguised regard ; and with that regard 
 he assured himself that he should be satisfied. At last this *• se- 
 cret joy," this " treasure of his heart," began to mingle pain witl^ 
 its pbasures ; and, when called away on has mournful errand t«K 
 Mr. Went worth, De Courcy confessed, that it was wise to wean him- 
 self a little from one whose presence was becoming necessary to 
 his happiness, and to put some restraint upon a passion, which from 
 his toy was become his master. Short absence, however, had only 
 increased his malady ; and Laura in sorrow, Laura grateful, confi- 
 ding, at times almost tender, seized at once upon every avenue ta 
 the heart of De Courcy : he revered her as the bpst, he admired 
 her as tlie loveliest, he loved her as the most amiable of human 
 beings. Still he resolved that, whatever it might cost him, he 
 would refrain from all attempt to gain her love ; and he began to 
 draw nice distinctions between the <^ery tender friendship with which . 
 he hoped to inspire her, and the tormenting passion which he must 
 silently endure. ELappily for the success of De Courcy*s self-de- 
 ceit, there was no rival at hand, with whose progress in Laura's re- 
 gard he could measure with his own, and he never thought of ask- 
 ing himself what would be his sensations if her <very tender friend- 
 ship for him should not exclude love for another. 
 
 A doubt woidd sometimes occur to him, as to the prudence of 
 exposing himself to the unremitting influence of her charms, but 
 it was quickly banished as an unwelcome intruder, or silenced with 
 the plea, thcit, to withdraw himpeU* from Montreville on a sick-bed, 
 
104 
 
 would outrage friendship and humanity. He had, too, somewhat 
 Inadvertently, given his friend a proTnise that he would not leave 
 him till his health was a little re-established ; and this promise now 
 sensed as the excuse for an indulj^enee which he had not resolution 
 to fore^^o. After escorting Mrs. De Courcy toNorwoood, heplead- 
 cd this promise to himself when he returned to London without an 
 houi*s delay ; and it excsed him in his own eyes for going every 
 morning to the abode of M inlreville, from whence, till the return 
 pf night drove him away, he had seldom the resolution to depart. 
 
 Meanwhile, with the health of her father, the spirits of Laura 
 revived ; und considering it as an act of the highest self-denial in 
 a domestic man to quit his home — a literary man to suspend his 
 studies — a young man to become stationary in the apartment of an 
 invalid, she exerted herself to the utmost to cheer Dc Courcy's 
 voluntary task. She sometimes relieved him in reading aloud, an 
 accomplishment in wliich she excelled. Her pronunciation was 
 correct, her voice vai'ied, powerful and melodious, her conception 
 rapid and accurate, while the expression of her countenance was . 
 an animated comment upon the author. 
 
 De Gourcy delighted to hear her sing the wild airs of her native 
 mountains, which she did with inimitable pathos, though without 
 skill. Her conversation, sometimes literary, sometimes gay. Was 
 always simply hitended to please. Yet, though void of all design 
 to dazzle, it happened, she knew not how, that m De Courcy's com- 
 pany she was always more lively, more acute, than at other times. 
 His remarks seemed to unlock new stores in her mind ; and the 
 train of thought which he introduced, she could always follow with 
 peculiar case and pleasure. Safe in herpreference for another, she 
 treated him with the most cordial frankness. Utterly unconscious 
 of the sentiment she inspired, she yet had an animating confidence 
 in De Courcy's good will ? and -sometimes pleased hei-self with 
 tliinking, that, next to his another and sister, she stood highest of 
 women hi his regard. No arts of the most refined coquetrj^ could 
 have riveted more closely the chains of the ill-fated De Courcy ; 
 and the gratitude of the miconscious Laura, pointed the shaft tliat 
 gave the death wound to his peace. 
 
 How was it possible for her to imagine, that the same sentiment 
 could produce a demeanor so opposite as De Courcy's was from 
 that of Hargrave. Hargrave had been accustomed to speak of her 
 personal chai-ms with rapture. De Courcy had never made them 
 the subject of direct compliment ; he had even of late wholly dis- 
 continued those little gallantries which every pretty woman is ac- 
 customed to receive. Hargrave omitted no opportunity to plead his 
 passion; and though the presence of a third person of necessity pre- 
 clued this topic, it restrained him not from gazing upon Laura With 
 an eagei-ness from which she shrunk abashed. De Courcy had never 
 mentioned love ; and Laura observed that, when his glance met 
 hers, he would sometimes withdraw his eye with (as she thought) 
 almost womanly modesty. In her private interviews with H;ii-gave, 
 lif .had ever aj)proached'b^.with as much vehemence tin'lfreqdgTP 
 
105 
 
 uj speech and mannev, as her calm dimity would peniiK. Privac > 
 jnade no change in De Coui'cy's manner, except to render him a 
 little more silent — a little more distant ; and to personal familiui-ity 
 he seemed to be if possible more averse tlian herself; for if she 
 accidentally touched him, he coloured and drew back. 
 
 Some of these circumstances Mmtreville hadreniarl«d,andhad 
 drawn from them inferences very different from those of his daugh- 
 ter. He was convinced that the preference of Dc Courty for Lau- 
 ra had risen into a passion, which, for some unknown reason, he 
 "wislicd to conceal ; and he perceived, by the case of her behaviour, 
 that Montague's secret was unsuspected by her. Most anxiously 
 did he wish to know the cause of his favourite's silence, and to dis- 
 cover whether it was likely to operate long. In Laura*s absence, 
 he sometimes led the conversation towards the subject ; but De 
 Coiircy never in^jroved the offered opportunity Partly in the hope 
 of invitingequal frankness, Montreville talked of his own situation, 
 and mentioned the motive of his journey to London. M ontagiie 
 inquu*ed into every particular of the business, and rested not tiU 
 iie had found Mr. Baynard's executor, and received from him an 
 acknowledgement, tliat he had in his possession a voucher for the 
 payment of Montre%'illes fifteen hundred pounds lo Warren. 
 
 He next, without mentioning the matter to the Captain, called 
 upon Warren, with an intention finally to conclude the business ; 
 thinking it impossible that, since the payment of the money was as- 
 certained, he could refuse either to pay the annuity, or refund the 
 price of it. But the disdain of Laura yet rankled in the mind of 
 Warren, and he positively refused to bring, the affair to any conclu- 
 sion, declaring, that he would litigate it to the last six pence he was 
 worth : to which declaration he added an excellent joke concerning 
 the union of Scotch pride with Scotch poverty. Atiiiis affi-ontcry 
 the honest blood of De C our cy boiled with indignation, fcndhewas 
 on the pomt of vowing, that he too would beggar himself, rather 
 than permit such infamous oppression; but his mother, his si$ter, 
 and Laura herself, rose to his mii^id, and he contented himself with 
 threatening to expose Warren to the disgi-ace that he merited. 
 
 Warren now began to suspect that De Courcy was the cause of 
 Ijttura's contemptuous reception of his addresses, and, em-aged at 
 his interference, yet overawed by his manly appearance and deci- 
 ded manner, he became sullen, and refused to answer Morrtngue's 
 expostulations. Nothing remained to be done, and De Courcy was 
 obliged to communicate to Montreville tlie ill success of his nego- 
 ciations. 
 
 Bereft of all hopes of obtaining justice, which he had not the 
 means to enforce, Montreville became more anxiously desirious to 
 regam such a degree of health as might enable him to retiu'u 
 home. In his present state, sucli a journey was impracticable, and 
 he was convinced, that while he remained pent \ip in tlie polluted 
 air of the cit^, his recovery could advance but sloTV'ly. Some w^'.kT^ 
 
106 
 
 must al all events elapse before he could be in a condition to travel ; 
 and to accommodate his funds to thie prolonged demand upon them, 
 he saw that he must have recourse to some scheme of economy yet 
 more humble than that which he had adopted. 
 
 He hoped, if he could recover strength sufficient for the search, 
 to find in ^\e suburbs some abode of purer air, and still more mo- 
 derate expense tlian his present habitation. The former only of 
 these motives he mentioned to De Courcy ; for though Montreville 
 did not affect to be rich, he never spoke of his poverty. Various, 
 circumstances, however, had led De Courcy to guess at his friends 
 pecuniary embarrassment ; and he too had a motive which he did 
 not avow, in the offer which he made to seek a more healthful resi- 
 dence for Montr evi lie. 
 
 Unwilling to describe the humble accommodation with which he 
 meant to content himself, or the limited price which he could af- 
 fbrd to offer for it, Montreville atfirsticfused De Co\ircy's services ; 
 but they were pressed upon him with sucli warmth, that he was 
 obliged to submit, and Montague lost no time in fulfilling his com- 
 mission. 
 
 He soon discovered a situation that promised comfort. It was in 
 the outskirts of the town, a small flower-garden belonged to the 
 house, the apartments were airy and commodious, the furniture was 
 handsome, and the whole most finically neat. The rent, however, 
 exceeded that of Montreville's present lodgings ; and De Courcy 
 knew that this objection would be insurmountable. That Laura 
 should submit to the inelegancies of a mean habitation, was what he 
 could not bear to think of; and he determined by a friendly little ar- 
 tifice, to reconcUe Montreville's comfort with his economy. The 
 surgeon had named two or three weeks as the time likely to elapse 
 before Montreville could commence his journey. De Courcy paid 
 in advance above half the rent of the apartments for a liiontb, 
 charging the landlady to keep the real rent a secret from her lodgers. 
 
 As fax- as the author of these memoirs has been able to learn, this 
 was the only artifice that ever Montague De Courcy practised in 
 bis life ; and it led, as artifices are wont to do, to consequences 
 which tiie contriver neither wished nor foresaw. 
 
 Much to his satisfaction, Montreville was soon settled in his new^ 
 abode, where De Courcy continued to be his daily visitor. A 
 certain delicacy prevented Laura from endeavouring to procure a 
 reversal of her father's decree, issued in a moment of peevishness, 
 that she should paint no more with a view to pecuniary reward. She 
 felt that he had been wrong, and she shrunk from reminding him 
 of it, till her labours should again become necessary. But desirous 
 to convey to Mrs. De Courcy some token of her remembrance and 
 gratitude, she employed some of the hours which Montague spent 
 with lier father, in labouring a picture which she intended to send 
 to Norwood. The subject was the choice of Hercules ; and to 
 make her gift the more acceptable, she presented in the hero a pic. 
 -ure of I?e Courcy, wlule the form and coimtenanixe of ^''irtucJ were 
 
107 
 
 o:^ied from the simple majesty of her own. The figure of Plea, 
 sure was a fancied one, and it cost the fair artist unspeakable labour. 
 She could not pourtray what she would have shrunk from beholding 
 — a female voluptuary. Her draperies were always designed with 
 the most chastened decency ; and, after all her toil, even thie form 
 of Pleasuse came sober and ra tronly from the hand of Laura. 
 
 Designing a little surprise for her iriencla, slie had never men- 
 tioned this picture to De Courcy ; and as she daily stole some of 
 the hours of his visit to bestow upon it, it advanced rapidly. Mon- 
 tague bore these absences with impatience; but Montrevillg, who 
 Tvuew how Laura was employed, look no notice of tliem, and Dc 
 Courcy durst not complain. 
 
 Three weeks had glided away since Montreville's removal to his 
 new lodgings, and he remained as much as ever anxious, and as 
 much as ever unahle to guess the reason which. induced De Cour- 
 cv to conceal a passion which evidently increased every day. He 
 recollected that Montague had of late never met Laura but in his 
 presence, and lie thought it natural that the lo^ er should wish to 
 jnake his first application to his mistress herself He had an idea, 
 that the picture might be made to assist the deivouement which he 
 so ardently desired; and with this view he privately gave orders 
 that when next Mr. Da Courcy came he should be ushered into the 
 painting-room, which he knew would be empty, as Laura never 
 quitted him 'ill D ' Courcy arrived to take her place. ^ 
 
 Next morning accordingly Montague was shown into the room which 
 he had himself destined for Laura, and, for that reason, supplied 
 with many little luxuries which belonged not to its original furniture. 
 He looked round with dehght on the marks of her recent presence. 
 There lay her book open as she had quitted it, and the pencil with 
 •vvJiich she had marked the margin. It was one which he himself 
 had recommended, and he thought it should ever be xlear to him. 
 On a table lay her port-foUo and drawing materials : in a corner 
 stood her easel with the picture, over which was thiown a shawl 
 which he had seen her wear. 
 
 Not conceiving that she could have any desire to conceal her work, 
 he approached it, and, raising the covering, stood for a moment 
 motionless with surprise. The next, a thousand sensations, vague 
 but dcughtful, darted tliro gh his mind ; but before he could give 
 shapeor distinctness to any one of them, the step approached that 
 ever roused De Cou cy to eager expectation, and letting drop the 
 shawl, he flew towards the door to receive Laura. 
 
 Witli rapture in his eyes, but confusion on bis tongue, De Courcy 
 paid his compliments and again turned towards tlie picture. Laura 
 sprung for.w:u'd to prevent him from raising the covering. " Is tliis 
 forbidden, then ?" said he. " Oh yes, indeed," said Lauru, blushing-, 
 " you must not look at it." ** Can you be so mischievous," cried 
 De Cotircy, a dehghted smile playing on his countenance, " as to re- 
 fuse me such a pleasure?" " I am sure, ' said Laura, blushing agair, 
 and still more deeply, " it could give you no pleas^jre in its present 
 
108 
 
 state." *' And I am sure," said De Courcy, ardently, " it would 
 ^ve tne more than 1 have language to express " 
 
 t)e Courcy's eagerness, and the consciousness of her own con- 
 fusion made Laura now more unwilling that Montague should dis- 
 ■cover the cause of both to be his own portrait, and actually trem- 
 bling with emotion, she said, putting her hand on the shawl to 
 prevent him from raising it, "Indeed I cannot shew you this. — 
 There is my port-folio — ^look at any thing but this." . " And what 
 inference may I draw as to the subject of a picture that Miss Mon- 
 trevillfe will not shew to the m.ost partial — the most devoted of her 
 friends ?'* " Any inference," replied Laura, still holding the shawl, 
 " that friendship or charity will permit." "And must I not re- 
 move this perverse little hand?" said De Courcy, laying his upon 
 it; for all prudence was forgotten in his present emotion. Laura, 
 a little offended at his perseverance, gravely withdrew her hand, 
 •and turned away, saying, " Since my wishes have no power, 1 
 shall make no other trial of strength." "No power J" cried 
 De Courcy, following her, " they have more force than a thousand 
 arms." *' Well," said Laura, a little si'.rprised by his manner, 
 but turning upon him a smile of gracious reconciliation, **your 
 forbearance may hearafter be rewarded by a sight of tli is important 
 •picture; but lest you should forfeit your recompense, had we not 
 better remove from temptation ?" 
 
 She tlien led the way to the parlour, and De Courcy followed her 
 in a state of agitation that could not be concealed. He was absent 
 and restless. He often changed colour, seemed scarce sensible of 
 what was addressed to him, or began to reply, and the unfinished 
 sentence died upon his lips. At last, starting up, he pleaded sud- 
 den indisposition, and was hurrying away. " Do not go away ill 
 and alone," said Laura, kindly detaining him. " Walk round the 
 garden — the fresh air will relieve you.** *' No air will relieve me !'* 
 said De Courcy, in a voice of wretchedness. ** What then ca'' we 
 do for you?" said Laura, with affectionate eamdstness. "What 
 canyou dofor me!" cried De Courcy, "Oh nothing, nothing but 
 suffer me to go, while yet I have the power " He then wrung 
 Montreville*s hand, and uttermg something which his emotion made 
 inarticulate, without venturing a glance towards Laura, he quitted 
 tlie house, and returned home in a state bordering on distraction. 
 
 He shut himself up in h"s chamber to consider of his situation, 
 if that can be called consideration, which was but a conflict of tu- 
 multuous feeling. That Laura should Jiave painted his portrait in a 
 groupe where it held such a relation to her own ; that she should 
 keep it concealed in an apartment exclusively appropri ted to her- 
 self; her alarm lest he should examine it ; her confusion, which had 
 at last risen to the most distre -sing height, from the idea of what 
 De Courey might infer, should he discover that his own portrait was 
 the cause of so many blushes ; the confiding affectionate manner in 
 \^hich she treated him ; — all conspired to mislead De Courcy. He 
 felt a conviction that he was belwed, and, incite of himself, the 
 thou^t was rapture. 
 
109 
 
 Bat whal availed this discovery ? Could he forget the justice of 
 his sister's claims, sacrifice to his selfish wishes the comfort of his 
 mother, or wed his half-worshipped Laura to the distresses of an 
 embarrassed fortune ? " Oh no," he cried, " let not my passions 
 involve in disaster all that I love." 
 
 Or could he lay open to Laura his feelings and his situation, 
 and sue for her love, even while their union must be delayed. Her 
 attachment, he thought, was yet in its infancy, born of gratitude, 
 fostered by separation from other society, and, for the present, 
 pleasing in its sensations, and transient in its nature. But he 
 thought her capable of a love as fervent — as deep-rooted as that 
 which she inspired; and should he wilfully awaken in her peaceful 
 breast the cravings of such a passion as tortured his own ; see her 
 spirits, her vigour of mind, her usefulness, perhaps her health, 
 give way to the sickness of " hope deferred !" No, — rather let her 
 return to the indifference in which he found her. Or, should he 
 shackle her with a promise, of which honour might extort a reluc- 
 tant fulfilment, after the affection that prompted it was perhaps 
 v/ithdrawn from him ? Or, should he linger on from day to day in 
 vain endeavours to conceal his affection, dishonourably sporting 
 with the tenderness of the woman he loved, his ill-suppressed feel- 
 ings every hour offering a hope which must every hour be disap- 
 pointed ? No ! the generous heart of De Courcy would sooner have 
 suffered a thousand deaths. 
 
 But could he return— could he see again this creature, now 
 more than ever dear to him, and stifle the fondness — the anjjuisli 
 that would rend his bosom at pai*ting ? Impossible ! He would 
 see her no more. He would tear at once from his heart e^xry 
 hope — every joy — and dare at once all the wretchedness that 
 awaited him. In an agony of desperation, he rang for his servant, 
 ordered his horses, and in an hour was on his way to Norwood, 
 with feelings which tlie criminal on the rack need not have envied. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 The next morning, while Montreville and his daughter were 
 expecting with some anxiety the arrival of their daily visitor, a 
 note was brought which De Courcy had left in Audley Street, to 
 be delivered after his departure. Though nearly illegible, from 
 the agitation in which it was written, it contained nothing but the 
 simple information, that he had been suddenly obliged to leave 
 London. It assigned no reason for his journey — it fixed no period 
 for his absence ; and Montreville endeavoured to hope that his re- 
 turn would not be distant. But day after day passed heavily on, 
 and De Courcy came not. Montreville again beg^u to feel hiio^sl-^ 
 
 Vol. I. K *" 
 
110 
 
 .1 solitary tlci^crtcd he iug-; again became dejected; a^ain became 
 tlie victim of real debility and fancied disease. 
 
 All Iv'iura's endeavours failed to animate him to cheerfulness, or 
 uuse hiju to employment. If he permitted her to remain Hy him, 
 lie seemed rather to endure than to enjoy her presence, repressed 
 . Itit a lang-iiid monosyllable lier attempts at conversation, orpass- 
 . il wJiolp hours in listless silence. Laura, who foreboded the worst- 
 consequences from the indulgence of tliis depression, endeavoured 
 to persuade liiin that he mig-ht now safely attempt a voyage to 
 Scotland, and predicted beneficial effects from the sea air. iiut 
 Montreville answered Iier with displeasure, that such an exertion 
 would certainly destroy him, and that those who were themselves 
 in hig-h health and spirits, could not judg-e of the feelings, nor sym- 
 pathise with tJie weakness of disease. The reproach had no more 
 ju-stice ihxn is usual with the upbraidings of the sickly ; for Laura's 
 spirits sluired ever}' turn of her fat hei''s, though her stronger mind 
 could support with grace the burden that weighed his to the earth. 
 She desisted, however, from a sul>ject which she sav."^ that, for the 
 present, he would not bear, and confijied her endeavours to per- 
 suading him to undertake some light occupation, or to walk in the 
 little garden that belonged to the house. But, even in these {at- 
 tempts, s!ie was commonly defeated ; for Montreville would make 
 no exertion, and tlie winter wind, now keen and biting, pierced 
 througli Ills wasted form. 
 
 None but they who have made the melancholy experiment, can 
 tell how cheerless is the labour of supporting the spirit that will 
 make no cifort to sustain itself, of soliciting the languid smile, of- 
 fering the rejected anuisemcnt, or striving, with vain ingenuity, to 
 enliven the oft-repulsed conversation. They only know who have 
 tried it, what it is to resist contagious depression — to struggle 
 against the effects of the complaining voice, the languid motion, 
 the hopeless aspect ; what it is to suppress the sympathetic sigh, 
 and restrain the liitle sally of impatience, so natural to those whose 
 labours are incessant, yet unavailing Such were the tasks that 
 Laura voluntarily prescribed to herself. Incited by affection, and 
 by strong sense of duty, she soothed the fretful humour, prompted 
 the reluctant exertion, fanncfl the expiring hope, and seized the 
 favourable moment to soften by feminine tenderness, or exhilarate 
 by youthful gaiety. 
 
 Many motives may lead to one great effort of virtue. The hope 
 of reward, the desire of approbation, a sense of riglit, the natural 
 benevolence which still affords a faint trait of the image in which 
 man was made, all, or any of these, may produce single, or even 
 oft-repeated acts deserving of praise ; but one principle alone can 
 lead to virtuous exertions persevering' and unremitting though 
 without success. That principle was Laura's ; and even while her 
 endeavours seemed unavailing, she was content to employ all her 
 powers in the task selected for her by the bestower of ihem. 
 
 Moatrcvllle often reproached himself for the untimely burden 
 ' -sh be was laying on the young heart of his daughter; but he 
 
Ill 
 
 could make no cfTort to li|;htcn it, and si.lf-reproacli served only 
 to embitter the spirit wiiich it iVded of stim«i!aim<y to exertion. 
 
 Fretful and impatient, yet conscious of his injustice, ami unwii- 
 lint^ thai Laui'u sliould observe it, he would often dismiss her from 
 her attendance, :tnd spend whole hours in soii^ury gloom. These 
 liours Laura d( voted to her picture, stealing between whiles, on 
 tiptoe, to the door of her father'.s apartment, to listen whether he 
 was stirring-; and Sometimes venturing lo knock gxntly for admit- 
 tance. 
 
 Tiie picture, wliich was far advanced when Dc Courcy left town, 
 soon received the finisltinj^ touches ; and Laura lost no time in 
 transmitting- it to Norwood. She wrote an afiectionate letter to 
 Harriet; in which, after thanking her for all her kindness, she 
 oiTered her gift, and added, that to give her v. ork a valae which it 
 would not otherwise have possessed, she Jiad intr(?duced the ^)or- 
 trait of ])e Courcy; and that, }<iad of :<n oj)portnnity of associating 
 the rcmcmbranee bf her.self with an object of interest, she had ad- 
 mitted lier cwiv i*e.semb!ance into tiie group. She apologized for 
 the a.>pe:iraiice of conceit uhich might atter.d her e^liibiting- her 
 own form under the character of \ iitue, by relatlnir, with charac- 
 teristic simplicity, that she had determined on her subject, chosen 
 and half finished her Hercules, before she designed the figures of 
 his companions; that she had afterwards thought that her memo- 
 rial would be more effectual if it contained the portrait of the giver. 
 *' And you know," added she, " it would have been impossible to 
 mould my solennt countenance into the lineaments of Pleasure. '* 
 
 In the singleness of her heart, it never occurred to Laura, that 
 any thing in the mutual relation of the figures of her piece stood 
 in need of explanation. Had Hargrave furnished the niodel for 
 her hero, she would probably have been a little more quick sight- 
 ed. As it was, she felt impatient to shew the l)e Courcy family, 
 not excepting Montague himself, that she was not forgetful of their 
 kindness ; and she chose a day, when the influence of bright sun- 
 shine a little revived the spirits of AJontrevilie, to leave him for an 
 hour, and accompany the picture to the shop of the obliging print- 
 seller, that it might be packed more skilfully than by licrself. 
 
 After seeing it safely put up, she gave tiie addre'ss to Wilkins, 
 who immediately exclaimed^ *' So, Ma'am, you have foundout the 
 secret tliat you would not let me tell you ?'' " AVhat secret?" in- 
 quired Laura. " The name of the gentleman. Ma'am, that bought 
 your*pictures." *' Was it De Courcy, then ?" " Yes, Ma'am ;— 
 thougli to be sure it might'n't be the 'same. But 1 suppose you'll 
 know him. Ma'am. A tall pleasant looking gentlen»an, Ma'am. 
 The pictures were sent home to Audley street. ' Laura's coimte- 
 iiance brightened with satisfaction, and she suffered her informer 
 to proceed. •* 1 am sure," continued he, " 1 managed that busi- 
 ness to the very best of my power, and, as one may say, very dex- 
 terously," " Was there any occasion for management?" inquired 
 Laura *' Oh, yes, Mu'am ; for when he seemed very much taken 
 vvith the first yne, then I told him all about you, just a* 1 had it all 
 
^" m 
 
 from Mrs. Dawklns, and how you were so anxious to have it soM 
 and then he said he'd have it, and paid the money into my hands ; 
 and then I told him how you looked the first day you brought it 
 here, and that you were just ready to cry about it; and then he 
 said he must have a companion to it." 
 
 The flush, both of pride and vexation, for once stained the trans- 
 parent skin of Laura. Yet it was but for a moment ; and her next 
 feeling was pleasure at the confirmation of the benevolent character 
 with which her imagination had invested De Courcy. He had 
 purchased her work when she was quite unknown to him, only, as 
 she thought, from a wish to reward industiy, and because he had 
 been led to believe that the price was an object to the artist Had 
 ftnother been the purchaser, she might Iiave allowed something for 
 the merit of the piece ; but Laura was not yet cured of first ima- 
 gining characters, and then bending facts to suit her theory. 
 Sooner than bate one iota from De Courcy's benevolence, she would 
 have assigned to her picture the rank of a sign-post. 
 
 She now remembered, that in her visits to Audley Street she had 
 never seen her works ; and in her approbation of the delicacy which 
 prompted De Courcy to conceal that she was known to him as an 
 artist, she forgot the little prejudice which this concealment im- 
 plied. De Courcy, indeed, was himself unconscious that he enter- 
 tained any such prejudice. He applauded Laura's exertions ; he 
 approved of the spirit that led a young woman of family to dare, in 
 spite of custom, to be useful. Yet he could not help acting as if 
 she had shared the opinion of the world, and been herself ashamed 
 of her labours. But this was a shame that Laura knew not. She 
 wished not indeed to intrude on the world's notice. Her choice 
 was peaceful obscurity. But if she must be known, she would 
 have far preferred the distinction earned by ingenious industry, to 
 the notoriety which wealth and luxury can purciiase. 
 
 On her return home, she found her father reading a letter which 
 he had just received from De Courcy. It seemed written in an 
 hour of melancholy. The writer made no mention of returning to 
 town ; on the contrary, he expressed a hope that Montreville might 
 now be able to undertake a journey to Scotland. He besought the 
 Captain to remember him, to speak of- him often, and to write to 
 him sometimes; and ended with these words — "Farewell, my 
 friend ; the dearest of my earthly hopes is, that we may one day 
 meet again, though years, long years, must first intervene," 
 
 •* So ends my last hope," said Montreville, letting his head sink 
 mournfully on his breast ; " De Courcy comes not, and thou must 
 be left alone and unprotected." " The protection of so young a 
 man," said Laura, avoiding to answer to a foreboding which she 
 considered merely as a symptom of her father's disease, " might 
 not perhaps have appeared adv.antageous to me in the eyes of those 
 who are unacquainted with Mr. De Courcy " " It would have 
 given comfort to niy dying hour," said Montreville, " to consign 
 thee to such a guardian— such a husband." " A husband !" cried 
 Laura, startii^g, and turning pale. " Heaven be praised, that Mr. 
 
TI3 
 
 DeCourcy never harboured such a thought !" Monti eville lookca 
 up in extreme surprise ; and inquired the reason of her tlumkft'.l- 
 ness. " Oh Sir,'* she replied, ** we owe so much to Mr. De Com cy's 
 fric!.ds!tip, that I should have hated n^yseHfoi- being- unublc to re- 
 turn his affection — and pity would it have been that the love of so 
 amiable a being- should have been bestowed in vain" 
 
 Montieville fixed his eyes upon her, as if to seek for fiirther ex- 
 planation, and continued to g-aze on her face, when his thoughts 
 had wa:idered frdm the examination of it. After some minutes of 
 silence, he s.iid — *' Laura, you once rejected an alliance, splendid 
 beyond my hopes, almost beyond my wislies, and tliat v.ith a man 
 formed to be the darling- of your sex ; and now you speak aa if evcrv 
 Montague De Courcy would have failed to gain you. Tell me, then, 
 have you any secret attaciimcnt ? Speak candidly, Laura — you will 
 not always have a father to confide in." 
 
 Deep crimson dyed the cheeks of Laura ; but, with the h.esita- 
 tion of a moment, she replied — ** No, Sir, I have no wish to iTutrrr. 
 I pretend not to lay open my whole heart to you ; but 1 may with 
 truth assure you, that there is not at this moment a man in. being 
 with whom I would unite myself. 1 know you would not be grati- 
 fied by extorted confidence." 
 
 '•' No, Laura,*' said Montreville, " I ask no more than you wil- 
 lingly avow. I confide, as 1 have always done, in your prudcnc c and 
 integrity Soon, alas ! you will have no other guides. But it was 
 my heart's wish t'.> see you united to a man who could value and 
 protect yourworth— of late, more especially, when 1 feel thatl so 
 soon must leave you."' 
 
 ** My dearest fattier," said Laura, throwing her arm aftection- 
 ately round his neck, •* do not give way to such gloomy forebo- 
 dings. Your spirits are oppressed by confinemeut — let us but sec 
 Glenalbert again, and all will be well." 
 
 " I shall never see Glenalbert," said Montreville — *^ and left 
 alone in such aplace as this, without money, without friends, v» 1th- 
 out a home — wliere shaU my child find safety or shelter ?" 
 
 *' Indeed, Sir," said Laura, though a cold slruddermg seized her, 
 *' your fears have no foundation. Only yesterday Or. Flint told me 
 that your complaints were without danger, and that a little exercise 
 would make j'ou quite strong again. "^ 
 
 Montreville shook his head. " Ur. FVSt deceives you, Laura,** 
 said he — '• you deceive yourself." " No, indeed," said Luui-a, 
 though she trembled ; *' you look m^ich better — you are much bet- 
 ter-. It is onh- tliese melancholy thoughts that retard your recovery. 
 Trust yourself— trust me to the Providence that has iiitherto 
 watched over us." 
 
 *' 1 could die without alarm,"* said Montreville ; " but to leave, 
 thee alone and in want — Oh ! I cannot bear it." " Should the worst 
 befall," said Laura, turning pale as alabaster, *' think thut I shall 
 not be alone, 1 shall not want, for" — her voice failed, but she raised 
 ••cr eyes with an expression that filled up the ermobiing sentiment 
 *• i believe it, my love," said Montreville, " but you feel thesfi 
 
 K 2 
 
isolations more strongly than I do. Leave me for the present, 
 
 am fatig-ued with speaking-, and wish to be alone." 
 
 Laura irptired to her own room, and endeavoured herself to prac- 
 tise the trust which she recommended to her father. Her medita- 
 tions were interrupted by the entrance of her landlady, Mrs. Stubbs, 
 who, with many courtesies and apologies, said that she was come 
 to present her account. 
 
 Laura, who always had pleasure in cancelling a debt the moment 
 it was incurred, and who conceived no apology to be necessary 
 from those who came to demand only their own, received her 
 landlady very graciously, and begged her to be seated, while she 
 went to bring her father's purse. Mrs. Stubbs spread her bills 
 upon the table ; and Laura, after examining them, was obliged to 
 ask an explanation. 
 
 " Why, ma'am," returned the landlady, " there are fourteen 
 ^ineas for lodgings for six weeks, and 10/. 15«. for victuals and 
 other articles that I have furnished. I am sure I have kept an 
 exact account." 
 
 " I understood," said Laura, " that we were to have the lodg- 
 ings for a guinea and a half a-week, and" — " A guinea and a half." 
 cried the landlady, colom*ing with wrath at this disparagement of 
 her property. *' Sure, Miss, you did not think to have lodgings 
 such as these for a guinea and a half a-week. No, no— these lodg- 
 ings have never been let for less than four guineas, and never shall, 
 as long as my name is Bridget." 
 
 Laura mildly pleaded her ignorance of those matters, and urged 
 De Courcy*s information as an excuse for her mistake. " To be 
 sure, ma*am," said the now pacified Mrs. Stubbs, " nobody that 
 know'd any thing of the matter, would expect to have such rooms 
 f«r less than four guineas ; and that was what the gentleman said, 
 when he took them ; so he paid me two guineas and a half advance 
 for four weeks, and charged me not to let you know of it ; but I 
 can't abide them secret doings ; and, besides, if I take only a guinea 
 and a half from you, where was I to look for the rest of my rent 
 for the last fortnight ?— for the young gentleman seems to have 
 taken himself off," 
 
 Laura suffered her loquacious hostess to proceed without inter- 
 ruption, for her thoughts were fully occupied. She had incurred 
 a debt greater, by five guineas, than she had been prepared to ex- 
 pect ; and this s«im was, in her present circumstances, of great im- 
 portance. Yet her predominant feeling was grateful approbation 
 ©f De Courcy's benevolence ; nor did her heart at all upbraid him 
 with the consequences of his well-meant deception. " Kind, con- 
 siderate De Courcy," thought she ; " he had hoped that, ere now, 
 we should have ceased to need his generosity, and even have been 
 removed from the possibility of discovering it." 
 
 Recollecting herself, she paid the landlady her full demand ; 
 and, dismissing her, sat down to examine what remained of her 
 
 dances. AU that she possesseU; s^c found amounted to no more 
 
115 
 
 tiian one granea and a few shilling's ; and dropping the money into 
 her lap, she sat gazing on it in blank dismay. 
 
 The poverty, whose approach she had so long contemplated with 
 a fearful eye, had now suddenly overtaken her. Husbanded with 
 whatever care, the sum before her cotdd minister only to the 
 wants of a few hours. In her present habitation, it would scarcely 
 purchase shelter for another night from the storm which a keen 
 winter-wind was beginning to drive against her window . An im- 
 mediate supply then was necessary; but where could that supply 
 be found ? It was too late to resort to the earnings of her own 
 genius. Painting was a work of time and labour. No hasty pro- 
 duction was likely to find favour amidst the competition of studied 
 excellence. Even the highest effort of her art might long wait a 
 purchaser ; and tears fell from the eyes of Laura while she reflect- 
 ed that, even if she could again produce a Leonidas, she might 
 never again find a De Courcy. 
 
 To borrow money on the captain's half pay, was an expedient 
 which Laura had always rejected, as calculated to load their scan- 
 ty income with a burden which it could neither shake ofFnor bear. 
 But even to this expedient she could no longer have recourse ; 
 for Montreville had assured her tliat, in his present state of 
 healtli, it would be impossible to mortgage his annuity for a single 
 guinea. 
 
 She might raise a small supply by stripping her beloved Glenal- 
 bertofsome of its little luxuries and comforts ; but, long before this 
 revolting business could be transacted, she must be absolutely 
 pennyless. Nor did she dare, without consulting her father, to 
 give orders for dismantling Jiis home. And how should she in- 
 form him of the necessity for such a sacrifice ? Weakened both in 
 body and in mind, how would he endure the privations that attend- 
 ed on leal penury ? His natuj-ally feeble spirits already crushed to 
 the earth, his kindly temper already, by anxiety and disappoint- 
 ment, tUTned to gall, his anxieties for his child alarmed even to 
 anguish, how could he bear to learn that real want had reached 
 him — had reached that dear child, whom the dread of leaving to 
 poverty was poisoning the springs of life within him ? " He thinks 
 he is about to leave me,'* cried she, " and shall I tell him that I 
 must owe to charity even the sod that covers him from me ? No ; 
 I will perish first ;'* and, starting from her seat, sJie paced the room 
 in distressful meditation on the means of concealing from her fa- 
 ther the extent of their calamity. 
 
 She determined to take upon herself the care of their little fund, 
 under pretence that the trouble was too great for Montreville. He 
 had of late shewn such listless indifference to all domestic con- 
 cerns, that she hoped he might never inquire into the extent of his 
 landlady's demand, or that his inquiries might be eluded. It seem- 
 ed a light thing in Laura's eyes to suffer alone ; or rather she 
 thought not of her own sufferings, could she but spare to her father 
 the anguish of knowing himself and his child utterly destitute. She 
 judged of his feelings by h^r own j felt, by sympathy, all Uie pangs 
 
116 
 
 \vith whlcli lie would witness wants which he could not supjS^ 
 and she inwardly vov.ed to conceal from him every privation that 
 she mi^ht endure, — ^every labour that she mig-ht underg-o. 
 
 But, void of every resource, far fi-om every friend, destitute 
 amid boundless wealth, alone amid countless multitudes, whither 
 should she turn for aid, or even for counsel ? " Whither," crietl she, 
 dropping- on her knees, " except to Him who hath supplied me in 
 yet niore urgent want, who hath counselled roe in yet more fearful 
 diificulty, who hath fed my soulwith ang^el's food, and guided it 
 with light from heaven ?" Laura rose from her devotions, more 
 confiding' in the cai-e of Providence, more able to consider calmly 
 of improving the means which still remained within her oWn 
 power. 
 
 Before she could finish and dispose of a picture, weeks must 
 elapse for which she could make no provis'.on. To painting, there- 
 fore, slie could not liave immediate recourse. But sKelches in 
 chalk could be finished with expedition ; the pvintseller might un- 
 dertake the sale of them ; and the lov/ness of the price might invite 
 purchasers. Could she but hope to obtain a subsistence for her 
 father, she would labour night and day, deprive herself of recrea- 
 tion, of rest, even of daily food, rather than wound his heart by an 
 acquaintance with poverty. " And since his pride is hurt by the 
 labours of his child,'* said she, " even his pride sliall be sacred. 
 He shall never knov/ my labours." And, so frail arc even the best, 
 that an emotion of pride swelled the bosom of Laura at the 
 thought that the merit of her toils was enhanced by their secrecy. 
 The resolutions of Laura were ever the immediate prelude to 
 action ; and here was no time for delay. She again looked mourn- 
 fully upon her little treasure, hopelessly re-examined the purse 
 that contained it ; again, with dismay, remembered that it w:is 
 her all ; then, hastily putting it into her pocket, she drew her port- 
 folio towards her, and began to prepai'e for her work with the 
 hurry of one to vvhom every moment seems precious. Invention 
 was at present impossible; but she tried to recollect one of her 
 former designs, and busied herself in sketching it till the hour of 
 dinner arrived. She then went to summon her father from his 
 chamber to the eating-room. " This day,* thought she, '* I must 
 share his precarious sustenance — another I shall be more provi- 
 dent. And is this then, perhaps, our last social meal ?" and she 
 turned for a moment from tlie door, to suppress the emotion that 
 would have choaked her utterance. " Come tn, my dear," cried 
 Montreville, who had heard her footstep ; and Laura entered with 
 a smile. Siie offered her arm to assist him in d' scending to the 
 parlour. " V'^hy will you always urge me o go d )wn stairs, Lau- 
 ra ?" said he ; •* you see 1 am' unequal to the fat.ic"e." " I shali 
 not urge you to-morrow,*' answered Laura : und Montreville 
 thought the tears which stood in her eyes, were the consequence 
 of the impatient tone in which he had poken. 
 
 During- the evening, Laura i- voided U mention restoring the 
 purse to her father, and hs api eared \q li^ve forg tton its exist- 
 
117 
 
 ciice. But, by no effo^could she beguile those cheerless hours. 
 Her utmost exertions ^re necessary to maintain the appearance 
 of composure ; and De Courcy's letter seemed to have consum- 
 mated Montreville's feeling's of sohtude and desolation. Wilfully, 
 and without effort, he suffered his spirits to expire. His whole 
 train of thinking; had become habitually gloomy. He was wretch- 
 ed, even without reference to his situation, and the orig-inal cause 
 of his melancholy was rather the excuse than the reason of his 
 depression. But this only rendered more hopeless all attempts to 
 cheer him ; for the woes of the imagination have this dire pre- 
 eminence over those which spring from real evils, tliat, while 
 tliese can warm at times in benevolent joy, or even brighten for a 
 moment to the flash of innocent gaiety, the selfishness of the 
 fonner, chequered by no kindly feeling, reflects not the sun- 
 4iy smile ; as tlie dark and noisome fog drinks in vain the beam 
 of Heaven. 
 
 Montreville, when in health, had been always and justly con- 
 sidered a kind-hearted, good-natured man. He had been a most 
 indulgent husband, an easy master, and a fond father. He was 
 honourable, generous, and friendly. Those who had witnessed 
 his patient endurance of Lady Harriet's caprice had given his 
 philosophy a credit which was better due to his indolence : for 
 the grand defect of Montreville's character was a total want of for- 
 titude and self-command ; and of these failings he was now pay- 
 ing the penalty. His health was injured by his voluntary inaction, 
 his fancy aggravated his real disorder, and multiplied to infinity 
 his imaginary ^Iments. He had habituated his mind to images of 
 disaster, till it nad become incapable of receiving any but comfort- 
 less and doleful impressions. 
 
 Afier spending a few silent hours without effort towards em- 
 ployment or recreation, he retired for the night ; and Laura ex- 
 perienced a sensation of relief, as shutting herself into her apart- 
 ment, she prepared to resume her labours. After every other 
 member of the family had retired to rest, she continued to work 
 till her candle expired in the socket ; and then threw herself on 
 her bed to rise again with the first blush of dawn. 
 
 Montreville had been accustomed to breakfast in his own room ; 
 Laiu'a therefore found no difficulty in beginning her system of ab- 
 stemiousness. Hastily swallowing a ftw moutlit'uls of dry bread, 
 she continued her diawing, till her father rang for his chocolate. 
 She was fully resolved to adhere to tliis plan, to labour with un- 
 ceasing industry-, and to deny herself whatever was not essential 
 to her existence'. 
 
 But neither hard fare, nor labour, nor confinement, could occa- 
 sion to Laura such pain as she suffered from another of the ne- 
 cessities of her situation. Amidst her mournful reflections, it had 
 occurred to her, that unless she would incur a debt which she 
 could not hope to discharge, it would he necessary to dismiss the 
 surgeon who attended her father. All her ideas of honour and 
 integrity revolted from sufferings a man to expend his time and 
 
118 
 
 trouble, in fexpeclatioii of a return wl)'.cl)gdie was unable to make- 
 She was btiskles convinced that in Momrtvi lie's case medicine 
 could be of no avail. Rut she feared to hint the subject to her fa- 
 ther, lest she should lead to a discovery of their present circum- 
 stances ; and such washer conviction of the feebleness of his spl- 
 ritS; a ?d stich her dread of the consequences of their increasin.^ dc- 
 pression, that all earthly evils seemed liJjht compared with that of 
 adtling- to his distress. Laura perhaps jiidged wrong- ; for one real 
 evil sometimes ameliorates the condition, by ^nitling- to flig-ht a 
 host of imiig'inary calamities, and by compelling that eS:erti(iii 
 whicli makes any situation tolerable. Hut she trembled for the ef- 
 fects of the slig-litest additional suffering- upon tlie life or the rea- 
 son of her father ; nud she v/ould liave thouii^ht it little less than 
 parricide to add anew bruise to the wounde<l spirit. On the other 
 hand, she dreaded that Montreville, if kept in igmorance of its real 
 cause, mij^lit consider the desertirin of^ifrpicciical attendant as an 
 intimation that his case was hopeless, J^i^rha])s become the vic- 
 tim of his imaginary dang-er. 
 
 S!ie knew not on what to resolve. Her distress and perjjlexJty 
 were extreme ; and if any thing- could have vanquished the stub4 
 born integ-rity of Laura, the present temptation would have pre- 
 vailed. But no wilful fraud could be the issue of her delibera- 
 tions, who was steadily convinced that inflexible justice looks on 
 to blast with a curse even the successful schemes of villany, and 
 to shed a blessing on the sorrows of the upright. She would not 
 even for her father incur a debt which she could never hope to 
 l)ay ; and nothing remained but to consider of tl^e best means of 
 executing her painful determination. 
 
 Here a new difficulty occurred, fjr she could not decline tb&' 
 surgeon's further attendance without offering to discharge what 
 she already owed. In the present state of her funds, this was ut- 
 terly impossible ; for though, at her i-^stig-ation, his bill had been 
 lately paid, she was sure that the new one must already amount 
 to more than all she possessed. How to procure the necessary 
 supply she knew not ; for even if she could have secured the im- 
 mediate sale of her drawings, the price of her daily and nightly toil 
 would scarcely suffice to pay for the expensive habitation which 
 she durst not propose to leave, and to bribe the fastidious appetite 
 of Montreville witli dainties of which he could neither bear the 
 want nor fed the enjoyment. 
 
 Once only, and it was but for a moment, she thought of appeal- 
 ing to the humanity of Dr. Flint, of unfoldmg to him her situation^ 
 and begg-^ing his atteiidance upon the chance of future remuntra- 
 tion. But Laura was destined once more to pay the penaby of her 
 liastyjudgmentsof ch.aracter. On Montreville's first ilhiess, Dr. 
 Flint had informed Laura, with (as she thought) great want of 
 feeling, of her father's danger. He was a gaunt, atrabilious. 
 Stern -lookiiig man, with a rough voice, and cold repulsive man- 
 ners. He had, moreover, an uninviting name ; and though Laura 
 was asliamed to confess t herself that such trifles cotdd influs»i.c? 
 
119 
 
 her judgment, these disadvantages were tlie real cause why she 
 always met Dr. Flint with a sensation rcsemhling- tliatwith which 
 one encounters a cold, damp, northeast wind. To make any claim 
 upon the benevolence of a stranger — and such a stranger ! It was 
 nat to i)e thought of. Yet Laura's opinion, or rather her feelings, 
 wronged Dr. Flint. His extcnor, it is true, was far from prepos- 
 sessing. It is also true, that, considering Moiilvcville's first ill- 
 ness as the effect of a very unpardonable levity on tlie part of Lau- 
 ra, he had spoken to her on that occasion with even more than 
 his usual frigidity. Nor did he either possess or lay claim to any 
 great share of sensibility ; but he was not destitute of htimanity ; 
 and had Laura explainccl to him her situation, he would willingly 
 have attended ht.T father without prospect of recompense. 13ut 
 l^iura did not put his benevolence to tlie test. She suffered him 
 to make his morning visit and depart ; while she was considering 
 of A plan which apjieared little less revolting. 
 
 " aura knew th-t one of the most elegant houses in Grosvenor 
 Street was inhabited by a Lady Pelham, the daughter of Lady 
 Harriet Montreville's mother by a former marriage. She knew 
 that, for many years, little intercourse had subsisted between the 
 sistirs ; and that her father was even wholly unknown to Ladv I'el- 
 liam. But she was ignorant, that the imprudence of her mother's 
 marriage served as the excuse for a coldness, which had reail}- ex- 
 isted before it had any such pretext. 
 
 With all her Scottish prejudice in favour of the claims of kin- 
 dred (and Laura in this and many other respects was entirely a 
 Scotch woman,) slie could not, without the utmost repugnance, 
 think of applying to her relation. To introduce herself to a stran- 
 ger wliom she had never seen — ^to appear not only as an inferior, 
 but as a supplicant — a beggar ! Laura had long and successfully 
 combated the innate pride of human nature ; but her humility al- 
 most failed under this trial. Her illustrious ancestry — the digi\ity 
 if a gentlewoman — the independence of one who can bear to la- 
 bour and endure to want, all rose successively to her mind ; for 
 Jride can wear many specious forms. But she had nt arcr claims 
 -ban the honour of her ancestry— tlearer concerns than her per- 
 onal importance ; and when she thought of her father, she felt that 
 the was no longer independent. 
 
 Severe was her struggle, and bitter were the tears which she 
 
 :hed over the conviction that it was right that she should become 
 
 t)ctitioner for the bounty of a stranger. In vain did she repeat 
 
 .rself, that she was a debtor to the care of Providence for her 
 
 !y bread, and was not entitled to choose the means 1 y which it 
 
 as supplied. She could not conquer her reluctance. liut she 
 
 oul 1 act right in defiance of it. [She could sacrifice her own feel- 
 
 igs to the comfort of her f^ither — to a sense of duty. Nay, upon 
 
 ejection, she could rejoice that circumstances compelled her to 
 
 Hell that proud spirit with whidi, ^s a Christian, she maintained 
 
120 
 
 AVLlle these thoughts were passing^ in her mind, she had finish- 
 ed her drawing ; and, impatient to know how far this sort ofla- 
 hour was likely to be profitable, she furaished her father with a 
 book to amuse him in her absence; and, for the first time since 
 they had occupied their present lodgings, expressed a wish to 
 take a walk for amusement. Had Montreville observed the blushes 
 that accompanied this little subterfuge, he would certainly 
 have suspected that the amusement which this walk promised was 
 of no common kind ; but he was in one of his reveries, hanging 
 over the mantle-piece, with his forehead resting on his arm, 
 and did not even look up while he desired her not to be long 
 absent. 
 
 She resolved to go first to Lady Pelham, that coming early 
 she might find her disengaged, and afterwards to proceed to the 
 print-shop. 
 
 The wind blew keen across the snow as Laura began her reluc- 
 tant pilgrimage. Her summer attire, to which her finances could 
 afford no addition, ill defended her from the blast. Through the 
 streets of London she was to explore her way unattended. Ac- 
 customed to find both safety and pleasure in the solitude of her 
 walks, she was to mix in the throngs of a ruJe rabble, without 
 protection from insult. But no outward circumstances could add 
 to the feelings of comfortless dismay with which she looked for- 
 ward to the moment, when, ushered through stately apartments 
 into the presence of self-important greatness, she should announce 
 herself a beggar. Her courage failed — she paused, and made one 
 step bact towards her home. But she recalled her former 
 thoughts. "1 have need to be humbled," said she ; and again pro- 
 ceeded on her way. 
 
 As she left the little garden that surrounded her lodgings, she 
 perceived an old man who had taken shelter by one of the pillars 
 of the gate. He shivered in the cold, which found easy entrance 
 through the rags that covered him, and famine glared from his 
 hollow eye. His gray hairs streamed on the wind, as he held out 
 the tattered remains of a hat, and said, " Please to help me. Lady. 
 — lam very poor." He spoke in the dialect of her native land, .• 
 and the accents went to Laura's heart ; — for Laura was in the land | 
 of strangers. She had never been deaf to the petitions of the poor ; 
 for all the poor of Glenalbert were known to her ; and she knew 
 that what she spared from her own comforts, was not made the 
 minister of vice. Her purse was already in her hand, ere she re- 
 membered that to give was become a crime. 
 
 As the thought crossed her, she started like one who had es; 
 caped from sudden danger. " No, I must not give you money,' 
 said she, and returned the pm'se into her pocket, with a pang th 
 taught her the true bitterness of poverty. •* I am cold and hui 
 gry," said the man still pleading, and taking encouragement fr»i 
 Laura's relenting eye. "Himgiy !" repeated Laura, *• then come 
 with me, and I will give you bread ;" and she returned to the 
 house to bestow on tUe old man the hurablg fare which she had 
 
121 
 
 before destiued to supply her own wants for the day, glad to pur- 
 chase by a lon^r fast the right to ffecd the hungry. 
 
 " In what respect am I better than this poor creature," said she 
 to herself, as she returned with the begj^ar to the g-ate, " that I 
 should offer to him with ease, and even with pleasure, what T my- 
 self cannot ask. without pain. Surely I do not rig-htly believe 
 that we are of the same dust ! the same frail, sinful, perishable, 
 dust ! ' 
 
 But it was in vain that Laura continued to argue with herself. 
 In this instance she could only do her duty ; she could not love it. 
 Her heart filled, and the tears rose to her eyes. She dashed them 
 away — but they rose again 
 
 When she found herself in Grosvenor Street, she paused for a 
 moment. " What if Lady Pclham should deny my request ? dis- 
 miss me as a bold Intruder ? Why, tlien,'* said Laura, raising- her 
 head, and again advancing with a firmer step, " I shall owe no ob- 
 Hg-ation to a stranger." 
 
 She approached the house— she ascended the steps. Almost 
 breathless she laid her hand upon the knocker. At that moment 
 she imagined her entrance through files of insolent domestics, in- 
 to a room filled with gay company. She anticipated the inquisi- 
 tive glances— shrunk in fancy from the supercilious examination ; 
 and she again drew back her hand. ** I shall never have courage 
 to face all this," thought she. While we hesitate, a trifle turns 
 the scale. Laura perceived that slie had drawn the attention of a 
 young man on the pavement, who stood gazing oti her with fa- 
 miliar curiosity ; and she knocked, almost before she was sensible 
 thatjshe intended it. 
 
 The time appeared immeasurable till the door was opened by a 
 maid serxunt. *' Ts Lady Pciham at home ?'' inquired Laura, ra- 
 king encouragement from the sight of one of her own sex *' No, 
 Ma'am," answered the maid, " my lady is gone to keep Chi jst- 
 
 mas in shire, and will not return for a fortnight." Laura drew 
 
 a long deep breath, as if a weight had been lifted from her breast ; 
 and, suppressing an ejaculation of " thank Heaven," sprung in 
 the lightness of her heart at one skip from the door to the 
 pavement. 
 
 CHAPTER XVL 
 
 La-ura's exultation was of short continuance. She hwW ^ne 
 but a few steps ere she reflected that the wants which she had un- 
 dertaken so painful a visit to supply were as claimant as ever, and 
 now further than ever from a cuance of relief Mournfully she 
 pursued her way towards the print-shop, hopeleiSly ^pjpttrin^ 
 
 Vol. I. L 
 
122 
 
 Lrr urg-ent and probably prolonged necessities with her confined 
 2"esourccs. 
 
 The utmost price which she could hope to receive for the draw- 
 inj^ she carried, would be far from sufficient to discharge her debt 
 to the surgeon ; and there seemed now no alternative but to confess 
 her inability to pay, and to throw herself upcm his mercy. To this 
 measure, however, she was too averse to adopt it without recon- 
 siderir.g- every other possible expedient. She thought of appeal- 
 ing- to the friendship of Afrs. Douglas, and of suffering Dr. Flint to 
 continue his visits till an answer from her friend should enable her 
 to close the connexion. But Mrs. Douglas's scanty income was 
 taxed to the uttei-most by the maintenance and education of a nu- 
 nierotis family, by the liljeral charities of its owners, and by the 
 hospitable spirit, which, banished by ostentation from more splen- 
 did iil)odes, still lingers by the fireside of a Scotch clergyman. — 
 Laura was sure that Mrs. Douglas would supply lier wants at 
 wliatever inconvenience to herself; and this very consideration 
 withheld her from making application to her fi'iend. 
 
 Laura had heard and read that ladies in distress had found sub- 
 sistence by the s:ile of their ornaments. Rut by their example she 
 could not profit ; for her ornaments were few in number and of no 
 value. She ivore indeed a locket, which she had once received 
 from her mother, with a strong injunction neither to lose nor give 
 it away ; but Laura, in her profound ignorance of the value of 
 trinkets, attached no estimation to this one, except as the only un- 
 necessary gift which she had ever received from her mother. " It 
 contains almost as much gold as a guinea," said she, putting her 
 hand to it, " and a guinea will soon be a great treasure to me." — 
 Still she determined that nothing short of exti-emity should induce 
 her to part with it ; but desirous to asct-itain the extent of this last 
 resource, she entered the shop of a jeweller, and presenting the 
 locket, begged to know its value. 
 
 After examining it, the jeweller replied that he believed it might 
 be wcM'th about five guineas, " for though,*' said he, ** the setting 
 is antiquated, these emeralds are worth something." 
 
 At the mention of this sum, all Laura's difficulties seemed to 
 vanish. Besides enabling her to pay the surgeon, it woidd make 
 an addition to her little fvmd. With vigorous abstinence on her 
 part, this little fund,^together with the price of her incessant la- 
 bour, would pay for her lodgings, and support her father in happy 
 ignorance of his poverty, till he was able to remove to Glenalbert. 
 Then, when he was quite well and quite able to bear it, she would 
 tell him how she had toiled for him, and he would see that he had 
 not lavished his fondness on a thankless child. 
 
 These thoughts occupied far less time thdn the recital ; and yet, 
 ere they were passed, Laura had untied the locket from her neck, 
 and put it into the hands of the jeweller. It was not till she saw 
 it in the hands of another, that she felt all the pain of parting with 
 h. She asked to see it once more ; as she gazed on it for tlie last 
 tiit\c, tears trickled from her eyes ; but speedily wiping them away- 
 
123 
 
 and averting her bead, she restored the locket to its new owner, 
 and taking up the money, departed. ^. 
 
 She soon arrived at the print-shop, and findiiaByilkins discn- 
 gaged, produced her drawing, and asked him to poWhasc it.^AVil. 
 kins h)oktd at it, and inquired what price she had put upr 
 "1 am quite unacquainted with its real vahic," answeredshe, 
 the rapid sale of my work is at present sucli an object to me, 
 1 shall willingly make it as cheap as possible, or mUow you to- 
 yotu- own p-ice." " Have you any more to dispose of, Ma'am ?" 
 asked Wilkins. " I have none finished," answered Laura, " butj 
 tliinlc 1 could promise you six more in a week if )OU are inelined to 
 take them." " 1 think," said Wilkins, after some consideration, 
 ** I might venture to take tliem if you could afford them for half a 
 guinea each." *' Y<m shall have them," said Laura, with a sigh ; 
 *'• but I think half a guinea rather a low — a high, 1 believe, I mean." 
 
 Laura did not at this moment exactly know what she meant ; 
 tor her eyes had just rested on a gentleman, who, with his back 
 towards lier, was busied in examining a book of caricatures. She 
 thought she could not be mistaken in the person. Only one form 
 upon earth was endowed with such symmetry and grace } and that 
 form was Hargrave's. He slightly turned his head, and Laura was 
 certain. 
 
 "Though Laura neither screamed nor fair-.ted, thid rccoc;nition 
 was not made without - itreme emotion. She trembled violently, 
 and a mist spread before her eyes ; but she remen^bered the ap- 
 parently wilful desertion of her lover ; and, determined neither to 
 claim his compassion nor gratify his vanity by any of the airs of a 
 forsaken damsel, she quietly turned away from him, and leant 
 against the counter to recover strength and composure. 
 
 She v/as resolved to quit the shop the instant that she was able ; 
 and yet, perhaps, she would have become sooner sensible of her 
 recovered powers of motion, had it not been for a latent hope that 
 the caricatures would not long continue so very interesting. No 
 one, however, accosted her; and next came the idea that Hargrave 
 had already observed her, without wishing to claim her acquaint- 
 ance. Before the mortifying thought could take a disthict form, 
 Laura was already on her way towards the door. 
 
 " Yoii have left your half-guinea. Ma'am," said Wilkins, callin?i^ 
 after her ; and Laura, half angry at being detained, turned back to 
 fetch it. At this moment Hargrave's eye fell upon her half averted 
 face. Surprise and joy illuminating his fine countenance, " l-.aura !" 
 he exclaimed, " is it possible ! have I at last found you !" and 
 springing forward, he clasped her to his breast, regardless cA'^.he 
 inquisitive looks and significant smiles of the spectators of his 
 transports. But to the scrutiny of strangers, to the caresses of 
 Hargrave, even to the indecorum of her situation, poor Laura w as 
 insensible. Weakened by the fatigue and emotion of the two pre- 
 ceding days, overcome by the sudden conviction that she had not 
 been wilfully neglected, her head sunk upon the shoulder of Ilar- 
 g-rare, and sha lost all consciousness. 
 
321 
 
 When Laura recovered, she found herself in a little parlour ad- 
 joininpf to the shop, with no attendant but Hargrave, who still sup- ■ 
 ported her inj|g arms. Her first thought was vexation at her own ■ 
 iil-tiined sens^ity; her next, a resolution to make no further for- 
 feiture of her respectability, but rather, by the most stoical coiii- . 
 posure, to regain what she had lost. For this purpose, she soon 
 discng-ag-ed herself from her perilous support, and unwilling- to 
 speak t.ll secure of maintauiing her firmness, she averted her head, 
 and returned all llargrave's raptures of love and joy with provok- 
 ing silence. 
 
 As sooi\ as she had completely recovered her self-possession, 
 she rose, and apologizing for the trouble she had occasioned him, 
 ijaid she would return home. Hargrave eagerly begged permis- 
 sion to accompany her, saying that his carriage was in waiting, 
 and would convey them. Laura, with cold politeness, declined 
 his offer. Though a little piqued by lier manner, Hargrave trium- 
 phed in the idea that he retained all his former influence. " My 
 bewitching Laura," said he, taking her hand, "I beseech, you to 
 lay aside this ill-timed coquetry. After ao sweet, so interesting a 
 proof, that you still allow me some power over your feelings, must 
 I accuse you of an affectation of coldness ?'* " No, sir," said Laura 
 indignantly, " rather of a momentary weakness, for which I de- 
 spise myself." 
 
 The lover could not indeed have chost -i a more unfavourable 
 moment to express his exultation ; for Laura's feelings of humilia- 
 tion and self-reproach were just then raised to their height, by 
 her perceiving the faces of two of the shop-hoys peeping through 
 the glass door with an aspect of roguish curiosity. Conscious of 
 lier inability to walk home, and feeling her situation quite intolera- 
 ble, she called to one of the little spies, and begged that he would 
 instantly procure her a hackney coach. 
 
 Hargrave vehemently remonstrated against this order. ** Why 
 this unkind haste ?" said he. " Surely after so tedious, so tor. 
 menting an absence, you need not grudge me a few short mo-, 
 ments." Laura thought he was probably liimself to blame for the 
 absence of which he complained, and coldly answering, " 1 have 
 already been detained too long,*' was about to quit the room, when 
 Hargrave, impatiently seizing her hand, exclaimed, " Unfeeling 
 Laura ! does that relentless pride never slumber I Have I followed 
 you from Scotland, and sought you for three anxious months, to 
 be met without one kind word, one pitying look !" 
 
 " Followed me !" repeated Laura wilh surprise. 
 
 *' \cs, upon my life, my journey hither had no other object.-^ 
 After you so cruelly left me, without warning or f^u-ewell, how 
 cojil 1 I endure to exist in the place wiiich you once made dcli},-ht- 
 ful to me. Indeed I could not bear it. I resolved to pursue yoil 
 wherever you went, to breathe at least the same air witli you, some., 
 times to feast my fond eyes with that form, beyond imagination 
 iv>vdy~-.pc5haps t» wm that be^uilin^ 5gr\il^ which no heart C9,!i 
 
125 
 
 withstand. The barbarous caution of Mrs. Douglas in refusing me 
 your address, has caused the disappointment of all my hopes." 
 
 Hargrave had egreji^'iously mistaken the road to Laura's favour 
 when he threw a reflection upon her friend. " Mrs. Douglas cer- 
 tainly acted right," said she. " I have equal conlidencc in her 
 prudence and in her friendship." " Probably then," said llargi'aye, 
 reddening with vexation, '* tliis system of torture originated with 
 you. It was at your desire tliat your friend withstood all my en- 
 treaties." " No," answered Laura, *' I cannot claim the merit of 
 so much foresiglit. 1 certainly did not expect the honour that you 
 are pleased to say you have done me, especially when you were 
 doubtful botli of aiy abode and of your own reception." 
 
 " Insulting girl," cried Hargrave, ** you know too v.ell, that, 
 liowever received, still I must follow you. And, but for a scries of 
 the most tormenting accidents, I should have defeated the caution 
 of your cold-hearted favourite. At the Perth post-office, I disco- 
 vered that your letters were addressed to thecareof Mr. Baynard; 
 and the very hour that 1 reached London, I flew to make inquiries 
 after you i found that Mr. Uaynard's house was shut up, and that 
 he was gone in bad heuUh to Richmond. I followed him, and was 
 told that he was too ill to be spoken with, that none of th • servants 
 knew your abode, as the footman who used to carry messages jto 
 you had been dismissed, and that your letters were now left at Mr. 
 Baynards chambers in town. Thither I went, and learnt that, ever 
 since Mr. Haynard's removal to Ulclimond, you had yourself sent for 
 .your letters, and that, of course,, the clerks were entirely ignorant 
 of your residence. Imagine my disappointment. The people, 
 however, promised to make inquiries of your messenger,- and to 
 let me know where you might be found ; and day after day did I 
 liaunt them, the sport of vain hope and bitter disappointment. — 
 No other letter ever came for you, nor did you ever inquire for 
 any," 
 
 " After Mr. Raynard's removal to Ricbmond»" said l^aura, " I 
 directed Mrs. i)^)uglas to address her letters to oiu* lodgings." 
 
 " Ah Laura, think what anxieties, what wretchedness "l have 
 suffered in my fruitless search ! Yet you meet me only to drive me 
 coldly from your presence. Once you said that you pardoned ihe 
 folly— the madness that offerxled you ; but too well 1 see that you 
 deceived yourself or me — lliat no r-.ttachment, no devotion can pur- 
 chase your forgiveness." ** Indeed," said Laura, melted by tlie 
 pi"oof which she liad received of her lover*s aflecllon, yet fearful of 
 forfeiting her caution, " I am incapable of harbouring enmity 
 against the worst of human beings, and" — 
 
 •* Knmity !" interrupted Hargrave, " Heavens^ what a word >** 
 " I mean," said Laura,, faltering,. " tliat 1 am not insensible to the 
 regard — " 
 
 *' Madam, the coach is at the door,"^ said the shop-bov, again 
 
 peeping slily into the room ; and Laura, hastily bidding ilarg'rave 
 
 a good morning, walked towards the carriage. Haying herself 
 
 given the coacliniau his directions, she suifered Hargrave to hand 
 
 L 2 
 
i:er in, 5?iving'h!masiifyhtbowintoken of dismissal. iJccontimiecl^-. 
 hoNvever, to stand for some moments with his foot upon the step^ 
 waiting- for a look of permission to accompany her ; but, receiving' 
 none, he sprung- into the seat by her side, and called to the man 
 to drive on. Laura, offended at his boldness, gave him a very un- 
 gracioui» look, and drew back in silence. " I see you think me 
 presumptuous," said he, " but, just found, how can I consent to 
 kave you ? Oh Lanra, if you kneW what I have suffered from an 
 absence that seemed endless ! Not for worlds would I endure 
 such another." 
 
 " TJie stipulated two years are still far from a close," said Laura 
 coldly ; " and, till the}' are ended, our intercourse cannot be too 
 slight." 
 
 " Surety," cried Hargrave, " when you fixed this lingering pro- 
 bation, you did not mean to banish me from your presence for two 
 years !'' Laura could not with truth aver that such a banishment 
 had been her intention. "I believe," said she, suppressing a sigh, 
 *' that would have been my wisest meaning." " I would sooner die," 
 cpied Hargrave vehemently. ** Oh, had I sooner found you," add- 
 «d he, a dark expression which Laura could not define clouding 
 fcis countenance, " what wretchedness would have been spared f 
 But now that we have at last met," continued he, his eyes agairv 
 sparkling with love and hope, *♦ I will haunt you, cling to you, su]»- 
 plicate you ; till I melt you to a passion as fervent as my own." 
 While he spoke he dropped upon his knee by her side, and threw 
 his arm passionately round her. Time had been, that Laura, 
 trembling with irrepressible emotion, would have withdrawn from 
 the embrace, reproaching herself for sensations from which she 
 imagined that the more spotless heart of her lover was free, and 
 hating" herself for being unable to receive as a sister, the caresses 
 of a fondness pure as a brother's love. But Hargrave had himself 
 torn the veil from her eyes ; and shrinking from him as if a serpent 
 had crossed her path, she cast on him a look that struck like an ice- 
 bolt on the glowing heart of Hargrave. *' Just Heaven !" he cried, 
 starting up with a convulsive shudder, " this is abhorrence ! Why, 
 -why have you deceived me with a false show of sensibility ? Speak 
 it at once," said he, wildly grasping her arm ; " say that you def- 
 test me, and tell me too who has dared to supplant me in a heart 
 once wholly mine." 
 
 '*' Be calm, I implore you," said Laura, terrified at his violence, 
 *• no one has supplanted you. I am, I ever shall be, whatever you 
 deserve to find me." 
 
 Laura's soothing voice, her insinuating look, retained all their 
 wonted power to calm the fierce passions of her lover " Oh I 
 shall never deserve you," said he in a tone of wretchedness, while 
 his face was again crossed by an expression of anguish, which the 
 unsuspecting Laura attributed to remorse for his former treat- 
 ment of herself 
 
 The carriage at this moment stopped, and anxious to calm his 
 ]»pirits at parting, Laura smikd kindly upon him, and said, " B^ 
 
127 
 
 evei tlins humble in your opinion of your own meHts, cvcv thus paf'* 
 tial in your estimate of mine, and then," added she, the tears tiem- 
 bUng" in her lovely eye?, •* we shall meet again in happier circum- 
 stances." *' You must not, shall not leave me thus," cried Har- 
 grave impatiently, "1 will not quit this spot, till you have con- 
 sented to see nie again." " J3o not ask it," replied Laura. *' A 
 long, long time must elapse, much virtuous exertion must be un- 
 dergone, ere I. dare receive you with other than this coldness, 
 which appears to be so painful to you. Why then sport with your 
 own feelings and with mine ?" " Ah Laura," said Hargrave in 
 a voice of supplication, *' use me as you will, only suffer me to 
 see you." Moved with the imploring tone of her lover, Laura 
 \urned toward him that she might soften by her manner the me- 
 ditated refusal ; hut, in an evil hour for her resolution, slie met 
 the fine eyes of Hargrave sufTued in tears, and wlioUy unable to 
 utter what she intended, she reniaincd silent. Hargrave was in- 
 stantly sensible of his advantage, and willing to assist her ac- 
 quiescence by putting his request into a less exceptionable form, 
 he said, •' I ask not even for your notice, suffer me but to visit 
 your father." "My father has been very ill," returned Laura, 
 who, unknown to herself, rejoiced to find an excuse for her con- 
 cession, "and it may give hiin pleasure to see you ; but /can 
 claim no sliare in the honour of your visit." Hargrave, delighted 
 with his success, rapturously thanked her for her condescension ; 
 and springing from her carriage, led her, but half satisfied with 
 her own conduct, into the house. 
 
 She ushered him into the parlour, and before he had time to de- 
 toin her, glided away to acquaint her father with his visit She 
 found the captain wrapt in the same listless melancholy in which 
 she had left him ; the book which she had meant to entertain him, 
 used only as a rest for his arm. Laura was now beset with her 
 old difficidty. She had not yet learnt to speak of Hargrave with- 
 out sensible confusion ; and to utter his name while any eye was 
 fixed upon her face, required an effort which no common circum- 
 stances could have tempted her to make. She therefore took re- 
 fuge behind her father's chair, before she began her partial relation 
 of her morning's adventure. 
 
 " And is he now in the house," cried Montreville, with an ani- 
 mation which he had long laid aside. " I rejoice to hear it. Re- 
 turn to him immediately, my love. I will see him in a few minutes." 
 " As soon as you choose to receive him,'* said Laura, " I shall 
 carry your commands. 1 shall retaain in the dressing-room.'* 
 ** For shame, Laura !" returned Montreville. " I thought you had 
 been above these silly airs of conquest. Colonel Hargrave's re- 
 jected passion gives you no riglitto refuse him the politeness due 
 to all your father's guests." " Certainly not. Sir, but" — she stop- 
 ped, hesitating'—" however," added she, " since you wish it, I 
 will go." 
 
 It was not without embarrassment that Laura returned to her 
 lover; to offer him another tete-i-iete seemed so like soliciting a 
 
128 
 
 renewal of his ardours. In this idea she was stopping at the par- 
 lour door, collecting- her courage, and meditating' a speecli deco- 
 rously repulsive, when Iliirgrave, who had been listening for her 
 approach, impatiently stejjped out to look for her, and in a moment 
 spoiled all lier concerted oratory, by taking her hand and leading 
 her into the room. 
 
 Though Hargrave could at any time take Laura's feelings by 
 surprise, an instant was sufficient to restore her .self-possession; 
 and withdrawing her hand, she said, " In a few minutes. Sir, my 
 father will be glad to see you, and at his desii*e I attend you till he 
 can have that honour.'^ "Bless him for the delay !* cried Har- 
 g-rave, " I have a thousand things to say to you." *' And I, Sir," 
 said Laura, solemnly, " have one thing to say to you, of more im- 
 portance to me, probably, than all the thousand." 
 
 Hargrave bit his lip ; and Laura proceeded, her colour, as pain- 
 ful recollection rose, fading from the crimson that had newly 
 flushed it, to the paleness of anguish. '♦ blx months ago," said 
 she, speaking with an effort that rendered her words scarcely ar- 
 ticulate — " Six months ago you made me a promise. Judge of my 
 anxiety that you should keep it, when to secure its fulfilment I can 
 call up a subject so revolting — so dreadful." She paused — a cold 
 shudder running through her limbs ; but Hargruve, abashed and 
 disconcerted, gave her no interruption, and ventured not even to 
 raise his eyes from the ground. *' My father,*' she continued, ** is 
 no longer able to avenge his child ;-«the bare mention of her 
 wrongs would destroy him. If then you value my peace — if you 
 dread my detestation — let no circumstances seduce, no accident 
 surprise from you this hateful secret." 
 
 While she spoke, the blushes which had deserted her cheek 
 were transferred to that of Hargrave; for though, to his own con- 
 science, he had palliated his former outrage till it appeared a very 
 venial trespass, he was not proof against the unaffected horror with 
 which it had inspired the viituous Laura. Throwing himself at 
 her feet, and hiding his face in her gown, he bitterly, and for the 
 Inoment sincerely, bewailed his offence, and vowed to devote his 
 life to its expiation. Then starting up, he struck his hand wildly 
 upon his forehead, and exclaimed, " Madman that I have been! 
 Oh, Laura, thy heavenly purity makes me the vei'iest wretch- No— 
 thou canst never pardon me !" 
 
 The innocent Laura, who little suspected all his causes of self- 
 reproach, wept tears of joy over his repentance, and, in a voice full 
 of tenderness, said, '* Indeed 1 have myself too many faults to be 
 *mrelenting. Contrition and amendment are all that Heaven re- 
 quires — why should I ask more ?'* Hargrave saw that she attri- 
 buted nil his agitation to remorse fi>r his conduct towards herself; 
 but the effects of her mistake were too delightful to suffer him to 
 undeceive her ; and perceiving at once that he had found ihc mas- 
 terspring of all her tenderness, he overpowered her with such vov/s, 
 protestations, and entreaties, that, before tiieir conference was in- 
 terrupted, he had, amidst tremors, blushes, aiui hesitation, which 
 
129 
 
 spoke a thousand times more than her words, wrung from her a 
 confession that she felt a more than friendly interest iii the issue of 
 his probation. 
 
 Indeed, Montreville was in no haste to break in upon their dia- 
 logfue. That any woman should have refused the hand oftlie hand- 
 some — the insinuating- — the gallant Colonel Hargrave, had always 
 appealed to him little less than miraculous. He had been told, 
 that ladies sometimes rejected what they did not mean to relin- 
 quish ; and though he could scarcely believe his daughter capable 
 of such childish coquetry, he was not without faith in a maxim, 
 which, it must be confessed, receives sanction from experience, 
 namely, that in all cases of feminine obduracy, perseverance is an 
 infallible recipe. Tliis recipe, he had no doubt, was now to be 
 tried upon Laura; and he fei-\'ently wished that it might be with 
 success. Though he was too aHtctionate a father to form on this 
 subject a wish at variance with his daug-hter's happiness, he had 
 never been insensible to the desire of seeing her brow graced by a 
 coronet. But now more important considerations made him truly 
 anxious tfxconsign her to the guardianship of a man of honour. 
 
 The unfortunate ti-ansaction of the annuity would, in the event of 
 his death, leave her utterly destitute. That event, he imagined, 
 was fast approaching; and with many a bitter pang he remembered 
 that he had neither friend nor relative with whom he could entrust 
 his orphan child. His parents had long been dead ; his only sur- 
 viving brother, a fox-hunting squire of small fortune, shared his 
 table and bed with a person who had stooped to these degrading 
 honotirs from the more reputable situation of an innocent dairy- 
 maid. With Lady Harriet*s relations (for friends she had none,) 
 Montreville had never maintained any intercourse. They had af- 
 fected to resent his intrusion into the family, and he had not been 
 industrious to conciliate their favour. Except himself, therefore, 
 Laura had no natural protector ; and this circumstance made him 
 tenfold more anxious that she should recal her decision in regaid 
 %Q Hargrave. 
 
 He had no doubt that tlie present visit was intended for Laura ; 
 and he suffered as long a time to elapse before he claimed any 
 share in it, as common politeness w^ould allow. He had meant to 
 receive the colonel in his own apartment, but an inclination to ob- 
 serve the conduct of the lovers, induced him to make an effort to 
 join them in the parlour, where he with pleasure discovered by the 
 countenances of both, that their conversation had been mutually 
 interesting. Hargrave instantly recovered himself, and paid his 
 compliments with his accustomed gr.ice ; but Laura, by no means 
 prepared to stand inspection, disappeared the moment her father 
 entered the room. 
 
 This was the first time that the gentlemen had met, since the 
 day when Montreville had granted his fruitless sanction to the 
 colonel's suit. Delicacy prevented the father from touching upon 
 the subject, and it was equally avoided by Hargrave, who had not 
 yt;t determined in wh .t light to represent his repulse. * However, 
 
130 
 
 as jt eompletcly occupied the mi ds of both, the conversation, 
 which turned on topics merely indiiTerent, was carried on with lit- 
 tle spirit on either side, and was soon closed by HargraVe's taking' 
 leave, after begging permission to repeat his visit. 
 
 Colonel Margrave had promised to spend that evening with the 
 most beautiful woman in London ; but the imexpected rencoun- 
 ter of the morning, left him in no humour to fulfil his engagement. 
 He had found his I, aura, —his lovely, his innocent Laura,— the ob- 
 ject of his only serious passion, — the only woman w hose empire 
 reached beyond his senses. He had found her cautious, reserved, 
 severe : yet feeling, constant, and tender. He remembered the 
 overwhelming joy which made her sink fainting on his bosom; 
 called to mind her ill-suppressed tears —her smothered sighs — her 
 unbidden bluslies ; and a thousand times assured himself that he 
 was passionately beloved. He triumphed the more in the proofs 
 of her affection, because they were not only involuntary but re- 
 luctant ; and, seen through the flattering medium of gratified 
 pride, her charms appeared more than ever enchanting. On these 
 charms he Ivad formerly suffered his imagination to dwell, till to 
 appropriate them seemed to him almost the chief end of existence ; 
 and, though in absence his frenzy had a little intermitted, his in- 
 terview with Laura roused it again to double violence. 
 
 l^o passion of Hargrave's soul (and all his passions were of in- 
 tense force,) had ever known resU-aint, or control, or even delay 
 of gratification, excepting only this, the strongest tliat had ever 
 governed him. And must he now pine for eighteen lingering 
 months, ere he attained the object of such ardent wishes ? Must 
 he submit, for a time that seemed endless, to the tyranny of this 
 intolerable passion, — see the woman on whom he doated receive 
 his protestations with distiust, and, spite of her affections, shrink 
 f-om l\is caresses with horror ? No ! — he vowed that if there were 
 persuasion in man, or frailty in v/oman, he would shorten the pe- 
 riod of his trial, — that he would employ for this purpose all the 
 power which he possessed over Laura's heart, and, if that failcl, 
 that he would even have recourse to the authority of the fa- 
 ther. 
 
 But he liad yet a stronger motive than the impetuosity of his 
 passions for striving to obtain immediate possession of his trea- 
 sure- He was conscious that there was a tale to tell, which, once 
 known, (and it could not long be concealetl,) would sh^e his 
 hopes to the foundation. But on this subject he could not now 
 dwell without disgust, and he turned from it to the more inviting 
 contemplation of Laura's beauty and Laura's love ; and willi his 
 head andhis heart, every nerve, every pulse full of Laura, he re- 
 tired to pursue in his dreams, the fair visions that had occupied 
 his wiiking thoughts. 
 
 Wliile he^-was thus wilfully surrendering himself to the domi- 
 nion of his frenzy, Laura, the self-denied Laura, was endeavour- 
 ing-, though it must be owned without distinguished success, to 
 
131 
 
 silence the pleadings of a heart as warm, though better regulated^ 
 by attending to the humble duties of the hour. 
 
 When she quitted Hargrave, she had retired to offer up her 
 fervent thanks to lleaven,'that he was become sensible of the 
 enormity of his former conduct. Earnestly did she pray, that, 
 though earth should never witness their union, they might be per- 
 mitted together to join a nobler society — animated by yet purer 
 loves — bound by yet holier ties. She next reconsidered her own 
 behaviour towards Hargrave ; and, though vexed at the momen- 
 tary desertion of her self-command, saw, upon the whole, little 
 cause to reproach herself, since lier weakness liad been merely 
 thut of tlie body, to which the will gave no consent. She resolved 
 to be guardedly cautious in her future demeanour towards him ; 
 and since the issue of his probation was doubtful, since its close 
 was at all events distant, to forfeit the enjoyment of her lover's 
 society, ratiier than, by remaining in the room during his visits, 
 appear to consider them as meant for herself. 
 
 As soon as Hargrave was gone, Montreville returned to his 
 chamber ; and there Laura ordered his small but delicate repast 
 to be served, excusing herself from partaking of it, by saying 
 that she could dine more conveniently in tlie parlour. Having in 
 the morning bestowed on the beggar the meager fare that should 
 have supplied her own wants, she employed the time of her fa- 
 ther's meal, in the labour which was to purchase him another; 
 pondering" meanwhile on the probability that he would again enter 
 on the discussion of Hargrave's pretensions. To this subject she 
 felt unconquerable repugnance ; and though she knew that it must 
 at last be canvassed, and that she must at last assign a reason for 
 Iier conduct, she woukl fain have put oiF the evil hour. 
 
 She dehi} ed her evening visit to her father, till he grew impa- 
 tient for it, and sent for her to his apartment. The moment she 
 entered the room, he began, as she had anticipated, to inquire 
 into the particulars of her interview with Hargrave. Hie lan- 
 guage of Laura's reply was not very perspicuous ; the manner of 
 it was more intelligible : and Montreville instantly comprehended 
 the nature of her conference with Ihe Colonel. " He has then 
 given you an opportunity of repairing your former rashness,'* 
 said Montreville, with eagerness, — " and your answer ?" " Colo- 
 nel Hargrave had his answer long ago. Sir," replied Laura, trem- 
 bling at this exordium. Montreville sighed heavily, and, fixing 
 his eyes mournfully upon her, remained silent. At last, affection- 
 ately taking her harid, he said, '* My de.ir child, the time has 
 been, when even your caprices on this subject were sacred with 
 your father. While I had a shelter, however humble — an inde. 
 pendence, however small, to offer you, your bare inclination de- 
 termined mine. But now your situation is changed — fatally chang- 
 ed ; and no trivial reasons would excuse me for permitting your 
 rejection of an alliance so unexceptionable, so splendid. Tell 
 me, then, explicitly, what are your objection to Colonel Hair* 
 grave J" 
 
13j2 
 
 Xauru remained silent, for she knew not how to frame her rep!} . ,1 
 '*''Isit possible that he can be personally diMigreeiible to you f** I 
 continued Montreville. "Disagreeable ?" exclaimed Laura, thrown 
 off her guard by astonishment. "Colonel Hargrave is one whom 
 
 any woman miglit — whom no woman could know without '* 
 
 " Without what ?" said Montreville, with a delighted smile. But 
 Laura, shocked at the extent of her own admission, covered her 
 face with her hands, and almost in tears, made no reply. 4 
 
 *' Well, my love," said Montreville, more cheerfully than he^ 
 had spoken for many a day, ** I can interpret all this, and will not 
 persecute you. But you must still suffer me to ask what strange 
 reasons could induce you to reject wealth and title, offered bv a 
 man not sibso\\ite\y disagreeable ?'* Laura strove to collect herself, 
 and deep crimson dyeing Iier beautiful face and neck, she said, 
 without venturing to lift her eyes, " You yourself have told me. 
 Sir, that Colonel Hargrave is a man of gallantry, and, believe me, 
 \\ith such a man I should be most miserable.'^ 
 
 " Come, come, Laura," said Montreville, putting his arm round 
 her, " confess, that some little fit of jealousy made you answer 
 Hargrave unkindly at first, and that now a little female pride, or 
 tlie obstinacy of which we useil to accuse you fifteen years ago, 
 makes you unwilling to retract." 
 
 " No', indeed," returned Laura, with emotion " Colonel Har- 
 grave has never given me cause to be jealous of his affection. But 
 jealousy would feebly express the anguish with which his wife 
 would behold his vices, degrading him in the eyes of men, and 
 making him vile in the sight of Heaven." 
 
 ** My love," said Montreville, "yoursimplicityandignoran.ee 
 of the world make you attach far too great importance to Har- 
 grave's little irregularities. I am persuaded that a wife whom he 
 loved would have no cause to complain of them." 
 
 " She would at least have no ri^-ht to complain," returned 
 Laura, ** if, knowing them, she chose t© make the hazardous ex- 
 periment." 
 
 " But I am certain," said Montreville, "that a passion such as 
 he evidently feels for you, would ensure his perfect reformation ; 
 and that a heart so warm as Hargrave's, would readily acknow- 
 ledge all the claims upon a husband's and a father's lt)ve." 
 
 Laura held down her head, and, for a moment, surrendered 
 her fancy to prospects, rainbow-like, bright but unreal. Spite of 
 the dictates of sober sense, the vision was cheering; and a smile 
 dimpled her cheek while she said, " But since this reformation 
 is go easy and so certain, would it be a grievous delay to wait for 
 its appearance." . 
 
 " Ah Laura !" Montreville began, " this is no time for" — " Nay, 
 now," interrupted Laura, sportively laying her hand upon his 
 mouth, " positively I will be no more lectured to-night. Besides I 
 have got a new book for you from the library, -and the people in- 
 sisted upon having it returned to-morrow." " You are a spoiled 
 girl," sftid Montreville, fondly caressing her, and he dropped Uie 
 
13S 
 
 subject with the less reluctance, because lie believed tl.ui i,,s 
 wishes, aided, as he perceived they were, by an advocate in Laura's 
 own breast, were in a fair train for accomplishment^ He little 
 knew how feeble was the influence of inclination over the decisions 
 of her self-controlling spirit. 
 
 To prevent him from returning to the topic he had quitted, she 
 read aloud to him till his hour of rest ; and then retired to her 
 chamber to labour as formerly, till the morning was far advanced. 
 
 CHAVTER XVIJ 
 
 Laura had it now in her power to discharge he- debt to the 
 surgeOiT, and she was resolved that it should immediately be paid. 
 When, therefore, he called in the morning to make his daily visit, 
 she met him before he entered Montreville's chamber, andreqcest- 
 L(l to speak with him in the parlour. 
 
 She began by saying, she feared that medicine could be of little 
 use to her father, to which Dr. Flint readily assented, declaring, 
 in his dry way, that generous food and open air would benefit him 
 more than all the drugs in London. Laura begged him to say eXr 
 Illicitly so to the Captairj, and to give that as a reason for declining 
 to make him any more professional visits. She then presented him 
 with a paper (Containing four guineas, which she thought might be 
 the amount of his claim. He took the paper, and deliberately Un- 
 folding it, returned one half of its contents ; saying; that his ac- 
 count had been settled so lately, that the new one could not amount 
 to more than the sum he retained. Laura, who having now no fu- 
 vour to beg, no debt that she was un:ible to pay, m as no longer 
 ashamed of her poverty, easily opened to Dr. Flint so much of her 
 -situation as was necessary to instruct him in the part he had to act 
 witli -Vlontrcville. He made no offer to continue his visits, even as 
 an acquaintance, but readily undertook all that Laura required of 
 him, adding, ** Indeed, Miss Montreville, I siiould have told }oui- 
 father long ago that physic was useless to him, but whimsical 
 people must have something to a^nuse them, andif Ite had not paid 
 for my pills, he would for some other man's.**" lie then went to 
 Montreville, and finding him in better spirits then he had lately 
 enjoyed, actually succeeded in persuading him, for that day at least, 
 tiiat no new prescription was necessary, and that he could continue 
 to use the old one without the insjiection of a surgeon. 
 
 Laura's mind was much relieved by her having settled tliis aflTuir 
 to her wish ; and when the Doctor was gone, she sat down cheer- 
 fully to her drawing. Her meeting with Uurgrave had lightened 
 her heart of a load which had long wciglied upon it more heavily 
 than she was willing to allow ; and, spite of poverty, she was cheer- 
 ful. *' I have now only liiinger and toil to endure," thought she, 
 
 Vol. I. M 
 
134 
 
 smiling as gaily is if hunger and toil had been trifles ; " but light 
 V ill be my labours, for by them I can in part pay back my debt of 
 life to my dear kind father. I am no more forlorn and deserted, 
 for he is come who is sunshine to Laura's soul. The cloud that 
 darkened him has passed away, and he will brighten all my after- 
 life Oh fondly beloved ! with thee I would have been content to 
 tread tlie humblest path ; but, if we must climb the steeps, together- 
 we will court the breeze, togetlier meet the storm. No time shall 
 change the love I bear thee. Thy step, when feeble with age, shall 
 still be music to Laura's ear. When the lustre of the melting eye 
 is quenched, when the auburn ringlet fades to silver, dearer shalt 
 thou be to me than in all the pride of manly beauty. And when at 
 last the dust shall cover us, one tree shall shelter our narrow beds, 
 and tlie wind that fans t|ie. flowers upon thy ^'ave, shall scatter 
 their fallen leaves upon mine." 
 
 Casting these thoughts into the wild extempore measures which 
 are familiar to tl\e labourers of her native mountains,* Laura was 
 singing them to one of the affecting melodies of her country, her 
 sweet voice made more sweet by the magic of real tenderness, 
 when the door opened, and Hargrave himself entered. 
 
 He came, resolved to exert all his influence, to urge every plea 
 which the affection of Laura would allow him, in order to extort 
 hel* consent to their immediate union ; and he was too well con- 
 vinced of his power to be very diffident of success. Laura ceased 
 her song in as much confusion as if her visitor had understood the 
 language in which it was composed ; or covddhave known himself 
 to be the subject of it. He had been listening to its cldse, and now 
 urged her to continue it, but was imable to prevail. He knew that 
 .she was particularly sensible to the charms of music. He had of- 
 ten witnessed the effect of her own pathetic voice upon her feel- 
 ii\^s ; and he judged that no introduction could be more proper to 
 a conference in which he intended to work upon her sensibility. — 
 He therefore begged her to sing a little plaintive air with which 
 she had often di-awn tears from his eyes. But Laura knew that, 
 as her father was still in bed, she could not without rudeness avoid 
 a long tfetc-a-tete with Hargrave, and therefore she did not choose 
 to put htt composure to any unnecessary test. She excused herself 
 from complying with his request, but glad to find any indiHereiTt 
 way of passing the time, slie offered to sing, if he would allow her 
 to choose lier own^ong, and then began a lively air, which she exv 
 ecuted with all tlie vivacity that she could command. The style 
 of it WKS quite at variance with Hargrave's present humour and 
 design. He heard it with impatience ; and scarcely thanking her, 
 said, " Vou spirits^ are high this morning, Miss Montreville." 
 
 *' They are, indee<i," replied Laura, gaily, " 1 hope you have no 
 intention to make them otherwise.'* 
 
 " Certainly not ; though they are little in unison with my own. 
 The meditations of a restless, miserable night, have brought me 
 to you." 
 
 * See JamiesorCs Popular jBallads, vol. u.p.458. 
 
135 
 
 " Is it the usual efTcct of a restless night to bring you abroad sw 
 early the next morning- ? * said Laura, anxious to avoid a trial ot 
 strength in a sentimental conference. 
 
 " I will be heard seriously," said Hargrave, colouring witli anger, 
 *' and seriously too I must be answered." 
 
 *' Nay," said Laura, ** If you look so tremendous I shall retreat 
 without hearing you at all." ' 
 
 Hargrave, who instantly saw that he had not chosen the right 
 road to victory, checked his rising choler— " Laura," said he, *' you 
 have 3'ourself made me the victim of a passion ungovernable — irre- 
 sistible; and it is cruel — it is ungenerous in you to spoil with my 
 uneasiness." . 
 
 ** Do not give the poor passion such hard names,** said Laurri, 
 smiling. " Perhaps you have never tried to resist or govern it," 
 
 ' " As soon might I govern the wind," cried Margrave, vehement- 
 ly—." as soon resist the fires of Heaven. And Vv by attemi)t to go- 
 vern It?** ' 
 
 *' Because," answered Laura, " it is weak, it is sinful, to submit 
 unresisling to the bondage of an imperious passion." 
 
 " Would that you too would submit unresisting to its bondage-!" 
 said Hargxave, delighted to have made. her once more serious. — 
 "But if this passion is sinful," continued he, "my reformation 
 rests with you alone. Put a period to my lingering trial. Consent 
 to be mine, and.hush all these tumults to rest.'* 
 
 "Take carfe how you furnish me with arguments against your- 
 self," returned Laura, laughing. " Would it be my interest, think 
 you, to lull all these transports to such profound repose ?" 
 
 " Be serious Laura, I implore you. Well do you know that my 
 love can end only with my existende, but I should no longer be dis- 
 tracted with these tumultuous hopes and fears if" — " Oh," cried 
 Laura, interrupting'him, " hope is too pleasing a companion for 
 you to wish to part with that ; and," added she, a smile and a blusli 
 contending upon her cheek, "I begin to believe that your fears are 
 not very troublesome." " Ah Laura,'* said Hargrave sorrowfully, 
 " you know not what you say. There are moments when I feel as 
 if you were already lost to me — and the bare thought 'is distraction. 
 Oh if you have pity for real sufFering,** continued he, dropping on 
 his knees, "save me from the dread of losing you ; forget the hour 
 of madness in which I offended you. Restore to me the time when 
 you owned that I was dear to you. Be yet more generous, and 
 give me immediate, unalienable right to your love." 
 
 " You forget, Colonel Hargrave," said Laura, again taking sanc- 
 tuary in an appearance of col^ffess ; " you forget that six months 
 ago I fixed two years of rectitude as the test of your repentance, 
 and that you were then satisfied with my decision'.** 
 
 " I would then have blessed you for any sentence that left me a 
 hope, however distant ; but now the time when I may claim your 
 promise seems at such a ]iopelcs.s distance — Oh Laura, let me but 
 prevail with you ; and I will b'ind myself by the most solemn oaths 
 to a life of imsullied purity." 
 
136 
 
 "No oaths," replied Laiirawith solemnity, "can streng-then the 
 ties .that already bind you to a life of purity. That you are of noble 
 rank, calls you to be an example to others ; and the yet higher dis- 
 tinction of an immortal spirit bids you strive after virtues that may 
 never meet the eye of man. Only convince me that such are tlie 
 objects of your ambition, and I shall no longer fear to trust with 
 you my improvement and my happiness." 
 
 As she spoke unusual animation sparkled in heneyes, and tinged 
 her delicate cheek with brighter colouring. "Lovely, lovely creu- 
 ture!' cried Hargrave, in transport, "give but thyself to these 
 fond arms, and may Heaven forsake me if I strive not to make thee 
 blest be} ond tlie sweetest dreams of youthful fancy." 
 
 "Alas !" said Laura, " even your affection would fail to bless a 
 heart conscious of acting wrong" 
 
 "Where is the y. rong," said Hargrave, gathering hope from the 
 relenjting tenderness of her voice, " Where is the wrong of ^eld- 
 inj^ to the strongest inipulse of nature — or, to speak in language 
 more like your own, where is the guilt of submitting to an ordi- 
 nance of Hea^ en's own apppintm.ent ?" 
 
 " Why," replied Laura,' " will you force me to say what seems 
 «nkind ? Why compel me to remind you that marriage was never 
 meant to sanction the unholy connexion of those whose principles 
 ^re discordiint ?" 
 
 " Beloved of my heart," said Hargrave, passionately kissing her 
 hand, " take me to thyself, and mould me as thou wilt. I swe^r 
 to thee that not even thine own life shall be more pure, itiore inno- 
 .cent than mine. Blest in thy love, what meaner pleasure could al- 
 hire me. Oh yield then, and bind me for ever to virtue and to thee." 
 
 Laura sliook her head. " Ah, Hargrave," said she, with a 
 heavy sigh, " before you can love and practice the purity which 
 reaches the heart, far other loves must warm, far other motives 
 inspire you." 
 
 " No Other love can ever have such power over me," said Har- 
 gfrivc, with energy. " Be but thou and thy matchless beauty the 
 prize, J^nd every difficulty is light, every sacrifice trivial." 
 
 " In little more than a year," said Laura, " I shall perhaps ask 
 some proofs of the influence you ascribe to me; but till then" — 
 
 "Long, long before that time," cried Hargrave, striking his 
 forehead in agony, "you will be lost to me forever," and he paced 
 the room in seeming despair. Laura looked at him with a pity 
 not unmixed with surprise. " Hear' me for a moment," said she, 
 with the soothing- voice und gentle aspect, which had ;;lways tlie 
 jna;stcry 6f kargrave's f-tlings, alikd, he was instantly at her side, 
 listening with ieugerneis to every tone that she uttered, intent on 
 every variation of her countenance. 
 
 " Tliere are cirpunislances," she continued, her transparent 
 check glowing with brighter beauty,, tears in her downcast eyes 
 trembling through tlie*^ silken lashes — " There are circumstances 
 ihut Oiay change rue, but' time and absence are not of tiie uuniber. 
 Be but true to yourself, aad ) ou have nothing to fe^. After tjiia 
 
137 
 
 assurance, I trust it will give you little pain to hear that, t/U the 
 stipulated two years are ended, if we are to meet, it must not be 
 without witnesses." 
 
 ** Good Heavens ! Laura, why this new, this intolerable restric- 
 tion — ^^'hat can induce you thus wilfully to torment me ?" 
 
 " Because," answered tlie blushing Laura, with all her natural 
 simplicity; ** because I mig-ht not always be able to listen to reason 
 and duty rather than to you." 
 
 " Oh that I could fill thee with a love that should for ever si- 
 lence the cold voice of reason !" cried Hargrave, transported by 
 her confession ; and, no longer roaster of himself, he would have 
 clasped her in his arms. But Laura, to whose mind his caresses 
 ever recalled a dark page in her story, recoiled as from pollution, 
 the glow of ingenuous modesty giving place to the paleness of 
 horror. 
 
 No words, envenomed with the bitterest malice, could have 
 stung Hargrave to sucli frenzy as the look and the shudder with 
 which Laura drew back from his embrace. His eyes flashing fire, 
 his pale lips quivering with passion, he reproached her with per- 
 fidy and deceit ;" accused her of veilings her real aversion under the 
 mask of prudence and principle; and execrated his own folly in 
 submitting so long to be the sport of a cold-hearted, tyrannical, 
 obdurate woman,. Laura stood for some minutes gazing on him 
 with calm compassion. But displeased at his groundless accusa- 
 tions, she disd^ed to sooth his rage. At last, wearied of lan- 
 guage wliich, for the present, expressed much more of hatred 
 than of love, she quietly moved towards the door. *' I see you can 
 be very calm. Madam," said Hargrave, stopping her, " and I can 
 be as calm as yourself," added he, with a smile like a moon beam 
 on a thundercloud, making the gloom more fearful. 
 
 " I hope you soon will be so," replied Laura coldly. " I am so 
 now,*' said Hargrave, his voice half-choakcd with the effort to sup- 
 press his passion. ** I will but stay to take leave of your father, 
 and then free you for ever from one so odious to you." 
 
 " That must be as you please. Sir," said Laura, with spirit ; but, 
 for the present, I must be excused from attending you." She then 
 retired to her own chamber, which immediately adjoined to the 
 painting-room ; and with tears reflected on the faint prospect of 
 happiness that remained for the wife of a man whose passions were 
 so ungovernable. Even the ardour of his love, for which vanity 
 would have found ready excuse in many a female breast, was to 
 I>aura a subject of unfeigned regret, as excluding him from the 
 dominion of better motives, and the pursuit of nobler ends. 
 
 Hargrave was no sooner left to himself than his fury began to 
 evaporate. In a few minutes he was perfectly collected, and tlie 
 first act of his returning reason was to upbraid him with his treat- 
 ment of Laura. " Is it to be wondered that she shrinks from me,** 
 said he, the tears of self-rep. oach rising to. his eyes, " when I 
 make her the sport of all my iranilc passions ' But she shall never 
 again have cause to compUm of me— let b«t hjei* love this once cx- 
 
138 
 
 case n)c, aiwl htncciuvtb I will treat her \\'iih gentleness like iiep 
 own." 
 
 There is no time in the life of man so tedious, as that which 
 passes bctvA'cen tiie resolution to repair a wrong-, and the opportu- 
 nity to make the reparatic^n. Harg-rave wondered whether Laura 
 would return to conduct him to her father ; feared that she would 
 Jiot — hoped that she would — thouglst he heard her footstep — listened 
 — sighed — and triedto beguile the time by turning overher drawings. 
 
 Almost the first that met his eye, was a sketch of features well 
 known to him. He started and turned pale. He sought for a name 
 upon the reverse; there was none, and he again breathed more 
 freely, "This must be acciden.t," said he ; " Ue .Courcy is far 
 from London — yet it is very like ;" ^nd he longed more than ever 
 for Laura's appearance. lie sought refuge from his impatience in 
 a book which lay upon the table. It was the Pleasures of Hope, 
 and ;marked in inany parts of the margin with a pencil. One of th^ 
 passages so marked was that which begins, 
 
 " I'hy pencil ti-aces on the lover's thougjit « 
 
 " Some cottage home, from to^ns and toil remote, 
 
 ^ WJiere love aJ»d lore may claim alternate hours," &c. 
 
 And Hargrave surrendered himself to the pleasing dream tliat 
 Laura'had thought of him while she approved the lines. " Her 
 name, written by her own snowy fingers, may be here," said he, 
 and he turned to the title-page, that he migljt press it with a lover's 
 folly to his lips. — The title-page was inscribed with the name of 
 Montague De Courcy. 
 
 The glancs of the basilisk was not more powerful. Motionless 
 lie gazed on the words, till all the fiends of jealousy taking posses- 
 sion of his soul, he furiously dashed the book upon .the ground. 
 *• False, false syren," he. cried, *♦ is this the cause of all your 
 coldness— your loathing ?'* And without any wish but to exclude 
 her for ever from his sight, he rushed like a mladraan out of the 
 house. 
 
 He darted forward, regardless of the snow that was falling on 
 his uncovered head, till it suddenly occurred to him that he would 
 not suffer her to triumph in the belief of having deceived him. 
 " No," cried he, " I will once more see that deceitful face ; re- 
 proach her with her treachery ; enjoy her confusion, and then spurn 
 her from me for ever." 
 
 He returned precipitately to the house ; and, flying up stairs, 
 saw Laura, the traces of melancholy reflection on her countenance, 
 waiting for admission at her fatlier's door. " Madam," said he, 
 in a voice scarcely articulate, ** I must speak to you for a few 
 minutes.'* " Not for a moment. Sir," said Laura, laying her hand 
 upon the lock. " Yes, by Heaven, you shall hear me," cried Har- 
 grave ; and rudely seizing her, ht; forced her into the painting- 
 room, and bolted the door. 
 
 " Answer me," said he fiercely, " how came that book into your 
 possession ?" pointing to it as it still lay upon the floor. " Whence J 
 >>ave vou this infernjU likeness I Speak !" 
 
139 
 
 Laura looked at the drawing", then at the book, and at once uT, 
 lerstood tlie cause of her lover's frenzy, Suicere compassion 
 filled her l»eavt ; yet she felt how unjust was the treatment whicli 
 she received ; and, with calm dignity, said, " I will answer all your 
 questions, and then you will judge whether you have deserved 
 ihat I should do so.'* 
 
 " Whom would not that face deceive ?" said Harc^rave, gnash- 
 ing his teeth in agony. ** Speak sorceress— tell me, if you dare, 
 that this is not the portrait of De Courc^N—that he is not the lover 
 for whom I am loathed and spurned." 
 
 " That this is the portrait of De Courcy,'* replied Laura, with 
 the simple majesty of truth. " It is the sketch from which I finish- 
 ed a picture for his sister. That book too is his," and she stooped 
 to lift it from the ground. *' Touch not the vile thing," cried Mar- 
 grave, in a voice of thunder. With quiet self-possession, Laura 
 continued, " Mr. De Courcy's father was, as you know, the friend 
 of mine. Mr. De Courcy himself was, when an infant, known to 
 my father; and they met, providentially met, when v/e had great 
 •need of a considerate friend. That friend Mr. De Courcy was to 
 us, and no selfish motive sullied his benevolence ; for he is not, nor 
 ever was, nor, I trust, ever will be, known to me as a lover !" 
 
 The voice of sober truth had its effect upon liargrave, and he 
 said, more conlfposedly, " Will you then give me your word, that 
 De Courcy is not, nor ever will be, dear to you ?" 
 
 '* No !** '^twwered Laura, "I will not say so, for he must be 
 loved whefevef his virtues are known ; but I have no regard for 
 him tliat should disquiet you. It is not such," continued she, 
 struggling with the rising tears — " it is not such as would pardon 
 outrage, and withstand neglect, and humble itself before unjust 
 aspersion." 
 
 " Oh Laura," said liargrave, at once convinced and softened, " I 
 must believe you, or my heart will burst." 
 
 " I have a right lo be believed," returned Laura, endeavouring 
 to rally her spirits. 'Now, then, release me, after convincing 
 me that the passion of which you boast so much, is consistent with 
 the most insolent disrespect, the most unfounded suspicion." 
 But Hargrave was again at her feet, exhausting every term of en- 
 dearment, and breathing forth the most fervent petitions for for- 
 giveness. 
 
 Tears, which she could no longer repress, now streamed down 
 Laura's cheeks, while she said, ** How could you suspect me of 
 the baseness of pretending a regard which 1 did not feel,, of con- 
 firming engagements from which my affections revolted !" Har- 
 grave, half wild with the sight of her tears, bitterly reproached 
 himself with his injustice ; vowed that he believed her all perfec- 
 tion ; that, with all a woman's tenderness, she possessed the 
 tvulh and purity of angels, and that, could she this once pardon 
 hi:- extravagance he would never morecli'end But Laura, vexed 
 and aslunaed of her wealmess, insisted on her release in a tone 
 
14# 
 
 would be obeyed, and Hargrave, too mucli humbled to be dar 
 ihjj, unwilling-ly suffered her to retire. 
 
 In the faint hope of seeing her ag-ain, he waited till Montreville 
 was ready to admit him ; but liaura was not with her father, nor 
 did she appear during the remainder of his visit. Desirous to 
 know in what light she had represented their affair, in order that 
 his statement might tally with hers, he again avoided the subject, 
 resolving that next day he should be better prepared to enter up- 
 on it. With this view, he returned to Montreville's lodgings ear- 
 ly in the next forenoon, hoping for an opportunity to consult vvitK 
 Laura before seeing her father. He was shown into the parloui-, 
 which was vacant. He waited long, but Laura came not. He sent 
 a message to beg that she would admit him, and v/as aiiswered that 
 she was sorry it was not in iier power. He desired the messen- 
 ger to say that his business was important, but was told that Miss 
 Montreville was particularly engaged. However impatient, he 
 was obliged to submit. He again saw Montreville Nvithout enter- 
 ing upon the subject so near his heart ; and left the house without 
 obtaining even a glimpse of Laura. 
 
 The following day he was equally unsuccessful. He indeed saw 
 Laura ; but it was only in the presence of her father, and she 
 gave him no opportunity of addressing her particularly. Finding 
 that she f.dhered to the resolution she had expressed, of seeing 
 him no more wifeliout witnesses, he wrote to her, warmly remon- 
 strating against the barbarity of her determination, and beseech- 
 ing her to depart from it, n only in a single instance. The 
 billet received no answer, and Laura continued to act as be- 
 fore. 
 
 Fretted almost to fever, Havgrave filled whole pages with the 
 description of his uneasiness, and complaints of the cruelty which 
 caused it. In conclusion, he assured Laura that he could no Ion- 
 ger refrain from confiding his situation to her father; and entreat- 
 ed to see her, were it only to learn in what terms she would per- 
 mit him to mention their engagement. This letter was rathei* 
 more successful than the former ; for, though Laura made no re- 
 ply to the first part, she answered the close by a few cautious lines, 
 leaving Hargrave, excepting in one point, at full liberty as to his. 
 communications with her father. 
 
 Thus authorized, he seized the first opportunity of conversing 
 with Montreville. He informed him that he had reason to believe 
 himself not i;idil}erent to Laura , but that, some of his little irre- 
 gularities coming to her knowledge, she had sentenced him to a 
 probation whicli was yet to continue for above a year. Though 
 Hargrave guarded his words so as to avoid direct falsehood, the 
 conscious crimson I'ose to his face as he uttered this subterfuge. 
 But he took instant refuge in the idea that he had no choice left ; 
 and that, if thf re was any blame, it in fact belonged to Laura, 
 for forcing him to use concealment. He did yet more. He erect- 
 ed his head, and planted his foot more firmly, as he thought, that 
 Vhat he dared to do he diu-ed to justify> were he not proud to 
 
 i 
 
141 
 
 yield to the commands of love, and humanely inclined to spare the 
 feeling's of a sick man. He proceeded to assure Montrevillc,that 
 though he must plead guilty to a few youthful indiscretions, Laura 
 might rely upon his constancy and fidelity. Finally, addressing 
 himself to what he conceived to be the predominant failing of age, 
 he offered to leave the gi'and atlair of settlements to Montreville*s 
 own decision ; demanding only in return, that the father would use 
 his interest, or even his authority, if necessary, to obtain his 
 daughter's consent to an immediate union. 
 
 Montreville answered, that he had long desisted from the use 
 of authority with Laura, but that his influence was at the Colonel's 
 service ; and he added, with a smile, that he believed neither would 
 he very necessary. 
 
 In consequence of this promise, Montreville sought an oppor- 
 tunity of conversiig on this subject with his daughter ; but she 
 shewed such extreme reluctance to enter upon it, and avoided it 
 with such sedulous care, that he could not immediately execute 
 his design. He observed, too, that she looked ill, that she was 
 pale and languid. Though slie would not confess any ailment, he 
 could not help fearing that all was not right ; and he waited the 
 appearance of recovered strength, ere he shotild enter on a topic 
 which was never heard by her without strfng emotion. But Lau- 
 ra looked daily more wretched. Her complexion became wan, her 
 eyes sunk, and her ii|>s colourless. 
 
 Hargrave observed the change, and, half persuaded that it was 
 the effect of his own capricious behaviour at their last interview, 
 he became more anxious for a private conference, in which his ten- 
 derness might sooth her to forgetfulness of his errors. When she 
 was quitting the room, he often followed her to the dooi-, and en- 
 treated to be heard for a single minute. But the utmost he could 
 obtain was a determined " I cannot," or a hasty " I dare not," and 
 in an instant she had vanished. 
 
 Indeed watching and abstinence, though the chief, were not the 
 only causes of Laura's sickly aspect. Hargrave's violence had 
 furnished her with new and painful subjects of n^editation. While 
 yet she thought him all perfection, he had often confessed to her 
 the warmth of his temper, with a candour which convinced her 
 (anxious as she was to be so convinced) that he was conscious of 
 his natural tendency, and vigilantly guarded it from excess ; con- 
 sequently, that to the energy of the passionate he united the jus- 
 tice of the cool. She had never v.itnessed anv instunce of his 
 violence ; for since their first acquaintance, she had her.self, at 
 least while she was present, been his only passion. All things 
 unconnected wiih it were trivial in his estimation ; and till the 
 hour which Jiad roused her caution, she had unconsciously soothed 
 this tyrant of his soul with perpetual incense, by prooYs of her 
 tenderness, which, though unobserved bv ot'uers, were not lost 
 upon the vanity of Hargrave. Succcsbfuriove shedding a placid 
 gentleness upon his really polished manners, he had, without inten- 
 tion to deceive, completely misled Laura's judgment of his 
 
142 
 
 character. Kow he had turned her eyes from the vision, and 
 compelled her to look upon the reality ; and with many a bitter 
 tear she lamented that ever she sufTered her peace to depend up. 
 on an union which, even if accomplished, promised to compensate 
 transient rapture with abiding- disqtiiet. 
 
 But still fondly attached, Laura took pleasure in pei'suading- 
 herself that a mere defect of temper was not sucli a fault as enti- 
 tled her to withdraw her promise; and having- made this conces- 
 sion, she soon proceeded to convince herself, that llargrave's 
 love would make ample amends for occasional suffering;, however 
 severe. Still she assured herself that if, at the stipulated time, 
 he produced not proofs of real improvement, much more if that 
 period were stained with actujil vice, she would, whatever it 
 might cost her, see him no more. She determined to let notiiin.^ 
 move her to shorten his pi-obation, nor to be sa'isficd without the 
 strictest scrutiny into the manner in which it had been spent. 
 
 Aware of the difficulty of withstanding the iwipiorin^ voice, the 
 pleading eyes of Hargrave, she would not venture into temptation 
 for the mere chance of escape ; and adhered to her resolution of 
 affording him no opportunity to practise on her sensibility. Nor 
 was this a slight exercise of self-denial, for no earthly pleasure 
 couldbringsuch joy to Laura's heart, as the assurance, however 
 oft repeated, that she was beloved. Yet^ day after day, she with- 
 stood his wishes and her own ; and generally spent the time of his 
 visits in drawing. 
 
 Meanwhile, her delicate face and slender form gave daily greater 
 indications of malady. Montreville, extremely alarmed, insisted 
 upon sending for medical advice ; but Laura with a vehemence 
 most unusual to her, opposed this design, telling him, that if he 
 persisted in it, vexation would cause the reality of the illness which 
 at present was merely imaginary. 
 
 The Captain was however the only member of the family who 
 did not conjecture the true cause of Laura's decay. The servant 
 who attended her, reported to her mistress, that the slender repast 
 v/as always presented, untouched by Laura, to her father ; and her 
 drink was only water, her fare coarse and scanty ; and that often, 
 a few morsels of dry bread were the only sustenacc of the day. 
 Mrs. Stubbs, who entertained a suitable contempt for poverty, was 
 no sooner informed of these circumstances, than she recollected 
 with indignation the awe with which Laura had involuntary inspi- 
 red Iter ; and determined to withdraw part of her misplaced re- 
 spect. But Laura had an air of command, a quiet majesty of de- 
 meanour, that seemed destined to distance vulgar impertinence ; 
 and Mrs. Stubbs was compelled to continue her unwilling reve- 
 rence. Determined^ however, tliat though her pride might suffer, 
 her interest should not, she dropped such hints as induced Laura 
 to offer the payment of the lodgings a week in advance, an offer 
 which was immediately accepted. 
 
 In spite of Laura's utmost diligence, this arrangement left her 
 abuo^t pennyless, She was obliged, in that inclement season, to 
 
 \ 
 
143 
 
 ty'ive up even the comfort of a fire ; and more than once passed the 
 Avhole night in labounng to supply tlie wants of tlie following day. 
 In the meantime, Hargrave continued to paj his daily visits, and 
 Laura to frustrate all his attempts to speak with her apart. His 
 patience was entirely exhausted. He urged Montreville to the per- 
 formance of his promise, and Montreville often approached the 
 subject with his daugliter, but she either evaded it, or begged with 
 such pathetic earnestness to be spared a contest which she was 
 unable to bear, that, when he looked on the sickly delicacy of her 
 frame, he had not courage to persecute her farther. Convinced, 
 however, that Laura's affections were completely engaged, he be- 
 came dally more anxious that she should not sacrifice them to vi?hat 
 he considered as mistaken prudence ; especially since Hargrave 
 had dropped a hint, which, though not so intended, had appeared 
 to Monti eville to import, that his addresses, if rejected in the pre- 
 sent instaiice, would not be renewed at the distant date to which 
 Laura chose to postpone them. 
 
 The father's constant anxiety for the health and happiness of his 
 child powerfully affected both his strength and spirits, and he was 
 soon more languid and feeble than ever. His imagination, too, be- 
 tra)^ed increased symptoms of its former disease, and he became 
 more persuaded that he was dying. The selfishness of a feeble 
 mind attended his ailments, and he grew less tender of his daugh- 
 ter's feelings, less fearful to wound her sensibility. To hints of 
 his appreliensions for his own life, succeeded direct intimations of 
 his conviction that his end was approaching ; and Laura listened, 
 with every gradiatiton of terror, to prophetic forebodings of the 
 soUtiide, want, aWd temptation, to which she must soon be aban- 
 doned- 
 
 Pressed by Hargrave*s importunities, and weary of waiting for a 
 "^'oluntaiy change in Laura's conduct towards her lover, Montre- 
 ville at last resolved that he would force the subject which she was 
 8o anxious to shun. For tliis purpose, detaining her one morning 
 in his apartment, he entered on a melancholy description of tho 
 perils which await unprotected youth and beauty; and explicitly 
 declared his conviction, that to these perils he must soon leave his 
 child. Laura endeavoured, as she was wont, to brighten his dark 
 imagination, and to revive his fjiinting- hope. But Montreville 
 would now neither suffer her to enliven his prospects, nor to divert 
 him from the contemplation of them. He persisted in giving way 
 to his dismal anticipations, till, spite of !\er efforts, Laura's spirits 
 failed her, and she could scarcely refrain from shedding tears. 
 
 Montreville saw that she was affected ; and fondly putting his 
 arm round her, continued, ** Yet still, my sweet Laura, you, who 
 have been the pride of my life, you can soften to me the bitterness 
 of death. Let me but commit you to the affection of the man whom 
 I kriow that you prefer, and my fears and wishes shall linger no 
 more in this nether world " 
 
 1 "Oh Sir," said Laura, " I beseech, I implore you to spare me 
 on this subject.'* ** No !" answered Montreville, " I have been 
 
144 
 
 silent too lon^. I have too long- endangered 5'our happiness, in tlic 
 dread of g-ivinj^ you transient pain. I must recur to" 
 
 ** My dear father," inten-upted Laura, ** I have already spoken 
 to you on this subject — spoken to you with a freedom which I know- 
 not where I found courage to assiune. I can only repeat the same 
 sentiments ; and indeed, indeed, unless you were yourself in my 
 situation, you cannot imagine with what pain I repeat thera." 
 
 " I would willingly respect 5'our delicacy," said Montreville, 
 *• but this is no time for frivolous scruples. 1 must soon leave 
 thee, child of my ailcctions ! My eyes m\ist watch over thee no 
 more; my ear must be closed to the voice of thy complaining. — 
 Oh then, give me the comfort to know that other love will console, 
 other arms protect thee." 
 
 "Long, long," cried Laura, clasping his neck, " be your affec- 
 tion my joy — long be your arms my shelter. But alas ! what love 
 could console me under the sense <jf acting wrong — what could 
 protect me from an avenging conscience ?" 
 
 " Laura, you carry your scruples too far. When I look on these 
 wan cheeks and lustreless eyes, you cannot conceal from m.e that 
 you are sacrificing to these scruples your own peace, as well as 
 that of others." 
 
 " Ah Sir,'* said Laura, who from mere despair of escape, ga- 
 thered courage to pursue the subject, '* What peace can I hope to 
 find in a connexion which reason and religion alike condemn ?'* 
 
 •* That these have from childhood been your -gulden, has ever 
 been my joy and my pride," returned Montreyille". "But in this 
 instance you forge shackles for yourself, and tUen call them the 
 restraints of reason and religion. It were absurd to -aigue on the 
 reasonableness of preferrmg wealth and title, with the man of your 
 choice, to a solitary struggle with poverty, or a humbling depend- 
 ence upon strangers. And how, my dear girl, can any precept of 
 religion be tortured into a restriction on the freedom of your 
 choice ?" 
 
 •' Pardon' me, Sir, the lav,' which T endeavour to make my guide 
 is here full and explicit. In express terms it leaves me free to 
 marry wliom I w;ill, but with th's grand reservation that 1 marry 
 * only in the Lord.' It cannot be thoui^ht that this limitation refers 
 only to a careh^ss assent to the truth of the Gospel, shedding no 
 purifying influence on the heart and life. And can I hope for hap- 
 piness in a wilful defiance of this restriction?" 
 
 *' If I could doubt," said Montreville, avoiding a reply to what 
 was unanswerable — " if I cotild doubt that a union with Colonel 
 Hargrave would conduce to your happiness, never sliould I thus 
 urge you. But I have no reason to believe that his religious prin- 
 ciples' are unsound, thoug;h the follies incident to his sex, and the 
 frailty pf human nature, may have prevailed against him" 
 
 " My dear Sir," cried "Laura impatiently, * how can you employ 
 such qualifying language to express — what my soul sickens at — 
 How can my fatherurge his child to join to pollution this temple, 
 (and she laid her hand emphatically on her breast) which my great 
 
Master has ofiered to hallow as his own abotic ; !No i tlie exprc-s? 
 command of Heaven forbids the sacrileg-e, for I cannot suppose 
 that when rnari was forbidden to decade himself by a union vitli 
 vileness, the precept was meant to exclude the sex whose feeblcr 
 passions aflord less plea for yielding to their power." 
 
 " Whither does this enthusiasm hurry you ?" said Montrevillc, 
 in displeasure. " Surely you will not call your marriage v.itli Cvj 
 loneUIarg-ravc a union witli vileness." " Yes," retuiTied Laura, ail 
 the g-low of virtuous animation fading" to the paleness of anguiih, 
 " if his vices make him vile, I must call it so." 
 
 " Your language is as much too frco, Laura, as yoiir notions arc- 
 too rigid. Is it dutiful, think you, to use sucli expressions in re- 
 gard to a connexion which your father approves ? ^Vill you call it 
 virtue to sport with your own happiness, witli the peace of a heivt 
 that doats upon you — with the comfort of your dying parent ':'' 
 
 " Oh my father," cried Laura, sinking- on her knees, " my yp'n .t 
 is already bowed to the earth — do not crush it wills your disj-'ca 
 sui-e. Rather support my feeble resolution, lest, knowing tlie li^l; , 
 I should not have power t(; ctioose it." 
 
 " Aly heart's treasure ;" said Montreville, kissing the tcat-s from 
 her eyes, " short is ever my displeasure with thee: for 1 -kno -.s 
 that though inexperience may mi&lead thy judgment, no pfeasin- 
 can bribe, no fear betray thy inflexible rectitude. Goontlicn^- 
 convince me if thou canst, that thou art in tlic right to choo'-c thy 
 portion amidst self-denial, and obscurity, and dependence." 
 
 " Would that I were able to convince you," returned Luui.;, 
 ** and then you would no longer add to tlie difficulties of this fear- 
 ful struggle. Tell me tlien, were Colonel Hargrave your sop., and 
 were I what I cannot name, could any passion excuse, aivy circum- 
 stances induce you to sanction the cojinexicn for v.bich nov/ \OLi 
 plead?" .1 
 
 " My dear love," said Montreville, ** the cases are v.idely difTcr- 
 ent. Tlie world's opinion affixes just disgrace to the vices in you;- 
 SOX, which in ours it views with more indulgent eyes." f* 15ut 1,'' 
 returned Laura, " wlicn 1 took upon me tlie honoured nrCme of 
 Christian, by tliat very act became bound that tlie ojiinion of the 
 world should not regulate my principles, nor its customs ^uide my 
 practice. Perhaps e\tn tlie worst of my sex migi)t])lead thfit the 
 voice of a tempter lured them to perdition ; but w hat tongtie ran 
 speak the vileness of that tempter ! — Could I promise to oley hhrt 
 .V iio wilfully leads others to tlieir ruin ! CouUl Ihonour him who 
 deceives the Iveartthattrusteth in him ! Could I /or*? him who cou'd 
 look upon a fellow creature— once the image of the highest, row 
 bumbled below the brutes that perish — upon the hcirof immorta- 
 lity, immortal only to miser}', and who could, unmoved, uripityinir, 
 seek in the fallen wretch a minister of pleasure! — Love !" eonti'nufd 
 Laura, forgetting in the deformity of the hideous image that it was 
 capable of individual application, *' words cannot express the en- 
 ergy of m;y abhorrence '." 
 
 Vol. I. K 
 
146 
 
 *• Were Ilargravc shcL— or to continue such"— said iMontre- 
 yille — " Hargrave !" ci'icd Ltiura, almost with a shriek, " Oh God 
 forbid — And yet" — She covered her face with her hands, and cold 
 drops stood on her forehead, as she remembered how just cause 
 she had to dread that the portrait might be his. 
 
 " Hargr:ive," continued 3Iontreville, " is not an abandoned 
 profligate, thoug-li he m:iy not liave escaped the follies usual to 
 men of his rank ; and he lias promised, if \oawill be favourable 
 to him, to live henceforward m irreproachable purity. Heaven 
 forgives the sins that are forsaken, and will you be less lenient.'* 
 
 *' Joyfully will I forgive,"' replied Laura, " when I am assured 
 ihat they arc indeed abhorred and forsaken"—" They are already 
 ■brsakcn," said Montreville ; " it rests with you to confirm Har- 
 4 rave In the right, by consenting to his wishes." 
 
 *' 1 a.sk but the convktion which time alone can bring," said 
 I'.riMva, " and then" — 
 
 ' And hov,^ will you bear it, Laura, if, Aveary of your perverse 
 ^falays, Hargrave should relinquish his suit? How would you bear 
 yO sec the ailcctions you have trided with transferred to another:*' 
 ^ " Bettei-, far better,", ansvv-ered Laura, " than to watch the 
 deepening of those shades of iniquity, that close at last into outer 
 dnrkv.ess : better than to see each guilty day advance and seal our 
 ■ternai separation. To lose his affection," continued she witli a 
 'Sickly smile, " f v.ould bear as I strive to bear my other burdens ; 
 ;.iul sIiDuId they at last prove too heavy for me, they can but v,'eigh 
 i.ne to the earth, j,vhere they and I must soon rest, together." 
 
 *' Talk not so, beloved cliild," sAid Montreville, *' a long life 
 is before you. All the joys that ambition, all the joys tbatlove can 
 offerj r-ro within your power. A father invites, implores, I will 
 not say commands, you to accept them. The man of yoiu- choice, 
 to whom the proudest might anpire, -whom the coldest of your sex 
 might love, entreats you to confirm him in the ways of virtue. 
 Consent tlien to this union, on which my heart is set, while yet it 
 can be hallowed l>y the blessing of your dying father.'* 
 
 " Oil take pity on me," Laui-a would have said, and "league 
 not V. ith my weak heart to betray me," but convulsive sobs w^re 
 ail that she coxild uttei^. " You consent then, said Monti-evdle, 
 ohcoslng so to interpret her sileacc — " you have yielded to my en- 
 •Trcatics, and made me the hapj^iest of fathers.** "No! no'.'* cried 
 Laura, tossing her ai'ras distractedly, *' I will do right though my 
 heart should break, tio, my father, my dear honored father, for 
 whom 1 would lay down mv life, not even vour entreaties shall pre- 
 vail." 
 
 " Ungi-ateful child,'-' ::aid Montreville; " what covdd you have 
 pleaded for, that your fatlter would have i-efused— your father 
 whom anxiety for yonr vcelfare has brought to the gut.s of tlie 
 ■ grave, Avho.so hist feeling shall bo love to you, whose 1: 
 shall bles*i you.*' ' 
 
 " Oh mo. it merciful, most gracious," ci-iedLaurn, - 
 har.ds; and rai-inj 
 
147 
 
 1.. ::.c to be tcinpted above what I am able to beai'l. Oh iny dea? 
 father, if you have pity for misery wnutternble, misery that c;in- 
 iiot know 'relief, sparc'me nov, and suffer me to think — If thip.k 
 be vet possible.'* 
 
 "' Hear me but for one moment more," said >rontrevilIc, who 
 from the violence of her cmojtion ^atliered hopes of success, 
 **'"Oh no ! no !" cried Laura, '-rmust 1-ave yo\i while yet I have 
 the power to do rigb.t.'* And d:irtln(^ from his ])rcseDcc, she sliut 
 herself into her chamber." There, fdhng- on her knees, sb.e min/r- 
 Ip.d bitter expressions of anguish, with fervent prayers for support, 
 
 . Ipitecus appeals for mercy. 
 
 Becoming- by degrees more composed, slie endeavored toforlify 
 her resolution by every argument of reason and religion which had 
 formerly gniided her determination. She turned to the passages 
 of Scripture which forbid the unequal yoke \?\ih the unbeliever ; con- 
 vinced tltat the prohibition aj)plics no less to those whose lives are 
 u ich:-istian, than to those whose faith is unsound. She asked he; •- 
 .s ^If whethi^r she was i.ble to support those trials (the severest of 
 all earLhlV ones,) which the v»ife of a libertine must undergo; and 
 whether, in temptations Which she voluntArily sought, and sorrov.'s 
 which she of choice encountered, she should be entitled to ex- 
 })ect the divine support. '•' Holy Father," she cried, " what peace 
 cift enter where thy blessing i.^ v»'ithheld! and shall I dare to mock 
 thee with a petition for that blessing on a union which tliou hast 
 fji'bidden ? Mxy 1 net ratlier fjar that this deliberate premeditated 
 guilt may be the first step in a race of iniquity ! May I not dread to 
 share \n tlie awful sentence of tho.% who are joined to their idols, 
 .'.nd be ♦ let alone' to wander in tlie way that leadeth to destruc- 
 
 ■ n r" 
 
 Vet, as often as her fatlier's entreaties rose to her recollection, 
 joined witli the image of ttargrave — of H^irgrave beseeching, of 
 Hargrave impassioned — Laura's resolution faultered; and half de- 
 sirous to deceive herself, she almo.'^t doubted of the virtue of that 
 firmness that could withstand a parent's wish. But Laura was 
 Iiabitually sunpicious of every opinion that favoured her incUna.- 
 tions, habitually aware of the deceitfulness of her own heart; and 
 she did not, unquestioned, hai-bour for a moment the insiduous 
 thought that flattered her strongest wishes. " And had my father 
 commanded me to marry where I was averse," said she, *' would f. 
 then have hesitated ? Would my father's commiind have prevailed. 
 on pie then to imdertake duties which I was vu^likely to perform : 
 ^o : there I would have resisted. TJicre, authority greater than a 
 father's would have empowered me to resist ; and I know that J 
 should have resisted even unto death. And shall mere inclinatiou 
 give more fii-mness than a sense of duty ! Vet, Oh dear father, 
 think me not unmindful of all your love — or forgetftil of a debt that 
 began with ray being. For your sake cold and imng-er shall b.; 
 light to me— for you poverty and toil shall be pleasing. Hut wliut 
 -"litary sorrow could equal the pang with which I should blufh 
 
 .{ore my children for the vices of their father! Who.t is the wast- 
 
148 
 
 .;-■ u» laiiilhc I) ilie mortal anguish orwatching-tiic deciijiir-g iovc, 
 ..e transferred desires, tlie g-rowing- depravity of my husband !" 
 
 I:i thovig'bt^ and struggles like tlicsc, Laura passed the day 
 
 lor.e. Montrcvlllc, though disappointed at his HI success with his 
 
 '■■lighter, wa?-' iiv-^t vvjthout hope that a loAer's prayers might prc- 
 
 aii where a lather's were inefFectual ; and believing that the sea- 
 
 ■)n of Laura's emotion was a f;ivoiirablc one for the attempt, he 
 
 MS anxious for the daily visit of Ilargrave, 
 
 But, for the first time since his meeting with Laura, Hargrave 
 
 id not appear. In her present frame, Laura felt his absence al- 
 
 .;ost a relief; but Montrcville was uneasy and half alarmed. It 
 
 as late in the evening when a violent knocking at the house do(Jt 
 
 •?rUed Montreville, who was alone in his apartment; and the 
 
 ..t^t m-ntLtc, without being announced, Hargrave burst into the 
 
 )om. His hair v/as dishevelled, his dres's neglected, and his eyes 
 
 ■:.l a Vv'ildness v/hich Montrcville had never before seen in them. 
 
 abruptly grasping Montre>ilIe's hand, he said, in the voice of one 
 
 .tiuggling for composure, " Have you performed your promise — 
 
 .;;.ve you spoken with Laura?" 
 
 *' I have/' ansv/ered Montreville; " and have urc;ed her, till, had 
 you seen her, j'ou would yourself have owned that'l went too far. 
 But you look"— . 
 
 " Has she coiisented,'" interrupted Hargrave — " will she give 
 'iev$elf to- me:" 
 
 ISIontrevilie shook his head. " Her affections are v/hoily yours," 
 ^aid he, ** you may yourself be more successful — 1 fervently wish 
 diat you miiv. But why this strange emotion ? \VTiat has hap- 
 pened ?" 
 
 *« Nothing, nolliing," said Hargrave, " ask me no questions ; but 
 ot. me speak iiostantly with Laura." 
 
 " You shall see her," returned Montreville, opening the door, 
 
 .ind calling' Laura, " Only I beseech you to command yourself, for 
 
 ::y poor child is already half distracted." *' She is the fitter to 
 
 onverse v/lth me," said Hargrave, with a ghastly smile, " for I am 
 
 pon the very verge of madness." 
 
 Laura came at her father's summons; but when she saw Har- 
 ^^ravc, the colour faded from her face, an universal tremor seized 
 her, she stopped, and leaned on tlie door for support. " Colonel 
 Hargrave wishes to speak v/ith you alone," said Montreville, " go 
 vith him to the paHour." 
 
 " I cannot," answered Laura, ia words scarcely audible — "this 
 ui^^ht I cannot." 
 
 " I command you to go,*' said the father in a tone wliich he had 
 seldom employed, and L:>.ura instantly prepared to go. *' Surely, 
 surely,'* said she, " Heaven will not leave me to my own weakness, 
 whilst 1 act in «?bedience to you." 
 
 Perceiving that she trembled violently, Hargrave offered her 
 the support of his circling arm ; but Laura instantly disengaged 
 *iierself. " Will you not lean on mc, dearest Laura," said he j 
 *' perhaps it is for the last time." 
 
149 
 
 ■• I iioj-'f, • Misweved Laura, endcavolu...^i lu c.\ci . i.<.-- 
 • it will be the last time that you will avail yourself of my iaL 
 j.iithority to constrain me." 
 
 " Spare your reproaches, Laura/' said Hai-grave, ** for 1 c.n. 
 desperate. All that I desire on earth — my life itself depends upon 
 this hour." 
 
 They entered the parlour, and Laura, sinkin.tj into a sc;it, cov- 
 ered her eyes witli her hand, and sti*ove to prepare for answering- 
 this new call upon her firmness. 
 
 Harg-rave stood silent for some moments. Fain would he have 
 fianed a resistless petition; for the events of that day had hasten- 
 ed the unravelling- of a talc which, once known to Laura, would. 
 I e knew, make all his petitions vain. But hi.? impatient spirit 
 could not wait to conciliate; and, seizing" her hand, he said, with 
 breathless eagerness, ** Laura, you once said that yoti loved me. 
 and I believed you. Now to the proof—and if tliat fi.il — But I will 
 rot distract myself with the thoug-lit. You have allowed me ;l ' 
 tanthope. Recall your sentence of delay." Circumstances 
 you cannot — must not know, leave you bi.t one alternative, ik- 
 mine nov.-, oryoii are for ever lost to me !" 
 
 Astonished at his words, alarmed by tiie ill-supprc&sed volicTr 
 ence of his manner, Laura tried lo read his altered comitfTi?.; 
 arid feared she knew not v.'hat '* Tell mc what you mean r" ;;.;i 
 she. " What mean these strang-e words — these v.ild looks. '\VJiy 
 have VK)U come at tisis late hour?'' - ' 
 
 "Ask me notlving'," cried Kargrave, "; . ' ' 'c Speai:. 
 Will you be mine — now — to-morrow— -.vith jr. ; ;i-.^:, ^joon, 
 
 very soon, it v.i'll be no lonc-er possible for you Kj •..•.•-•.-.'' 
 
 A hectic of resentment kindled in Laura's ciieck al '.he llire:;-. 
 of deortion wliich she imag-ined to lark beneath the woi-ds^ of liar 
 j^rave. ** You have," saidSR?, *' I know net ho\7, eiiteuded my 
 conditional promise to receive you as a friend far beyond v,-!.iit 'ia 
 terms of it could warranto In making- eve;^ such an e:' 
 
 pei-haps I condescended too fur. But, admittb-.g- it in 
 
 sense, what right luive jou to suppose that I am to be vrenkiy 
 terrified into renotmcing u resolution formed on the best grounds ?*' 
 
 " I have no right to expect it," said Ilai^gravc, in a voice ri' 
 misery. " 1 came to you in desperation. 1 cannot — will not sur- 
 vive the loss of you ; and if I prevail not nov/, vou must be 1(> t to 
 me." 
 
 " What means tills strange, tins presuming haste .'* h..'. 
 " Why do you seem thus v/retohod i" 
 
 "1 am, indeed, most wretched. Oh Laura, thus Ci: : 
 l conivire you to have pity on me ; — or, if it will cost you a p-:.^ to 
 lose me, have pity on yourself. And if t!iy love be' too feeble to 
 bond thy stubborn will, let a father's wishes, a father's praverc^ 
 
 .ne to' its aid." 
 
 '• Oh Hargrave," cried Laura, bursting into tears, "hoivhavc 
 ;I deserved that you should lay -on me ^us heavy loa<i — -hat Ton 
 ! should force mo to rc::st the ciitreaties of m/Yaiher." 
 
150 
 
 "■* Bo nov — On do not resist them. Let a fatlicr'g prayers — let 
 the pleadings of a wrelch whose reason, whose life depends upon 
 you, prevail to ir.ove you." 
 
 " Nothin.i^ shall move me," said Laura, with the firmness of 
 despair, ** for I am used to misery, and will bear it." 
 
 " And will you bear it too if driven from virtuous love — from 
 domestic joy, I turn to the bought smiles of harlots, forget you in 
 the haunts orf riot, or in the grave of a suicide ?'* 
 
 " Oh for mercy," cried the terrified Laura, ** talk not so dread- 
 fully. Be patient — I implore you. Fear not to lose me. Be but 
 virtuous, ar.d no power of man shall wrest me from you. In pov- 
 erty — in sickness — in disgrace itself, I will cleave to you.'* 
 
 «* Oh, I believe it," said Hargrave, moved even to woman's 
 weakness, *•' for thou art an angel. But wilt thou cleave to me 
 
 ♦' In what," said Laura. 
 
 '•' Ask me nothing — but yield to my earnest entreaty. Save me 
 j^om the horrors of loosing you; and may Heaven forsake me if 
 ever again I give you cause to repent of your pity.'* 
 
 Softened by his imploring looks and gestures, overpowered by 
 his vehemence, harassed beyond her strength, Laura seemed al- 
 most expiring. But the upright spirit shared not the weakness of 
 its frail abode. *' Cease to importune me," said she ; — *• everlast- 
 ing were my cause of repentence, should I wilfully do wrong. 
 You may break my heart — it is already broken, but my resolution 
 fe immoveable." 
 
 Fire flashed from the eyes of Hargrave ; as, starting from her 
 ffeet, he cried, in a voice of frenzy, " Ungrateful woman, you have 
 never loved me I You love nothing but the fancied virtue to which 
 I am sacrificed. But tremble, obdurate, lest I dash from rae this 
 hated life, and my perdition be on your soul !" 
 
 ** Oh no," cried Laura, in an agony of terror, " I will pray for 
 pou^ — pity you, — v/hat shall I say — love you as never man was lov- 
 o-d. ^\^o\lfd that it were possible to do more !** 
 
 " Speak then your final rejection," said Hargrave, grasping her 
 liand with oonvulsive energy, ** and abide by the consequence."' 
 "'I must not fear consequences," said Laura, trembhng in every 
 limb. " They are in the hands of Heaven." " Then be this first 
 iond parting kiss our last!'* cried Hargi-ave, and frantickly sti-ain- 
 "ngher to liis breast, he rushed out of the room. 
 
 Surprise, confusion, a thousand various feelings kept Laura for 
 a \\ hile motionless ; till, Ilargravc's parting words ringing in her 
 tar, a dreadful apprehension took possession of her mind. Start- 
 ing from her seat, and following him with her arms as if she could 
 still have detained him, " Oh Hargrave, what mean you r*' she cri- 
 ^d. But Hargrave was already beyond the reach of her voice; 
 and, sinking to the grotmd, the wretched Laura found refuge from 
 her misery in long and deep insensibility. 
 
 In the attitude in which she had fallen, her Uly arms extended on 
 b.e ground, her dcritl^-Uke cheek resting upon one of them, she was 
 
151 
 
 found by a servant- who accldently entered the room, and whose 
 cries soon assembled the family. Montreville alarmed hastened 
 down stairs, and came in just as the maid with the assistance of the 
 landlady was raising Laura, to all appearance dead. 
 
 ** Merciful Heaven !" he exclaimed, " what is this ?" The im- 
 feeling landlady immediately expressed her opinion that Miss Mon- 
 treville had died of famine, declaring that she had long feared as 
 much. The horror-struck father had scarcely power to ask her 
 meaning. " Oh Sir," said the maid, sobbing aloud, " I fear it is 
 but too true— for she cared not for herself, so you were but well — ^for 
 slie was the sweetest lady that ever was born — and many a long 
 night has she sat up toiling when the poorest creature was asleep— 
 for she never cared for herself,'* 
 
 The whole truth flashed at once upon Montreville, and all the 
 storm, from which his dutiful child so well had sheltered him, b^^rst 
 upon him in a moment. *' Oh Laura," he cried, clasping her hfe- 
 l^ss form, " my only comfort — my good — my gentle — my blameless 
 child, hast thou nourished thy father with thy life ! Oh why didst 
 thou not let me die!" Then laying his cheek to hers, " Oh she is 
 cold — cold as clay,*' he cried, and the old roan wrung his hands, and 
 sobbed Uke an infant. 
 
 Suddenly he ceased his lamentation ; and pressing his hands on 
 his breast, uttered a deep groan, and sunk down by the side of his 
 senseless child. His alarm and agitation burst again the blood-ves- 
 sel, which before had been slightly healed, and he was conveyed to 
 bed without hopes of life. A surgeon was immediately found, but 
 he administered his prescription without expecting its success ; and, 
 departing, left the dying Montreville to the care of the landlady. 
 
 The tender-hearted Fanny remained with Laura, and at last suc- 
 ceeded in restoring her to animation. She then persuaded her to 
 swallow a little wine, and endeavoured to prevail upon her to^etire 
 to bed. But Lauta refused. " No, my kind, good ^rl," said she, 
 laying her^unn gratefully on Fanny's shoulder, ' • I must see my fa- 
 ther before I sleep. I have thwarted his will to-day, and will not 
 sleep without his blessing. Fanny then besought her so earnestly 
 not to go to the Captain's chamber, that Laura, filled as every 
 thought was with Hargrave, took alarm, and would not be detained. 
 The girl, dreading the consequences of the shock that awaited her, 
 threw her arms round her to prevent her departure. '* Let me go," 
 cried Laura struggling with her, " he is ill : I am sure he is ill, or 
 he would have come to watch and contforthis wret<!hed child." 
 
 Fanny then, with all the gentleness in her power, informed Laura 
 that Montreville, alarmed by the sight of her fdnting, had been 
 suddenly taken ill. Laura, in terror which effaced the remembrance 
 of all her former anguish, scarcely suffered her attendant to finish 
 her relation ; but broke from her, and hurried as fast as her totter- 
 ing limbs would bear her to her father's chamber. 
 
 Sofdy, on tiptoe, she stole to his bed-side, and drew the curtain. 
 His eyes were closed, and death seemed already stamped on every 
 feature. t,aur^ shuddered convulsively, and shrunjtbagk jn horror. 
 
152 
 
 But the 'dread of scaring tlie spirit from its frail tenement suppres- 
 sed the cry that was rising- to her lips. Trembling she laid her hand 
 upon his. He looked up, and a gleam of joy brightened in his dy- 
 ing eyes as they rested on his daughter. " Laura, my beloved," 
 s^d he, drawing her gently towards him, ** thou hast been the joy 
 of my life. I tliank God that thou art spared to comfort me in 
 death." 
 
 Laura tried to speak the words of hope ; but the sounds died 
 upon her Ups. 
 
 After a pause of dread silence, Montreville said, " This is the 
 hour when thy father was wont to bless thee. Come, and I will 
 bless thee still.*' 
 
 The weeping Laura sank upon her knee^, and Montreville laid 
 one hand upon her head, while she still held the other, as if wishing 
 to detain him. " My best — my last blessing be upon thee, child of 
 my heart," said he. " The everlasting arms be around thee, when 
 mine can embrace thee no more. The father of the fatherless be a 
 parent to thee ; support thee in sorrow ; crown thy youth with joy 
 — thy gray hairs with honour; and, when thou art summoned to thy 
 kindred angels, may thy heaj^-t throb its last ^ some breast kind and 
 noble as thine own." '^'' 
 
 Exhausted by the effort which he liad made, Montreville sunk 
 back on his pillow ; and Laura, in agony of supplication, besought 
 Heaven to spare him to her. " Father of mercies !" she inwardly 
 ejaculated, " if it be possible, save mc, oh save me from this fearful 
 stroke, — or take me in pity from this desolate wilderness to the rest 
 of thy chosen." 
 
 The dead of night came on, and all but the WTetched Laura was 
 still Montreville bi*eathed softly. Laui-a thought he slept, and 
 stifled even her sighs, lest they should avv'ake him. In the stillness 
 of the dead, but in agony of suspence thjit Lbaffles description, she 
 continued to kneel by his bed-side, and to return his relaxing grasp, 
 till she felt a gentle pressure. of her hand, and looked up to inter- 
 pret the gesture. It was the last expression of a father's love. Mon- 
 treville was gone ! 
 
 CHAPTER XVm. 
 
 OoLONfiL Hargrave liad been the spoll'^.d child ofa wetk ni.> 
 acr, and he continued to retain on^2 characteristic of spoilefl chil- 
 dren; some powerful stimulant Vifas with h:m anecessaiyof llff — 
 fie despised all pleasures of regular recun-eiice anAiiiodcrat'- d'?- 
 ^ree ; and even looked down upon those v/ho coujffc^ie satisfied 
 with such enioyments, as on beings confined to a meimer mode of 
 existence. For more than a year I^ura had furnished the aninui- 
 ' ing principle which kept life iro:Ti stii^nation. When site w^is tn-e- 
 
153 
 
 bCiU, her beauty, her reserve, her ill-conccalcf.l affection, kept hi? 
 pass ons hi constant play. In her absence, the interpretatiors ot' 
 looks and gestures, of which she had been unconscious, and the 
 anticipation of concessions which she thought not of making-, fur- 
 nished occupation for the many liouvs which, for v/ant of literary 
 liabits, Colonel Hartj^rave was obllg-cd to pass in solitude and lei- 
 sure, when deprived of fashionable company, public amusements, 
 and tolerable romances. In a little country town, these latter re- 
 sources were soon exhausted, and liargrave had no associates to 
 supply the blank among- his brother ofHceis ; some of whom were 
 low both in birth and education, and others, from various reasons, 
 r&tlier rcpellirig-, than courting his intimuc}-. One had a pretty 
 wife, another an unmarried daughter ; and the phlegmatic tempe- 
 rament and reserved manners of a third tallied not with Hargrave's 
 constitutional warmth. The departure of Laura, therefore, de- 
 prived him at once of the only society that amused, and the only 
 object that interested him. He was prevented by the caution of 
 Mrs. Douglas from attempting a correspondence with his mistress; 
 find his muse was exhausted with composing amatory sonnets, and 
 straining half-imaginary torments into reluctant rhymes. 
 
 He was soon tired of making sentimental visits to the now der 
 serted Glenalbert, and grew weary of inspecting liis treasures of 
 pilfered gloves and stray shoe-bows. His new system of reform, 
 too, sat rativer heavily upon him. He was not exactly satisfied 
 with its extent, though he did not sec in what respect it v/as sus- 
 ceptible of improvement. He had some suspicion that it v/as not 
 entitled to the full approbation of the " the wise, the pious, the 
 sober-minded" observers, whom he imagined that Laura had char- 
 ged with the inspection of hi^ conduct; and he reflected, with a 
 mixture of fear and impatience, that by them every action would 
 he reported to Laura, v/ith alltlie aggravation of illiberal comment. 
 For Oiough he did not distinctly define the idea to himself, he che-' 
 fished a latent opinion, that the "wise" would be narrov/ -minded, 
 the " pious" bigoted, and the " sober-minded" cynical. The feel- 
 ing of being watch«;d is completely destructive of comfort, even to 
 those who have least to conceal; and Colonel Hargrave sought 
 relief .at once from restraint and ennui, in exhibiting, at the Edin- 
 burgh races, four horses which were the envy of all the gentle- 
 men, and a person wliich was the admiration of all the ladies. — 
 Kis thoughts dissipated, and his vanity gratified, his passion had 
 never, since its first existence, been so little troublesome as during 
 his stay in Edinburgh ; and once or twice, as he caught a languish- 
 ing glance from a gay young heiress, he thought he had been a 
 little precipitate in changing his first designs in regard to Laura. 
 But alas ! the races endure only for one short week ; Edinburgh 
 was deserted by its glittering- birds of passage ; and Hargrave re- 
 turned to his quarters, to solitude, and to the conviction that, how- 
 ever obtained, tlie possession of Laura was necessary to his peace. 
 
 Finding that her return was as uncertain as ever, he resolved to 
 follow her to London ; and the caution of Mrs. Douglas baffling^ 
 
154 
 
 iiis attempts lo procure her address from any otlier quarter, he 
 contrived to obtam it by bribin,^ one of the under attendaiits of tiie 
 Post-office to transcribe for him the superscription of a letter to 
 Miss Montreville. Defig-hted with his success, he could not re- 
 fuse himself the triumph of making it known to Mrti. Douglas ; and, 
 by calling to ask her commands for her young friend, occasioned 
 tl>e letter of caution from her to Laura, which has been formerly 
 mentioned. 
 
 The moment he reached London, he hastened to make ibquiries 
 after the abode of Captain Montreville ; but his search was disap- 
 pointed by the accidents which he afterwards related to Laura. — 
 Day after day, he lioped that Laura, by sending to jSIr. Baynard's 
 chambers, would afford him the means of discovering her resi- 
 dence. But every day ended in disappointment ; and Hargrave, 
 who, hitending to devote all his time to her, had given no intima- 
 tion to his ft'iends of his arrival in town, found himself as solitary, 
 listless, and uncomfortable as before he quitted Scotland. 
 
 One evening, when, to kill the time, he had sauntered into the 
 Theatre, he renewed his acquaintance with the beautiful Lady Bel- 
 lamer. Two years before, Hargrave had been the chief favourite 
 of Lady Bellamer, then Miss Walpole. Of all the danglers, whom 
 besAity, coquetry, and fifty thousand pounds attracted to her train, 
 none was admitted to such easy freedom as Hargrave. She laugh- 
 ed more heartily at his wit, whispered more liimiliarly in liis ear, 
 and slapped him more frequently on the cheek than any of his 
 rivals. With no other man was she so unreasonable, troublesome, 
 and ridicidous. In short, she ran through the whole routine of 
 flirtation, till her heart was entangled, so far at least as the heart 
 of a coquette is susceptible of that misfortune. But whatever 
 flames were kindled in the lady's brea,st, the gentleman, as is usu- 
 al on such occasions, escaped with a very slight singe. While 
 Miss Walpole was present, his vanity was soothed by her blandish- 
 ments, and his senses touched by her charms ; but, in her absence, 
 he consoled himself with half a dozen other affairs of the same kind. 
 Meanwhile Lord Bellamer entered the lists, and soon distin- 
 guished himself from his competitors, by a question, which, with 
 all her admirers. Miss Walpole had not often answered. The lady 
 hesitated; for she could not help -contrasting the insignificnv.t. 
 starvling figure of her suitor with the manly beauty of Margrave's 
 person. But Lord Bellamer had a title in possession ; Hargrave's 
 was only reversionary. His Lordship's estate, too, was larger than 
 the Colonel's expectations. Besides, she began to have doubts 
 whether her favourite ever intended to propose the important ques- 
 tion; for though, to awaken his jealousy, she had herself inform- 
 ed him of Lord Bellamer's pretensions, and though she had plaj ed 
 off the whole artillery of coquetry to quicken Ids operations, the 
 young man maintained a resolute and successfid resistance. So, 
 after some fifty sighs given to the well turned leg and sparkling 
 eyes of Hargrave, M:ss Walpole became Lady Bellamer ; and this 
 w^s the only change which marriage effected in hor; for no familia». 
 
155 
 
 -*i^ could increase her indifference to Lord Bellamer, and no sa> 
 credncss of connexion can warm the heart of a coquette. She c on- 
 timied equally assiduous in courting admiration, equally daring In 
 defying censure ; and was content to piu-chase the adulation of fools, 
 at the expense of being obliged to the charity of those who were 
 good-natured enough to say, ** to be sure Lady Bellamer is a little 
 giddy, but 1 dare say she means no harm." 
 
 Her husband's departure with his regiment for the continent ; 
 made no < hange in her way of hfe, except to save her the trouble of 
 defending conduct which she would not reforni. She continued in 
 London, or at her villa at Richmond Hill, to enter into every f lly 
 which others proposed, or herself to project new ones. 
 
 Meanwhile Hargrave's duty called him to Scotland, where lady 
 Bellamer and all her rivals in his attention were entirely forgotten 
 amidst the superior attractions of Laura; attractions which acted 
 with all the force of novelty upon a heart ccustomed to parry only 
 premeditated attacks, and to resist charms tbut were merely corpo- 
 real. .From an early date in his acquaintance with Miss Montreville, 
 he had scarcely recollected the existence of lady Bellamer, till he 
 found himself in the next box to her at the theatre. The pleasure 
 that sparkled in the brightest blue eyes in the world, the flush that 
 tinged her face, wherever the rouge permitted its natural tints to 
 appeal* convinced Hargrave in a nion)ent that her ladyshi 's memo- 
 ry had been more tenacious ; and lie readily answered to her familiar 
 nod of invitation, by taking his place by her side. 
 
 They cnteied nto conversation with all the frankness of their 
 former intimacy. Lady Bellamer inquired how the Colonel had 
 contrived to exist during eighteen months of rustication ; and gave 
 him in return memoirs of some of their mutual acquaintance. She 
 -had some wit, and an exuberance of animal spirits ; and she season- 
 
 ■ -cd her nonsense with such lively salUes, sly scandal, and adroit flat- 
 tery, that Hargrave had scarcely ever passed an evening more gaily. 
 Once or twice, the composed grace, the artless majesty of Laura. 
 v^se to his recollection, and he looked absent and thoughtful But 
 his companion rallied him with so much spirit, that he quickly re- 
 covered himself, and fully rep.aid the amusraent which he received. 
 He accepted lady Bellamer's invitation to sup with her after the 
 play, and left her at a late hour, witli a promise to visit her again the 
 next day. From tliat time, the freedom of their former intercourse 
 v.as renewed; with tliis difference only, that Hargrave was released 
 from sOme restraint, by his escape from the danger of entanglement 
 whic i necessarily attends particular assiduities towards an unmar- 
 ried woman. * 
 
 Let the fair enchantress tremble wlio approaches even in thought 
 the utmost verge of discretion. If she advance but one jot beyond, 
 tliat magic circle, the evil spirit is ready to seize her, which before, 
 feared ev^en to rise m her presence Lady Bellaiper became the 
 victim or unpardonable im.prudence on her own part, and mere con- 
 stitutional tendency on that of her paramour. To a most blameablf 
 Icvitv the. s?criiiccd v/hatevcT rcrr.ainccl to be sacrificed, oi' her rv- 
 
156 
 
 j>UUtion, her virtue, and her marriage vow ; while the crime ni 
 Hargrave was not palUuted by one sentiment of genuine afiection ; 
 for she by whom he fell was no more hke the object of his real ten- 
 derness, than those wandering lights that arise from corruption and 
 glimmer only to betray, are to the steady sunbeam which enlightens, 
 and guides, and purifies where it shines. 
 
 Their intercourse continued, with growing passion on the side of 
 the lady, and expiring inclination on that of tlie gentleman, till lady 
 Bellamer informed him that the consequences of their guilt coukl 
 not long be concealed. Her lord was about to return to his disgrac- 
 ed home ; and she called upon Hargrave to concert with her the 
 means of exchanging shackles which she would no longer endure 
 /or bonds which she could bear with pleasure, and himself to stand 
 forth the legal protector of his unborn child. Hargrave heard her 
 with a disgust which he scarcely strove to conceal ; for at that mo- 
 meni Laura stood before him, bewitching in chastened love — re- 
 spectable in saintly purity. He remembered that the bare proposal 
 of a degradation v/hich lady Bellamer had almost courted, had once 
 nearly banished the spotless soul from a tenement only less pure 
 lliun itself In fancy he again saw tlirough her casement the wring- 
 ing of those t>nowy hands, those eyes raised in agony, and tf,e con- 
 vulsive heavings of that bosom which mourned his unlooked-for 
 baseness ; and he turned from lady Bellamer, inwardly cursing the 
 hour when his vows to Laura were sacrificed to a wanton. 
 
 The yery day after this interview was that in which he accidental- 
 ly encountered Laura; and from that moment his whole desire was 
 to make her his own, before public report should acquaint her with 
 his guilt. He durst not trust to the strength of her affection for the 
 pardon of so foul an offence. He could not hope that she would 
 again place confiden- e r. vows of reformation which had been so 
 grossly violated. When the proper self-distrust of Laura refused 
 him the opportunity of making a personal appeal to her sensibilities, 
 he hoped that her father might successfully plead his cause ; and 
 that before his guilt was known to her, he might have made it at 
 once her interest and her duty to forget it. But the storm was 
 about to burst even more speedily than he apprehended. Lady Bel- 
 lamer little suspected that her conduct was watched with all the 
 malice of jealousy, and all tlie eagerness of interest. She little sus- 
 pected that her confidential servant was the spy of her injured hus- 
 band, bound to fidelity in this task by ties as disgraceful as they 
 were strong, and that this woman waited only for legal proof of her 
 mistress's guilt, to lay the particulars before her lord. Tiiat proof 
 uas now obtained ; and lord Bellamer hastened to avail himself of 
 it. He arrived in London on the morning of the List day of ISIon- 
 tieville's life ; and, charging his guilty wife with her perfidy, ex- 
 pelled her from his house. 
 
 She flew to Hargrave's lodgings, and found him preparing for his 
 daily visit to Laura. Though provoked at being delayed, he was 
 obliged to stay and listen to her, while she hastily related the events 
 of the moi-ning. She was about to speak of her conviction that, by 
 
15?^ 
 
 making" her his wife, he would shield her from the world's scoru, 
 and that he would not, by any legal defence, retard her emancipa- 
 tion. But Hargrave suffered her not to proceed. He then per- 
 ceived that his adventure must now be public. It must immediate- 
 ly find its way into the public prints ; and in a few hours it might 
 be in the hands of Laura. He bitterly upbraided I^ady Bellamer 
 with her want of caution in the concealment of their amour ; ciu*- 
 sed her folly as the ruin of all his dearest hopes ; and, in the fren- 
 zy of his rage, scrupled not to reveal the cutting secret, that 
 while another was the true object of his affections, Lady, Bella- 
 mer had sacrificed her all to an inclination as transient as it was 
 vile. The wretched creature, terrified at his rage, weakened by 
 her situation, overcome by the events of the morning, and stung 
 by a reception so opposite to her expectations, sunk at his feet in 
 violent hysterics. But Hargrave could at that moment feel for no 
 miseries but his own ; and consigning her to the care of the wo- 
 men of the house, he was again about to hasten to Montreville's, 
 w^hen he was told that a gentleman wished to speak with him upon 
 particular business. 
 
 This person was the bearer of a note from Lord Bellamer, im- 
 porting that he desired to meet Colonel Hargrave on that or the 
 following day, at any hour and place which the Colonel might ap- 
 point. After the injuries given and received, their meeting, he 
 ssud, could have but one object. Hargrave, in no humour to de- 
 lay, instantly replied, that in three hours he should be found in a 
 solitary field, which he named, at a few miles' distance from town, 
 and that he should bring with him a friend, and a brace of pistols. 
 He then went in search of this friend, and findbig him at home, 
 the business was speedily settled. 
 
 Nothing, in the slight consideration of death which Hargrave 
 suffered to enter his mind, gave so much disturbance as the 
 thought that he might, if he fell, leave Laura to the possession of 
 another. He willingly persuaded himself that she had an attach- 
 ment to him too romantic to be transferable. But she was poor*, 
 she might in time make a marriage of esteem and convenience ; 
 and Laura, the virtuous Laui-a, would certainly love her husband, 
 and the father of lier children. The bare idea stung like a scorpi- 
 on, and Hargrave hastened to his man of business, where he spent 
 tlie time which yet remained before the hour of his appointment, 
 in dictating a bequest of five thousand pounds to Laura Montre- 
 ville ; but true to his purpose, he added a clause, by which, in 
 case of her marriage, she forfeited the whole. 
 
 He then repau'ed to meet Lord Bellamer ; and, the ground be- 
 ing taken, Hargrave's first ball penetrated Lord Bellamer's shoul- 
 der, who then fired without effect, and instantly fell. Hargrave, 
 whose humanity had returned with his temper, accompanied his 
 (■wounded antagonist to a neighbouring cottage to which he was 
 conveyed, anxiously procured for him every possible comfort, and 
 heard, with real joy, that if he could be kept from fever, his wound 
 was not likely to be mortal. The gentleman who had been Hai-- 
 
 Vol.. I. o 
 
158 
 
 grave's second, offered to remain near Lord Bellamer, iu order to 
 g-ive warning- to his friend should any danger occur ; and it was 
 late in the evening before Hargrave, alone and comfortless, re- 
 turned to town. 
 
 Never had his own thoughts been such vexatious companions. 
 To his own seared conscience, his crimes might have seemed 
 trivial ; but when he placed them before him in the light in wluch 
 he knew that they would be viewed by Laura, their nature seemed 
 changed. He knew that she would find no plea in the custom of 
 the times, for endangering the life of a fellow-creature, and that 
 her moral vocabulary contained no qualifying epithet to palliate 
 the foulness of adultery. The next day would give publicity to 
 his duel and its cause ; and should the report reach Laura's ear, 
 what could he hope from her favour ? The bribes of love and am- 
 bition he had found too poor to purchase her sanction to the bare 
 intention of a crime. Even the intention seemed forgiven only in 
 the hope of luring him to the paths of virtue; and when she should 
 know the failure of that hope, would not her forgiveness be with- 
 drawn ? 
 
 But Laura, thus on the point of being lost, was more dear to him 
 than ever ; and often did he wish that he had fallen by Lord Bella- 
 mer's hand, rather than that he should live to see himself the ob- 
 ject of her indifference, perhaps aversion. Time still remained, 
 however, by one desperate effort to hurry ox terrify her into imme- 
 diate compliance with his wishes ; and, half -distracted with the 
 emotions of remorse, and love, and hope and fear, he ordered his 
 carriage to Montreville's house. Here passed the scene which has 
 been already described. Hargrave was too much agitated to at- 
 tend to the best methods of persuasion, and he quitted Laura in 
 the full conviction that she would never be his wife. He threw 
 himself into his carriage, and was di-iven home, now franticly be- 
 wailing his loss, now vowing, that rather than endure it, he would 
 incur the penalties of every law, divine and human. All night he 
 paced his apartment, uttering imprecations on his own folly, and 
 forming plans for regaining by fraud, force, or persuasion, his lost 
 rights over Laura. At last his vehemence having somewhat spent 
 itself, he th'-ew himself on a couch, and sunk into feverish and in- 
 terrupted sleep. 
 
 It was not till next morning that be thought of inquiring after 
 the unfortunate partner of his iniquity ; and was told that, too ill to 
 be removed, she had been carried to bed in the house, where she 
 still remained. 
 
 Intending to renew the attempt of the preceding night, he agam 
 repaired early to Laura's abode; but his intention was frustrated, 
 by t^he deat]; of Montreville. On receiving the information, he was 
 at first a good deal shocked at the sudden departure of a man', 
 whom, atvW hours before, he had left in m apparent dang-er. But 
 that' feeling was eftiaced wuen once he began to consider the event 
 as fiivourablt to his designs upon Laura. Left to solitude, to po- 
 verty, perhaps to actual want, what resource had she so eligible as 
 
i5e 
 
 the acceptance of offers splendid and disinterested like his ? A.nd 
 he would ur^e her acceptance of them with all the ardour of pas- 
 sion. He would alarm her witli the prospects of desolateness and 
 dependence ; he would appeal to the wishes of her dead father. 
 Such pleadings must, he thought, have weight with her; and again 
 the hopes of victory revived in his mind. Should the principle, to 
 which she so firmly adhered, outweigh all these considerations, he 
 thouglit she would forfeit by her obstinacy all claim to his forbear- 
 ance, and his heart fluttered at tlie idea that she had nov,- no pro* 
 lector from his power. He resolved to haunt, to watch her, to lose 
 no opportunity of pressing his suit. Wherever she went, he was 
 determined to follow ; " and surely," thought he, •* she must 
 have some moments of weakness, she cannot be always on her 
 guard." 
 
 For some days he continued to make regular vi.sits at her lodg- 
 ings, though he had no hope of seeing her till after Montreville 
 was consigned to the dust; and he rejoiced that the customary 
 seclusion was likely to retard her knowledge of his misconduct. 
 To make inquiries after the health and spirits, of Laura, was the 
 ostensible, but not the only motive of his visits. He wished to dis- 
 cover all that was known to the people of the house of her present 
 situation and future plans. On the latter subject they could not 
 afford him even the slightest information, for Laura had never 
 di'opped a hint of her intentions. But he received such accounts 
 of her pecuniary distresses, and of the manner in which she sup- 
 ported them, as at once increased Ins reverence for her character, 
 and his hopes that she would take refuge from her wants in the 
 affluence which he offered her. 
 
 From Fanny, who officiated as porter, and who almost adored 
 Laura, he received most of his intelligence ; and, while he listened 
 to instances of the fortitude, the piety, the tenderness, the resig- 
 nation of his beloved, a love of virtue, sincere though transient, 
 would croj>s his soul; he would look back with abhorrence on a 
 crime which had hazarded the loss of such a treasure ; and vow, 
 that, were he once possessed of Laura, his life should be a copy of 
 her worth. But Hargr.ive's vows deceived him ; for he loved the 
 virtues only that were associated with an object of pleasure, he ab- 
 horred the vices only which threatened him with pain. 
 
 On the day succeedmg the funeral, he ventured on an attempt to 
 see Laura, and sent her a message, begging permission to wait 
 upon her; but was answered that she received no visitors. He 
 then wrote her a letter full of the sentiments which she inspired. 
 He expressed his s}Tnpathy with her misfortimes, and fervently 
 besought her to accept of a protect6r who would outdo in tender- 
 ness the one whonri she had lost. He implored her to add l';e 
 strongest incentive to the course of virtue, in which, if she would 
 listen to his req.ue.st, he solemnly promised to persevere. He again 
 insinuated that she must speedily decide ; that, if her decision 
 were unfavourable, he might be driven to seekforgetfuluess amidst 
 xninous dissipation • ■iPd ho adinred her, by th« wishes of her dead 
 
160 
 
 father, a claim winch he thought would with her be irresistible, to 
 consent to dispense with his further probation. He said he would 
 visit lier late in the following" forenoon, in the hope of receiving his 
 answer from her own lips ; and concluded by telling her, that, lest 
 the late unfortimate event had occasioned her any temporary diffi- 
 culties, he begged to be considered as her banker, and enclosed a 
 bill for a hundred pounds. 
 
 He gave this letter to Fanny, with injunctions to deliver it imme- 
 diately, and then went to inquire for Lord Bellamer, whom it gave 
 him real pleasure to find pronounced out of danger. Lady Bella- 
 mer, too, had ceased to reproach and molest him. She had reco- 
 vered from her indisposition, and removed to the house of a rela- 
 tion, who humanely offered to receive her. His hopes were strong 
 oftiie effect of his letter; and he passed the evening in greater 
 comfort than had lately fallen to his share. Often did he repeat to 
 himself that Laura must accede to his proposals. What other 
 course could she pursue ? — Would her spirit allow her to become 
 a burden on the scanty income of her friend Mrs. Douglas ? — Would 
 she venture to pursue, as a profession, the art in which she so ~ 
 greatly excelled ? — Would she return to live alone at Glenalbert ? 
 This last appeared the most probable to Hargrave, because the 
 most desirable. Alone, without any companion whose frozen 
 counsel would counteract the softness o? her heart, in a romantic 
 solitude, watched as he would watch, importuned as he would im- 
 portune her, strange if no advantage could be wrested from her 
 affection or her prudence, her interest or her fears ! To possess 
 Laura was the first wish of his soul; and he was not very fastidious 
 as to the means of its gratification : for even the love of a libertine 
 is selfish. He was perfectly sincere in his honourable proposals to 
 Laura. He might have been less so had any others possessed a 
 t>hance of success. 
 
 He rose early the next morning, and impatiently looked for the 
 hour which he had appointed for his visit. He wished tliat he had 
 fixed on an earlier one, took up a book to beguile tlie minutes, 
 threw it down again, looked a hundred times athiswatch, ordered 
 his carriage to the door two hours before it was wanted, feared to 
 go too soon, lest Laura should refuse to see him, and yet was at 
 her lodgings long before his appointment. He inquired for her, 
 and was' answered, that she had discharged her lodgings, and was 
 gone. " Gone ! Whither ?" — Fanny did not know ; Miss Montre- 
 ville had been busy all the evening before in preparing for her re- 
 moval, and had left the liouse early that morning. " And did she 
 leave no address where »he might be found ?" " I heard her tell 
 the coachman,'* said Fanny, " to stop at the end of Grosvenor 
 Street, and she would direct him where she chose to be set down. 
 But I believe she has left a letter for you. Sir." " Fool !" cried, 
 Hargrave, " why did you not tell me so sooner— give it me in- 
 'stantly." 
 
 He imjjatientlv followed the girl to the parlour which had been 
 :Montrcville'3. The letter lay oi) the table. It contained only his 
 
161 
 
 bill, returned with Miss Montreville's compliments and tlj&i^.lcs. 
 He twisted the card into atoms, aj)d cursed with all his soul tlie 
 in^atitude and cold prudence of the writer. He swore that if slie 
 wei-e on earth he would find her ; and vowed that he would make 
 ker repent of the vexation which he said she had always taken a 
 savage dehght in heaping" upon him. 
 
 Restless, and yet unwilling- to be gone, he next wandered into 
 Laura's painting-room, as if hoping in her once favouriie liaunt to 
 find traces of her flight. He had never entered it since the day 
 When the discovery of Ue Courcy's portrait had roused his sudden 
 frenzy. Association brought back the same train of thought. He 
 imagined that Laura, while she concealed herself from him, had 
 taken refuge with the De Courcys ; and all his jealousy returned. 
 After, according to custom, acting tlie ma.lman for a while, he be- 
 gan as usual to recover his senses. He knew he could easily dis- 
 cover whether Miss Montreville was at Norwood, by vvriting to a 
 friend wlio lived in the neighbourhood ; and he was going home to 
 execute this design, when, passing through the lobby, he was met 
 by the landlady. He stopped to renew his inquiries whether any 
 thing was known, or guessed of Laura's retreat. But Mrs. Stubbs 
 could give him no more information on the subject than her maid, 
 and she was infinitely more surprised at his question than Fanny 
 had been : for, having made certain observations which convinced 
 her that Hargrave's visits were in the character of a lover, she had 
 charitably concluded, and actually asserted, that Laura had accept- 
 ed of his protection. 
 
 Hargrave next inquired whether Laura had any visitors but 
 himself? " No living creature, ' was the reply '* Could Mrs. 
 Stubbs form no conjectiu-e whither she was gone V* ** None in the 
 world," answered Mrs. Stubbs ; " only tliis I know, itcasi't be very 
 far off— for to my certain knowledge, she had only seven shillings 
 in her pocket, and that could not carry her far, as "5 told the gen- 
 tleman who was here this morning." " What gentleman," cried 
 Hargrave. "One Mr. De Courcy, Sir, that used to call for her; 
 but he has not been here these six weeks before ; and he seemed 
 quite astounded as well as yourself. Sir." Hargrave then ques- 
 tioned her so closely concerning De Courcy's words and looks, as 
 to convince himself that his rival was entirely ignorant of the mo- 
 tions of the fugitive. In this belief he returned home, uncertain 
 what measures he should pursue, but determined not to rest till he 
 had found Laura. 
 
 When De Courcy quitted Laura, he had no intention of seeing 
 her again till his circumstances should enable him to offer her his 
 hand. No sacrifice could have cost him more pain; but justice 
 and filial duty did not permit him to hesitate. Neither did he 
 think himself entitled to sadden With a face of care his domestic 
 circle, nor to make his mother and sister pay dear for their com- 
 forts, by shewing that the}' were purchased at the expense of his 
 peace. Nor did he languidly resign to idle love dreams the hours 
 whioli an immortal spirit claimed for its improtement, and which 
 o2 
 
162 
 
 tbe social tie bound him to enliven and cheer. Butto appear what he 
 was not, to introduce constraint and dissimulation into tlie sacred 
 privacies of home, never occurred to De Courcy. He therefore 
 strove not to seem cheerful but to be so. He returned to his former 
 studies, and even i)rosecuted them with alacrity, for he knew that 
 Laura respected a cultivated mind. His faults, he was if possible 
 more than ever studious to coi-rect, for Laura loved virtue. And 
 when occasion for a kind, considerate or self-denying* action pre- 
 sented itself, he eagerly seized it, saying- in his heart, " this is 
 like Laura." 
 
 Sometimes the fear that he might be forgotten, forced from 
 him the bitterest sigh that he had ever breathed : but he endea- 
 voured to comfort himself with the belief that she would soon be 
 screened from the gaze of admiration, and that her reg-ard for him, 
 thougli yet in its infancy, would be sufficient to secure her from 
 other impressions Of the reality of this regard he did not allow 
 himself to doubt, or if he hesitated for a moment, he called to 
 mind the picture, Laura's concealn:ent of it, her confusion at hij» 
 attempt to examine it, and he no longer doubted. 
 
 The arrival of the picture itself might have explained all that 
 related to it, hael De Gourcy chosen to have it so explained. But 
 he turned his eye from the unpleasing sight, and sheltered his 
 hopes by a hundred treasured instances of love which had scarce- 
 ly any existence but in his fancy. 
 
 His efforts to be cheerful were however less successful, after 
 Laura, in a few melancholy lines, informed Miss De Courcy that 
 Montreville's increased illness made their return to Scotland more 
 uncertain than ever. He imagined his dear Laura the solitary at- 
 tendant of a sick-bed ; no kind voice to comfort, no friendly'face 
 to cheer her; perhaps in poverty, that poverty increased too byj 
 the artifice which he had used to lessen it. He grew anxious, J 
 comfortless, and at length really miserable. Every day the arri-^ 
 val of the letters was looked for with extreme solicitude in hope 
 of more cheering news ; but every day brought disappointment, 
 for Laura \vi'ote no more. His mother shared in his anxiety, and 
 increased it by expressing her own. She feared that Miss M ou- 
 tre ville wuH ill, and unable to write ; and the image of Laura among 
 strangers, sick iohd in poverty, obliteiated .Montague's prudent re- 
 solutions of trusting liiniseU no more in the presence of his be- 
 loved. He set outior London, and arrived at the door of Laura's 
 lodgings about an hour after ^he had quitted them. 
 
 Mrs. Stubbs, of whom he made personal inquiries, was abun- 
 dantly communicative. She gave him, as far as it was known to] 
 her, a full history of Laura's adventujes since he had seen her 
 and, where she was deficient in facts, supplied the blank by con«^ 
 jecture. With emotion indescribable he listened to a coarse ac-'| 
 count of Miss Montreville's wants and labours. " How could you; 
 suffer all this ?" cried he, indignantly, when he was able to speak. 
 "Times are hard, Sir," returned Mrs. Stubbs, the jolly purple 
 deepening in her cheeks. " Besides, Miss Montreville had always 
 
1G3 
 
 such aa air with her, that I could not for my very heart have asked 
 her to take pot-luck with us." 
 
 The colour faded from De Courcy's face as Mrs. Stubbs pro-- 
 ceeded to relate the copstant visits of Hargrave. " IMI warrant," 
 said she, growing familiar as she perceived that she excited in- 
 terest, " I'll warrant he did not come here so often for nothing. 
 People must have ears, and use them too ; and I heard him myself 
 swearing to her one day, that he loved her better than his life, or 
 something to that purpose ; and that, if she would live with him, 
 he would make her dreams pleasant, or some such stuff as that ; 
 and now, as sure as can be, she has taken him at his word, and 
 gone to him." 
 
 " Peace, woman !" cried De Courcy, in a tone which he had never 
 used to any of the sex, "how dare you — ?" 
 
 Mrs. Stubbs, who had all the want of nerve which characterizes 
 vulgar arrogance, instantly shrunk into her shell. " No offence, 
 Sir," said she. " Its all mere guess-work with me ; only she does 
 not know a creature in London, and she had nothing to carry her 
 out of it; for she had just seven shillings in her pocket. I gave 
 her seventeen and sixpence of change this morning, and she gave 
 half-a-guinea of that to the kitchen-maid. Now it stands to rea- 
 son, she would not have been so ready parting with her money if 
 she had not known where more was to be had " 
 
 De Courcy, shocked and disgusted, turned from her in displea- 
 svu-e ; and finding that nothing was to be learnt from her of the 
 place of Laura's retreat, betook himself to the print-shop, where 
 he remembered that he had first procured Miss Montreville's ad- 
 dress. Mr. VVilkins declared his ignorance on the subject of 
 Montague's inquiries ; but, seeing the look of disappointment with 
 which De Courcy was leaving the shop, goodnaturedly said, ** I 
 dare say. Sir, if you wish to find out where Miss Montreville lives, 
 I could let you know by asking Colonel Hargrave. He comes here 
 sometimes to look at the caricatures. And," added Mr. Wilkins, 
 winking significantly, *' I am mistaken if they are not very well 
 acquainted." 
 
 De Courcy's heart rose to his mouth. ** Perhaps so," said he, 
 scarcely conscious of what he said. " There was a famous scene 
 between them here about three weeks ago," proceeded the print- 
 seller, anxious to justify his own sagacity. " 1 suppose they had 
 not met for awhile, and there was such a kissing and embracing"— 
 •' 'Tis false !" cried De Courcy, lightning flashing from his eyes. 
 ** Miss Montreville would have brooked such indignities from no 
 man on earth." " Nay," said Wilkins, shrugging up his shoul- 
 ders, " the shop-lads saw it as well as I— she fainted away in his 
 arms, and ht^ carried her into the back room there, and would 
 not suffer one of us to come near iier ; and Mr. Finch there saw 
 him down on his knees to her." " Cease your vile slanders," 
 cried Ue Courcy, half distracted with grief and indignation, " I 
 abhor — I despise them. But at your peril dare to breathe thero 
 into any other ear." So saying, he dsjted from the shop, and 
 
164 
 
 reti«n»ed to his hotel, infinitely more wretched than ever he 
 had been. 
 
 The happy droatn was dispelled that painted him the master of 
 Laiiia's affections. Anotlier possessed her love ; and how visible, 
 how indelicately g;laring, must be the preference that was apparent 
 to evf.ty vulg-ar eye ! But, bitter as was his disappointment, and 
 Cruel tlie pang-s of jealousy, they v/ere ease compared to the tor- 
 ture with which he adniilted a thoug-ht derog-atory to Laura's 
 worth. A thousand times he reproached himself for suffering the 
 hints and conjectures of a low-bred woman to affect his mind ; — a 
 thousand times assured himself,^that no poverty, no difficulties, 
 v/C'uld overpower the integrity of Laura. " Yet Hargi-ave is a 
 iibertint*," said he, " and if she can love a libertine, how have I 
 been deceived in her ! No ! it cannot be ! — She is all truth — all 
 purity. It is sjie that is deceived. He lias imposed upon her by 
 a false show of virtue, and misery awaits her detection of his de- 
 ceit, bhe gone to him ! I will never believe it. Libertine as he 
 is, he dared not to thiiik of it. Extremity of want — iin.ger- 
 ing- famine would not degrade her to this," — and tears filled 
 De Courcy's manly eyes at the thought that Laura was indeed 
 in want. 
 
 He had no direct means of supplying- her necessities ; bdt he 
 hoped that she might uiquire at her former abode for any letters 
 that might chance to be left for her, and that she might thus re- 
 ceive any packet which he addressed to her. " She shall never 
 be humbled," said he with a heavy sigh, "by knowing that she 
 owes this trifle to an indifferent, forgotten stranger ;,'* and inclo- 
 sing fifty pounds in a blank cover, he put both into an envelope to 
 Mrs. Stubbs, in which he informed her, that if she could find no 
 means of conveying the packet to Miss Montreville, the anony- 
 mous writer would claim it again at some future time, on descri- 
 bing its contents. 
 
 Before dispatching the letter, however, he resolved on making 
 an .attempt to discover whether Hargrave was acquainted with 
 Laura's retreat. He shrunk from meeting his rival. His blood 
 ran cold as he pictured to his fancy the exulting voice, tlie trium- 
 phant glance which would announce the master of Laura's fate. 
 But any thing was preferable to his present suspense ; and the 
 hope that he might yet be useful to LaUra, formed an incitement 
 still more powerful. *' Let me but find her," said he, " and I will 
 yet wrest her from destruction. If she is deceived, I will warn ; 
 if she is oppressed, I will protect her." 
 
 He imagined that he shoidd probably find Hargrave at the house 
 of his uncle. Lord Lincourt, and hastened thither to seek him ; 
 but foimd the house occupied only by servants, who were igno- 
 rant of the colonel's address. De Courcy knew none of Hargrave's 
 places of resort. The habits and acquaintance of each lay in a 
 different line. No means therefore of discovering him occurred 
 tcr Montague, except that of inquiring at the house of Mrs. Stubbs, 
 
165 
 
 where he thought it probable that the place of Hargrave*s resi- 
 dence might be known. Thither, then, he next bent his course. 
 
 The door was opened to him by Fanny ; who replied to his ques- 
 tion, that none of the family knew where Col. Hargrave lived, and 
 lamented that De Courcy had not come a little earlier, saying that 
 the Colonel had been gone not above a quarter of an hour. De 
 Courcy was turning disappointed away ; when Fanny, stopping 
 him, said with a curtsey and a half-whisper, •* Sir, an't please you, 
 my mistress was all wrong about Miss Montrevillt^for the Colo- 
 nel knows no more about her than I do." " Indeed !" said De 
 Courcy, all attention. " Yes, indeed. Sir — when I told him she 
 was away he was quite amazed, and in such a passion ! So then, 
 I thought I would give him the letter. — " What letter ?" cried De 
 Courcy, the glow of animation fading in his face. " A letter that 
 Miss Montreville left for him. Sir, but when he got it he was ten 
 times angrier than before, and swore at her for riot letting him 
 knowiwhere she was going. So t thought, Sir, I w«uld make bold 
 to tell you. Sir, as Mistress had been speaking her mind, Sir ; for 
 it*s a sad thing to have one's character taken away ; and Miss 
 Montreville, I am sure, wouldn't do hurt to nobody." 
 
 " You are a good girl, a very good girl," said De Courcy, giving 
 her, with a guinea, a very hearty squeeze of the hand. He made 
 her repeat the particulars of Hargrave's violent behaviour ; and 
 satisfied from them that his rival liad no share in Lira's disap- 
 pearance, he returned to his hotel, his heart HghtCTed of half the 
 Heaviest load that ever it had borne. 
 
 Still, however, enough remained to exclude for a time all quiet 
 from his breast. He could not doubt that Laura's affections were 
 Hargrave's. She had given proof of it palpable to the most com- 
 mon observer ; and resentment mingled with his grief while he 
 thought, that to his fervent respectful love, she preferred the un- 
 distinguishing passion of a libertine. " All women are alike," said 
 he, " the slaves of mere outward show :" — An observation for 
 which the world was probably first indebted to circumstances 
 somewhat like De Courcy's 
 
 Restless and uncomfortable, without any hope of finding Laura, 
 he would now have left London without an hour's delay. But^ 
 though he forgot his own fatigues, he was not unmindful of those 
 of the gray-haired domestic who attended him. He therefore de- 
 ferred his journey to the following morning ; and then set out on 
 his return to Norwood, more depressed and wretched than he had 
 quitted it. 
 
 END or THE FraST VOLUME. 
 
^ 
 
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 o. 
 
r- 
 
 SELF-CONTRaL. 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 His 'war&re is within.— There tmfatigued 
 His fervent spirit labours.— There he fights, * 
 And there obtains fresh triumphs o'er himself, 
 And never-withering wreaths, compared with which 
 The laurels that a Caesar reaps are weeds. 
 
 Cotvper 
 
 VOLUME II. 
 
 jsTEfr-roRK: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY DAVID LONGWCHRTH, 
 
 A.T THE SHAKSPEARE GALLERY. 
 
 C. S. Van Winkle, Printer. 
 
 1811. 
 
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v\^.y^^'^ 
 
 SELF-CONTROL. 
 
 (CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 ALL was yet dark and still, wheit Laura, like some unearthly 
 being, stood by the bed where Fanny slept. The light^ which she 
 bore in her wasted hand, shewed faintly the majestic loim, dark- 
 ened by its mourning' garments ; and slied a dreary jrlcam upon 
 tearless eyes, and a face whence all the hues of life were fled. 
 She made a sign for Fanny to rise ; and, awe-struck by the calm 
 of unutterable grief, Fanny arose, and in silence followed her. 
 They entered the chamber of death. With noiseless steps Laura 
 approached Uie body, and softly drew back Uie covering. She 
 toecKoned Fanny towards her. The girl comprehended that her 
 aid was wanted in performing the last duties to Alontreville ; and, 
 shrhiking with superstitious fear, said, in alow trcznulous wliis- 
 per, *' I dare not touch the dead." Laura answered not ;' but rai- 
 sir.g her eyes to Heaven, as if there to seek assistance in her 
 mournfid task, she gently pressed her hand upon the half-closed 
 eves that had so often beamed fondness on her. Unaided, and in 
 silence, slie did the last offices of love. Slie shed no tears. She 
 uttered no lamentation. The dread stillness was broken (mly by 
 the groans that burst at times from her heavy heart, and the more 
 continued sobs of her attendant, who vented in tears lierfear, her 
 pity, and her admiration. 
 
 \Vhen the sad work was finished, Laura, still speechless, mo- 
 tioned to the servant to retire. In horror at the thoughts of leaving 
 Laura alone with the dead, yet fearing to raise her voice, the girl 
 respectfully grasped her mistress's gown, and, in a low but earn- 
 est whisper, besought her to leave this dismal place, and to go to 
 her own chamber. Scarcely sensible pf her meaning, Laura suf- 
 fered her to draw her away; but when the door closed upon all 
 that remained of her father, she shuddered convulsively, and strug- 
 gled to return. Fanny, however, gathered courage to lead her'to 
 her own apartment. There she threw herself prostrate on the 
 ground ; a flood of tears came to relieve her oppressed heart, and 
 her recovered utterance broke forth hi »i\ act of resignation. She 
 
continued for some hours to g^ive vent to her sorrow—a sorrow uu- \ 
 ;• Hayed by any less painful feeling-, save those of devotion. Shei 
 had lost the affectionate guide of ier youth, the fond parent, 
 whose love for her had brought him untimely to the grave ; and, 
 in the anguish of the thouglit that she should watch his smile and 
 hear liis voice no more, she scarcely remembered that he had left 
 her to want and loneliness. 
 
 The morning was far advanced, when her sorrows were broken 
 in upon by her landlady, who came to ask her directions in regard 
 to the funeral. Laura had been unable to bend her thoughts to the 
 consideration of this subject; and she answered only by her tears. 
 In vain did Mrs. Stubbs repeat that " it was a folly to take on so,'» ''■ 
 —"that we must all die ;"—" and that as everything has two 
 handles, Laura might comfort herself that she should now have 
 but one mouth to feed." Laur^ seemed obstinate in her grief, and 
 at last Mrs. Stubbs declared that whether she would hear reason 
 or not, something must without delay be settled about the fune- 
 ral ; as for her part she could not order things without knowing 
 how they were to be paid for. Laura, puttuig her hand to her 
 foreheatl, complained that her head felt confused, and, mildly beg- 
 ging her persecutor to have a little patience with her, promised, 
 if she might be left alone for the present, to return to the conver- 
 sation in half an hour. 
 
 Accordingly, soon after the time appointed, the landlady was 
 surprised to see Laura enter the parlour, her cheek indeed colour- 
 less and her eyes swelled with weeping, but her manner perfectly 
 calm and collected. " Here are my father's watch and sceas," 
 said she, presenting them. " They may be disposed of That 
 cannot wound him now," — and she turned away her head, and 
 drew her hand across her eyes. " Have the goodness," continu- 
 ed she, " to order what is necessary, for I am a stranger, without 
 any friend." Mrs. Stubbs, examining the watch, declared her 
 opinion that the sale of it would produce very little. " Let every 
 thing be plain, but decent," said Laura, " and when I am able f 
 will work day and night till all is paid," " I doubt. Miss," answer- 
 ed Mrs. Stubbs, " it will be long before your work will pay for 
 much ; besides you will be in my debt for a week's lodgings — we 
 always charge a week extra when there is a death in the house." j 
 " Tell me what you would have me to do, and I will do it," said J 
 the unfortunate Laura, wholly unable to contend with her hard- ^ 
 hearted companion. "Why, Miss," said Mrs. Stubbs, " there is 
 your beautiful rose-wood work-table and the ftiot-stools, and your 
 fine ivory work-box that Mr. De Courcy sent here before you 
 came ; if you choose to dispose of them, 1 will take them off your 
 Lands," " Take them," said Laura, •* I knew not tliat they were 
 mine." Mrs. Stubbs then conscientiously ottered to give a fourth 
 part of the sum which these toys had costDe Courcy three months 
 before, an offer which Laura instantly accepted ; and the landlady 
 having settled this business much to her own satisfaction, cheer- 
 fully undertook to arrange the obsequies of poor Montreville. 
 
Tliough the tragical scenes of tlie night had left Laura no leisure 
 to dwell upon her fears for Hargravc, it was not without thank- 
 fulness that she heard of his safety and restored composure. Her 
 mind was at first too mudi occupied by her recent loss, to attempt 
 accounting for his extravagant behaviour ; and, after tlie first pa- 
 roxysms of her sorrow were past, she retained but an imperfect 
 recollection of his late conversation with her. She merely remem- 
 bered his seeming distraction and threatened suicide ; and only 
 bewildered herself by her endeavours to unravel his mysterious 
 conduct. Sometimes a suspicion not very remote from truth 
 would dart into her mind ; but she quickly banished it, as an 
 instance of the causeless fears that are apt to infest llie hearts of 
 the unfortunate. 
 
 An innate delicacy, which, in some degree, supplied to Laura 
 the want of experience, made her feel an impropriety in tlie daily 
 visits which she was informed that Hargrave made at her lodg- 
 ings. She was aware that they might be liable to misrepresenta- 
 tion, even though she should persist in her refusal to see him ; 
 and this consideration appeared to add to the necessity already 
 so urgent, for resolving on some immediate plan for her future 
 course of life. But the future offered to Laura no attractive pros- 
 pect. Wherever she turned, all seemed dark and unpromising. 
 bl»e feared not to labour for her subsistence ; no narrow pride ibr- 
 bade her the use of any honourable means of independence. But 
 her personal charms were such as no degree of humility couid 
 screen from the knowledge of their possessor, and she was sensi- 
 ble how much this dangerous distinction increased the disqualifi- 
 cations of her sex and age for the character of an artist. As an 
 artist, she must be exposed to the intrusion of strangers ; to pub- 
 lic observation if successful ; to bnpitied neglect if she failed in 
 her attempt Besides, it was impossible to think of living alone 
 and unprotected, in the human chaos that surrounded her. All 
 her father's dismal forebodings rose to her remembrance ; and 
 she almost regarded herself as one who would be noticed only as 
 -a mark for destruction, beguiled by frauds which no vigilance 
 could detect, overwhelmed by power lyhich she could neither re- 
 sist nor escape. 
 
 Should she seek in solitude a refuge from the destroyer, and re- 
 turn to mourn at her deserted Glenalbert ; the stroke had left it 
 like her lonely and forlorn ; want lurked amidst its shades ; for 
 with her father had died not only the duties and the joys of life, 
 but even the means of its support. Her temporary right to the 
 few acres which Montreville had farmed, was in less than a year 
 to expire ; and she knew that, after discharging the claim of the 
 landlord, together with some debts which the long illness of 
 Lady Harriet and the ill-fated journey had obliged Montreville 
 to contract, httle would remain from the sale of her effects at 
 Glenalbert. 
 
 Laura was sure, that the benevolent friend of her youth, the 
 excellent Mrs. Douglas, would receive her with open arms — guide 
 
 a2 
 
fter Inexperience with a mother's counsel — comfort her sorfow^ 
 with a mother's love. But her spirit revolted from a life of indo- 
 lent dependence, and her sense of justice from casting a useless 
 burden upon an income too confined to answer claims stronger 
 and more natural than hers. Mrs. Douglas was herself the pre- 
 ceptress of her children, and both by nature and education amply 
 qualified for the momentous task. In domestic management, her 
 skill and activity were unrivalled. Laura, therefore, saw no pos- 
 sibility of repaying, by her usefulness in any department of the 
 family, the protection which she might receive ; and she deter- 
 mined that nothing but the last necessity should induce her to tax 
 the generosity of her friend, or to forego the honourable inde- 
 pendence of those who, though ** silver or gold theiy have none," 
 can barter for the comforts they enjoy their mi^ntal treasures or 
 their bodily toil. ■ ^ 
 
 To undertake the tuition of youth occurred to her as the most 
 eligible means of procuring necessary subsistence, and protection, 
 more necessary still. It appeared to her that, as a member of any 
 reputable family, she should be sheltered from the dangers which 
 her father had most taught her to dread. She reviewed her ac- 
 complishments, and impartially examined her ability to commu- 
 nicate them with temper and perseverance. Though for the most 
 part attained with great accuracy, they were few in number, and 
 unobtrusive in kind. She read aloud with uncommon harmony 
 and grace. She spoke and wrote with fluency and precision. She 
 was grammatically acquainted with the French and Latin langua- 
 ges, and an adept in llie common rules of arithmetic. Her pro- 
 liciency in painting has been already noticed ; and she sung with 
 inimitable sweetness and expression. 
 
 But though expert in every description of plain needlework, she 
 was an utter novice in the manufacture of all those elegant 
 nothings, which are so serviceable to fine ladies in their warfare 
 against time. Though she moved witli unstudied dignity and 
 peerless grace, we are obliged to confess, that the seclusion of her 
 native village had doomed her to ignorance of the art of dancing, 
 that she had never entered ab;dl-room less capacious than the ho- 
 rizon, nor performed with a partner more illustrious than the 
 schoolmaster's daughter. Her knowledge; of music, too, was 
 extremely limited. Lady Harriet had indeed tried to teach her to 
 play on the piano-forte; but the attempt, after costing Laura 
 many a full heart, and many a watery eye, was relinquished as 
 vain. Though the child learnt with unusual facility whatever was 
 taught her by her father or Mrs. Douglas, and though she was al- 
 ready remarkable for the sweetness with which she warbled her 
 wood-notes wild, she no sooner approached the piano-forte, than 
 an invincible stupidity seemed to seize on all her faculties. This 
 was the more mortifying, as it was the only one of her ladyship's 
 accomplishments which she ever personally attempted to commu- 
 nicate to her daughter. Lady Harriet was astonished at her fail- 
 "ivv. It could proceed, she thought, from nothing but obstinacy 
 
But the appropHate remedy for obstinacy, only a^j^avated the 
 symptoms, and, after all, Laura was indebted to Colonel Har- 
 grave*s tuition for so much skill as enabled her to accompany her 
 own sing^ing. 
 
 Laura had more than once felt her deficiency in these fashion- 
 able arts, on seeing them exhib'ten by yoiinii^ ladies, who, to use 
 their own expression, had returned from ^^i/sAm^- themselves at a 
 boardingf-school, and she feared that this hh.nk in her education 
 might prove a fatal bar to her being employed as a governess. 
 But another and a greater obstacle lay before her — she was utter- 
 ly unknown. The only patrons whose recommendation she could 
 command were distant and obscure ; and what mother would trust 
 the minds and the manners of hei children to the formation of a 
 stranger ? Shefcicw not the ostrich-like daring of fashionable mo- 
 thers. This latter objection seemed equally hostile to her being 
 received in quiUty of companion by those wlm might be inclined 
 to exchange subsistence and protection for relief from soli- 
 tude ; and Laura, almost despairing, knew not whither to turn 
 her eye. 
 
 One path mdeed invited her steps, a path bright with visions of 
 rapture warm with the sunshine of love and pleasure ; but the 
 flaming sword of Heaven guarded the entrance ; and as often as 
 her thoughts reverted that way, the struggle was renewed which 
 forces the choice from the pleasing to the right. No frequency of 
 return rendered this struggle less painful. Laura's prudence had 
 slept, when a little vigilance might have saved her many an after 
 pang; and she had long paid, was still long to pay, the forfeit of 
 neglecting that wisdom which would guard " with all dilligence" 
 the first beginnings of even the most innocent passions. Had she 
 curbed the mfant-strengthof an attachment which, though it fail- 
 ed to warp her integrity, had so deeply wounded her peace, how- 
 had she lessened the force of that temptation, which lured her 
 from the rugged ascent, where want and difficulty were to be her 
 companions ; which enticed her to the flowery bowers of pleasure 
 ivitli the voice and with the smile of Hargrave ! 
 
 Yet Laura had resisted a bribe more powerful than any conside- 
 ration merely selfish could supply ; and she blushed to harbour a 
 thought of yielding to her own inclination what slie had refused 
 to a parent'ia wlants, to a parent's prayer. Her heart filled as she 
 called to mind how warmly Montreville had seconded the wishes 
 of her lover, how resolutely she had withstood his will ; and it 
 swelled even to bursting at the thou;;jht that the vow was now fa- 
 tally made void, which promised, by every cndeaiment of filial 
 love, to atone for this first act of disobedience. " i>earest, kind- 
 est of friends," she cried, " I was inflexible to thy request - thy 
 last request! and shall I now recede ? now, when, peihaps, thou 
 «iit permitted to behold and to approve my motive ; perhaps per- 
 mitted to watch me still — permitted with higher power to guard, 
 with less erring wisdom to direct me ! And Thou, who, in match- 
 less condescension, refusest not to be called father of tjie father- 
 
8 
 
 less — Thou, who, in every difficulty canst guide, from every daii- 
 ger cmist protect thy children, let, if Thou see it good, the heavens, 
 which are thy throne, be all my covering, the earth, which is thy 
 footstool, be all my bed ; but sutler me not to wander from Thee, 
 the only source of peace and joy, to seek them in fountains unital- 
 lowed and forbidden." 
 
 Religious habits and sentiments were permanent inmates of 
 Laura's breast. They had been invited and cherished, till, like 
 familiar friends, they came unsolicited ; and, like friends, too, 
 their visits were most frequent in adversity. But the more ardent 
 emotions of piety are, alas ! transient guests with us all ; and, 
 sinking from the flight which raised her for a time above the sor- 
 rows and the wants of earth, Laura was again forced to shrink 
 from the gaunt aspect of poverty, again to turii a Wistful eye to- 
 wards-a haven of rest on this side the grave. 
 
 Young as she was, however, she had long been a vigilant ob- 
 server of her own actions, and of their consequences ; and the re- 
 sult was an immutable conviction, that no heartfelt comfort could, 
 in any circumstances, harbour with wilful transgression. As wil- 
 ful transgression, she considered her marriage with a man who.se 
 principles she had fatal reason to di.strust. As a rash defiance of 
 unknown d.onger ; as a desperate daring of temptations wliose 
 force was yet untried, as a desertion of those arms by which alone 
 she could hope for victory in her christian combat, Laura consi- 
 dered the hazardous enterpi-ize, which, trusting to the reforma- 
 tion of a libertine, would expose her to his example and his au- 
 thoiity, his provocations and his associates. Again slie solemnly 
 renewed her resolution, never, by wilfully braving temptation, to 
 forego the protection of him wlio can dash the fulness of W^orldly 
 prosperity with secret bitterness, or gladden with joys unspeakable 
 the dwelhng visited by no friend but llina, cheered by no comfort 
 save the light of his countenance. 
 
 Hargrave's letter served rather to fortify the resolution whicJi it 
 was in tended to shake ; for Laura was not insensible to the indeli- 
 cacy which did not scorn to owe to her necessities a consent which 
 he had in vain tried to extort from her affection. Though pleased 
 with his liberality, she was hurt by his supposing that she could 
 have so far forgotten the mortal offence which he had oflfered her, 
 as to become his debtor for any pecuniai'y favour ; Jind, as nothing 
 could be further from her intention than to owe any obligation to 
 Colonel U.irgrave, she did not hesitate a moment to return tlte 
 money Wlien she had sealed the card in which she inclosed it, 
 she again returned to the contemplation of her dreary prospects ; 
 and half hopelessly examined the possibilities of subsistence. To 
 offer instruction to the young, or amusement to the old, in ex- 
 change for an asylum from wani and danger, still appeared to her 
 the most eligible plan of life ; and again she weighed the difficulty 
 of procuring the necessary recommendations. 
 
 Lady Pelham occurrecf to her S=>me claim she thoucrht she 
 might have had to the pati'oaage of so near a relation. But who' 
 
should identify her ? who should satisfy Lady Pelham that the 
 claim of relationship did indeed belong- to Laura ? Had she been 
 previously known to her aunt, her difficulties would have been at 
 an end ; now she woukl probably be rejected as an impostor ; and 
 she gave a sigh to the want of foresight which had suffered her to 
 rejj»ice in escaping an interview with Lady Pelham. 
 
 After much consideration, she determined to solicit the recom- 
 mendations of Mis, Douglas and the De Courcy family ; and, imtil 
 she could avail herself of these, to subsist, in some obscure lodg- 
 ing, by the labour of her hands. In the meantime, it was necessary 
 to remove immediately from her present abode. The day follow- 
 ing was the last when she could claim any right to re mam there ; 
 and she proceeded to make preparations for her departure. 
 
 With a bleeding heart she began to arrange whatever had be- 
 longed to Monlreville ; and paused, with floods of tears, upon 
 every relic now become so sacred. She entered his closet. His 
 was the last foot that had pressed the threshold. His chair stood 
 as he had risen from it. On the ground lay the cushion yet impress- 
 ed with his knees — his Bible was open as he had left it. One pas- 
 sage w.as.blifttered with his tears ; and there Laura read with emo- 
 tions unutterable — " Leave to me thy fatherless children, and I 
 will preserve them alive." Her recent wounds thus torn open, 
 with agt)n3- which could not be restrained, she threw herself upon 
 the ground ; and, with cries of anguish, besought her father to re- 
 turn but for one short hour to comfort his desolate child. " Oh I 
 shall never, never see him more,'* said she. — " all my cries are 
 voin,**— and she wpjit tKoM»«»-e Vipui^aiisf thpy urere in vam. 500n, 
 however, she reproached herself with her immoderate sorrow, soon 
 mingled its accents with those of humble resignation; and the vi- 
 gorous mind recovering in devotion all its virtuous energy, she 
 returned, with restored composure, to her melancholy labours. 
 
 In her fatlier's writing-desk she found an unfinished letter. It 
 began " My dear De Courcy," — and Laura was going to read it with 
 the awe of one who listens to the last words of a father, when she 
 remembered having surprised her father while writing it, and his 
 having hastily concealed it from her sight. She instantly folded it 
 without further acquaintance with its contents, except that her 
 own name caught her eye. Continuing to arrange the papers, she 
 observed a letter addressed to herself in a hand which she did not 
 remember to have seen. It was Lady Pelham's answer to that in 
 which Laura had announced her mother's death. She perceived 
 that it might furnish an introduction to her aunt ; and with a sen- 
 sation of gratitude she remembered that she had been accidentally 
 prevented from destroying it. 
 
 Lady Pelham was elder by several years than her sister Lady 
 Harriet. Her father, a saving painstaking attorney, died a few 
 months after she was born. His widow, who, from an idea of their 
 necessity, had concurred in all his economical plans, discovered 
 with equal surprise and delight, that his death had left her the 
 entire management of five-and-thirty thousand pounds. This for- 
 
JO 
 
 tune, which she was to enjoy during her life, was secured, in tiife 
 event of her demise, to little Miss Bridget ; and this arrangement 
 was one of the eai'liest pieces of information which little Miss 
 Bridget received. For seven years the little heiress waa, in her 
 mother's undisguised opinion, and consequently in her own, the 
 most important personag*e upon the face of this terrestrial gl&be. 
 Uut worldly glories are fleeting Lord Winterfield's taste in 
 stewed carp had been improved by half a century's assiduous cul- 
 tivation. Now the widoAV Price understood the stewing of carp 
 better than any woman in England, so his Lordship secured to 
 himself the benefit of her talent by making her Lady Winterfield. J 
 In ten months after this marriage, another young lady appeared^J 
 as much more important than Miss Bridget, as an earl is than aa^ 
 attorney. Fortune, however dispensed her gifts with tolerable 
 equality. Beauty and rank, indeed, were all on the side of Lady 
 Harriet, but the wealth lay in the scale of Miss Price ; for Ix)rd 
 AVinterfield, leaving the bulk of his property to tlie children of his. 
 first marriage, bequeathed to his youngest daughter only five 
 thousand pounds. These circumstances procured to Miss Price 
 another advantage, for she married a baronet with « considerable 
 estate, while Lady Harriet's fate stooped to a lieutenant in a march-, 
 jng regiment. After ten years, which Lady Pelham declared were 
 spent in uninterrupted harmony. Sir Edward Pelham died. The 
 exclusive property of his wife's patrimony had been strictly se- 
 cured to her ; and, either thinking such a provision sufficient for 
 a female, or nio^ed by a reason which we shall not at present dis- 
 close. Sir Edward. I>efitow£./^1 on, the ncphow who ;nT»»»rit<»i;T h»« title, 
 
 his whole estate, burthened only witli a jointure of five hundred 
 pounds a-year, settled upon Lady Pelham by her marriage-con- 
 tract. Of liis daughter, and only child, no mention was made in 
 his testament; but Sir Edward, during the last year-s of his life, 
 had acquired the character of an oddity, and nobody wondered at 
 his eccentricities. At the commencement of her widowhood. Lady 
 Pelliam purcliased a villa in shire, where she spent the sum- 
 mer, returning in tlje winter to Grosvenor Street; and this last 
 was almost tlie only part of her liistory which was known to Laura. 
 Even before Lady Harriet's marriage, little cordiality had subsist- 
 ed between the sisters. From the date of that event, their inter- 
 course had been almost entirely broken off ; and the only attention 
 wliich Laura had ever received from her aunt, was contained in 
 the letter which she was now thankfully contemplating. Her pp.s- 
 session of this letter, together with her acqiiaintance vyith the facts 
 to which it related, she imagined would form sufficient proof ()f 
 her identity ; and her national ideas of the claims of relationship, 
 awakened a hope of obtaining her aunt's assistance in procuring 
 some respectable situation. 
 
 Determined to avail herself of her fortunate discovery, she 
 qiiitted her father's apartmeiUs ; and carrying v/ith her her cre- 
 dential, lost no time in repairing to Grosvenor Street. Nor did 
 she experience the reluctaiice which she had formci'ly felt to- 
 
11 
 
 wiirds an interview with Lady Pelham ; for she was fully sensible 
 of the diftieretice between a petitioner for charity and a candidate 
 for honourable employment. Besides, there is no teacher of humili- 
 ty like misfortune ; and Laura's spirits were too completely subdu- 
 ed to anticipate or to notice diminutive attacks upon her self-conse- 
 quence- She still, however, with constitutional reserve, shrunk 
 from intruding" upon a stranger ; and she passed and repassed the 
 door, examining the exterior of the house, as if she could thence 
 have inferred the character of its owner, before she took courage 
 to give one gentle knock. 
 
 A footman opened the door, and Laura, faltering, inquired if 
 Lady Pelham was within From Laura's single knock, her hum- 
 We voice, and her yet more humble habit, which in ten month's 
 itse, had somewhat faded from the sober magnificence of black, 
 the man had formed no very lofty idea of the visitors rank. He 
 answered, that He believed his lady was not at home ; but half 
 afraid of dismissing some person with whom she might have busi- 
 ness, he spoke in a tone which made Laura a little doubt the truth 
 ef his information. She inquired at what time she might be like- 
 ly to gain access to Lady Pelham ; and as she spoke threw bat k 
 ker crape veil, unconscious how successfully she was pleading her 
 own cause. Struck with a countenance whose candour, sweet- 
 ress, and beauty, won a way to every heart, the man gazed at her 
 for a.moment with vulgar admiration, and then throwing open the 
 doorof a little parlour, begged her to walk in, while he inquired 
 whether his lady were visible, lie soon returned, telling Laura 
 that Lady Pelham would receive her in a few minutes. 
 
 During these few minutes, Laura had formed a hundred conjec- 
 tiures concerning her aunt* person, voice, and manner. She won- 
 dered whether she resembled Lady Harrit't ; whether her own 
 form would rccal to Lady Pelham the remembrance of her sister. 
 At every noise her heart fluttered — at every step she expected the 
 entrance of this relation, on whom perhaps so much of her future 
 fate might depend ; and she lield her breath that she might distin-' 
 guish her approach. A servant at last came to conduct her to his 
 mistress ; and she followed him, not without a feeling of awe, into 
 the presence of her mother's sister. 
 
 That sentiment, however, by no means gathered strength when 
 she took courage to raise her eyes to the plain little elderly person 
 \0 whom she was introduced, and heard herself addrese'd in the 
 accents of cbeeriul familiarity. Laura, with modest dignity, made 
 known her name and situation She spoke of her n. other's death, 
 and the tears trickled from her eyes — of her fatl>er's, and in vent- 
 ing the natural eloquence of grief, she forgot that she came to in- 
 terest a stranger. Lady Pelham seemed afTected ; she held her 
 handkerchief to her eyes, and remained in that attitude for some 
 time after Laura had recovered self possession. Then throwing 
 her arms round her lovely niece, she afiectionately acknowledged 
 the relationship, adding, "your resemblance to my poor. lister 
 
12 
 
 cannot be overlooked, and yet in saying* so, I atti far from paying 
 you a compliment " 
 
 After shewing Lady Pelham her own letter, and nieiitioning 
 such circumstances as tended to confirm her identity, Laura pro- 
 ceeded to detail her plans, to which her Ladyship listened with 
 apparent interest. She inquired into Laura's accomplishments, 
 and seemed pondering the probability of employing them with ad- 
 vantage to the possessor. After a few moments silence, she said, 
 " That short as their acquaintance had been, she thought she 
 could perceive that Laura had too much sensibility for a dependent 
 situation. But we shall talk of that hereafter," continued she. 
 " At present, your spirits are too weak for the society of strangers ; 
 —and mine** added her Ladyship with a sigh, " are not much 
 more buoyant than your OAvn.** Laura looked up with the kindly 
 interest which, whether she herself were joyful or in sadness, 
 sorrow could always command with her; and her aunt answered 
 her glance of inquiry, by relating that her only daughter and heir- 
 ess, had eloped from her a few days before, with an artful young 
 fellow without family or fortune. *• She deceived me by a train of 
 the basest artifices," said Lady Pelham, " though she might have 
 known that her happiness was my chief concern ; and that, to se- 
 cure it, I might have been brought to consent to any thing. Yet 
 with the closest secrecy she misled — with the most unfeeling cold- 
 ness left me. Her disobedience I might have forgiven — her deceit 
 I never can ; or, if as a Christian I forgive, I never, never can for- 
 get it.*' 
 
 Lady Pelham had talked herself out of breath ; andlUiura, not 
 quite understai)ding this kind of Christian forgiveness, wis isilent, 
 because she did not well know what to say. She felt, however, 
 compassion for a parent deserted by her only child, and the feel- 
 ing was legible in a countenance peculiarly fitted for every tender 
 expression. 
 
 There are some degrees of sorrow which increase in acuteness, 
 at least whieh augment in vehemence of expression, by the percep- 
 tion of having excited sympathy. Weak fires gather strength 
 from radiation. After a glance at Laura, Lady Pelham melted 
 into tears, and contmued, *' 1 know not how I had deserved such 
 ti'eatment from her ; for never had she reason to complain of 
 me. I have always treated her with what I must call unmerited 
 kindness.'* 
 
 Laura now ventured a few conciliating words. " She will feel 
 her error. Madam, — she will strive by her after-life to atone——" 
 Lady Pelham immediately dried her eyes, " No, no, my dear," in- 
 terrupted she, *• you don't know her — you have no idea of the hard- 
 ness of her unfeeling heart. Rejoice, sweet girl, that you have no 
 idea of it. For my part, though sensibility is at best but a painful 
 blessing, I would not exchange it for the most peaceful apathy that 
 can feel for noihi»g but itself I must have somethmg to love and 
 cherish. You shall be that something. You shall live with me, 
 and we shall console each other." 
 
13 
 
 On another occasloo, Laura might have been disposed to ca.n 
 vass the nature of that sensibility which could thus enlarg-e to a 
 stranger on the defects of an only child. Indeed she was little 
 conversant even with the name of this quality. Her own sensibili- 
 ty she had baen taught to consider as a weakness to be subdued, 
 not as an ornament to be gloried in; and the expansion of soul 
 which opens to all the sorrows and to all the joys of others, she had 
 learnt to call by a holier name — to regulate by a nobler principle. 
 But she was little disposed to examine the merits of a feeling to 
 which she owed the offer of an unsolicited asylum. Her heart 
 swelling with gratitude, she clasped Lady Pelham*s hand between 
 her own, and while tears streamed down her face, " Kind con- 
 siderate friend," she cried, "why, why were yon not known 
 to us while my father could have been sensible to your kind- 
 ness !" 
 
 After Lady Pelham had repeated her proposal more in detail, 
 and Laura had thankfully acceded to it, they remained in conver- 
 sation for some time longer. Lady Pelham showed that she had 
 much wit, much vivacity, and some information ; and after settling 
 that Laura should next day become an inmate in Grosvenor Street, 
 tliey separated, mutually delighted with each other. Lady Pelham 
 applauded herself for a generous action, and, to the interest 
 which Laura awakened in every breast, was added in Lady 
 Pelham*s all the benevolence of self-complacency. Laura, on 
 the other hand, did not once dream that any fault could harbour 
 in the unsuspicious liberal heart which had believed the tale, and 
 removed the difficulties of a stranger. She did not once dream 
 that she owed her new asylum to any motive less noble than disin- 
 terested goodness. 
 
 No wonder that her ladyship's motive escaped the penetration 
 of Laura, when it even evaded her own. And yet no principle 
 could be more simple in its nature, or more con.stant in its opera- 
 tion, than that which influenced Lady Pelhain ; but the Proteus 
 put on so many various forms, that he ever avoided detection from 
 the subject of his sway. In the mean time, the desire of per- 
 forming a generous action — of securing the gratitude of a feeling 
 heart— of patronizing a |W)or relation, were the only motives which 
 her ladyship acknowledged to herself, when she offered protec- 
 tion to Laura. An idea had, indeed, darted across her right 
 honourable mind, that she mi^'it now secure a humble compa- 
 nion at a rate lower than tlie usual price of such conveniences : a 
 momentary notion, too, she formed, of exciting the jealousy of 
 her daughter, by replacing her with so formidable a competitor 
 for favour ; but these, she thought, were mere collateral advan- 
 tages, and by no means the circumstances which fixed her deter- 
 mination. The resolution upon which she acted, was taken, as 
 her resolutions generally were, without caution ; and she express- 
 ed it, as her custom was, the moment it was formed. Laura was 
 scarcely gone, however, when her aunt began to repent of her 
 precipitancy, lind to wish, as she had often occasion to do, that 
 
 B 
 
14 
 
 bbe had taken a little more time for consideration. But she com- 
 forted herself, that she could at any time get rid of her charge, by 
 recominending Laura to one of the situations which she had m«i- 
 tioned as her choice ; and the lady knew it would not be difficult 
 to find one more lucrative than that upon which her niece was en- 
 tering" ; for how could she possibly offer wages to so near a rela- 
 tion, or insult with the gift of a trifling sum a person of Laura's 
 dignity of deportment ? These reasons, Lady Pelham alleged to 
 licrself, as sufficient grounds for a resolution never to affront her 
 niece by a tender of pecuniary favours. 
 
 While these thoughts were revolving in Lady Pelham's mind, 
 Laura had reached her home; and, on her knees, was thanking 
 Providence for having raised up for her a protector aud a friend, 
 and praying that she might be enabled to repay, in affectionate 
 and respectful duty, a part of the debt of gratitude which she ow- 
 ed to her benefactress. The rest of the evening she sj^ent in pre- 
 paring for her removal — in ruminating on her interview with her 
 aunt, and in endeavouring to compose, from the scuiiiy materials 
 which she possessed, a character of this new arbitress of her des- 
 tiny. From Lady Pelham's prompt decision in favour of a stran- 
 ger, from her unreserved expression of her feelings, from her 
 iively manner and animated countenance, Laura concluded that 
 she was probably of a temper warm, susceptible, and easily 
 wounded by unkindness or neglect, but frank, candid, and for- 
 giving. Laura wished that she had better studied her aunt's phy- 
 siognomy. What she recollected of it was quite unintelligible to 
 her. Siie laboured in vain to reconcile the feminine curvatures of 
 the nose and forehead wiih the inflexible closing of the mouth, 
 and tlie hard outline of the chin, where lurked no soft relent- 
 ing line. 
 
 But however the countenance might puzzle conjecture, of the 
 mind she harboured not a doubt ; Lady Pelham's, she was per- _ 
 suaded, was one of those open generous souls, which the young" 
 and unwary are always prepared to expect and to love— souls 
 having no disguise, and needing none. Now this was precisely 
 the character which Lady Pelham often and sincerely drew of her- 
 self : and who ought to have been so intimately acquainted with 
 hca* ladyship's disposition ? 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 It was not without hesitation that Laura formed her resolution J 
 to conceal from Hargrave her place of abode. She felt for the un- | 
 easiness which this concealment would cause him. Siie feared -r 
 that her desertion might remove one incitement to a virtuous 
 .-ourse. liut Phe considered, that while ihc'ir future connexion 
 
15 
 
 was doubtful, it was imprudent to strengthen by habitual inter- 
 course their need of each other's society ; and she reflected, that 
 she could best estimate his character from actions performed be- 
 yond the sphere of her influence. Her watcliful self-distrust 
 made her fear to expose her resolution to his importunities ; and 
 she felt the impropriety of introducing into her aunt's family, a 
 person who stood on terms with her which she did not choose to 
 explain. These reasons induced her to withhold from Hargrave 
 the knowledge of her new situation ; and, certain that if it were 
 known to Mrs. Stubbs or her servants he would soon be master of 
 the secret, she left no clue by which to trace her retreat. Per- 
 liaps, though she did not confess it to herself; she was assisted in 
 this act of self-command by a latent hope, that as she was now to 
 be introduced to a society on his own level, Hargrave might not 
 find the mystery quite inscrutable. 
 
 She was kindly welcomed by Lady Pelham, and took possession 
 of a small but commodious apartment, where she arranged her 
 drawing materials, together with the few books she possessed, in- 
 tending to make that her retreat as often as her aunt found amuse- 
 ment or occupation independent of her. She resolved to devote 
 her chief attention to making herself useful and entertaining to her 
 patroness. In the first, she derived hopes of success, from Lady 
 Pelham's declared incapacity for all employments that are strictl} 
 feminine. The second, she thought, would be at once easy and 
 pleasant, for Lady Pelham was acute, lively, and communica- 
 tive. This latter quality she possessed in an unusual degree, and 
 yet Laura fotmdit diflUcult to unravel her character. In general, 
 «he saw, that her aunt's understanding was briglit ; she was per 
 suaded that in general her heart was warm and generous ; bui. 
 the descent to particulars baffled Laura's penetration. Lady Pel- 
 ham could amuse — could delight ; she said many wise, and many 
 brilliant things ; but her wisdom was not alv.ays well-timed, and 
 her brilliant things were soap-bubbles in the sun, sparkling and 
 highly coloured, but vanishing at the touch of him who would 
 examine their structure. Lady Pelham could dispute with singti- 
 lar acuteness. By the use of ambiguous terms, by ingenious so- 
 phistry, by dexterously shifting from the ground of controversj', 
 she could baffle, and perplex, and confound her opponents : bur, 
 she could not argue ; she never convinced. Her opinions seemed 
 iluctuating, and Laura was sometimes ready to imagine that she 
 defended them, not because they were just, nor even'because they 
 were her own, but merely because she had called them so ; for 
 with a new antagonist she could change sides, and maintain the 
 opposite ground with equal address. 
 
 In spite of all the warmtli of heart for which she gave her aunt 
 credit, Laura soon began to imagine that Lady Pelham had no 
 friends. Among all the acquaintances whom she attracted and 
 amused, no one seemed to exchange regard with her. The gaiety 
 of pleasure never softened in her preseiYce into the tenderness of 
 
16 
 
 afleetion. Laura could not discover that there existed one being 
 from wliose failing-s Lady Pelham respectfully a\'erted her own 
 sig-lit, while reverently veiling* them from the eyes of others. A 
 few, very fewt seemed to be the objects of Lady Peiham*s esteem ; 
 tlio.se of her love Laura could not discover. Towards her, how- 
 ever, her aunt expressed a strong" affection ; and Laura continued 
 to persuade herself, that if Lady Pelham had no friends, it was 
 because slie was surrounded by those who were not worthy of her 
 friendship. 
 
 As she appeared to invite and to desire unreserved confidence, 
 Laura had soon made her acquainted with the narrative of her 
 short life, excepting so far as it related to Hargrave. At the de- 
 tail of llie unworthy advantagtj which Warren had taken of Mon- 
 tieville's inability to enforce his claim for the annuity, Lady Pel- 
 ham broke out into sincere and vehement expressions of indigna- 
 tion and contempt ; for no one more cordially abhorred oppression, 
 or despised meanness in others. She immediately gave directions 
 to her man of business to attempt bringing the a^air to a conclu- 
 sion, and even to threaten Warren with a prosecution in case of 
 his refusal. Virtuous resistance of injustice was motive sufficient 
 for this action, Pity that Lady Pelham should have sought another 
 in the economy and ease with which it promised to provide for an 
 indigent relative ! Mr. Warren was no sooner informed that the 
 poor obscure unfriended Laura was the niece of Lady Pelham, 
 and the inmate of her house, than he contrived to arrive at a mar- 
 vellous certainty that the price of the annuity had been paid, and 
 that the mistake in the papers relating to it originated in mere acr 
 cident. In less than a fortnight the informality was rectified, and 
 the arrears of the annuity paid into Laura's hands ; the lawyer 
 having first, at Lady Pelham's desire, deducted the price of his 
 services. 
 
 With tears in her eyes, Laura surveyed her wealth, now of di- 
 minished value in her estimation. *' Only a few weeks ago," said 
 
 she, " how precious had this been to me. — But now ! Yet it is 
 
 precious still," said she, as she wiped the tears away, *' for it can 
 minister occasions of obedience and of usefulness." That very 
 day she dispatched little presents for each of Mrs. Douglas's chil- 
 dren, in which use was more considered than show ; and in the 
 letter which announced her gifts, she inclosed half of the remain- 
 ing sum to be distributed among her own poor at Glenalbert. 
 Ihat her appearance might not discredit her hostess, she next 
 proceeded to renew her wardrobe; and though she carefully 
 avoided unnecessary expense, she consulted not only decency but 
 elegance in her attire. In this, and all other matters of mere in- 
 difference, Laura was chiefly guided by her aunt ; for she had 
 early observed that this lady, upon all occasions, small as well as 
 great, loved to exercise tlie office of dictatrix. No person could 
 have been better fitted than Laura to conciliate such a temper; 
 for on 41 the le«ser Qcpasions of submission she ws^ as ^ent^^ *nil 
 
coiYiplying", as she was inflexible upon points of real impoilaac'- 
 In theii' conversations, too, though Laura defended her own opi- 
 nions with great firmnesS; she so carefully avoided direct contrii- 
 diction or sarcastic retort, impatience in defeat, or triumph in 
 victory, that even Lady Pelham could scarcely find subject of irri- 
 tation in so mild an antagonist. Jn some respects, their tempers 
 seemed to tally admirably. Lady Pelham had great aptitude in 
 detecting errors — Laura a genius for remedying tiiem. Difficulty 
 always roused her ladyship's impatience, but she found an infalli- 
 ble resource in the perseverance of Laura. In short, Laura con- 
 trived so many opportunities, or seized with such happy art those 
 which presented themselve.s, of ministering to the comfort or con- 
 venience of her aunt, that she became both respectable and neces- 
 sary to her ; and this was, generally speaking, the utmost extent 
 of Lady Pelham's attachments. 
 
 Lady Pelham sometimes spoke of her daughter, and Laura ne-- 
 ver missed the opportunity of urging a reconciliation. She in- 
 sisted that the rights of natural affection were unalienable ; thai; 
 ■ as they did not rest upon the merits, so neither coidd they be des- 
 troyed by the unworthiness cither of parents or of children. The 
 mother answered, with great impatience, that Laura*s argument 
 was entirely founded on prejudice ; that it was true that for tho 
 helplessness of infancy, a peculiar feeling was provided ; but that 
 in all animals this peculiar feeling ceased as soon as it was no lon- 
 ger essential to the existence of the individual. *•' From thence- 
 forth," added she, " the regard must be founded on the qualities 
 of the head and heart; and if my child is destitute of these, I can 
 see no reason why I should prefer her to the child of any other 
 woman." " Ah !" said Laura, tears of grateful recollection rush- 
 mg down her cheek, " some parents have loved their child with a 
 icrvour which no worth of hers could merit." The gush of na- 
 tural sensibility for this time averted the rising storm; but the 
 next time that Laura renewed her conciliatory efforts. Lady Pel- 
 ham, gi-owing more vehement as she became herself more con- 
 vinced that she was m the wrong, burst into a paroxysm of rage - 
 and, execrating all rebellious children, and their defenders, com' 
 matided Laura in future to confine her attention to what might 
 concern herself 
 
 The humbling spectacle of a female face distorted with passion 
 was not quite new to Laura. Undismayed, she viewed it with calm 
 commiseration ; and mildly expressing her sorrow for having giv- 
 en offence ; took up her work, and left the ferment to subside at 
 leisure. Her ladyship's passion soon cooled ; and, making ad- 
 vances with a sort of surly condescension, she entered on a new 
 topic. Laura answered exactly as if nothing disagreeable had 
 happened ; and Lady Pelham could not divine whether her niece 
 commanaed her countenance, or her temper. Upon one principle 
 of judging the lady had grounds for her doubts ; she herself had 
 tfometanes commanded her countenance— her temper neyer, 
 32 
 
IS 
 
 LauFa not only habitually avoided giving or taking* otfetice, but 
 made it a rule to ext'niguish its last traces by some act of cordiali- 
 ty and good-will. This evening, therefore, she proposed, with a 
 grace that seemed rather to petition a favour than to offer a ser- 
 vice , to attempt a portrait of her aunt. The offer was accepted 
 with pleasure, and the portrait begun on the following day. It 
 proved a likeness, and a favourable one. Lady Pelham was kinder 
 than ever. Laura avoided the prohibited subject, and all was 
 quiet and serene. Lady Pelham at last herself reverted to it ; for 
 indeed she could not long forbear to speak upon any topic that 
 roused her passions. No dread of personal inconvenience could 
 deter Laura from an act of justice or mercy, and she again stead- 
 ily pronounced her opinion. But aware that one who would per- 
 suade must be careful not to irritate, she expressed her senti- 
 ments with still more cautious gentleness than forn>erly ; and per-- 
 ceiving that her aunt was fer more governed by passion than by 
 reason, she quitted argument for entreaty. By these means she 
 avoided provoking hostility, though she failed to win compliance. 
 Lady Pelham seemed to be utterly impenetrable to entreaty, or 
 rather to take pride in resisting it, and Laura had only to hope that 
 time would favour her suit. 
 
 Lady Pelham mentioned an intention of removing early to th« 
 country, and Laura rejoiced in the prospect of once more behold- 
 ing the open face of Heaven — of listening to nature's own music— 
 of breathing the light air of spring. She longed to turn her ear 
 from the discords of the city to the sweet sounds of peace — her 
 eye from countenances wan with care, flushed with intemperance, 
 or ghastly with famine, to cheeks brown with wholesome exercise, 
 or ruddy with health and contentment — to exchange the sight of 
 dusky brick walls, and walks overlooked by thousands, for the 
 sunny slope or the sheltered solitary lane. Lady Pelham took 
 pleasure in describing the beauties of Walbourne, and Laura list- 
 ened to her with interest, anticipating eagerly the time when she 
 should inhabit so lovely, so peaceful a scene. But that interest 
 und eagerness rose to the highest, when she accidentally discover- 
 ed that the De Courcy family were Lady Pelhum's nearest neigh- 
 bours in the counti'v. 
 
 The want of something to love and cherish, which was with hep 
 ladyship a mere form of speed). Was with Laura a real necessity 
 of nature ; and though it was one which almost every situation 
 could supply, since every creature that approached her was the 
 object of her benevolence, yet much of the happiness of so do- 
 mestic a being depended on the exercise of the dearer charities, 
 and no one was more capable of a distinguishing preference than 
 Laura. She had a hearty regard for the l)e Couicy family. She 
 revered Mrs. Ue Courcy ; »he liked Hamet ; and bestowed on 
 Montague her cordial esteem and gratitude. This gratitude had 
 now acquired a sacred tenderness ; for it was associated in her 
 mind with the remembrance of a parent. Ue Courcy's self-denial 
 had cheered her father's sickbed, his benevolence gladdened her 
 
19 
 
 father^i lieart, and his »eif-deBial appeared more venerable, his 
 benevolence more endearing. 
 
 Having written to inform Harriet of the change in her situation, 
 she discovered from her answer a new proef of De Courcy's friend- 
 ship, in the fruitless joumey which he had made to relieve her, 
 and she regretted that her caution had deprived her of an oppor- 
 tunity of seeing and thanking him for all his kindness. ** Yet, if 
 we had met," said she, " I should probably have acted as I liave 
 done a hundred times before ; left him to believe me an insensi- 
 ble, ungrateful creature, for want of courage to tell him that I 
 was not 8o/* She longed, however, to see De Courcy ; for with 
 him she thought she could talk of her father — to him lament her 
 irreparable loss, dwell with him on the circumstances that aggra- 
 %'ated her sorrow— on the prospects which mingled that sorrow 
 with hope. This was a subject on which she never entered with 
 Lady Pelham any farther than necessity required — real sorrow has 
 its holy ground, on which no vulgar foot must tread. The self- 
 command of Laura would have forbidden her, in any situation, to 
 darken with a settled gloom the sunshine of domestic cheerful- 
 ness ; but Lady Pelham had in her somewhat which repels the 
 confidence of grief. Against all the arrows of misfortune, blunt- 
 ed at least as they rebound from the breasts of others, she seemed 
 to " wear a charmed life." She often indeed talked of sensibility, 
 and reprobated the want of it as the worst of faults ; but the only 
 kind of it in which she indulged rather inclined to the acrimonious 
 than the benevolent, and Laura began to perceive, that however 
 her aunt might distinguish them in others, irascible passions and 
 keen feelings were in herself synonymous. 
 
 After the effort of giving and receiving the entertainment which 
 Lady Pelham constantly offered, and as constantly exacted in re- 
 turn, Laura experienced a sensation of recovered freedom when 
 the arrival of a visitor permitted her to escape to her own apart- 
 ment. She saw nobody but her aunt, aiul never went abroad ex- 
 cept to church. Thus, during a fortnight which slie had passed 
 in Grosvenor Street, slie had heard nothing of Hargrave. She was 
 anxious to know whether he visited Lady Pelham ; for, with rus- 
 tic ignorance, she imagined that all people of condition who re- 
 sided in the same town must be known to each other ; but she had 
 not courage to ask, and searched in vain for his name among the 
 cards that crowded the table in the lobby. Though she was con- 
 scious of some curiosity to know how he employed the hours 
 which her absence had left vacant, she did not own to herself that 
 she was at all concerned in a resolution which she took, to inquire 
 in person whether any letters had been left for her with Mrs. 
 Stubbs. She did not choose to commit the iiuj[uiry to a servant, 
 because she would not condescend to enjoin her messenger to se- 
 crecy as to tlie place of her abode ; and she cantinued resolved to 
 gi^ e her lover no clue to discover it. 
 
 Accordingly, she early one morning set out in a hackney-coach, 
 which she took the precaution to leave at some distance from h«r 
 
20 
 
 old lodgings, ordering it to wait her return. Fanny was delight- 
 ed to see her, and charmed with the improvement of her dress, 
 and tlie returning healthfuhiess of her appearance ; but the land- 
 lady eyed her askance, and surlily answered to her inquiry for her 
 letters, that she would bring the only one she liad got ; mutter- 
 ing, as she went to fetch it, something of which the words " sC^*- 
 cret doings" were all that reached Laura's ear. " There, Miss," 
 said the ungracious Mrs. Stubbs, *' there's your letter, and there's 
 the queer scrawl it came wrupt up in." ** Mr. De Courcy's baud," 
 eried Laura surprised, but thinking, from its size, that some time 
 would be reqidt'ed to read it, slie deferred breaking the seal till 
 she should return to her carriage. *' I suppose you're mistaken, 
 Miss," said Mrs. Stubbs ; " Mr. De Courcy was htre twice the 
 day it came, and he never said a word of it." 
 
 Laura now tremulously inquired whether she might be per- 
 mitted to revisit her father's room ; but being roughly answered 
 that it was occupied, she quietly prepared to go. As Fanny fol- 
 lowed her tlirough the garden, to open the gate for her, Laura, a 
 conscious blush rising to her face, inquired whether any body else 
 had inquired for her since her departure. Fanny, who was ready 
 to burst with the news of Hargrave's visit, and who was just me- 
 ditating how she miglit venture to introduce it, improved tliis oc- 
 casion of entering on a full detail of his behaviour. With the 
 true waiting-maid-like fondness for romance, she enlarged upon 
 all his extravagancies, peepijig side-long now and tlien under 
 Laura's bonnet, to catch encouragement from the complacent sim- 
 per with which such talcs are often heard. But no smile repaid 
 her eloquence. With immoveable seriousness did Laura li&ten to 
 her, gravely revolvingthe strange nature of tliat love wliich could 
 so readily amalgamate with rage and jealousy, and every discor- 
 dant passion. She was hurt at the indecoi'um which exposed 
 these weaknesses to the observation of a servant ; and with a sigh 
 reflected, that, to constitute llie happiness of a woman of sense 
 and spirit, a husband must be possessed of qualities respectable 
 as well as amiable. 
 
 Fanny next tried, whether what concerned De Courcy might 
 not avva.ken more apparent interest ; and here she had at least a 
 better opportunity to judge of the effect of her narrative, for Laura 
 stopped and turned full towards her But Fanny had now no 
 transports to relate, except De Courcy's indignation at Mrs. 
 Stubbs's calumny; and it was not without hesitating, and quahfy- 
 ing, and apologizing, that the girl ventured to hint at the insinua- 
 tions which her mistress had thrown out. She had at last suc- 
 ceeded in raising emotion, for indignant crimson dyed Ljuira*s 
 cheeks, and fire flashed from her eyes. But Lauia seldom spoke 
 while she was angry ; and again she silently pursued her way. 
 *' Pray, Madam," said the girl, as she was opening tlie gate, *' do 
 be so good as to tell me wliere you live now, that nobody may 
 speak ill of you before me;" " 1 thank you, my good gu-l," re- 
 turned Laura, a placid smil& again playing on her countenance ; 
 
I 
 
 21 
 
 but my character is in no danger. You were kind to iis, Panay, 
 when you knew that we could notrewardyou; accept of tliis from 
 me ; and she put five guineas into her hand. ** No, indeed. Ma'am,'* 
 cried Fanny, drawing back her hand and colouring ; " I was civil 
 from pure good will, and——.** Laura, whose sympathy with her 
 inferiors was not confined to their bodilv wants, fully understood 
 the feeling that revolts from bartering for gold alone the service 
 of the heart. " I know it my dear,** answered she, in an affection- 
 ate tone ; '* and believe me, I only mean to acknowledge, not to 
 repay, your kindn« ss *' Fanny, however, persisted in her refusal, 
 and Laura obliged her to leave her at the gate, where, with tears 
 in her eyes, the girl stood gazing after her till she was out of sight." 
 ** I'm sure," said she, turning towards the house as Laura disap- 
 peared, ** I'm sure she was made to be a queen, for the more 
 one likes her, the more she frightens one." 
 
 As soon as Laura was seated in her carriage, she opened her 
 packet, and with momentary disappointment examined its con- 
 tents. "* Not one line !'* she cried in a tone of mortification ; and 
 ' then turned to the envelope addressed to Mrs. Stubbs, Upon com- 
 paring this with the circumstances which she had lately heard, 
 she at once comprehended De Courcy*s intention of serving her by 
 stealth, foregoing the credit due to his generosity. She wondered, 
 indeed, that he had neglected to disguise his hand writing in the 
 superscription. " Did he think,'* said she, " that I could have 
 forgotten the writing that has so often brought comfort to my fa- 
 ther ?'* She little guessed how distant from his mind was the re- 
 pose which can attend to minute contrivance. 
 
 Delighted to discover a trait of character which tallied so well 
 with her preconceived opinion, she no sooner saw Lady Felham 
 than she related it to her aunt, and began a warm eulogium on De 
 Courcy's temper and dispositions. Lady Felham coldly cut her 
 short, by saying, " I believe Mr. De Courcy is a very good young 
 man, but I am not very fond of prodigies. One can't both wonder 
 an4 like at a time ; your men with two heads are always either sup- 
 posititious or disgusting." This speech was one of the dampers 
 which the warm heart abhors ; real injury could not more success- 
 fully chill affection or repress confidence It had just malice and 
 just truth enough to be provoking; and for the second time that 
 day Laura had to strive with the risings of anger. She was upon 
 the point of saying, " So, aware of the impossibility of being at 
 once wonderful and pleasing, your ladyship, 1 suppose, aims at 
 only one of these objects ;'* but ere the sarcasm found utterance, 
 she checked herself, and hastened out of the room, with the sensa- 
 tion of having escaped from danger. She retired to write to De 
 Courcy a letter of grateful acknowledgment ; in which, after hav- 
 ing received Lady Pelham's approbation, she inclosed his gift, ex- 
 plaining-the circumstances which now rendered it unnecessary. 
 
 Lady Felham was not more favourable to the rest of the De 
 Courcy family than she had been to Montague. She owned, indeed, 
 that Mrs. Die Courcy was the hest woman in \h& world, but a vir. 
 
^2 
 
 tiiie, she said, so cased in armour, necessarily precluded all grace 
 or attraction Harriet, she characterized as a little sarcastic co- 
 quette Lavira, weary of being exposed to the double peril of 
 Aveakly defending-, or anj^rily supporting" her attacked friends, 
 ceased to mention the De Courcys at all ; though, with a pardona- 
 ble spirit of contradiction, she loved them the better for the un- 
 provoked hostility of Lady Pelham. The less she talked of them, 
 the more she long-ed for the time, when she might, unrestrained, 
 exchange with them testimonies of regard. The trees in the Park, 
 as they burst into leaf, stimuls^ted Laura's desire for the country ; 
 and while she felt the genial air of spring, or listened to the early 
 song of some luckless bird caged in a neighbouring window, or 
 saw the yellow glories of the crocus peeping from its unnatural 
 sanctuary, she counted the days till her eyes should be gladdened 
 with the joyous face of nature. Only a foi*tnight had now to pass 
 before her wish was to be gratified, for Lady Pelham intended at 
 the end of that time to remove to Walbourne. 
 
 Laura was just giving the finishing touches to her aunt's por- 
 trait when a visitor was announced ; and, very unwilling to break 
 off at this interesting crisis, Lady Pelham having- first scolded the 
 servant for letting in her friend, desired him to shew the lady into 
 the room where Laura was at work. The usual speeches being 
 made, the lady began — " Who does your ladyship think bowed to 
 me en passant just as I was getting out of the carriage ? — Why, 
 liSidy Bellamer ! — Can you conceive such effrontery ?" " Indeed, 
 I think, in common modesty, slie should have waited for your no- 
 tice !*' " Do you know, I am told on good authority that Hargrave 
 is determined not to marry her." Laura's breath came short— 
 ** He is very right," returned Lady Pelham. " A man must be a 
 great fool to marry where he has had such damning* proofs of frail- 
 ty." Laura's heart seemed to pause for a moment, and then to re- 
 double its beating. — " What Hargrave can this be ?" thought she ; 
 but she durst not inquire. ** I hear," resumed the lady, " that 
 his uncle is enraged at liim, and moi'e for the duel than the crim. 
 con.^' The pencils dropped from Laura's hand. — Fain would she 
 have inquired, what she yet so much dreaded to know ; but her 
 tongue refused its ofiice. " I see no cause for that," returned 
 Lady Pelham ; *' Hargrave could not possibly refuse to fight after 
 such an affair. " Oh certainly not !" replied the lady ; " but Lord 
 Lincourt tliinks, that in such a ch&j, Hargrave ought to have in- 
 sisted upon giving Lord Bellamer the first fire, and then have fired 
 his own pistol in the air. — But, bless me what ails Miss Montre- 
 ville," cried the visitor, looking at Laura, who, dreadfully convin- 
 ced, was stealing out of the room. " Nothing," answei*ed Laura ; 
 and fainted. 
 
 Lady Pelham called loudly for help ; and, while the servants 
 were administering it, stood by conjecturing what coidd be the 
 cause of Laura's illness ; wondering whether it could have any 
 possible connexion with Colonel Hargrave j or whether it wer^. 
 thp effect of mere constitutional habit* 
 
23 
 
 The moment Laura shewed signs of recollection, Lady Pelliam 
 beg-an her interrogations. " What has been the matter my dear? 
 What made you ill ? Did any thing affect you ? Are you subject 
 to falntings ?" Laura, remained silent, and closing her eyes, seem- 
 ed deaf to all her aunt's questions. After a pause, Lady Pelham 
 renewed the attack — " Have you any concern with Colonel Har- 
 grave, Laura ?" " None," answered Laura, with a smile of ineffa- 
 ble bitterness ; and again closing her eyes, maintained an obstinate 
 silence. Weary ofineffectual inquiries. Lady Pelham quitted her, 
 giving orders, that she should be assisted into bed, recommend- 
 ing to lier to take some rest. 
 
 Vain advice ! Laura could not rest ! From the .stupor which 
 had o^ erpowered her faculties, she awoke to the full conviction, 
 that all her earthly prospects were for ever darkened. Just en- 
 tering on liff, she seemed already forsaken of all its hopes, and all 
 its joys. The affections which had delighted her youth were torn 
 from the bleeding soul ; no sacred connexion remained to bless her 
 maturity ; no endearment awaited her decline. In all her long 
 and dreary journey to the gi*ave, she saw no kindly resting place. 
 Still Laura's hopes and wishes had never been bounded to this 
 narrow sphere ; and when she found here no rest for the sole of 
 her foot, she had, in the promises of religion, an ark whither she 
 could turn for shelter But how should she forget that these pro- 
 mises extended not to Hargrave. How shut her ear to the dread 
 voice which, in threatening the adulterer and the murderer, de- 
 nounced vengeance against Uargrave ! AVith horror unspeakable 
 she considered his incorrigible depravity; with agony, revolved its 
 fearful consequences 
 
 Yet, while \he guilt was hateful in her eyes, her heart was full 
 of love and compassion for the offender. The feeling with which 
 she remembered his unfaithfulness to her had no reseniblance to 
 jealousy. " He has been misled," she cried ; " vilely betrayed by 
 a wretch, who has taken advantage of his weakness. Oh how could 
 she look on that form, that countenance, and see in them only the 
 objects of a passion, vile as the heart that cherished it " — Then 
 she would repent of her want of candour. *• 1 am unjiist, I am cruel," 
 she said, " thus to load with all the burden of this foul o'ience, her 
 who had perhaps the least share in it. No ! He must have been 
 the tempter ; it is not in woman to be so lost.** 
 
 But in the midst of sorrow, whose violence seemed at times al- 
 most to confuse her reason, she never hesitated for a moment on 
 the final dissolution of her connexion with Hargrave. She formed 
 no resolution on a subject where no alternative seemed to remain, 
 but assumed, as the foundation of all her plans of joyless duty, her 
 eteriial separation from Hargrave ; a separation hnal as death. — 
 By degrees she became more able to collect her thoughts ; and ihe 
 close of a sleepless night found her exercising- the valuable habit 
 of seeking in herself the cause of her misfortunes. The issue of 
 her self-examination was the conviction, that she had bestowed on 
 9. frail faUiblc creature, a love disproportioned \o the merits of arr 
 
24 
 
 created thinff ; that she had obstinately clung to her idol after she 
 had seen its baseness ; and that now the broken reed whereon she 
 had lea»ed was taken away, that she might restore her trust a«d 
 her love where alone they were due That time infallibly brings 
 comfort even to the sorest sorrows — that if we make not shipwreck 
 •f faith and' a good conscience, we save from the storms of life the 
 materials of peace at least— that lesser joys become valuable when 
 we are deprived of those of keener relish — are lessons which even 
 experience teaches but slowly ; and Laura had them yet in a great 
 measure to learn. She was persuaded that she should go mourn- 
 ing to the grave. What yet remained of her path of life seemed 
 to lie through a desert waste, never more to be warmed with the 
 sunshine of affection ; never more to be brightened with any ray 
 of hope, save thai which beamed from beyond the tomb. She im- 
 agined, that lonely and desolate she should f)ass through life, and 
 joyfully hail the messenger that called her away ; like some 
 wretch, who, cast alone on a desert rock, watches for the sail that 
 is to waft him to his native land. 
 
 The despair of strong minds is not listless or inactive. The 
 more Laura was convinced that life was lost as to ail its pleasing 
 purposes, the more was she determined tliat it should be subser- 
 vient to useful ends. Earthly felicitj, she was convinced, had 
 fled for ever from her grasp ; and the only resolution she could 
 form, was never more to pursue it ; but, in the persevering dis- 
 charge of the duties which yet remained to her, to seek a prepa- 
 ration for joys which earth has not to bestow. That she might 
 not devote to fruitless lamentatitm the time which was claimed by 
 duty, she, as soon as it was day, attempted to rise, intending ta 
 spend the morning in acts of resignation for herself, and prayers 
 tnat pardon iiud repcntatice might be granted to him whose g-tiilt 
 had destroyed her peace. But her head^as so giddys that, una- 
 ble to stand, she was obliged to return to her bed. It was long 
 ere she was again able to quit it. A slow fever seized her, and 
 brought her to the brink of the grave. Her senses, however, re- 
 mained uninjured, and she had full power and leisure to make 
 those reilections which force themselves upon all who are sensible 
 of approaching dissolution. Happy were it, if all who smait under 
 disappointment, would anticipate the hour which will assuredly 
 arrive, when the burden which they impatiently bear shall appear 
 to be lighter than vanity ! The bund which is soon to be cold, re- 
 signs without a struiygle the baubles of the world. Its cheats de- 
 lude not tlie eye that is for ever closing. A deathbed is that holy 
 ground where the charms of the enchanter are dissolved ; whei-e 
 the forms which he had cloihed with unreal beauty, or aggravated 
 to gigantic horror, are seen in their true form and colouring. In 
 its true form and colouring did Laura behold her disuppointments ; 
 when, with characteristic firmness, she had wrung from her at- 
 tendants a confession of her danger. With am i/.enient she looked 
 back on the infaturttion which could waste on any concern less 
 than etemaJ, the hopes, the fears, and the wishes which she had 
 
25 
 
 squamleredon a passion which now seemed tnviar.as the vapour 
 scattered by the wind. ' 
 
 At last, aided by the rigid temperance of her former life, and 
 her exemplary patience in siifFering-, the strength of her constitu- 
 tion began to triumph over her disorder. As she measured back 
 her steps to earth again, the concerns which liad seemed to her 
 reverting eye diminished into nothing, again swelled into import- 
 ance ; but Laura could not soon forget the time when she had seen 
 them as they were ; and this remembrance powerfully aided her 
 mind in its struggle to cast off its now disgraceful shackles. Yet 
 bitter was tlie struggle ; for what is so painful as to tear at once 
 from the bfeast what has twined itself with every fibre, linked 
 itself with every hope, stimulated every desire, and long furnished 
 objects of intense, of unceasing interest. The heart which death 
 leaves desolate, slowly and gently resigns the affection to which 
 it has fondly clung. It is permitted to seek indulgence in virtu- 
 ous sorrow, to rejoice in religious hope; and even memory brings 
 pleasures dear to the widowed mind. But- she who mourned the 
 depravity of her lover, felt that she was degraded by her sorrow ; 
 hope was, as far as he was concerned, utterly extinguished ; and 
 memory presented only a mortifying train of weaknesses and self- 
 deceptions. 
 
 But love is not that irremediable calamity which romance has 
 delighted to paint, and the vulgar to believe it. Time, vanity, ab- 
 sence, or any of a hundred other easy remedies, serves to cure the 
 disease in the mild form in which it affects feeble minds, while 
 more Herculean spirits tear off the poisoned garment, though it be 
 with mortal anguish. In a few weeks, the passion which had so 
 long disturbed the peace of Laura was hushed to lasting repose ; 
 but it was the repose of the land where the whirlwind has passed ; 
 dreary and desolate. Her spirits had received a shock from 
 which it was long, very long, ere she could rouse them. And he 
 who had ceased to be an object of passion, still excited an interest 
 which no other human being could awaken. Many a wish did she 
 breathe for his happiness ; many a fervent prayer for his reforma- 
 tion. In spite of herself, she lamented the extinguished love, as 
 well as the lost lover ; and never remembered, without a heavy 
 sigh, that the season of enthusiastic attachment was, with her, 
 passed never to return. 
 
 But she cordially wished that she might never again behold the 
 cause of so much anguish and humiliation. She longed to be distant 
 from all chance of such a meeting, and Was anxious to recover 
 strength sufficient for her journey to Walbourne. Lady Pelliam 
 only waited for her niece's recovery ; and, as soon as she could 
 bear the motion of a carriage, they left London. 
 
26- 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 They travelled slowly, and Laura's health seemed improved 
 hy the journey. The reviving- breeze of early spring, the grass 
 field exchanging its w-nter olive for a brighter green, the plough- 
 ^nan's cheerful labour, the sower whisthng to his measured step, 
 die larch trees putting forth the first and freshest verdure of th« 
 woods, the birds springing busy from the thorn, were objects whose 
 cheerful influence would have been lost on many a querulous child 
 of disappointment. But they were industriously improved to their 
 proper use by Laura, who acknowledged in them tlie kindness of a 
 father, mingling with some cordial drop even the bitterest cup of 
 sorrow. The grief which had fastened on her heart she never ob- 
 truded upon her companion. She behaved always with composure, 
 sometimes with cheerfulness. S>he ne\er obliquely reflected upon 
 Providence, by insinuations of the hai-dness of her fate, nor in- 
 dulged in splenetic dissertations on the inconstancy and treachery 
 of man. Indeed, she never, by the most distant hint, approached 
 the ground of her own peculiar sorrow. She could not, without 
 the deepest humiliation, reflect that she had bestowed her love on 
 an object so unworthy. She burnt with shame at the thought of 
 having been so blinded, so infatuated, by qualities merely external. 
 While she remembered, with extreme vexation, that she had suf- 
 fered Hargrave to triumph in the confession of her regard, she 
 rejoiced that no other witness existed of her folly— that she had 
 jiever breathed the mortifying secret into any other ear. 
 
 In th.s frame of mind, she repelled with calm dignity every at- 
 tempt which Lady Pelham made to penetrate her sentiments ; and 
 behaved in such a manner that her aunt could not discover whe- 
 ther her spirits were affected by languor of body or by distress of 
 mind. Laura, indeed, had singular skill in the useful art of repul- 
 sing without offence ; and Lady Ptlham, spite of her curiosity, 
 found it impossible to question her niexe with fieedom. Notwith- 
 standing her youth, and her alntiost dependent situation, Laui'a in- 
 spired Lady Pelham with involuntary awe. Her dignifiwd manners, 
 her vigorous understanding, the inflexible integj-ity which descend- 
 ed even to the regulation of her forms of speecn, extoited some 
 degree of respectful caution fi om one not usually over careful of 
 giving offence. Lady Pelham was herself at times conscious of this 
 restraint; and her piide was wounded by it. In Lauia's absence 
 she sometimes thought of it with impatience, and resolved to cast 
 it oft' at their next interview ; but whenever they met, the unoffend- 
 ing majesty of Lau^aeflfacedher resolution, or awed her from put- 
 ting it in practice. She could not always, however, refrain from 
 usii^g that sort of innuendo which is vulgarly called talking at one's 
 coinpanio.is ; a sort of rhetoric in great request with those who 
 have more spleen than courage, and wiiich dififers from common 
 Ecolding only in being a little more cowardly and a little more pro- 
 voking. AU her ladyship's dexterity and perseverance in this wav 
 
27 
 
 tare were entirely thrown away. "Whatever might be meant, Laura 
 answert d to nothing- but what met the ear ; and, with perverse 
 simplicity, avoided the particular application of general proposi- 
 tions. Lady Pelham next tried to coax herself into Laura's confi- 
 dence. She redoubled her caresses and professions of affection. She 
 hinted, not obscurely, that if Laura would explain her wishes, 
 they would meet with indulgence, and even assistance, from zeal- 
 ous friendship. Her professions were received with gratitude — 
 her caresses returned with sensibility ; but Laura remained im- 
 penetrable. Lady Pelham's temper could never brook resistance ; 
 and she would turn from Laura in a pet : — the pitiful garb of an- 
 ger which cannot disguise, and dares not show itself. But Laura 
 never appeared to bestow the slightest notice on her caprice, and 
 received her returning smiles with unmoved complacency. Laura 
 would fain have loved her aunt ; but in spite of herself, her affec- 
 tion took feeble root amidst these alternations of frost and sunshine. 
 She was weaiy of hints and insinuations ; and felt not a little pleased 
 that Lady Pelham's fondness for improving and gardening seemed 
 likely to release her, during most of the hours of daylight, from 
 this sort of sharpshooting warfare. 
 
 It was several days after their arrival at Walboume before they 
 were visited by any of the De Courcy family. Undeceived in his 
 hopes of Laura's regard, Montague was almost reluctant to see 
 her again. Yet from the hour when he observed Lady Pelham's 
 carriagfe drive up the avenue, he had constantly chosen to study 
 at a window which looked towards Walboume. Laura, too, often 
 looked towards Norwood, excusing to herself the apparent neglect 
 of her friends, by supposing that they had not been imformed of 
 her arrival. Lady Pelham was abroad superintending her gar- 
 deners, and Laura employed in her own apartment, when she was 
 called to receive De Courcy. For the first time since the wreck 
 of all her hopes, joy flushed the wan cheek of Laura, and fired her 
 «ye with transient lustre. " 1 shall hear the voice of friendship 
 once more," said she, and she hastened down stairs with more 
 speed than suited her but half- recovered strength. " Dear Mr. De 
 Courcy !" she cried, joyfully advancing towards him. De Courcy 
 scarcely ventured to raise his eyes, Laura held out her hand to 
 him. " She loves a libertine !" thought he, and, scarcely touching 
 it, he drew back. With grief and surprise, Laura read the cold 
 and melancholy expression of his face. Her feeble spirits failed 
 under so chilling a reception ; and while, in a low tremulous voice, 
 she inquired lor Mrs. and Miss De Courcy, unbidden tears wan- 
 dered down her cheeks. In replying, Montague again turned his 
 eyes towards her ; and, shocked at the paleness and dejection of 
 her altered countenance, remembe)ed only Laura ill and in sorrow. 
 " Good Heavens !" he exclaimed, with a voice and manner of the 
 
 tenderest interest, " Laiu-a Miss Montreville, you are ill— }ou 
 
 are unhappy !" Laura, vexed that her weakness should thus extort 
 compassion, hastily dried her tears. « I have been ill," said she, 
 " and am still so weak that any trifle can discompose me," Moft- 
 
28 
 
 tague*s colour rose " It Is then a mere ti'ifle in her eyes," thought 
 he, " that I should meet her with coldness." " And yet," con- 
 tinued Laura, reading mortification in his face, ** it is no trifle to 
 fear that I have given ofTence where 1 owe so much gratitude." — 
 •* Talk not of gratitude, I beseech you," said De Courcy, " I have 
 no claim, no wish, to excite it." *' Mr. IJe Courcy," cried Laura, 
 bursting into tears of sad remembrance, ** has all your considerate 
 friendship, all your soothing kindness to him who is gone, no claim 
 to the gratitude of his child !" Montague felt that he stood at this 
 moment upon dangerous ground, and he.gladly availed himself of 
 this opportunity to quit it. He led Laura to talk of her father, and 
 of the circumstances of his death ; and was not ashamed to mingle 
 sympathetic tears with those which her narrative wrung from lier. 
 In her detail, she barely hinted at the labour by which she had sup- 
 ported her father ; and avoided all alluiion to the wants which she 
 had endured. If any thing could have exalted her in the opinion 
 of De Courcy, it would have been the humility which sought no 
 praise to recompense exertion — no admiration to reward self- 
 denial, *' The praise of man is with her as nothing," though he, 
 gazing on her wasted form and faded features with fonder adora- 
 tion than ever he had looked on her full blaze of beauty. " She 
 has higher hopes and nobler aims. And can such a creature love 
 a sensualist ! — Now, too, when his infamy cannot be unknown to 
 her ! Yet it must be so — she has never named him, even while 
 describing scenes where he was daily present ; and why this si- 
 lence, if he were indifferent to her ? If I durst mention him ! — but 
 I cannot give her pain." 
 
 From this reverie De Courcy was roused by the entrance of 
 Lady Felham, whose presence brought to his recollection the 
 compliments and ceremonial which Laura had driven from his 
 mind. He apologized for having delayed his visit ; and excused 
 himself for having made it alone, by saying that his sister was 
 absent on a visit to a friend, and that his mother could not yet 
 venture abroad; but he warmly entreated that the ladies would 
 wave etiquette, and see Mrs. De Courcy at Norwood. Lady Pel- 
 ham, excusing herself for the present on the plea of her niece's 
 indisposition, urged De Courcy to direct his walks often towards 
 Walbourne ; in charity, she said, to Laura, who being unable to 
 take exercise, spent her forenoons alone, sighing, she supposed, 
 for some Scotch Strephon. Laura blushed ; and Montague took 
 his leave, pondering whether the blush was deepened by any feel- 
 ing of consciousness. 
 
 " She has a witchcraft in her that no language can express — 
 
 no heart withstand ^," said De Couixy, suddenly breaking a 
 
 long silence, as he and his mother were sitting tete-^-t^te after 
 dinner. •' Marriage is an excellent talisman against witchcraft," 
 said Mrs. De Courcy, gravely ; " but Miss Montreville has charms 
 that will delight the more the better they are known. There is 
 such noble simplicity, such considerate benevolence, such total 
 absence of vanity and selfishness in her character, tfcsit no womaji 
 
29 
 
 WIS ever better fitted to embellish and endear domcslic lii^. 
 •« Perhaps in time," pursued l)e Coi'jcy, " I might have become. 
 notunwori.hy of such a companion — But now it matters not," — 
 and, suppressing a very bitter sigh, he took up a book which h^. 
 hud of late been reading to Ins mother *• You know, Montague," 
 said Mrs. Ue Uourcy^" 1 think difierently from you upon this sub- 
 ject. 1 am widely mistaken in xVIiss Montreville, if she could be- 
 stow her preference on a Ubertmc, knowing him to be such." 
 Montague took involuntary pleasure in hearing this opinion re- 
 peated ; ye . he had less faith in it than he usually had in the opi- 
 nions of his mother. " After the emotion which his presence ex- 
 cited," returned he, — " an emotion which even these low people — 
 I cannot think of it with patience," cried he, tossing away the 
 book, and walking hastily up and down the room. " To betray 
 her weakness, her enly weakness, to such observers — to the wretch 
 -himself" '* My dear De Courcy, do you make no allowance for 
 the exaggeration, the rage for the romantic, so common to unedu- 
 cated minds?" " Wilkins could have no motive for inventing 
 such a tale," replied De Courcy ; ** and if it had any foundation, 
 there is no room for doubt." *' Admitting the truth of all you 
 have heard," resumed Mrs De Courcy, " I see no reason for des- 
 pairing of success. If I know any thmg of character. Miss Mon- 
 treville's attachments will ever follow excellence, real or imagina- 
 ry. Your worth is real, Montague ; and, as such, it will in time 
 approve itself to her." " Ah, Madam, had her affection been 
 founded even on imaginary excellence, must it not now have been 
 completely ^^iihdrawn — now, when she cannot be. unacquainted 
 with his depravity. Yet she loves him still. I am sure she loves 
 him. Why else this guarded silence in regard to him ? — Why not 
 mention that she permitted his daily visits — saw him even on the 
 night when her father died ?" *' Supposing," retumed Mrs. De 
 Courcy, " that her affection had been founded on imaginary ex- 
 cellence, might not traces of the ruins remain perceptible, even 
 after the foundation had been taken away ? Come, come, Monta- 
 gue, you are only four-and -twenty, you can afford a few years pa- 
 tience If you act prudently, I am convinced that your perseve- 
 rance will succeed ; but if it should not, I know how you can bear 
 disappointment. I am certain that your happiness depends not 
 on the smiie of any face, however fair." " I am ashamed, ' said 
 De Courcy, " to confess liovv much my peace depends upon Lau- 
 ra. You know I have no ambition— all my joys must be domes- 
 tic. It is as a husband and a father that all my wishes must be 
 fulfilled — and all that I have ever fancied of venerable and endear- 
 ing, so meet in her, that no other woman can ever fill her place." 
 " Ihat you have no ambition," replied Mrs. De Courcy, " is one of 
 the reasons why 1 join in your wishes, if your happiness had any 
 connexion with splendour, I should have regretted your choice of 
 a woman without fortune. But all that is necessary for your com- 
 fort you will find in the warm ill of heart with which Laura will 
 return your affection— the soundness of principle with which L^e 
 
 C 2 
 
-nf 
 
 30 
 
 vvlll assist vou in your duties. Still, perhaps, you mig-Kt fin^l 
 these qualities m others, though not united in an equal de^ee ;1 
 bat I confess to you, Montague, I despair of your again meeting! 
 With a woman whose dispositions and pursuits are so congenial 1 
 to your own;— a woman, whose cultivated mind and vigorous 
 understanding, may make her the companion of your studies as 
 well as of your lighter hours." « My dear mother," cried De 
 Courcy, affectionately grasping her hand, « it is no wonder that I 
 persecute you with this subject so near ray heart ; for you al- 
 ways, and you alone, support my hopes. Yet should 1 even at last 
 obtain this treasure, I must ever regret that I cannot awaken the 
 enthusiasm which belongs only to a first attachment." " Mon- 
 tague," said Mrs. De Courcy, smiling, «* from what romance have 
 you learnt that sentiment ? However I shall not attempt the labour 
 of combating it, for I prophesy that, before the change can be ne- 
 cessary, you will learn to be satisfied with being loved with rea- 
 son." " Many a weary day must pass before I can even hope for 
 this cold preference. Indeed, if her choice is to be decided by 
 mere rational approbation, why should I hope that it will fall up- 
 on me ? Yet, if it be possible, her fri^^ndship I will gain— and I 
 would not exchange it for the love of all her sex." " She alrea- 
 dy esteems you — highly esteems you,", said Mrs. De Courcy ; 
 " t.nd I repeat that I think you need not despair of animating es- 
 teem into a warmer sentiment. But will you profit by my know- 
 ledge of my sex, Montague ? You know, the less use we make of 
 our own wisdom, the fonder we grow of bestowing it on others in 
 the form of advice ! Keep your secret carefully, Montague. Much 
 of your hope depends on your caution. Pretensions to a pre-en- 
 gaged heart are very generally repaid with dislike." Montague 
 promised attention to his motlier's advice ; b\it added, that he 
 feared he should not long be able to follow it. " I am a bad dis- 
 sembler," said l\e, *'and on this subject, it is alleged, that ladies 
 are eagle-eyed." *' Miss Montreville, of all women living, has the 
 least vanity," returned IMrs. De Courcy ; ** and you may always 
 reinforce your caution, by -recollecting that the prepossession 
 which will certainly be against jouas a lover, may be secured in 
 your favour as a friend." 
 
 The next day found De Courcy again at Walbourne ; and again 
 he enjoyed a loJig and private interview with Laura. Though 
 their conversation turned only on indifferent subjects, De Courcy 
 observed tlie settled melancholy which had taken possession oflier 
 mind. It was no querulous complaining sorrow, but a calm sad- 
 ness, banisliing all the cheerful illusions of a life which it still 
 valued as a preparation for a better. To that better world all her 
 hopes and wishes seemed already fled; and the saint herself seem- 
 ed waiting, with resigned desire, for permission to depart. De 
 Courcy's fears assigned to her melancholy its true cause. He 
 would have given worlds to know the real state of her sentiments, 
 and to ascertain how far her attachment had survived the crimina- 
 lity of Ilargrave. But he had not coui-age to probe tlie painful 
 
31 
 
 wound. He could not bear to inflict upon Laura even momentary 
 ang'uish ; perhaps he even feared to know the full extent of-those 
 regrets which she lavished on his rival. With scrupulous delica- 
 cy he avoided approaching- any subject which could at all lead 
 her thoughts 'towards the cause of her sorrow, and never 
 even seemed to notice the dejection which wounded him to 
 the soul. 
 
 *' The spring" of her mind is for ever destroyed," said he to 
 Mrs. De C'ourcy, ** and yet she retains all her angelic benevo- 
 lence. She strives to make pleasing to others, the objects that 
 will never more give pleasure to her." Mrs. De Courcy expressed 
 affectionate concern, but added, " I never knew of a sorrow in- 
 curable at nineteen. We must bring Laura to Norwood, and find 
 employments for her suited to her kindly nature- IMeanwhile do 
 you exert yourself to rouse her ; and, till she is well enough to 
 leave home, I shall freely resign to her all my claims upon your 
 time." De Courcy faithfully profited by liis mother's permission, 
 and found almost every day an excuse for visiting Walbourne. 
 Sometimes he brought a book which he read aloud to the ladies ; 
 sometimes he borrowed one, which he chose to return in person ; 
 now he wished to show Laura a medal, and now he had some 
 particularly fine flower-seeds for Lady Pelham. Chemical expe- 
 riments were an excellent pretext ; for they were seldom complet- 
 ed at a visit, and the examination of one created a desire for 
 another. Laura was not insensible to his attentions. She believ- 
 ed that he attributed whatever was visible of her depression to 
 regrets for her father ; and she was by turns ashamed,of permit- 
 ting her weakness to wear the mask of filial piety, and thar.kful 
 that she escaped the degradation of being pitied as a love-sick 
 girl. But love had now no share in Laura's melancholy. Com- 
 passion, strong indeed to a painful excess, was the only gentle 
 feeling that mingled with the pain of remembering Hargrave. 
 Who that, in early youth, gives way to the chilling conviction, 
 that nothing on earth will ever again kindle a wish or a hope, can 
 look without sadness on the long pilgrimage that spreads before 
 them ? Laura looked upon hers with resigned sadness, and a thou- 
 sand times repeated to herself, that it v as but a point, compared 
 with ".hat lay beyoncL Hopeless of happi'iiess, she yet forced 
 Jierself to seek sliort pleasure in the charms of nature, and the 
 comforts of affluence ; calling them the flowers wliich a bountiful 
 hand had scattered in the desert which it was needful that she 
 should tread alone. It was with some surprise that she found 
 De Courcy's visits produce pleasure without requiring an effort 
 to be pleased ; and with thankfulness she acknowledged that the 
 enjoyments of the understanding were still open to her, though 
 those of the heart were for ever withdrawn. 
 
 In the mean time her health improved rapidly, and she was able 
 to join in Lady Pelham's rambles in the shrubbery. To avoid 
 particularity, De Courcy had oflen quitted Laura to attend on 
 these excursions ; and he rejoiced when her recovered sti-englh 
 
31 
 
 allowed him to gratify, without imprudence, the inclination which 
 broug-ht him to Walbourne. It often, however, required all his 
 influence to persuade her to accompany him in his walks with 
 Lady Pelham. Her ladyship's curiosity had by no means subsid- 
 ed. On the contrary, it was rather exasperated by her conviction 
 that her niece's dejection had not been the consequence of ill 
 healtli, since it continued after that plea was removed ; and Laura 
 was constantly tormented with oblique attempts to discover what 
 she was determined should never be known. 
 
 Lady Peiham's attacks were now become the more provoking", 
 because she could address her hints to a third person, who, not 
 aware of their tendency, mig"ht strengthen them by assent, or un- 
 consciously point them as they were intended She contrived to 
 make even her very looks tormenting, by directing, upon suitable 
 occasions, sly glances of discovery to Laura's face ; where, if 
 they found out nothing, they at least insmuated that there was 
 something to find out. She was inimitably dexterous and indefat- 
 igable in improving every occasion of innuendo. Any subject, 
 Ipwever irrelevant, furnished her with the weapons of her war- 
 fare. *' Does this flower never open any further ?"^ asked Laura, 
 shewing one to De Courcy — *' No " said Lady Pelham, pushing in 
 between them ; *' that close thing, wrapped up in itself, never ex- 
 pands in the genial warmtli ; it never shews its heart." *' This 
 should be a precious book with so many envelopes," said Laura, 
 untying a parcel. — " More likely," said Lady Pelham, with a 
 sneer, *' that what is folded in so many doublings won't be worth 
 looking into.* " This d:iy is cold for the seasoi^," said De Courcy, 
 one day warming hin^stlf after his ride. " Spring colds are the 
 most chilling of any," said Lidy Pelham. ** They are like a re- 
 pulsive character in youth ; one is not prepared for them. The 
 frosts of winter are natural." 
 
 Lady Pelham was not satisfied with using the occasions that 
 presented tliemselves ; she invented others. When the weather 
 confined her at home, and she had nothing else to occupy her, she 
 redoubled her industry. " Bless me, what a sentiment !" she ex- 
 claimed, aflTecting surprise and consternation, though she had rt-ad 
 the book \Xrhich contained it above twenty times before — * Always 
 live with a friend as if he might one day become an enemy !» ] 
 can conceive nothing more detestable A cold-hearted suspicious 
 wretch ! Now to a friend I could not help being all open and in- 
 genuous ; but a creature capable of such a thought, could never 
 have a friend." Lady Pelham ran on for a while, contrasting her 
 open ingenuous self, with the odious character which her signifi- 
 cant looks appropriated to her niece, till even the mild Laura was^ 
 provoked to reply. Fixing her eyes upon her aunt with calm se- 
 verity, " If RoclKtbucault meant," said she, " that a friend should 
 be treated witli suspicious confidence, as if he might one day be- 
 tray, I agree wnh your ladyship in thinking such a sentiment in- 
 compatible with friendship ; but we are indebted to him for a use- 
 ful lesson, if he merely intended to remind us, that it is easy to 
 
33 *^ 
 
 alienate aflTectlon without proceeding- to real injury, and very pos« 
 sible to forfeit esteem without incurring- serious guilt.'* — The 
 blood mounted to Lady Pelham's face, but the calm austerity of 
 Laura's eye i.nposed sileuce, and she continued to turn orer the 
 pages of her book, while her niece rose and left the room. She 
 then tossed it away, and walked angrily up and down, fretting be- 
 tween baulked curiosity and irritated pride. Finding- every other 
 mode of attack unsuccessful, she once more resolved to have re- 
 course to direct interrogation. This intention had been frequent- 
 ly formed, and as often defeated by the dignified reserve of Lau- 
 ra ; but now that Lady Pelhara felt her pride concerned, she grew 
 angry enough to be daring. It was so provoking to be kept in awe 
 by a mere girl, a dependent Lady Pelham could at any time medi- 
 tate herself into a passion ; she did so on the present occasion ; 
 and accordingly resolved and executed in the same breath. She 
 followed Laura to her apartment, determined to insist upon know- 
 ing what affected her spirits. Laura received her with a sm\le so 
 gracious, that, spite of herself, her wrath began to evaporate. 
 Conceiving it proper, however, to maintain an air of importance, 
 she bej^an with an aspect thatannounced hostility, and a voice in 
 which anger increased intended gravity into surliness. " Miss 
 Montreville, if ywu are at leisure I wish to speak with you.*' 
 ** Quite at leisure. Madam,** said Laura, in a tone of the most 
 conciliating good humour, and motioning her aunt to a seat by the 
 fire. " It is extremely unpleasant," said Lady Pelham, tossing her 
 bead to escape the steady look of inquiry which Laura directed 
 towards her ; " It is extremely unpleasant (at least if one has any 
 degree of sensibility) to live with persons w ho always seem im- 
 happy, and are always striving- to conceal it, especially when one 
 can see no cause for their unhappiness." " It must indeed be 
 very distressing," returned Laura, mentally preparing for her de- 
 fence. " Then I wonder," said Lady Pelham, with increased ac- 
 rimony of countenance, ** why you choose to subject me to so dis- 
 agreeable a situation. It is very evident that there is something 
 in your mind which you are either afraid or ashamed to tell." *' I 
 am sorry,** said Laura, with unmoved self-possession, •* to be the 
 cause of any uneasiness to your ladyship. I do not pretend that 
 my spirits are high, but I should not have thought their depres- 
 sion unaccountable. The loss of my only parent, and such a pa- 
 rent ! is reason for lasting sorrow ; and my own so recent escape 
 from the jaws ofthe^ave, might impose seriousness upon levity 
 itself" — "I have a strong notion, however, that none of these is 
 the true cause of your penseroso humours. Modern misses don't 
 break their hearts for the loss of their parents. — I remember you 
 fainted away just when Mrs. Harrington was talking to me of Col- 
 onel Hargrave's affair ; and I know he was quartered for a whole 
 year in your neighbourhood.'* 
 
 Lady Pelham stopped to reconnoitre her niece's face, but with- 
 out success ; for Laura had let fall her scissars, and was busily 
 peeking them on the carpet. " Did you know him ?" inquired 
 
.34, 
 
 Ladv ?elham. ** I have seen him," answered Laura, painfully re^ 
 collc'ctlner bow little she had really known him *' i>,d he visit at 
 Glenalbert ?" resumed her ladxship, recovering^ her tennper, as 
 she. thoug-ht she had discovered aclueto l.aura s sentiments. ** Yes, 
 Madam, often " replied Laura who having-, with a strong effort, 
 resumed her self-possession, again submitted her countenance to 
 inspection. " And he was received there as a lover I pi esume ?" 
 said Lady Pelham, in a tone of interrogation. Laura fixed on her 
 aunt one of her cool commanding glances. " Your ladyship, * re- 
 turned she, " seems so much in earnest, that if the question were 
 a little less extraordinary, I should almost have thought you ex- 
 pected a serious answer" Lady Pelham 's eyes were not com- 
 fortably placed, and she removed them by turns to every piece of 
 furniture in the apartment. Speedily recovering herself, she re- 
 ttirned to the charge, *' I think, after the friendship I have shewn, 
 I have some right to be treated with confidence.'* " My dear 
 Madam," said Laura, gratefully pressing Lady Pelham's hand be- 
 tween Iter own, " believe me, I am not forgetful of the kindness 
 which has afforded me shelter and protection : but there are some 
 sidijects of which no degree of intimacy will permit the discus- 
 sion It is evident, that whatever proposals have hitherto beett 
 made to me, have received such an answer as imposes discretion 
 on me. No addresses which 1 accept shall ever be a secret from, 
 your ladyship — those which I reject I am not equally entitled to 
 reveal !" " By which I understand you to say, that you have re- 
 jected Colonel Hargrave ?" said Lady Pelham, " By no means," 
 answered Laura, with spirit, " I was far from saying so. I mere- 
 ly intended to express my persuasion, that you are too generous 
 to urge me on a sort of subject where I ought not to be commu- 
 nicative." " Very well. Miss Montreville," cried Lady Pelham, 
 rising in a pet, *• I comprehend the terms on which you choose 
 that we should live. I may have the honour of being your com- 
 panion, but I must not aspire to the rank of a friend." ** Indeed, 
 my dear aunt," said Laura, in a voice irresistibly soothing, " I 
 have no earthly wish so strong as to find a real friend in you : but," 
 added she, with an insinuating smile, " I shall never earn the 
 treasure with tales of luckless love." '• Well, Madam," said Lady 
 Pelham, turning to quit the room, " I shall take care for the fu- 
 ture not to press myself into your confidence ; and as it is not the 
 most delightful thing in the world to live in the midst of ambus- 
 cades, 1 shall intrude as little as possible on your more agreeable 
 engagements." " Pray, don't go," said Laura^ with perfect good 
 humour, and holding upon her delicate fingers a tap which she 
 Lad been making, " I have finished your cap. Pray have the good- 
 ness to let me try it on." Female vanity is at least a sexagSnuit^e. 
 Lady Pelham sent a side glance towards the cap. " Pray do," 
 said' Laura, taking her hand, and coaxingly pulling her back. 
 " Make haste then," said Lady Pelham, sullenly, "for I have no 
 time to spare." " How becoming," cried Laura, as she fixed on 
 the cap, " 1 n^v^r saw you look sa well in any thing. Look at it ;" 
 
and she held a looking'-glass to her aunt. The ill humour whicli 
 had resisted the graces of the loveliest face in the world,, could 
 not stand a favourable view of her own ; and Lady Felham quitted 
 Laura with a gracious compliment to her genius for millinery, and 
 a declaration, that the cap should be worn the next day, in honour 
 of a visit from Mr. I)e Courcy and Harriet. 
 
 The next day the expected guests dined at Walbourne. As 
 Harriet had just returned fiom her excursion, this was the first 
 ■ time that she l.ad seen Laura, and the meeting gave them mutual 
 pleasure Harriet seemed jn evon more than usual spirits ; and 
 Laura, roused by the presence of perf^ons whom she loved and re- 
 spected, shewed a cheerfulness more unconstrained than she had 
 felt smce her father's death* Montague, who watched her assidu- 
 ously, was enchanted to perceive that she could once more smile 
 " without eilort ; and, in the joy of his heart, resumed a gaiety which 
 bad of late been foreign to him. But the life of the party was Lady 
 . Pfclham ; for who could be so delii^htfid, so extravagantly enter- 
 ' taining as Lady Peiham could be when she pleased ? And she did 
 please this afternoon ; for a train of fortunate circumstance-s 
 had put her into high good humour. She not only wore the be- 
 coming cap ; but had hit, without difficulty, the most becoming 
 iTiode of putting it on The cook had done her office in a manner 
 altogether faultless ; and the guj-dener had brought in such a sallad ! 
 its like had never been seen in the country. 
 
 Miss Ue Courcy was extremely anxious that Laura should pass a 
 
 few days at Norwood. But Laura, remembering the coolness 
 
 which had of late subsisted between herself and Lady Peltiam, 
 
 andtmwilling to postpone her endeavours to eftUce evtry trace of it, 
 
 objected that she couid not quit her aunt for such a lengtii of time. 
 
 ' Harriet immediately proposed to invite Lady Peiham. — " I'll set 
 
 about it this moment, sviiile she's in the vein," said she. "This 
 
 sunshine is too briglit to last." Laura looked very grave, and 
 
 Harriet hastened to execute her purpose. There is no weakness 
 
 of their neighbours which mankind so instinctively convert to 
 
 their ow^n use as vanity. Except to sectu*e Laura's company, 
 
 Harriet had not the slightest desire for Lady Felham's. Yet she did 
 
 I not even name her friend white she pressed Lady Peiham so eam- 
 
 j «stly to visit Norwood, that she succt ded to her wish, and obtained 
 
 I ^ a promise that the ladies should accompany her and her brother 
 
 home on the following day. 
 
 When at the close o# an agreeable evening, Laura attended her 
 friend to her chamber, Hairiet, with more sincerity than polite- 
 ness, regretted that Lady Felham was to join their party to Nor- 
 wood. '• 1 wish the old Ixdy would have allowed you to go with- 
 out her," said she. " She'll interrupt a thousand things I had to 
 say^ to you. However, my mother can kee]) hei- in conversation. 
 She'll be so delighted to see you, that she'll pay the penalty with- 
 out a grudge." " 1 shall feel the more indebted to your mother's 
 welcome," said Laura, with extreme gi uvity, *' be cause she v* ill 
 CKteuti it t© a person to whom 1 owe obligations that cannot b« re- 
 
36 
 
 paid." Harriet, blushing, apologized for her freedom; and Laura 
 accepting- the apology with smiles of courtesy and affection, the 
 friends separated for the night. 
 
 CHAPTER XXn. 
 
 Norwood had appeared to Laui'a to be little more tlian a mile 
 distant from Walbourne. The swellings of the ground had de- 
 ceived her. It was more than twice that distance. As the car- 
 riage approached Norwood, Laura perceived traces of a noble 
 park, changed from its foimer purpose to one more useful, though 
 less magnificent. The corn fields were intermixed by venerable 
 avenues, and studded with gigantic elm and oak. Througii one of 
 these avenues, straight as a dart, and darkened by the woods that 
 closed over it, the party drove up to a massive gate. In the door 
 of a turreted lodge, overgrown with hornbeam, stood the grey- 
 haired porter, waiting their arrival. He threw open the gate 
 ■with one hand, and respectfully stood with his hat in the other, 
 while De Courcy checked his horse to inquire for the old man's 
 family. 
 
 The avenue now quitted its formality, to wind along the bank of 
 a rapid stream, till the woods suddenly opening to the right, dis- 
 covered the lawn, green as an emerald, and kept with a neatness 
 truly English. A vaiiety of flowering shrubs were scattered over 
 it, and here and there a lofty forest-tree threw its quivering shadoM'; 
 while tall spruce-firs, their branches descending to the ground, 
 formed a contrast to its verd^ire. At the extremity of this lawn 
 stood Norwood, a large castellated building; and, while Laura look- 
 ed at it, she imagined the interior dull with baronial magnificence. 
 
 The carriage drove up to the door, and liaura could not help smi- 
 ling at the cordial welcome that seemed to await l)e Courcy. The 
 great Newfoundland dog that lay upon the steps leapt upon him, 
 and expressed his joy by a hundred clumsy gambols ; while John, 
 the old servant whom she had seen in Audley Street, busied liim- 
 self about his master, with an officiousness that evidently came 
 from the heart, leaving Lady Pelham's attendants to wait upon 
 tlieir mistress and her companions. De Courcy, giving his hand 
 to Lady Pelham, conducted her, followed by Harriet and Laura, 
 into the room where Mrs Ue Courcy was sitting ; and the next mo- 
 ment his heart throbbed with pleasure, while he saw the beloved 
 of his soul locked in his m.other's arms. 
 
 When tlie first joy of the meeting was over, Laura had leisure to 
 observe the interior of the mansion, which differed not less from 
 her expec ations than from any thing she had before seen. Though 
 it was equally remote from the humble simpUcity of her cott'ige 
 of Glenalbert, and the gaudiness of Lady Pelham's more modern. 
 
37 
 
 abode she saw nothing' of the gloomy splendour which she had 
 fancied ; every thing breathed comfort and repose. The furniture, 
 though not without magnificence, was unadorned and substantial, 
 grandeur holding the second place to usefulness. The marble 
 nail tlirough which she had entered, was almost covered with 
 matting. In the spacious room in which she was sitting, the little 
 Turkey carpet of our forefathers had given place to one of home- 
 lier grain, but far larger dimensions. The apartment was liberally 
 stored with couches, footstools, and elbow chairs. A harp oc- 
 cupied one window, a piano-forte stood near it ; many books were 
 scattered about, in bindings which shewed they were not meant 
 for ornament : and in the chimney blazed a fire which would liave 
 done credit to the days of Elizabeth. 
 
 The dinner hour was four ; and punctual to a moment the 
 dinner appeared, plain, neat, and substantial. It was served with- 
 out tumult, partaken of with appetite, and enlivened by general 
 hilarity and good will. When the ladies rose from table, Harriet 
 offered to conduct Laura through the other apartments, which ex- 
 actly corresponded with those she had seen. The library was 
 spacious ; and besides an excellent collection of books, contained 
 glob', s, astronomical mstruments, and cabinets of minerals and 
 coins. A smaller room which opened from it, used as De Courcy*s 
 laboratorj', was filled with chemical and mechanical apparatus. 
 Comfort, neatness, and peace, reigned every where, and Nor- 
 wood seemed 5 fit retreat for literary leisure and easy hopitality. 
 
 Between music, work, and conversation, the evening passed 
 cheerfully away ; nor did Laura mark its flight till the great house 
 clock struck nine. The conversation suddenly paused ; Harriet 
 laid aside her work ; Mrs. De Courcy's countenance assumed a 
 pleasing seriousness ; and Montague, quitting his place bv Laura's 
 side, seated himself in a patriarchal-looking chair at the upper 
 end of the room. Presently John entered, followed by all tlie do- 
 mestics of the family. He placed before his master a reading 
 desk and a large bible, and then sat down at a distance with his 
 fellow servants 
 
 With a manner serious and earnest, as one impressed with a just 
 sense of their impDrtance, Montague read a portion of the Holy 
 Scriptures. He closed the volume ; and all present sunk upon their 
 knees. In plain but solemn language, he offered a petition in the 
 name of all, that all might be endowed with the graces of the 
 Christian spirit. In the name of all he confessed that they were 
 unworthy of the blessings they implored. In the name of all, lie 
 gave thanks for the means of improvement, and for the hopes of 
 glory. He next, more particularly, besought a blessing on the 
 circumstances of their several conditions. Among tlie joyous faces 
 of this happy household, Laura had observed one alone clouded 
 with sorrow. It was that of a young modest-looking girl in deep 
 mourning, wliose audible sobs attested that she was the subject of 
 a prayer which commended an orphan to the Father of the father- 
 less. The worship was closed; the servants withdrew. A silence 
 
 D 
 
38 
 
 af a few moments ensui^d ; and Laura could not help g-azing" with 
 <lelig"ht, not unming-Ud with uwe, on the traces of serene benevo- 
 lence and manly piety, vv^iich ling-ered on the countenance of De 
 Courcy. 
 
 " Happy Harriet," said she, when she was alone with her friend, 
 " Wouid that 1 had been >oar sister !'* Harriet laughed **You 
 need not laugh, my dear," continued Laiu-a, with most unembar- 
 rassed simplicity, *' I did not mean your brother*s wife, but his 
 sister, and Mrs. De Courcy*s daughter." 
 
 Though Miss De Courcy was much less in Montague's confi- 
 dence than her mother, she was not ignorant of his preference for 
 Laura; but Mrs. De Courcy had so strongly cautioned her against 
 even hinting this preference to the object of it, that, though she 
 but half guessed tlie reasons of her mother's injunctions, she was 
 afraid to disobe}-. That Laura was even acquainted witftHargrave 
 was unkno'.vn to Harriet ; for De Courcy was almost as tenacious 
 of Laura's secret as she herself was, and v/ould as soon have thought 
 of giving up his own heart to the frolics of a kitten^ as of exposing 
 that of Laura to the badinage of his sister. This kind precaution 
 left Liura pei-fectly at her ease with Harriet, an ease which would 
 quickly have vanished, had she known her to be acquainted with 
 her humiliating story. 
 
 The young ladies had rambled over half the grounds of Nor- 
 wood before the family had assembled at a cheerful breakfast ; 
 and as soon as it was ended, Harriet proposed that Laura should 
 assist her with her advice in composing a water-colour drawing 
 irom one of her own pictures. " We'll leave Lady Pelham and 
 my mother in possession of the drawing room," said she, ** for the 
 pictures all hang in the library. I wanted them put up in the sitting- 
 room/ but Montague would have them where they are — and so ho 
 carried his point, for mamma humoui s him in every thing." ** Per- 
 haps," returned Laura, " Mrs. De Courcy thinks he has some 
 right to dictate in his own house." " Well, that's true," cried 
 Harriet, " I protest I had forgotten that this house was not my 
 mother's." 
 
 The picture which Miss De Cwtircy had fixed upon, was that of 
 Leonidas, and Luara would far ratlier have been excused from in- 
 terference ; yet, as she could not with propriety escape, nothing 
 remained but to summon her composiire, and to study anew tl.is 
 resemblance of her unworthy lover. She took her work, and be- 
 gan quietly to superintend Harriet's progress. Tiieir employments 
 did not interrupt conversation; aud though Laura was at first a 
 little embarrassed, she soon recovered her ease. "Do touch the 
 outline of the niouth for me," said Harriet ; " I can't hit the re- 
 .semblance at all." Laura excused herseU", saying, that since her 
 fever, her hand had been unsteady. " Oh, here's Montague ; hs'il 
 do i'. C.mie hither Montague, and sketch a much pieltier mouth 
 th:in your own." De Courcy, who had approached his ?iste;* before 
 he understood her request, shrunk back. She could scarcely h:ne i 
 proposed an employment less agreeable to him ; and he was hastil}'^ 
 
39 
 
 goinp;- to refuse it, when, liappeninj^ to meet tlie eye of Laura, in 
 the dread thai slie should dettct his consciousness, he snatched 
 tlie pencil and beg-an. 
 
 Harriet having* thus transferred her work, quickly found out 
 otlier occupation. ** O, by the by,' my dear," said she to Laura, 
 " your Leonidas is the greatest likeness in the world of my old 
 bciiu. Colonel Harj^rave. Bless me, how she blushes ! Ah ! I see 
 Hargrave has not been so long in Scotland for nothing!" *♦ Take 
 away that thing, Harriet," cried l)e Courcy, quite thrown oft' his 
 ;^ guard, andpushing the drawing from him. " I see no reason why 
 trvry both/ should do for you what you ought to be doing for your- 
 self" "Hey-day, what ails the man r" cried Harriet, looking after 
 her brother to the window, whither he had retreated. *' You need 
 not be angry at me for making Laura blush. I dare say she likes 
 it; it becomes her so well." '* If you are accustomod to say sucli 
 strange things to your friends, my dear Harriet," said Laura, " the 
 blushes you raise will not always have that advantage. The co- 
 lourings of anger are not generally becoming." " So, with that 
 meek face of yours, you would have me believe that it is down- 
 li.Lfht rage that has made you all scarlet. No, no, my dear— -there 
 is rage ; and there is the colour of it too, (pointing to Montague's 
 face :) and if you'll put your two heads together before the glass, 
 \'ou will see whether the colours are a bit alike !'* Montague, re- 
 covering his temper, tried to laugh, and succeeded very ill " I 
 don't wonder you laugli," said Laura, not venturing to look round 
 to liim, ** at hearing Harriet on such slender grounds, exalt such a 
 matter-of-fact person as myself, into the heroine of a romance. But, 
 to spare ) our imagination, Harriet, 1 will tell you, that yrjur old 
 beau, as you call him, being the handsomest man I had seen, I saw 
 no harm in making use of his beauty in my picture." '* Well, I pro- 
 test," cried Harriet, " it was quite by accident I thought of men- 
 tioning it, fo'- 1 had not the least idea that ever you had seen Har-* 
 grave." ** And, nrw that you have made that mighty discovery," 
 said De Courcy, endeavouring to appear unconcerned, " I suppose 
 you'll po'son Miss Montrcville ; for you know you were so in love 
 with Hargrave, that I was obliged to put a rail round the fish-pond 
 to prevent feh dc se." *' In love,'' said Harriet, yawning, " ay, so 
 1 was indeed, for .three whole days once when I had nothing else to 
 do. But only think of the sly girl never even to name him to mc ' 
 Well ! well ! I shall worm it all out of her when we are bv ourselves, 
 thoug-h she won't blab before you." ** I will give you an opportu- 
 nity this moment,' said De Courcy, who, quite unable to bear the 
 subject any longer, determin«;d to make his mother inieirupt it, 
 and immediately went in search of her. In a few minutes Mrs. De 
 Courcy appeared, and dismissed her unwilling daughter to escort 
 Lady Pelliam to tlie flower-garden, while Laura preferred remain- 
 ing at home. 
 
 At the next opportunity^ Harriet executed her threat, in so far 
 as (It pended upon her. She did what she could to rally L&ura out 
 of her secret, but she totally failed of success. Laura', now upon 
 
40 
 
 1 
 
 tier ^uard, not only evaded making any discovery, but, by the easy 
 indifference of her answers, convinced Harriet thai there was no- 
 thing- to discover. Indeed, her suspicion was nnerely a transient 
 thought, arising from LaHiVs confusion at her sudden atUck, and 
 scarcely outlived the moment that gave it birth; though the emo- 
 tion which Montague had shewn, confirmed his sister hi the belief' 
 of his attachment to Laura. 
 
 The subject thus entirely dropped which Laura could never ap- 
 proach without pain, the time of her visit to Nor'.vood glided away 
 ill peace and comfort, every day lessening the dejectiou which she 
 had believed, nay almost wished, would follow her to the grave. — 
 Still, however, the traces of it were sufficiently visible to' the ob- 
 servant eye of love ; and Montague found in it an interest not to be 
 awakened by the brightest flashes of gaiety. " There is a charm 
 inexpressible in her sadness," said he to Mrs. De Caurcy. " I 
 think," said Mrs. Dc Courcy, " I can observe that that charm is de- 
 caying. Indeed, I tbink, if it should entirely disappear before your 
 fates are more closely united, you need not lament its departure.— 
 Those cypresses look graceful bending over the urn therein the 
 vista, but I should not like them to darken the sitting-room." 
 
 The only habit, common to love-lorn damsels, in which Laura 
 indulged, was that of preferring solitary rambles ; a habit, however, 
 wTiich had been imbibed long before she had any title to that cha- 
 racter. Delighted with the environs of Norwood, she sometimes 
 wandered beyond the dressed gi*6und into the park, where art still 
 embellished without restraining nature. The park might, nideed, 
 have better deserved the name of an ornamented farm ; for the 
 lawns were here and there diversified by corn fields, and enlivened 
 by the habitations of the labourers necessary to the agriculturist. 
 These cottages, banished by fashion far from every lordly resi- 
 dence, were contrived so as to unite beauty with usefulness ; they 
 gave added interest to the landscape even to the eye of a stranger,^ 
 but far more to that of De Courcy, for he knew that every one of 
 them contained useful hands or grateful hearts : youth fornvhom 
 he provided employment, or age whose past services he repaid. — 
 Here the blue smoke curled from amidst the thicket; there the 
 white wall enlivened the meadow ; here the casement flashed 
 bright with the setting sun ; there the woodbine and the creeping 
 rose softened the colouring that would have glared on the eye. 
 
 Laura had followed the windings of a little green lane, till the 
 woods which darkened is suddenly opened into a small field, shel- 
 tered by them on every side, which seemed to form the territory 
 of a cottage pf singular neatness and beauty. In a porch covered 
 with honeysuckle, which led through a flower-garden to the house, 
 a lovely little boy about three years old was playing wfth De Cour- 
 cy 's great Newfoundland dog. The child was stretching on tiptoe 
 to hug with one arm the neck of his rough companion ; while, 
 with the other hand, he was playfully offering the animal a bit of 
 bread, and then snatching it in sport away. Neptune, not used to 
 be so tantalized, made a catch at his prey '; but the child succeeded 
 
in preserving his p*iz'e, amf, faiierhlng', hid it behind liim. The 
 next moment Laura saw the dog- throw him down, and heard a 
 piercing- cry. Feai-less of personal danger, she ran to his assist- 
 ance. The child was lying- motionless on his face ; while, with one 
 huge paw laid on his back, Neptune was standing over him, wag- 
 ging his tail in trium])h. Convinced tliat the child was unhurt, 
 and that the scream had been caused merely by fear, Laura spoke 
 to the dog, who immediately quitted his posture to fawn upon her. 
 She lifted the child from the ground and carried him towards the 
 cottage. The poor little fellow, pale with terror, clung round her 
 neck; but he no sooner saw himself in safety, than, recovering his 
 suspended faculties, he began to roar with all his might. Hia cries 
 reached the people in the house, who hastened to inquire into their 
 cause : and Laura was met in the door of the cottage by t)e Gourcy's 
 gray-haired servant, John, who seemed its owner» and a decent old 
 woman, who was his wife. 
 
 Laura prefaced her account of the accident by an assurance that 
 the child was. not hurt, and the old woman, taking him in her 
 arms, tried to sooth him, while John invited Miss Montreville to 
 enter. She followed him into a room, which, unacquainted as she 
 was with the cleanliness of English cottages, appeared to her 
 quite Arcadian. \Miile Margaret was busy with her little charge, 
 LaUra praised the neatness and comfort of John's abode. "It*is 
 as snug a place as heart can desire, please you, Ma'am," ans vver- 
 ed John, visibly gratified ; ** and we have every thing here as con- 
 ve»iient as in the king's palace, or as my master himself has, for 
 ill ; matter of that." ** I thought, John, you had lived in M r. De 
 ( "ourcy's house," said Laura. ** Yes, please you. Ma'am, and so 
 I did, since 1 was a Uttle fellow no higher than my knee, taken in 
 to run messages, till my young master came of age and then hfe 
 built this hotise for me, that I might just have it to go to when f 
 pleased, without being turned away like ; for he knew old folk's 
 liked to have a home of their own. So novr, of a fine evening, I 
 come home after prayers, and stay all night ; and wlien its bud 
 wcjtther, I have the same bed as I have had these forty years ; not 
 a penny worse than my master's own." " .And if \ou are employ- 
 ed all dar at Norwood," s.iid Laura, " how do you contrive to 
 keep your garden in such nice order ?" "Oh! for the matter of 
 that,'Ma*am, my muster would not grudge me a day's work of the 
 under gardener at anytime ; no, nor to pay a man to work the 
 little patch for me ; but only, as he says, the sweetest flowers are 
 of one's own planting, so, of a fine day he often sends me home 
 for an hour or two in the cool just tu put the little place in order." 
 *• Mr. De Ctmrcy seems attentive to tl;e comfort of every body that 
 comes near him," said Laura. " That he is. Madam ; one would 
 think he had an affection like, for every mortal creature, ami par- 
 ticularly when they grow old and useless, like me and Margaret. 
 I know who offertd him twenty pounds a year for this house and 
 the hit of ti. Id ; bi* he said (»4d fo.lks did not like moving, and he 
 Would not put us out of this, even though he could give us one 
 d2 
 
twice as g'ood." " And your rent is wwer tnati twenty pounds, i 
 suppose ?" said Laura. *' Why sure, Ma*am, we never pay a 
 penny for it. My master," said John, drawing up his head, and 
 advancing- liis chest, *' my master has tlie proper true spirit of a 
 gentleman, and he had it since ever he was born ;. for it's bred in 
 the bone with, him, as the saying is. Why . Ma'am, he had it from 
 a child — Ihave seen him, when he was less than that boy there, 
 give away his dinner when he was as hungry as a hound, just be- 
 cause a beggar asked it.— Ay, I remember, one day, just two-and- 
 twenty years ago come July, that he was sitting at the door on my 
 knee, eating his breakfast, and he l^d asked it half a dozen 
 times from Mrs. Martin, for he was very hungry ; and she did not 
 always attend to hi.n very well. So, up came a woman leading a 
 little ragged creature ; and it looked at Master Montague's bread, 
 and milk, and said, * I wish I had some too.' So, says my master, 
 ' h<-retake you some, and I'll take what you leave.' — Well, Ma'am, 
 the brat snapped it all up in a trice, and I waited to see what little 
 master would do. — Well, he just laughed, as good naturedly ! Then 
 I was going to have got him another breakfast, but my Lady 
 would not let me. * No, no, John !' said my Lady, * we must teach 
 Montague the connexion between genei'osity and self-denial.' — 
 These were my Lady's very words.' 
 
 By this time Margaret had succeeded in quieting the child ; and 
 a double allowance of bread and butter restored all his gaiety. 
 " Come, Nep," said he, squatting" himself down on the ground 
 where Neptune was lying at Laura's feet ; ** come, Nep, Til make 
 friends, and there's half for you, Henry's ov.-n dear Nep." " Will 
 you sit upon my knee ?" said Laura, who was extremely ibnd of 
 children. The boy looked steadily in her face for a few moments, 
 and'then holding out his arms to her, said, " Yes, I will." ** Whose 
 rliarming child is this ?" inquired Laura, twisting his golden 
 ]inglets round her fingers. The colour rose to old Margaret's 
 furrowed cheek as she answered, ** He is an orphan, Ma'am" — 
 " He is our grandson," said Jolm, and drew his hands across bis 
 eyes. Laura saw that the svibject was painful, and she inquired 
 no further. She remained for awhile playing with little Henry, 
 and listening to John's praises of his master ; and then returned 
 homewards. 
 
 She was met by De Courcy and Harriet, who were coming in 
 search of her. blie related her ILitle adventure, and praised the 
 extraordinary beauty of the child "Oh, that's Montague's pro- 
 tege !" cried Harriet. •' By the by he has not been to visit u.s 
 since you came ; I believe he was never so long absent before since 
 he could see. I have a great notion my brother did not want to 
 prcKluce him to you." — " To me !" exclaimed Laura in surprise ; 
 " Why not ?" But receiving no answer from Harriet, who had 
 been effectually silenced by a look from De Courcy, slie turned 
 for explanation to Montague; who made an aukward attempt 
 to laugh ofl* his sister's attack, and ^len as aukwardly changed 
 the subject. 
 
43 
 
 For some minutes Laura gravely and silently endeavoured to 
 account for his behaviour. " His g-enerosity supports this child," 
 thought she, "and he is superior to blazoning his charity." So 
 having, as greater philosophers have done, explained the facts to > 
 agree with her theory, she was perfectly satisfied, and examined 
 them no more. Association carrying her thoughts to the contem- 
 plation of the happiness which De Courcy seemed to diffuse 
 through every circle where be moved, she regretted that she was 
 so sc«i\ to exchange the enjoyment of equable unobtrusive kind- 
 ness, for starts of officious fondness mingUng with intervals of cold 
 neglect or peevish importunity. 
 
 " Norwood is the Eden of the earth,'* said she to Harriet, as 
 they drew their chairs towards the fire, to enjoy a te.e-d-tete after 
 the family were retired for the night ; " and it is peopled with 
 spirits fit for paradise. — Happy you, who need never think of leav- 
 ing it !" " Bless you, my dear,'' cried Harriet, •* there is nothing I 
 think of half so much — You would not have me be an old maid 
 to comb lap dogs and fatten cats, when I might be scolding my 
 own maids and whipping my own children." " Really," said Lau- 
 ra, " I think you Vrould purchase even these delightful recreations 
 too dearly by the loss of your present society. Sure it were a mad 
 venture to change such a blessing for any uncertainty !" " And 
 yet, Mrs. Graveairs, I have a notion that a certain gallant soldier 
 could inspire you with the needful daring.—Now, look me in the 
 face, and deny it if you can." Laura did as she was desired ; and, 
 with cheeks flushed to crimson, but a voice of sweet austere com- 
 posure, replied, " Indeed, Miss I)e Courcy, I am hurt that you 
 should so often have taxed me, even in sport, with so discredita- 
 ble a partiality. You cannot be serious in supposing that I would 
 
 marry an" adulterer, Laura would have said; but to apply 
 
 such an epitliet to Hargrave was too much for human firmness, 
 and she stopped. *' I declare she is angry," cried Harriet. 
 " Well, my dear, since it displeases you, I shan't tease you any 
 more ; at least not till I find a new subject. But, pray now, do you 
 intend to practise as you preach. Have you made a vow never to 
 mai'ry ?" " I do not say so," answered Laura ; " it is silly to as- 
 sert resolutions which nobody credits. Besides, my situation sad- 
 ly differs from yours. Like the moon, that is rising yonder, I must 
 pursue my course alone. Thousands around me might perhaps 
 warm and enlighten me ; but far distant, their influence is lost 
 ei e it reaches me. You are in the midst of a happy family, endear- 
 ed to you by all that is lovely in virtue ; all that is sacred in kin- 
 dred. — I know not what would tempt me to resign your situation." 
 —'* Wlir.t woidd tempt you !" cried Harriet. " Why a pretty fel- 
 low would. But I verily believe you have been taking your cue 
 from Montague : these are precisely his ideas. I think he has set 
 his heart upon making me lead apes." " What make^ you think 
 so ?" inquired Laura. " Because he finds out a hundred faults to 
 every man that talks nonsense to me. One is poor.j and he ihinks 
 it folly to marry a beggar. Another is old, though he's rich ; M}d 
 
Uiat would be do\\Tjrig'htly sellings myself.- One's a fool 
 t'other's cross ; and in shoit there's no end to his freaks. 0:ily 
 the otiierday he made me dismiss a creature that I believe I shovdd 
 have liked well enoug-h in time. I have not lialf forgiven bim for 
 it yet. Foor Wilmot — and I should have had a nice barouche 
 too !" " What could poss bly weig-h with your brother ag-ainst the 
 barouche ?" said Laura, smiling- *' Why, my dear, the saucy 
 v^etch told me, as plainly as he civilly could, that Wilmot and I 
 had not a grain of prudenct- betwec-u us ; ergo, that we should l)e 
 ridiculous and miseriible. Besides, poor Wilmot once persuaded 
 a preUy girl to play the fool ; and thousrh he afterwai'ds did every 
 thing- he could to prevail on her to be made, an ho; est woman, the 
 silly thing chose rather to break her heart aud die ; and, ever 
 sliice, poor Wilmot has been subject toiits of low spirits." ** Is 
 it p jssible, Harriet, that you can talk so lig-htly of a'crime so 
 black in its nature, so dreadful in its consequences ? Can it seem 
 a trifle to you to destroy the peace, the innocence of a fellow-crea- 
 ture ? Can you smile at remorse that pursued its victim even to 
 the grave ?" Tears filled the eyes of Harriet, " Oh no, my dear- 
 est," she cried, throwing her arms round Laura's neck ; *' do not 
 think so hardly of me, — I am a rattle, it is true, but I am not un- 
 principled." — " Pardon my injustice, dearest Harriet," said Laura^ 
 *' in believing, even for a moment, that you were capable of sugH 
 perversion ; and join with me in rejoicing that your brother's i':-^ 
 fiuencehas saved you from witnessing", from sharing, the pangs of 
 unavailing' repentance.'' " In<leed," said Harriet, " Montague's 
 influence can do any tlung" with me ; and no v^'onder, I shoiild be 
 the most ungrateful wretch on earth if I could oppose his wishes^ 
 1 cannot tell you the thousandth part of the aftbction he has shewn 
 mc. Did you overhear, my dear, that my father had it not inhi» 
 power to make any provision forme?" Laura answered that\8he 
 had never heard the circumstances of the family at all mentioned. 
 •' Do you know, ' continued Harriet, " I am certain that Montague 
 is averse to my marrying-, because he is afraid that my poverty, 
 and not my will consents. But he has himself set that matter to 
 rest; for the very morning after I g-ave VV^iimothis co/r^'-<?, Mon- 
 tague presented me with bills for two thousand pounds. The 
 generous fellow told me that he did not olfer his gift while Wil- 
 mot's suit was pending, lest I. should think he bought a right to 
 influence my decision." " This is just whati shoukl have expect- 
 ed from Mr. De Courcy," said Laura, the purest satisfaction 
 beaming in her countenance. " He is ever considerate, ever ge- 
 nerous.' *• To tell you that he gives me money," cried Harriet, 
 rapturously, " is nothing ; he g-ives me his tinie, his labour, his 
 aflfoction. tto love him, dear Laura ! He is the best of all crea- 
 tures :' ''Indeed, I believe it, said i^ura, "and I have the 
 most cordial regard for him. '— " Ah, but you must'' — Harriet's 
 gratitude ih her brother had very nearly been too strong for his 
 secret, and she w xs on the paint of petitioning Laura to return a 
 «entiuient warmer ihau cordial regard, when, recollecting her 
 
45 
 
 mother^s commands, she desisted ; and to fly from the tempta- 
 tion, wished Laura good night, and retired. 
 
 It was with sincere regret that Laura, the next day, took leave 
 of htr iiind hosts. As De Courcy handed her into the carriage, 
 the tears were rising to her eyes : but ihty were checked by a 
 glance from Lady Pelham, in which Laura thought she could 
 read mingled scorn and anger. Lady Pelham had remarked the 
 improved spirit of her niece ; but, instead of rejoicing that any 
 medicine should have ' ministered to- a mind diseased,' she was 
 offended at the success of a remedy applied by any otiier than 
 herself She was nettled at perceiving that the unobtrusive seri- 
 ousness of Mrs. De Courcy, and the ratthng gaiety of Harriet, had 
 effected what all her brdliant powers had not achieved. Her 
 powers, indeed, had been sometimes directed to entertain, but 
 never to console ; they had been exerted to purchase admiration, 
 not to win confidence ; yet, with a common perverseness, she was 
 angry at their ill success, not sorry for their wrong direction. She 
 did not consider, that real benevolence, or an excellent counter- 
 feit, is the only road to an unadulterated heart. It appeared to 
 htr a proof of an ungrateful temper in her niece, tliat she should 
 yield in so short a time to strangers to whom she owed nothing, 
 what she refused to a relation to whom she owed so much. She 
 ii^d. not been able to forbear from venting her spleen in little spite- 
 fi!& remarks, and sly stings, sometimes so adroitly given, that 
 they were unobserved, except by the person who was by degrees 
 becoming accustomed to expect them. The presence of the De 
 Courcy family, however, restrained the expression of Lady Pel- 
 ham's ill humour ; and, as she detested restraint, (a detestation 
 which she always ascribed to a noble ingenuousness of mind,) she 
 nestled with peculiar complacency, into the corner of the car- 
 riage which was to convey her to what she called freedom, name- 
 ly, the liberty to infringe, *witii impunity, the rights of others. 
 Laura felt that her reluctance to quit Norwood was a bad compli- 
 ment to her aunt, and she called a smile to her face as she kissed 
 her hand to her kind friends ; yet the contrast between their af- 
 fectionate looks, and the *' lurking devil" in Lady Pelham'^ eye, 
 did not lessen her re,gi-et at the exchange she was making. 
 
 Lady Pelham saw the tone of Laura's mind, and she immediate- 
 ly struck up a discord. *' Heaven be praised,' she cried, *' we 
 have at last escaped out of that stupid place ! I tliink it must be 
 something extraordinary that tempts me to spend four days tfeei'e 
 again." Laura remained silent ; for she disliked direct contra- 
 diction, and never spoke what she did not think. Lady Pelham 
 continued her harangue, declaring, " that your g'jod sort of peo- 
 ple were always intolerably tiresome ; chat clock-work regularity 
 was the didlest thing in nature ; that Norwood was another cave 
 of Trophonius ; Mrs. De Courcy inspired with tlie soul of a. 
 starched old maid ; Harriet animated by the joint spirit of a mag- 
 pie and a monkey ; and Montague by that of a methodist parson." 
 l';'iUv, she again congratulated herself on her escape frojn sucl^ 
 
46^ 
 
 Bocicty, and wondered how any body co\ild submit to it wi^nout 
 han.^riiier hi'n.-.elf". Luiira was jiccustointd to support Lad--- Pel- 
 h^ra's s-itacks upon liersrlf With i-e k-ct fCjUAnir.iiiy ; bu) lur tem- 
 per was not ppijof ag-.iiust this unj-ist, tins U'.iexnectcd philippic 
 against her friends ; and slic re'ldei^ed with anger and dindain, 
 thoug-h she had still so much seif-conimand as to reply only, " Vo^jr 
 ladyship is fortunate in being" able to lose, vvithoiit isegreat, what 
 oMersnnd it so difficult to replace." 
 
 Lidy Pelham fully understood the emphasis whicl| was laid on' 
 the word others^ but the mortification to her vanity was compen- 
 sated by the triumph of discovering- the vulnerable side of her 
 niece's temper. This was the first time that she had been con- 
 scious of power over it, and severely did Laura pay for the mo- 
 mentary neg-lig-ence which had betrayed the secret Some per- 
 sons never feel pleasure without endeuvotxring to communicate it. 
 Lady Pelham acted upon the converge of this amiable principle ; 
 and, as an ill-rcg-ulated mind furnished constant sources of pain, a 
 new channel of participation was a precious discovery. As often,, 
 tlierefore, as spleen, jealousy, or malice pi'ompted her to annoy- 
 ance, she had recourse henceforth to this new-found weapon ; and 
 she varied her warfare through all the changes of hints, insinua- 
 tions, and that mode of attack the most provoking of all, which, 
 aiming at no particular point, becomes the more difficult to parry. 
 During several months, she made it the occasional instrument of 
 her vengeance for the jealousy which she entertained of Laura's 
 increasing intimacy with the De Courcys ; an intimacy which she 
 chose to embitter, though she could not break it of, without de- 
 priving herself of acquaintances who were visiied by the first peo- 
 ple in the county. 
 
 Her industry in teazing was not confined to Laura. She inflict- 
 ed a double stroke, by the petulence or coldness with which she 
 sometimes treated the De Courcys. iJut though Laura was keenly 
 sensible to tliese petty wrongs done her friends, the injured passed 
 them over without much notice. Harriet repaid them with laugh- 
 ter or sarcasm ; while Montague seemed to consider them as whol- 
 ly unworthy of attention. He continued his visits to AValbourne, 
 and accident at last fui-nished an excuse for their frequency. 
 
 In the course of Lady Pelham's improvements, a difficulty chan- 
 ced to occiir, which a slight knowledge of the elements of mathe- 
 matics wotdd have enabled her to solve. To supply the want of 
 this knowledge, she had recourse to Mr. Ue Courcy, who removed 
 her perplexity with tl;e ease of one conversant with his subject, 
 and the accuracy of one who speaks to a reasoning crcatuic. I^a- 
 dy Pelham was charmed ! She was convinced that ** of all studies 
 that of mathematics must be the most delightful. She imagined 
 it might not be quite impracticable even for a lady, supposing she 
 were so fortunate as to meet wi'.h a friend who could assist her." 
 De Courcy, lau.^^hing, offered hi.s services, not, it must he owned, 
 vith any ideft. that they would be accepted. Her ladyship, how- 
 ever, eagerly embraced the ofifer ; for s]i© was litUti accustomoii 
 
f 
 
 47 
 
 to forecast the diflicnhies of any scheme that entered her brain. 
 In the triumphant expectation that all;difficalty would yield to her 
 acuteness, and her brighter abilities g-ain in a comparison with the 
 pluin good sense of h'^r niece, she olilig'ed Laura to join her in this 
 new pursuit. Upon the study of this science, so little in favour 
 \ iUi a sex who reserve cultivation for faculties where it is least 
 wanting-, Laura entered with a^ pleasure that surprised herself, and 
 she persevered in it with an industry that astonished her reacher. 
 Lady Felham was. for a little while, the companion of her labours ; 
 but, at the first difficulty, she took offence at the unaccommodat- 
 ing' thing-, which shewed no more indulgence to female than to 
 royal indolence. — Forthwith she was fired with strong aversion to 
 pliilosopheis in bibs and a horror at ^.^lepedants, a term of re- 
 proach which a dexterous side-glance could appropriate to her 
 niece, though the author of those memoirs challenges any mortal 
 to say that ever Latirn Montreville was heard to m.ention ellipse or 
 parabola, or to insinuate her acquaiv,tance with the properties of 
 circle or polygon. Nothing moved by Lady Felham's sneers, Laura 
 continued her studies, impelled partly by the duty of improving 
 the most valuable f^iculty of an immortal mind, partly by the plea- 
 sore which she derived from the study itself. It is true, that her 
 ladyship's indiscreet use of the secret, made Laura's labours the 
 cause of much merriment to titterers of both sexes ; but we have 
 never discovered that Do Courcy e&teemed her the less for her 
 persevering industry, or loved her the less for this new subject of 
 itiutual interest. He watched with deligl.t the restoration of her 
 mind to its full vigoiir ; and as he had never known her in her 
 blaze of youthful gaiety, he was scarcely sen.sible of the shade 
 which blended the radiance of her mid-day of life with the sober 
 tints of evening. 
 
 T he impression of her early disappointment was indeed indeli- 
 ble, hut it was no longer overwhelming. She had gi\en the reins 
 to her imagination it had fatj^Hy niisled her ; but its power had 
 sustained an inecovcrable shock, jmd the sway was transferred to 
 reason. Slie had dreamed of an eartldy heaven, and seen that it 
 wos but a dream. All her earthlv jovs had vanished — yet misery 
 luul beeyi almost as transient as delight, and she learned the prac- 
 ticed use of a truth which aW acknowledge in theory. In the course 
 of four months residence at Walbourne, she recovered a placid 
 ( luerfuhicss, which afterwards continued to be the habitual tenor 
 ofliermip.d. If she looked forward to the'future events of her 
 life, it was to resolve that they should be subservient to the great 
 end of her bcii^g If she glanced backward, it was less to la- 
 ment her disappointment, than to blame the error which had led 
 to it ; and she never allowe<l her thoughts to dwell upon her un- 
 worthy lover, except when pfeiyingthat he might be awakened to 
 a sense of his guilt. 
 
 She was cJuefly concerned to improve and to enjoy the present ; 
 ai.d in this she was successfid in spite of tiie peevish humours of 
 Lu.dy Peiham, mixed occasionally with ebullitions of rage. Ihose 
 
48 
 
 who are furious where they dare, or when the provocation is suffi- 
 cient to rouse their courage, sometimes chicle v/ith impotent per- 
 severance where they are awed from the full expression of their 
 fury : as the sea, which the lightest breeze dashes in billows over 
 the sandbank, frets in puny ripples against the rock that frowns 
 over it. If Lady Pelham's temper had any resemblance to this 
 stormy element, it was not wholly void of likeness to another — for 
 it " changed as it listed," without any discoverable reason. It 
 would have lost half its power to provoke, and Laura half the me- 
 rit of her patient endurance, if it had been permanently diabolical. 
 The current, not only serene but sparkling, would reflect with 
 added beauty every surrounding object, then would suddenly 
 burst into foam, or settle into a stagnant marsh. Laura threw oil 
 upon the torrent, and suflferred the marsh to clear itself. She en- 
 joyed Lady Pelliam's wit and vivacity in her hours of good humour, 
 and patiently submitted to her seasons of low spirits, as she com- 
 plaisantly called them. 
 
 Laura at last, undesignedly, opened a new direction to her aunt's 
 spleen From her first introduction to Lady Pelham, she had la- 
 boured assiduously to promote a reconciliation between her aunt 
 and her daughter, !VIrs. Herbert. Her zeal appeared surprising 
 to Lady Pelnam, who could not estimate the force of her motive 
 for thus labouring, to tlie manifest detriment of her own interest, 
 ehe being (after Mrs. Herbert) the natural heiress of her aunt's 
 fortune. She had seized the moment of complacency ; watched 
 the relentings of nature ; by turns tried to soothe and to convince; 
 and, in the proper spirit of a peace maker, adhered to her purpose 
 with meek perseverance. According to the humour of the hour. 
 Lady Peiham w?s alternately flattered by solicitations that con- 
 fessed her power, or rendered peevish by entreaties which she was 
 determined to reject, or fired to rage by the recollection of her 
 wrongs If the more placid frame prevailed, she could ring eter- 
 nal changes on tlie same oft-refuted arguments, or adroitly shift 
 the subject by some lively sally of wit, or some neat compliment 
 to her niece. In her more stormy tempers, she would profess a 
 total inabiUty to pardon ; nay, a determination never to attempt it ; 
 and took credit for scorning to pretend a forgiveness which she 
 could not practise. 
 
 Still Laura was not discouraged : for she had often obsened 
 that what Lady Peiham declarea on one day to be wholly impossi- 
 ble, on the next became, without any assignable reason, the easiest 
 thing in nature ; and that what to-day no human force should 
 Wi-cst from her, was yielded to-morrow to no force at all. She 
 therefoi'e persisted in her work, of conciliation ; and her efforts at 
 last prevailed so far, that, though Lady Pelham still protested im- 
 placability, she acknowledged, that, as there was no necessity for 
 her family feuds being known to the world, she was willing to ap- 
 pear upon decent terms with the Herberts ; and, for that purpose, 
 would receive them for a few weeks at Walbourne. 
 
49 
 
 Of this opening-, unpromising- as it was, Laura instantly avaikd 
 herself; and wrote to convey the frozen insitation to her cousin, 
 in the kindest language which she was permitted to use. It was 
 instantly accepted ; and Mrs. Herbert and her husband became 
 the inmates of Walbourne. 
 
 Mrs. Herbert had no resemblance to her mother. Her counte- 
 nance was grave and thoughtful ; her manners uniformly cold and 
 repulsi\e. Laura traced in her unbending reserve, the apathy of 
 oue whose genial feelings had been blunted by early imkindness. 
 Frank, high spirited, and imprudent, Herbert was his wife's oppo- 
 site i and Laura had not been half an hour in his company, before 
 she began to tremble for the efiect of these qualities on the irasci- 
 ble temper of her aunt. But her alarm. seemed causeless ; for the 
 easy resoluteness with which he maintained his opinions, appeared 
 to extort from Lady Pelham a sort of respect ; and, though slie 
 privately complained to Laura of what she called his assurarce, she 
 exempted him, while present, from her attacks, seeming afraid to 
 exert upon him her skill in provoking. Laura began to perceive, 
 that a termagant is not so untameable an animal as she hnd once 
 imagined, since one g-limpse of the master-spirit is of sovereign 
 power to lay the lesser imps of spleen. But though Lady Pelham 
 seemed afraid to measure her strength with spirits of kindred iras- 
 cibility, she was under no restraint with Mrs. Herbert, upon whom 
 she vented a degree of querulousness that appeared less like the 
 ebullitions of ill-temper, than the overflowings of settled malice. 
 Every motion, every look, furnished matter of censure or of sar- 
 casnu The placing- of a book, tlie pronunciation of a word, the 
 snuffing of a candle, called forth reprehension ; and Laura knew 
 not whether to be most astonished at the ingenious malice which 
 contrived to convert " triHes, light as air," into certain proofs of 
 degeneracy, or at the apathy on which the venomed sliaft fell 
 harmless. Mrs. Herbert received all her mother's repiimands in 
 silence, without moving a mustcle, without announcing, by the 
 slightest change of colotir, that the sarcasm had reached further 
 tlian her ear. If, as not unfrequently happened, the reproof ex- 
 tended into a harangue, Mrs. Herbert unmoved, withdrew no part 
 of her attention from her netting-, but politely suppressed a yawn. 
 These discorteous scenes were exhibited only in Mr. Herbert's 
 absence; his presence instantly suspended Lady Pelham's war- 
 fare ; and Laura inferred that his wife never made him acquainted 
 Iw.th her mother's behaviour. That behavior formedan exception 
 to the general unstc^adiness of Lady Pelham; for to Mrs. Herbert 
 she was const; nily cruel and insulting-. Nothing could be more 
 tormenting to the benevoUnt mind of Laura, than to witness this 
 s) stem of aggression ; and she repented in having- been instru- 
 mental in renewing^ an intercoui'se that could lead to no pleasing- 
 issue. 
 
 But the Issue was nearer than she expected. One day in Her- 
 bert's absence, Lady Pciham began to discuss with his wife, oi- 
 rather to lier, the never-failing- subject of her iluplicity and diiO« 
 
50 
 
 bedience. SJie was not interrupted by any expression of regret or 
 repentance from the culprit, who maintained a stoical silence, la- 
 bouring the while to convey mathematical precision to the crimp- 
 ing- of a baby's cap, an employment upon which Lady Pelham 
 seemed to look with peculiar abhorrence. From the turpitude of 
 Jier daug-liter's conduct, she proceeded to its consequences. She 
 knew no right, she said, that people had to encumber their friends 
 with hosts of beggarly brats. She vowed that none such should 
 ever receive her countenance or protection. Her rage kindled as 
 she spoke. She inveighed against Mrs. Herbert's insensibility; 
 and at last talked herself into such a pitch of fury, as even to abuse 
 her for submitting to the company of one who could nut conceal 
 detestation of her ; — a want of spirit which she directly attributed 
 to the most interested views ; — views which, however, she abso- 
 lutely swore that she would defeat. In the energy of her declama- 
 tion, she did not perceive that Herbert had entered the room, and 
 stood listening to her concluding sentences, with a face of angry 
 astonishment. Advancing towards his wife, he indignantly inquir- 
 ed the meaning of the tumult. •* N thing," answered she, calmly 
 surveying her handy work ; '* only my mother; is a little angry, but 
 1 have not spoken a word " He then turned for explanation to 
 Lady Pelham, whom the flashing of his eye i educed to instanta- 
 neous quiet ; and, not finding, in her stammering absti-act of the 
 conversation, any apology for the insult he had heard, he took his 
 wife by the arm, and instantly left the house, giving orders that his 
 baggage should follow him to a little inn in the neighbouring vil- 
 lage. Thus did the insolence of one person, and the hasty spirit of 
 another, undo what Laura had for months been labouring to eftisct. 
 The Herberts never made any attempt at reconciliation, and Lady 
 Pelham would never afterwards hear them mentioned, without 
 breaking out into torrents of abuse, and even imprecation, which 
 made Laura's blood run cold. Yet, with her usual ini;onsistency. 
 Lady Pelham was vexed at the suspension of her intercourse with 
 the Herberts ; because she thus lost e\ en the sliaduw of power 
 over her daughter. Not that she acknowledged this cause of re- 
 gret. No ! she eloquently bewniled her hard fate, in being ex- 
 posed to the censure of the world as at variance with her nearest 
 relatives. She complained that, witli a heart " warm as mehing 
 charity," she had no one to love or to cheri3h. Yet l^tira could 
 not always forbear smiling at the perverse direction of her aunt's 
 regrets. ' Lady Pelham was angry, not that her own unkindness 
 had driven her children from her, but that Lau; a's officious bcJie- 
 volence had brought them to her house; a measure from which, 
 she was pleased to say, th.it no person of common sense could have 
 expected a different issue. 
 
51 
 
 CHAPTER XXIU. 
 
 If Lady Pelham repined at the desertion of the Herberts, it was 
 not because their departure consigned her to solitude. Never had 
 Wal bourne attracted so many visitors. Lady Felham*s beautiful 
 niece drew thither all the gentlemen of the neighbourhood. The 
 ladies followed them of course. The beauty and modesty of Laura 
 charmed the men, while the women were half-inclined to think it 
 an unfounded slander that such a good-natured, oblir;ing, neat- 
 handed creature studied mathematics, and read Tacitus ii\ tha 
 original. 
 
 Among the society to which she was introduced by Lady Pel- 
 ham, and still more among that in which she mingled at Norwood, 
 Laura met with persons of distinguished ability, rank, and polite- 
 ness. In such company she rapidly acquired that case of address 
 which alone was wanting to make her manners as fascinating a:; 
 they were correct. She grew accustomed to find herself the ob- 
 ject of attention, and though no habit could reconcile her to the 
 gaze of numbers, she gradually learnt to carry into these lesser 
 occasions, the self-command which distinguished her in more im- 
 portant concerns In real modesty and humility she improved 
 every day ; for i^ was the study of her life to improve in them.; — 
 She retained all the timidity which is the fruit of genuine sensibi- 
 lity and quick perception of impropriety, while she lost that bash- 
 fulness which owes its growth to solitude and inexperience. Her 
 personal charms, too, increased as they approached maturity. The 
 symmetry of her form and features was indeed scarcely susceptible 
 of improvement; but added gracefulness gave new attractions to 
 her figure ; while the soul lent its improving strength and bright- 
 ness to animate her face with charms which mere symmetry know.s 
 not. 
 
 With such qualifications Laura could not fail to excit* admira- 
 tion ; yet never perhaps did beauty so seldom listen to its own 
 prai.ses. It was labour lost to compliment one who never rewarded 
 the flatterer with one smile of graiified vrinity, or repaid him with 
 one complaisant departure from the simple truth. To the every- 
 day nothings of the common herd she listened with a weariness 
 which politeness could sometimes scarcely repress- " Oh would," 
 though, she, '* that civil things, as ?hcy are called, required no an- 
 swer, — or that one obliging gentlemen would undertake the labour 
 of replying to the rest !" If addressed in the language of common- 
 place compliment by one whom she respected, her look of mortifi- 
 cation intelligibly said, " Has then your penetration searched me 
 deeper than 1 know myself, and detected in me the more tiuin 
 « iiiidish weakness of valuing myself on such distinctions as those 
 } ou are praising •" 
 
 Laura had no personal vanity ; and therefore it required no effort 
 ;o withstrmd such praise. She had more merit in the more strcn- 
 i)us but less successful exertions which she mad^ to resist the 
 
52 
 
 silent flattery «f the re&pectful .glance that awaited her decision, 
 hc-jioug-ht her approbation, or reflected her sentiments. Sometimes 
 .she-thought Montague De Courcy an adept in this sort of flattery. 
 Ikit more frequently, when administered by him, she forgot to call 
 it by that name ; and she was the less upon her guard af<-ainst his 
 hoiivit^e, because it was never offered in any more palpable form. 
 
 rortified by the advice'of his mother, wjio had convinced him 
 thixt a premature disclosure of his sentiments would be fatal to his 
 hope s, and aware, that were he even successful with Laura, some 
 f'i! iher provision must be made for his sister, ere he cwild with 
 justice increase the expense of his establishment, he acted witli 
 such caution as bafi^ed the penetration of common observers. The 
 neighbouring tea-tables were r.ather inclined to consign his affec- 
 tions to a lively young heiress, who.se estate had formerly been dis- 
 meinbered from that of Norwood ; for he had flirted with her at a 
 leview, and danced with her at the county ball. Moreover, the 
 charitable xleciared, " that if he was backward, it was not for want 
 of encouragement ; that Miss allowed herself strange liberties; 
 though, to be sure, heiresses might do any thing." 
 
 In spite of the lynx eye in detecting embryo passion, which is 
 ascribed to the sex, Montague's secret was safe even from Laura 
 herself; or if a momentary suspicion had glanced across her mind, 
 she chid it away with self-accusations of vanity, and recollections 
 of the ten thousand opportunities for a declaration which he had 
 suflcred to pass unimproved. Besides, Mrs. Ue Courcy had once 
 hinted that Montague's little fits of melancholy and absence were 
 occasioned by his partiality for a lady whose afiections were pre- 
 engagedV and Laura wds sure that the hint could not refer to her- 
 self. Her humiliating secret, she was thankful, was safely lodged 
 in her own breast, and could never be divulged to cover her with 
 mortification. 
 
 That which any eflTort of imagination can ascribe to the in- 
 fluence of Cupid, no woman ever attributed to any other power; 
 and if, at any time, a shade crossed the open countenance of Mon- 
 tague, Laura called to mind his motlier's hint, and added to her 
 truly sisterly aflTection a pity which lent indescribable softness to 
 her manners towards him. Indeed she always treated him with 
 undisguised regard, and Montague tried to be satisfied. Yet he 
 could not help longing to read, in some inadvertent glance, a proof 
 th.at all the heart was not freely shewn. In vain ! — the heart was 
 open as the day ; and all was there that could delight the fi iend, 
 but nothing that could satisfy the lover. 
 
 Me had, however, none of the temptations of jealousy to betray 
 Ills secret, for his rivals were neither numerous nor formidable.— 
 Laura was known to have no fortune ; she had little talent for chit 
 chat, and still less for flattery : thus amid universal admiration' 
 and general good-will, she had only two professed adorers — one, 
 who haunted her while present, toasted her when absent, and ra- 
 \cdofher charms, both in prose and rhyme, without ever sufl^ering 
 his pretensions to become so serious as to afford lier a pretext for 
 
5:^ 
 
 seriously repulsing them — the other, a prudent elderly widov. er, 
 \rho, being" possessed of a ijood fortune, and a full-grown daughter, 
 thouglit himself entitled to consult his taste without regard to pe- 
 cuniary views, and conceived that Laura might be useful to the 
 young lady in the double capacities of companion and example. — 
 Laura's answer to his proposals was a firm but gentle refusal, while 
 she assured him, that she would not abuse his confidence nor be- 
 tray the trust he had reposed in her. Elderly gentlemen are sel- 
 dom inclined to publish a repulse. The widower never mcntion^dl 
 his even to Lady Pelliam ; and Laura, on this occasion, ov/ed to 
 her principle an escape from many a tedious remonstrance, and 
 many a covert attack. 
 
 The summer had almost glided away, and Montague continued 
 to fluctuate between hope and fear, his mother to cherish his hopes 
 and allay his apprehensions, Laura to be tranquil, Harriet to be 
 gay, and Lady Pelhain to exhibit, by turns, every various degree of 
 every various humour, when one morning Miss De Courcy, who 
 had lately returned from a visit to a companion, accompanied her 
 brother on horseback to Walhourne. Lady Pelham was, as usual, 
 engaged in her garden, but the visitors had no sooner entered the 
 room where Laura sat, than she oljserved that they seemed to have 
 exchanged characters. Harriet looked almost thoughtful, while 
 the countenance of De Courcy sparkled with unusual animation. — 
 He was gay even tft restlessness. He o fibred to give Laura her 
 lesson in mathematics ; and before it was half over, having com- 
 pletely bewildered both himself and his pupil, he tossed ^^iray the 
 book, declaring that he never in. his life was so little fit for think- 
 ing. Pleasure spoke in every tone of his voice, or sported in his 
 eye when lie was silent. 
 
 After a short visit, enlivened by a hilarity wliich Laura found 
 more infectious than the gravity of Harriet, he proposed leaving 
 his sister with her friend, while he rode on to call for a gentleman 
 in the neig'hbotirhood. ** Begone, then,'* cried Laura, gaily, "for 
 I long to question Harriet what has given you such enviable spirit.'? 
 this morning." " Ah, she must not betray me," said De Courcy, 
 half smiling, half sighing, *• or I forfeit my only chance of being 
 remembered whefil am out of sight. If she can be silent, curiosity 
 may perhaps befriend me." " How very humble !" cried Laura, — 
 ** as if curiosity were the only name you could lind for the interest 
 I take in v/hat makes you gay, or Harriet grave !" " Dear Laura,'* 
 said De Courcy, urdently, " give the cause what name you will, if 
 you will but think of me." Then snatching her lily hands, he press- 
 ed them to his lips, and the next moment was gone. 
 
 Confused, surprised, a little displeased, Laura stood silently re- 
 volving his behaviour. He had never before made the slightest 
 approach to personal familiarity Had her frankness invited the 
 freedom ? * Deai- Laura !' It was the first time he had ever called 
 her by any name less respectful than Miss Montreville. *' Well, 
 and what then ? — it were mere prudery to be displeased at such a 
 trifle. What," thought she, " can have delighted him so much/ 
 E 2 
 
54 
 
 Perhaps the lady is kind at last. He need not, hotptv^r, have veri L^ 
 ed his transports upon nte." And Laura was a little more angry 
 than before. 
 
 Diirinj^ her cogitation, Laura forgot that she might apply to her 
 companion for a solution of the mystery; perhaps she did not even 
 recollect that Harriet was in the room, till happening to turn her 
 head, she met a glance of sly inquisition, which, however, was in- 
 stantly withdrawn. Harriet made no comment on the subject of 
 lier observation. " The man is as much elated," cried she, ** as if 
 1 were five-and- forty, and had never had a lover before." 
 
 " You, my dear Harriet,'* exclaimed Laura, suddenly recovering 
 
 lier good humour, •• is it s^ conquest of yours that has pleased Mr 
 
 De Courcy so much ?" " Even so," returned Harriet — " Heigho !" 
 
 " 1 congratulate you : and yet it does not seem to delight you 
 
 t] I lite so much as it does your brother." 
 
 " Really Laura I am not sure whether it docs or not ; so I am 
 ccaue to ask you." 
 
 " Me ! Indeed you have too much confidence in my penetraf:'m ; 
 hut you have, fortunately, abler, and more natural advisers. Your 
 raother." — 
 
 *' Oil, my mother is so cautious, so afraid of influencing me ! 
 when to be influenced is the very thing I want. I do hate caiition. 
 Then 1 can't talk it over with her as 1 could with you. And then, 
 there's Montague looks so provokingly pleased ; and yet he pre- 
 tends to prim up liis mouth, and say, * really it is a subject on 
 which he neither can, nor ought to give an opinion.' Pray, advise 
 me, iny dear." 
 
 " \\'hat ! before I know who the gentleman is ; when perhaps 
 you have even no right to inforn> me !" 
 
 " Pshaw ! nonsense. — It is Bolingbrokc. But I believe you have 
 never met with him.'* " So you would have me advise yon ttf marry 
 a man wliom 1 have never seen ; for of course that is the advice 
 you want. Had the balance lain on the other side, no advice would 
 iiave been thought necessary."—-" Poh," cried Ht.iriet pouting, " I 
 tlon't want to be advised to marry liim." " Are you siire," return- 
 ed Laura, smiling, *' that you know wliat jou want ?"— " Saucy 
 girl ! I would have you telf me v.'hether I ;*m ever likely to marry 
 him !" " Do you think I am Ir; birth entitled to the S*«ond-sight, 
 tliut 1 should foresee this before 1 know any thing of the gentle- 
 man's merits, or, wliat ii»of more consequence, of their rank in your 
 estimation ?" " 'Vhf man has good legs," said Harriet, plaiting 
 the fingers of her glove with great industry. " Legs ! reallv, Har- 
 riet, I was in hof>es 1 had foi- once found you serious " — " So I am, 
 mvdear; J never was so serious before, and hope I never shall 
 affr.in. Yet I don't know what to think ; so I shall just tell you 
 honestly how the matter stands, and you shall think for me." 
 
 " I will not promise that ; but T own 1 liave some curiosity to 
 hear your ho?iesl confession."—" Oh you need not peep so archly 
 askance under these long eyelashes ; I can stand a direct look, I 
 assare vou ; for at this moraenl I have not the slightest ji^elhv- 
 
55 
 
 ence in the w«rld for Bolingbroke over half a score of other&^ 
 *' Then what room is there for hesitation ?'* ** Why, my dear, in 
 the first place, he has a noble fortune ; though that goes fof 
 nothing with you ; secondly, he is really a good creature, and 
 far from a fool ; then, to talk in your style, 1 have had advanta- 
 ges in observing his temper and dispositions such as I shall never 
 have with any other man ; for his sister and I have been con'pan- 
 ions from childhood, and I have lived under his roof for months ; 
 then, which will weigh with you more than all, he is Montague's 
 particular favourite." " Great recommendations these, Harriet; 
 f.ufficient at least to bias any woman who intends to marry. I 
 should like to know Mr. Bolingbroke." " Here is his letter, my 
 dear," said Harriet ; " it came inclosed in one to my brother: 
 There is a good deal of the man's turn in it" 
 Laura took Uie letter, and read as follows : 
 
 " I will not wrong your penetration so much as to suppose that 
 this letter will surprise you, or that you will fail to anticipate the 
 subject on the first glance at the signature. Nor dol write to tell 
 you, in the hackneyed phrase, that the happiness of my whole life 
 depends upon you, because, next to your affection, nothing is so 
 desirable to mc as your esteem, and the ho[)e, that, though, you 
 shoidd reject my suit, you will continue to respect my understand- 
 ing. But I may with truth declare, that I prefer you to all wo- 
 men ; that I love you, not only in spite of your faiilts, but» per- 
 haps, even the more for them ; and that, to forfeit the hope of 
 your affection, would dispel many a long cherished vision of do- 
 mestic peace, and even some lighter dreams of rapture. Dearest 
 Harriet, do not, in return for this confession, write me a cold pro- 
 fession of esteem. I know already that you esteem me, for you 
 have long known me possessed of qualities that inevitably engage 
 esteem ; but I am conscious of a deficiency in the gifts tljat excite 
 passion, and 1 dread that I may never awaken sentiments like 
 those I feel. Yet it is no small compliment which I offer, wlien 
 1 suppose you superior to the attractions which captivate the vul- 
 'gar of your sex ; and you may value it the more, Ix cause it is 
 perhaps the only one I shall ever pay vou. 
 
 " To say alfc this, or something like it, has long been in my 
 ti, oughts ; and, durin<f your late visit to my sister, occupied ihem 
 more than I shall own ; but a dread of I know not v. hat, forced 
 me to let you depart without oflering to your acceptance all thjvt I 
 have to oft'er. I felt a certainty that I was not vet beloved, and, I 
 believe 1 feared that you, in your lively way, (so I must call it, 
 siiice no epithet that implies reproof must fiow from a lover's pen.) 
 wonld give utterance to ihe feeling of the moment, and bid m' 
 think of you no more. Is it presumption to say, tliiit Lhope m.o; . 
 from a more considerate dt-cision ? Ask your own heart, tlven, 
 dear Miss l)e Courcy, whether time and the assiduities of respect- 
 fullove can beguile vou of sucli tendei-ness us is due to a confid- 
 ing affectionate husband. Ask yourself, whether you caa evCr 
 
SG 
 
 retui'n vny warm attachment, to such a degree as will make the 
 duties of a wife easy and pleasant to you. I need not assure you 
 that I am not the selfish wretch who could find joy in receivinjy 
 those which were painfully and reluctantly performed. Be can- 
 did with yourself then I adjure you. Fear not that I shall per- 
 secute you with importunity or complaint. If it must be so, I will 
 see you no more for some months ; and, at the end of that time, 
 shall expect, in reward of my self-conquest, to be received with 
 cordiality as your brother's friend. If your sentence be a.s^ainst 
 me, save yourself the pain of telling- me so ; for I know that it 
 must be painful to you. Yet judge of tlie strength of that regard 
 which is thus anxious to shield you from imeasiness, at the mo- 
 ment when it anticipates such pain from your hands. If you can 
 give me hope (and, observe, when I say liope, I do not mean cer- 
 tainty,) do not tax your delicacy for studied phrases of accept- 
 ance, but write me even a common card of invitation to Norwood, 
 and the tenderest billet that ever was penned by woman, never 
 gave more pleasure than it will bring to your affectionate and 
 obedient servant, 
 
 Edward Bolingbroke." 
 
 Laura could not help smiling at the composed style of this 
 epistle, so diffei'ent from the o»iy ones of its kind with which she 
 was conversant. A lover confess that his mistress had faults, and 
 thiithe was sensible of them ! — insinuate that he expected not only 
 duty, but willing and graceful duty from his wife ! — have the bold- 
 ness to expect, that, if his passion were unsuccessful, he should 
 quickly be able to conquer it ! Laura felt no inclination to envy 
 her friend a lover so :ully in the exercise of his judgment and 
 foresight ; but she was pleased with the plain honest rationality 
 of the letter; and, with the materials before her, immediately^ bu- 
 sied her imagination in its favourite work of sketching and adorn- 
 ing character. 
 
 She was recalled from her meditation by another petition for 
 ^vice. *• You see," said Harriet, " he pretends not to expect 
 certainty ; but it is much the same whether one runs one's neck 
 into the noose, or gets entangled so that one can't decently get 
 off If I could creditably contrive to keep him dangling till 1 had 
 made up my mind," continued she, illustrating tlie metaphor 
 with her watch chain. " Do assist me, my dear ; I am sure you 
 have managed a dozen of them in your time." 
 
 " My experience is not so extensive," replied Laura, " and I 
 -can really assist you to no creditable method of trifling." 
 
 " You would not have me resolve to marry a man whom I don't 
 care a. farthing for." " No, indeed ! but I think Mr. Bolingbroke 
 would have a right to complain, if you gave hopes which you did 
 not fulfil. ' •' You would have me dismiss him at once then r" " ..y 
 no means ; but I would have you think for yourself on a subject of 
 which no other person can judge ; and remember, my dear, that as 
 your decision has neither been wrested from you by surprise, nor 
 
57 
 
 seduced ft*om you by persuaslcn, you have no excuse fbr formings 
 a weak or wavering resolution.*' 
 
 Determined that on such a subject she would deliver no opi- 
 nion, Laura was relieved from some embarrassment by the return 
 of De Courcy. His' reflections during his ride had effectually 
 <|[uelled the exuberance of his spirits, and he endeavoured to re- 
 pair his unguardedness by distant politeness. His manner in- 
 creased the feeling of restiaint of which Laura could not at that 
 time divest herself; and aft-^r a short and coTistraincd sequel to 
 a visit which had begun so differently, Montague hurried his 
 sister away. 
 
 *' I shall never conquer her indifference," said he to his mother, 
 after relating the folly of the morning. '* Had you seen her fro- 
 zen look of displeasure, you would liave been cfmvinced." " And 
 how, my dear Montague, could you expect Miss Montreville to 
 receive such freedom ? like a little village coquette gasping at the 
 prospect of a first lover ? If you are convinced that your secret 
 wojdd still be heard without pleasure, you must redouble your 
 caution to preserve it. But suffer me to warn you against the ex- 
 treme of reserve into which I liave sometimes observed that you 
 are apt to fall It can only confinn suspicions if they are excit- 
 ed ; if not, it will disgust by an appearance of caprice.*' 
 • Montague promised to be guarded ; and withdrew to seek in 
 his laboratory a refuge from despondence. Those who pursue 
 worldly gains and vulgar pleasures, must cheerlessly toil on, 
 waiting for their reward till their end is attained ; but the pur- 
 suits of science and of virtue have this advantage peculiar to 
 themselves, that there is reward in the labour, even though the 
 success be only partial ; and, in half aa hour, all Montague's 
 cares were absorbed in the muriatic acid. In a few days he again 
 saw Laura, and her sunny smile of welcome revived hopes which 
 she liltle thought of fulfilling. 
 
 When a woman of ordinary delicacy is brought to hesitate up- 
 on the proposal of a lover, it is easy, provided prudence be on his 
 side, to corjecture how the balance will turn. Mr. Bolingbroke 
 received his card of invitation to Norwpod ; and his suit advanc- 
 ed prosperously, though slowly He 4as a plain unpretending 
 man, seven years at least beyond excuse for any youthful indis- 
 cretion, habitually silent, though sure of commanding attention 
 when he spoke. The perfect fairness and integrity of his mind 
 had secured him the respect of all his acquaintance in a degree 
 which he appeared to have precisely estimated, and he ULVfr 
 Jeemed to expect less or to exact more. His calm unobtrusive 
 ■nanners never captivated a stranger, nor gave offence to an inti- 
 Tiate. He was kind and generous to a sister ; who, twenty years 
 jcfore, had succeeded as his play-thing to tops and marbles ; and 
 fliiformly respectful to a maiden aunt who had, about the same 
 iate, replaced liis mother as directress of the family. 
 
 His fathcp had been long dead, and inconsequence of liis steady 
 •esistance of all the batteries of charms opened against him, or. 
 
58 
 
 rather against his 7000Z. a.year, the adies had hegun to shake 
 tW heads and pronounce him a determined bachelor. But 
 notvit standing then- decision, Mr. Bolingbroke was resolved 
 rmarryrfor he considered marriage as one of the duties of his 
 
 *^Har"Aet amused, became customary, pleasing, necessary, to 
 him "Our dissimilarity will assist us to correct each other's 
 faiUn^s." Uiought he. and his choice was fixed He was aware, 
 tha a erave elderly man might find some d fficulty m attaching a 
 voHme 5rl ; and though he could not condescend to flatter even 1 
 hi n stSss he was assiduous X<^ please. He bestowed an mfimty 
 of Uttle attentions, which were the more gratifying, because from 
 ama of his temper, they were wholly unexpected. His books, 
 hiTlorses,his calrriages, waited but a half-expressed wish. He 
 p anned li tie excursions and parties of pleasure, or contnved to 
 add some agreeable surprise to those which were proposed by 
 ofheS Faf from shew'ing any paltry jealousy he treated Miss 
 De Courcy»s favourites of both sexes with distinguished polite- 
 ness ; and perhaps he owed his success with a heart winch had 
 Withstood more Attractive admirers, partly to the agreeable asso- 
 ' Nations which he found means to raise partly to vamty, pleased 
 with power over the philosophic Mr. Bolmgbroke. 
 
 Montague watched the progress of his ft-iend with keen inte- 
 rest but he conscientiously avoided influencing Harriet s decision 
 On t:ircontrary, lest the dread of future dependence should ^^-eigU 
 wi^th her, he informed her, that, should she prefer a s^V^le l^fe, oi 
 Thould other circumstances render «^^^^ '\ «"f ^"^l^"''^^"^,^^ 
 her, he was determined to doubK^|be httle fortuae he had 
 
 *^WhiLhi'was anxious to see his sister's happiness secured by 
 he7unonwithan estimable man, he felt Uiat her marnage with 
 Mr. Bolingbroke would immediately remove one g^'^"^ P^^^^^^ ^^ J 
 his own wishes; for the little dower which he was determ."^^^ 
 cie he settled in life to save for Harriet, would form an addition 
 Xgether in^^^^^^ t^^e splendid settleme..t which was no^v 
 
 Tn h!r prnver. There was nothing Quixotic in tl.e justice ana ge 
 
 ^e osHvof OeCouvcv, and l.e bad no intemiou ot incumng rcu 
 aXXandpr vationVor the sake of adding atrifie tothe stoic^ 
 Taffl unce. He therefore considered his s.sters marriage a 
 ^:^g h[m at i^dl liberty to pursue his ^f-^^-^l^^^VX^. 
 to Laura, if tfie time should ever ^'•'''^•^. ^^'^^'^V- n^c ert s inte 
 
 them without hazarding tlie forfeiture ot even li.s picscrt stintc; 
 
 measure of favour. 
 
59 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 One day ^fiss Be Courcy expressed a wish to shew Laura t^e 
 collection of paintings at a celebrated seat in the neighbourhood. 
 Mr. Bolingbroke immediately undertook to procure the permis- 
 sion of the noble o^vner, who was his relation ; and the party was 
 speedily arranged. Mrs. Penelope's sociable, as Mr. Bolingbroke 
 always called it, was to convey his aunt, h:S sister, Harriet, and 
 Mrs. I3e (Jourcy, to whom the genial warmth of the season had 
 partially restored the use of her limbs. Mrs. Penelope piqued 
 herself upon rising with the lark, and enforcing the same whole- 
 some habit upon the whole liousehold ; the Bolingbrokes were, 
 therefoi e, to take an early breakfast at Norwood, and then pro- 
 ceed on their excursion. De Courcy and Mr. Bolingbroke were 
 to ride. Lady Pelham and Laura were to join the party in the 
 grounds. 
 
 The weather proved delightful ; and, after spending some hours 
 in examining the paintings, in which Laura derived additional 
 pleasure from the skilful comments of Ue Co'.ircy, the party pro- 
 ceeded to view the grounds, when she, with almost equal delight, 
 contemplated a finished specimen of modern landscape gardening. 
 Pursuing, as usuai, his cautious plan, Montague divided his atten- 
 tions pretty equally between tlie elder ladies and Miss Bolingbroke, 
 bestowing the least part upon her for whom he would have wil- 
 lingly resei ved all ; while Harriet, in good humour with herself, 
 and with all around her, frankly gave her arm to her lover ; and 
 sometimes laughing, sometimes blushing, suffered herself to loiter, 
 to incline her head in listening to somewhat said in a half whisper, 
 and to answer it in an under tone ; without recollecting that she 
 had resolved, till she had quite made up to her mind, to restrain 
 her habi ual propensity to fliriing 
 
 De Courcy was certainly above the meanness of envy, yet he 
 could not suppress a sigh as, wilh Mrs. Penelope and his mo- 
 ther leaning on his arms, while Laura walked behind with Miss 
 B;>lingbroke, he followed Harriet and his friend into the darkened 
 path that led to a Hermiiage. The walk was shaded by yew, cy- 
 press, and other trees of dusky fohage, which, closing into an 
 arch, excluded the gaudy sunshine. As they proceeded, the shade 
 deepened into twilight, and the heats of noon gave place to re- 
 freshing coolness. Tliepath terminated in apovch of wicker-work, 
 forming the entrance to the hermitage, the v>-alls of which were 
 composed of the roots of tree.s, on the outside rugged as from the 
 hand of nnture, but v.itliin polished and fancifully adorned witli 
 shells and fossils Opposite to theentrar.ee, a rude curtain of 
 leopard skin seemed to cover a recess ; and Harriet, hastily draw- 
 ing it aside, gave to view a prospect gay with every variety of 
 cheerful beauty. Ti)e meadows, lately cleared from their burden, 
 flisnlayed a vivid green, and lig4\t shadows' quickly passed over 
 
60 
 
 diem and were gone. The corn-fields were busy with the first la 
 hours of the harvest. The village spires were thickly sown in the 
 distance. More near, a rapid river flashed bright to the sun ; yet 
 the blaze came chastened to the eye, for it entered through an 
 awning close hung with the graceful tendrils of the passion fiower. 
 
 The party were not soon weary of so lovely a landscape, and 
 returning to the shady apartment, found an elegant collation of 
 fruits and ices, supplied by the gallantry of Mr, Bolingbroke. 
 Never was there a more cheerful repast. Lady Pelham was luckily 
 in good humour, and therefore condescended to permit others to 
 be so too. Laura happily for hei self, possessed a faculty not com- 
 inon to beauties — she could be contented where another was the 
 chief object of attention ; and she was actually enjoying the court 
 that was paid to her i'v\e> d, when accidentally raising the vine 
 leaf which held the fruit she was eating, she observed some verses 
 pencilled on the rustic table in a hand-writing familiar to her re- 
 collection. 
 
 Sudden instinct made her hastily replace the leaf, and steal a 
 glance to see whetlier any other eye had followed hers. No one 
 seemed to have noticed her ; but Laura's gaiety had vanished. 
 The lines were distinct, as if recently traced ; and Laura^s blood ran 
 chill at the thought, that, had she even a few hours sooner visited 
 this spot, she might have met Colonel Hargrave. " He may still 
 be near," thought she ; and she wished, thcjugh she could not pro- 
 pose, to be instantly gone. None of her companions, however, 
 seemed inclined to move. They continued their merriment, while 
 Laura, her mind wholly occupied with one subject, again stole a 
 glimpse of the writing. It was undoubtedly flargrave's ; and, 
 deaf to all that was passing around her, she fell into a reverie, 
 whicli was first interrupted by the company rising to depart. 
 
 Though she had been in such haste to be gone, she was now the 
 last to go. In her momentary glance at the sonnet, she had ob- 
 served that it was inscribed to her. " Of what possible conse- 
 quence," thou^lit she, " can it be to me I** yet she lingered behind 
 to read it In language half passionate, half melancholy, it com- 
 plained of the pains of absence and the cruelty of too rigid vii'tue ; 
 but it broke ofi abruptly as if the writer had been suddenly inter- 
 rupted. 
 
 So rapidly did Laura glance over the lines, that her companions 
 liad advanced but a few puces, ere she was hastening to follow 
 them. On reaching the porch, she saw tiiat tiie walk was entered 
 by two gentlemen. An instant convinced her that one of them was 
 Hargrave. Neither shriek nor exclamation announced this disco- 
 very, but Laui a, turning pale, shrunk back out of view. Her first 
 feeling was eager desu'e of escape ; her first thought, tliat, return- 
 ing to the inner apartment, siie might tlience spring from the lofty 
 terrace, on tiie verge of which the hermitage was reared. She was 
 deterred, by recollecting- the absurd appearance of such an escape, 
 and the surprise and confusion it would occasion. But wli.it was to 
 be. done ? There was no tliird way of leaving the place where she 
 
01 
 
 stood, and if she remained, in a few moments Hargrave would be 
 there. 
 
 These ideas darted so confusedly through her mind, that it 
 seemed rather by instinct than design, that she drew lier hat over 
 her face, and doubled her veil in order to pass him unnoticed. She 
 again advanced to the porch ; but perceived, not without conster- 
 nation, that Har>grave had joined her party, and stood talking to 
 Lady Pelham in an attitude of easy cordiality. Laura did not com- 
 ment upon the free morality which accorded such a reception to 
 3uch a character ; for she was sick at heart, and trenibled in even 
 limb. Now there was no escape. He would certainly accost her, 
 and she must answer him — answer him without emotion ! or how 
 would Mr De Couicy — how would his mother construe her weak- 
 ness ! What would Hargrave himself infer from it ! What, but that 
 her coldness sprung fi-om mere passing anger ! or, more degrading 
 still, from jealousy ? The truant crimson now rushed back unbid- 
 den ; and Laura proceeded witli slow but steady steps. 
 
 Durhig her sliort walk she continued to sti'uggle with herself 
 " Let me but this once command myself," said she. " And where- 
 fore should I not ? It is he who ought to shrink. — It is he who 
 ought to tremble !" Yet it was Laura who trembled, when advan- 
 cing towards her, Lady Pelham introduced her to Colonel Har- 
 grave as her niece. Laura*s incUnation of the head, cold as indif- 
 ference could make it, did not seem to acknowledge former inti- 
 macy ; and when Hargrave, with a manner respectful even to 
 timidity, claimed her acquaintance, she gave a short answer of 
 frozen civility, and turned away. Shrinking from even the slight- 
 est converse with him, she hastily passed on; then determined to 
 afford him no opportunity of speaking to her, she glided in between 
 Mrs. De Courcy, who stood anxiously watching her, and Harriet, 
 who was studying the contour of Hargrave's face; and offenng 
 an arm to each, she gently drew them forward. 
 
 Mr. Bolingbroke immediately joined them, and entered into con- 
 versation with Harriet; while Mrs. De Courcy continued to read 
 the legible countenance of Laura, v/ho silently walked on, revolving 
 in her mind the difference between this and her last unexpected 
 meeting with Hargrave. The freedom of his address to the un- 
 friended girl who was endeavouring to exchange the labour of her 
 hands for a pittance to support existence, (a freedom which had 
 once found sympathetic excuse in the breast of Laura), she now, 
 not without indignation, contrasted witli the respect offered to 
 Lady Felham's niece, surrounded by the rich and the respectable. 
 Yet while she remembered what had then been her half-affected cold- 
 ness, her ill-restrained sensibility, and compared them with the 
 total alienation of heart which she now experienced, she could not 
 stifle a sigh which rose at the recollection, that in her the raptures 
 of love and joy were chilled never more to warm. " Woidd that 
 my preference had been more justly directed," thought she, her 
 eve unconsciously wandering to De Courcv; " but that is all over 
 now !" ' . 
 
62 
 
 From idle regrets, Laxira soon turned to more charatle; i.^ia 
 meditation upon the conduct most suitable for her to pursue, 
 llarg-rave had jolried her party; had been acknowledg-cd, by some 
 of them at least, as an acquaintance ; and liad particularly attached 
 himself to Lady Felham, with whom he followed in close conver- 
 sation. Laura thoug-ht he would probably take the first opportu- 
 nity of addressing himself to her ; and if her manner towards hira 
 corresponded wiih the bent of her feelings, consciousness made her 
 fear, that in h^r distance and constraint, Lady Pelham's already 
 suspicious eye would read more than merely dislike to a vicious 
 character. Hargrave himself, too, might mistake w^hat so nearly 
 resembled her former manner for the veil of her former senti- 
 ments. She might possibly escape speaking to him for the pre- 
 sent, but if he was fixed in the neighbourhood, (and something of 
 the woman whispered that he would not leave it immediately) they 
 v/ould probably meet where to avoid him was not in her power. 
 After some minutes of close consideration, she concluded, that to 
 treat Colonel Hargrave with easy civil indifference, best accorded 
 with wliat she owed to her own dignity; and was best calculated, 
 if he retained one spark of sensibility or discernment, to convince 
 him that her sentiments had undergone an irrevocable change, 
 riiis method, therefore, she determined to pursue ; making, with a 
 Sigh, this grand proviso, that she should find it practicaJile. 
 
 Mrs. Ue Courcy, who guessed tlie current of her thoughts, suf- 
 fered it to proceed without interruptioH ; and it was not till Laura 
 relaxed her brow, and raised her head, like one who has taken his 
 resolution, that her companion, stopping, complained of fatigue ; 
 proposing, as her own carriage was not in waiting, to borrow Lady 
 Pelham's, and return home, leaving the other ladies to be convey- 
 <.'d in Mrs Penelope's sociable to Norwood, where the party was 
 ro dine. Not willing to direct the proposal to Laura, upon whose 
 account chiefly it was made, she then turned to Mrs. Penelope, and 
 Inquired wiiether she did not feel tired with her walk ; but that 
 latly, who piqued herself upon being a hale active woman of her 
 age, declared herfelf able for much greater exertion, and would 
 walk, she said, till she had securedyan appetite for dinner. Laura, 
 who had modestly held back till Mrs. Penelope's decision was an- 
 nounced, now eagerly offered her attendance, which Mrs. De 
 Courcy, with a little dissembled hesitation, accepted, smiling to 
 perceive how well she had divined her young favourite's inclina- 
 tions. 
 
 The whole party attended them to the spot where tlie cai-riages 
 were waiting. On reaching them, Mr. Bolingbroke. handing in 
 Mrs. De Courcy, left Laura's side for the first time free to liar- 
 grave, w-ho instantly occupied it; while Montague, the drops 
 standing on liis forehead, found himself shackled between Mrs. 
 Penelope and Miss Bolingbroke. ** Ever dear, ever revered Mjss 
 Montreville" — Hargrave began in an insinuating whisper. " Sir !" 
 cried Laiu-a, starting with indignant surprise. ** Nay, start not," 
 .continued he in iin under voice ; " I have much, much to say. Lady 
 
r 
 
 63 
 
 Pelham allows me to visit Walbouvne; will you permit me to"— 
 Laura had not yet studied her lesson of easy civility, and therefore 
 the courtesy of a slight inclination of the head was contradicted by 
 the tone in which she interrupted him, saying-, "1 never pi esume, 
 sir, to select Lady Felham's visitors." 
 
 She had reached the door of the carriag-e, and Ilargrave took 
 her hand to assist her in entering'. Had Laura been prepared, she 
 \\ould have suffered him, though reluctantly, to do her this little 
 service ; but he took her unawares, and snatching back her hand 
 as from the touch of a loathsome reptile, she spranij, unassisted, 
 into her seat. 
 
 As the carriage drove off, Mr«. De Courcy again apologised for 
 separating Laura from her compamons ; " tiiough I know not," ad- 
 ded she, " whether I should not rather take credit for withdrawing 
 you from such dangerous society. All ladies who have stray hearts 
 must guard tliem either in person or by proxy, since this formida- 
 ble Colonel Hargrave has come among us." ** He has fortunately 
 placed the more respectable part of us in perfect security," re- 
 turned Laura, with a smile and voice of such unembarrassed sim- 
 plicity as fully satisfied her examiner. 
 
 Had Laura spent a lifetime in studying to give pain, which, in- 
 deed, was not in all her thoughts, she could not have inflicted a 
 sharper sting on the proud hea^ of Hargrave, than by the invo- 
 luntary look and gesture with which she quitted him. The idea of 
 inspiring with disgust, unmixed irresistible disgust, the woman 
 up »j^ hose affections, or rather upon whose passions, he had la- 
 bouica so zealously, and so long, had ever been more than he 
 - eOuld bear, even when the expression of her dislike had no wit- 
 ness ; but now slie had published it to chattering misses and pry- 
 ing old maids, and more favoured rivals. Hargrave bit his lip till 
 the blood came; and, if the lightning of the eye could scathe, his 
 wrath had been far more deadly to others. 
 
 After walking for some minutes surly and apart, he began to 
 •omfort himself with the hopes of future revenge. " She had 
 loved him, passionately loved him, and he was certain she could 
 not be so utterly changed. Her behaviour was either all affecta- 
 tion, or a conceit of the strength of her own mind, which all these 
 clever women were so vain of But the spark still lurked some- 
 where, whatever she might imagine, and if he could turn her own 
 weapons against herself "—Then, recollecting that he had resolved 
 to cultivate Lady Pelham, he resumed his station by her side, aiid 
 was again the courtly, the insinuating Colonel Hargrave. 
 
 Hargrave had lately acquired a friend, or ratlier an adviser,"(the 
 dissolute have no friends) who was admirably calculated to supply 
 the deficiency of his character as a man of jileasure,. Indeed, t x- 
 cept in so far as pleasure was his constant aim, no term could, 
 with less justice, have been applied to Hargrave ; for his life was 
 chiefly divided between the goadings of temptations to which lie 
 himself lent arms, and the pangs of self-reproach wliich he could 
 Rot exclude, and woidd not render useful. The straight and nar- 
 
64 
 
 row 
 
 way he hqsi^v had a thought of treading, but his wandering's 
 Nvere inore frequent than he intended, his returns more ling-ering. 
 The very strength of his passions made him incapable of deep or 
 persevering deceit; he was humane to the suffering that pressed 
 itself on his notice, if it came at a convenient season ; and he was 
 disinterested, if neglect of gold deserve the name. Lambert, his 
 new adviser, had no passions, no humanity, no neglect of gold. 
 lie was a gamester. 
 
 The practice of his profession, for, though a man of family and 
 fortune, he made it a profession, had rendered him skUful to dis- 
 cern, and remorseless to use the weaknesses of his fellow-creatures. 
 
 His estate lay contiguous to , the little town where Hargrave 
 
 had been quartered when he visited at Norwood; but the year 
 which Hargrave passed at was spent by Lambert almost en- 
 tirely in London. Pe had returned however to the country, had 
 been introduced to Hai-grave, and had just fixed upon him as an 
 easy prey, when the soldier was saved for a time, by receiving inti- 
 mation of his promotion, and orders to join his regiment in a dis- 
 tant county. 
 
 They met again in an evil hour, just as Hargrave had half-deter- 
 mined to abandon as fruitless his search after Laura. The neces- 
 sity of a stimulant was as strong as ever. Another necessity too 
 was strong, for 10,000/. of dama|fes had been awarded to Lord 
 Bellamer; Hargrave could not easily raise the money, and Lord 
 Lincourt refused to advance a shilling. " A pretty expensive 
 pleasure has this Lady Bellamer been to me," said Hargra-.*^. be- 
 stowing on her ladyship a coarse enough epithet ; for even tine 
 gentlemen will sometimes call women what they have found them 
 to be. He was prevailed on to try the gaming table for the supply 
 )f both his wants, and found that pleasure fully twice as expensive. 
 His friend introduced him to some of those accommodating gen- 
 tlemen who lend money at illegal interest, and was even generous 
 enough to supply him \yhen they would venture no more upon an 
 estate in reversion. Lambert had accidentally heard of the phoenix 
 which had appeared at Walbourne ; and, on comparing the descrip- 
 tion he received of her with that to which with politic patience he 
 had often listened, he had no doubt of having found the object of 
 Hargrave's search. But, as it did not suit his present views that 
 the lover should renew the pursuit, he droptnot a hint of his dis- 
 covery, listening, with a gamester's insensibility, to the regrets 
 which burst forth amidst the struggles of expiring virtue, for her 
 whose soft influence would have led to peace and honour. 
 
 At last a dispute arising between the worthy Mr. Lambert and 
 hi? respectable coadjutors, as to the partition of the spoil, it oc- 
 curred to him that he could more effectually monopolize his prey 
 in the country; and thither accordingly he was called by pressing 
 business. There he was presently so fortunate as to discover a 
 Miss Montreville, on whose charms he descanted in a letter to 
 Hargrave in such terms, that, though he averred she could not bo 
 Hargrave's Miss Montreville, Hargrave was sure she could be no 
 
65 
 
 other ; and as liis informer expected, arrived in shire as scon 
 
 as a chaise and four could convey him thither. 
 
 Lambert had now a difficult game to play, for he had roused the 
 leading passion, and the collateral one could act but feebly ; but 
 they who often tread the crooked path, find pleasures in its intri- 
 cacy, vainly conceiting that it gives proof of their sagacity, and 
 Lambert looked with pleasure on the obstacles in his way. Jit 
 trusted, that while the master-spirit detained Hargi-ave within the 
 circle of Walbourne, he might dexterously practise with the lesser 
 imp of evil. 
 
 Had liis letter afforded a clue to Laura's residence, Hargra\e 
 would have flown direct to Walbourne, hut he \\ as first obliged to 
 
 stop at ; and Lambert, with some diflficidty, persuaded him, 
 
 that, as he was but slightly known to Lady Pelham, and probably 
 in disgrace with her protegee, it would be more politic to dela\ 
 his visit, and first meet them at Lord '^ where he had infor- 
 mation that they were to go on the follov.4ng day. " You will 
 take your girl at unawares," said he, ** if she be your girl ; and 
 that is no bad way of feeling your ground." The vanity of ex- 
 torting from Laura's surprise some unequivocal token of his pow- 
 er prevailed on the lover to delay the inter\^iew till the morning ; 
 and, after spending half the evening in dwelling on the circum- 
 stances of his last unexpecte^Brhecting with her, which distance 
 softened in his imagination to more than its actual tenderness, he. 
 early in the morning, set out with Lambert for — — , where lie took 
 post in the hermitage, as a place which no stranger omitted {o 
 visit. 
 
 Growing weary of waiting, he dispatched Lambert as a scout 
 and, lest he should miss Laura, remained himself in the hermi- 
 tage, till his emissary brought him information that the party 
 were in the picture gallery. Thither he hastened ; but the party 
 had already left the house, and thus had Laura accidental warn- 
 inp: of his approach. N'o reception could have been more morti- 
 fying to him, who was prepai'ed to support her sinking under the 
 struggle of love and duty, of jealousy and pride. No struggle 
 was visible ; or, if there* was, it was but a faint strife between 
 native courtesy and strong dislike. He had boasted to Lan.bert 
 of her tenderness ; the specimen certainly was n t flattering. 
 Most of her companions were little more gracious De Oourcy 
 paid him no more attention than bare civility required. — With the 
 Bolingbrokes he was unacquainted, but tb'? character of his com- 
 panion was sufficient reason for their reserve. Lady Pelham wa?: 
 the only person present who soothed his wounded vanity Pieafjcd 
 with the prospect of uurarelling the mystery into whicli she had 
 pried so lon^ in vain, charmed with the easy gallanli-y and adroit 
 flattery of which Hargrave, in his cooler moments, was consum 
 msttc master, she accepted his attentions with great cordiality , 
 while he had the address tacitly to persuade her that they were a. 
 tribute to her powers of entertaining. 
 
 f2 
 
66 
 
 Before they parted, she had converted her permission to v'sit 
 "NValbourne into a pressing invitation, nay, had even hinted to l>e 
 Courcy the propriety of asking" the Colonel to join the dinner 
 party that day at Norwood. The hint, however, was not taken ; 
 and therefore, in her way home, Lady Pelham indulged her fel- 
 low-travellers with sundry moral and ingenious reflections con- 
 cerning the folly of being "righteous over much ;" and on -the 
 alluring accessible form of the true virtue, contrasted with the 
 repulsive, bristly, hedge-hog-like make of the false. Indeed, it 
 must be owned, that for the rest of the evening her ladyship's 
 conversation was rather sententious than agreeable ; but the rest 
 of the party, in high good humour, overlooked her attacks, or 
 parried them in play. ^ "v' - 
 
 Montague had watched the cold composure bl'Lanra on Mar- 
 grave's first accosting her, and seen the gesture which repulsed 
 him at parting ; and tliough in the accompanying loek he lost 
 Volumes, his conclusions, on the whole, were favourable. Still a 
 doubt arose, whether her manner sprung not from the fleeting 
 resentment of affection ; and he was standing mournfully calcu- 
 lating the effects of Hargrave's perseverance, when his mother, 
 in passing him as she followed her guests to the eating-room, 
 said, in an emphktical whisper, '*I am satisfied. There is no 
 worm in the bud." ^ 
 
 Mrs. De Courcy's encouraging assertion was confirmed by the 
 behaviour of Laura herself; for she maintained her usual serene 
 cheerfulness ; nor could even the eye of love detect more than 
 one short fit of abstraction ; and then the subject of thought 
 seemed any thing rather than pleasing retrospect, or glad antici- 
 pation. Tlie company of his friends, Harriet's pointedly favour- 
 able reception of Mr. Bolingbroke's assiduities, and the rise of his 
 own hopes, all enlivened Montague to unusual vivacity, and led 
 him to a deed of daring which he had ofien projected, without 
 findiiig courage to perform; it. He thought, if he could speak of 
 Jlargrave to Laura, and watch her \oice, her eye, her complexion, 
 all liis doubts would be solved. With this view, contriving to draw 
 her a little apart, he ventured, for ihe first time, to name liis ri- 
 val ; mentioned Lady t'clham's hint ; and, f\\ltcring, asked Laura 
 wiiether he had not done wrong, in resisting it. 
 
 ** Keally," answered Laura with a very fiatve smile, and a very 
 faint blush, " I don't wonder you Fhesitate in offering me such a 
 piece of flattery as to ftwk my opinion.'* 
 
 " Do not tax me with flat>*;ring you," said De Courcy earnestly; 
 " T would as soon fl alter an amWie ; but tell me candidly what 
 vou think." . 
 
 " Then, candidly," said Laura, raismg jit^ .^ild unembarrass- 
 ed eye to his, " I think vou did right, perfectly rigiurr^ refusing 
 Tour countenance to a person of Colonel Uargrave s chafitt^ 
 While vice is making her encroachments on every hand, ^it is not 
 for tke friend^ of viitue to remove the ancient landmarks. 
 
67 
 
 Though this was one of the stalest pieces of morality that ever 
 Montague had heard Laura utter, he could scarcely refrain fron^ 
 repaying it by claspint^ her to his heart. Convinced that her af- 
 fections were free, he could not contain his rapture, but exclaim- 
 ed, " Laura, you are an angel ! and, if I did not already love be- 
 yond all power of expression, I should be"-^He raised his eyes to 
 seek tliose of Laura, and met his mother's, fixed on him with an 
 expression that compelled him to silence. — " You should be in love 
 with me ;" said Laura, laughing, and tilling up the sentence as she 
 imagined it was meant to conclude. " Well, I shall be content 
 with the second place." 
 
 Mrs. De Courc\ , who had approached them, now spoke on some 
 indifferent subject, and saved her son from a very awkward at- 
 tempt at explanation. She drew her chair close to Laura, and 
 soon engaged her in a conversation so ani'm.ated, that Montague for- 
 got his embarrassment, and joined them with all his natural ease 
 and cheerfulness. The infection of his ease and cheerfulness Lau- 
 ra had ever found irresistible. Flashes of wit and genius follow- 
 ed the collusion of their mitids ; and tlie unstudied eloquence, the 
 poetic imagery of her style, sprung forth at his touch, like blos- 
 soms in the steps of the fabled Flora. 
 
 Happy with iier friends, Lau^i almost forgot the disagreeable 
 adventure of the morning ; and,' every look and Word mutually be- 
 stowing pleasure, the little party were as happy as affection and 
 esteem could make them, when Lady Pelliam, with an aspect like 
 a sea fog, and a voice suitably forbidding, inquired whether her 
 niece would be pleased to go home, or whetlier she preferred 
 sitting chattering there all night. Laura, without any sign of 
 noticing the rudeness of this address, rose, and said she v as quite 
 ready to attend her la.dyship. In vain did the De Courcys entreat 
 her to prolong her visit till the morning. To dare to be h:.ppy 
 without her concurrence, was treason against Lady Pelliam's dig- 
 nity ; and unf >rtunately she was not in a humour to concur in the 
 joy of any living thing. De Courcy's reserve towards lier new fa- 
 vourite she consideied as a tacit reproof of her own cordiality ; 
 and she had just such a conviction that the reproof was deserveil, 
 as to make her thoroughly out of humour with tlie reprover, with 
 herself, and consequently with every body else. Determined to 
 interrupt pleasure which'she would not share, the more her hosts 
 pressed her stay, the more she hastened Jitr dejjarture ; and she 
 mingled her indifierenj good nights to them with more energetic 
 reprimands to the tardiness of her coachman. 
 
 " Thank lieaven,' said she, liirusting herself into the comer of 
 her carriage witli that jerk in her motion which indicates a cer- 
 tain degree of irritation, ** to-morrow we siiall probably see a 
 civdized being-." A short pause followed Laura's plain integ- 
 rity and prudence had gained such ascenc'ency over Lady Pel- 
 ham, that her niece's opmion was to her ladr ship a kind of second 
 conscience,^ having indted, much the same powers as the first. 
 Its sanction was necessary to her quiet, though it had not force to 
 
68 
 
 control her actions. On the present occasion she wished, abovg 
 all thing's, to know Laura's sentiments ; but she would not conde- 
 scend to ask them directly. " Colonel Hargruve's manners, are 
 quite those of a gentleman," she resumed. The remark was en- 
 tirely ineffectual ; for Laura coolly assented, without inquiring 
 whether he were the civilized being whom LadyPelliam expected 
 to see. Another pause. •' Colonel llargrave will be at Wal- 
 bourUe to-morrow," said Lady Pelham, the tone of her voice 
 sharpening with impatience. " Will he, Ala'am !" retui'ned Lau- 
 ra without moving a muscle. ** If Miss Montreville has no ob- 
 jections," said Lady Pelham, converting, by a toss of her head and 
 a twist of her upper lip, the words of compliment into an insult. 
 ** Probably," said Laura, with a smile, ** my objections would 
 make nu great difference." — " Oh, to be sure '." returned Lady 
 Pelham, *' it would be lost labour to state them to such an obsti- 
 nate, unreasonable person as I am I Well. 1 believe you are the 
 fii-st vvlio ever accused me of obstinacy." If Lady Pelham expect- 
 ed a compliment to her pliability^ she was disappointed ; for Laura 
 only answered, " I shall never presume to interfere in the choice 
 of your ladyship's visitors,". 
 
 i'hut she should be thus compellecl to be explicit was more than 
 Lady Pelham 's temper could endure. Her eyes flashing- with rage, 
 *' Superlative humility indeed !" She exclaimed with a sneer ; but 
 awed in spite of herself, from the free expression of iier fury, she 
 muttered it within her shut teeth in a sentence of which the words 
 *' close" and "Jesuitical" alone reached Laura's ear. A long and 
 surly silence followed ; Lady Pelham's pride and anger struggling- 
 w ith her desire to learn the foundation and extent of the disappro- 
 bation which she suspected that her conduct excited, The latter, 
 at last, partly prevailed ; though Lady Pelham still disclaimed con- 
 descending to direct consultation. 
 
 " Pray, Miss Montreville," said she, " if Colonel Hargrave's vi- 
 sits were to i/out what mighty objections might your sanctity find 
 to them r" — Laum had long ago observed that a slight exertion of 
 her spii'it was the best quietus to her aunt's ill humour ; and there- ' 
 fore, addi-^ssing her with calm- austerity, she said, " Any young 
 woman. Madam, who values her reputation, might object to Colo- 
 nel Hargrave's visits, merely on the score of prudence, liut even 
 my * superlative humility,' does not reconcile me to company 
 which I despise ; and' my * sanctity,' as your ladyship is pleased to 
 call it, rather shrinks from the violator of laws divine and human." 
 
 Lady Pelham withdrew her eyes to escape a glance which they 
 never could stand ; but, bridling, she said, *' Well, Miss Montre- 
 ville, I am neither young nor sanctirnonious, thei*efore your objec- 
 tions cannot apply to Colonel Hargrave's visits to me ; and I am de- 
 termined," continued she, speaking as if strength of voice denoted 
 strength of resolution, "lam determined, that I will not throw 
 away the society of an agreeable man, to gratify the whims of a 
 parcel of narrow-niinOL-d bigots.' 
 
 To this attack Laura answered only by a smile. She smiled tf? 
 
G9 
 
 see herselt' classed witli the De Courcys ; for she had no doubt that 
 they were the " bigtJts" to whom Lady Pelham referred. She 
 smiled too, to observe that the boasted freedom of meaner minds 
 is but a poor attempt to hide from themselves the restraint impo- 
 sed by the opinions of the wise and good. 
 
 The carriage stopped, and Laura took sanctuary in her own 
 apartment ; but at supper she met her aunt with smiles of unaffect- 
 ed complacency, and, according to the plan which slie invariably 
 pursued, appeared to have forgotten Lady Pelham's fit of spleen ; 
 by that means enabling her aunt to recover from it with as little 
 expense to her pride as possible. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 Lady Pelham was not disappointed in her expectation of see- 
 ing Colonel Hargrave on the following day. He called at Wal- 
 bourne while her ladyship was still at her toilet ; and was shown 
 into the drawing-room, where Laura had already taken her sta- 
 tion. She rose to receive him, with an air which showed that 
 his visit gave her neither surprise nor pleasure ; and, motioning 
 him to a distant seat, quietly resumed her occupation. Hargrave 
 was a little disconcerted. He expected that Laura would shun 
 him, with marks of strong resentment, or perhaps with the agita- 
 tion of offended love ; and he was prepared for nothing but to en- 
 treat the audience which she now seemed inclined to offer him. 
 
 Lovers are so accuston>edto accuse ladies of cruelty, and to find 
 ladies take pleasure in being so accused, that unlooked-for kind- 
 ness discomposes them ; and a favour unhoped is generally a fa- 
 vour undesired. The consciousnes.s of ill desert, the frozen sere- 
 nity of Laura's manner deprived Hargrave of courage to use the 
 opportunity which she seemed voluntarily to throw in his way. 
 He hesitated, he fauUered; while, all unlike her former self, 
 Laura appeared determined that he should make, love, for she 
 would not aid his dilemma, even by a comment on the weather. 
 All the timidity which formerly marked her demeanor was now- 
 transferred to his ; and, arranging her work with stoical compo- 
 sure, she raised her head to listen, as Hargrave approaching her 
 stammered out an incoherent sentence expressive of his unalter- 
 able love, and his fears that he had offended almost beyond for- 
 giveness. 
 
 Laura suffered him to conclude without interruption; then an- 
 swered, in a voice mild but determined, " I had some hopes. Sir, 
 from your knowledge of my character and sentiments, tliat, after 
 w;hat has passed, you could have entertained no doubts on this 
 subject — Yet, lest even a shadow of suspense should rest on your 
 mind, I have remained here this morning on purpose to end it. I 
 
70 
 
 sincerely grieve to hear that you still retain the partiality you have' 
 been pleased to express, since it is now beyond my power to make 
 even the least return " 
 
 The utmost bitterness of reproach would not have struck so 
 chilly on the heart of Hargrave as these words, and the manner in 
 which they were uttered. From the principles of Laura he had 
 indeed dreaded much ; but he had feared nothing from her indiffer- 
 ence. He had feared that duty might obtain a partial victory ; but 
 he had never doubted that inclination would survive the struggle. 
 With a mixture of doubt, surprise, and anguish, he continued to 
 gaze upon her after she was silent ; then starting, he exclaimed— 
 '" I will not believe it ; it is impossible. Oh, Laura, choose some 
 other V. ay to stab, for I cannot bear this !" — "It pains me," said 
 Laura, in a voice of undissembled concern, ** to add disappoint- 
 ment to the pangs which you cannot but feel ; yet it were most 
 blameable now to cherish in you the faintest expectation." ** Stop,'* 
 cried Hargrave, vehemently, ** if you would' not have me utterly 
 undone. I have never known peace or innocence but in the hope 
 of your love ; leave me a dawnmg of that hope, however distant. 
 Nay, do not look as if it were impossible. When you thought me 
 a libertine, a seducer — all that you can now think me, you suffered 
 me to hope. Let me but begin my trial now, and all woman-kind 
 shall not lure me from you " 
 
 " Ah," said Laura, *' when I dreamt of the success of that trial, 
 a strange infatuation hung over me. Now it has passed away for 
 ever Sincerely do I wish and pray for your repentance, but 1 can 
 lio longer offer to reward it. My desire for your reformation will 
 hencefo.t i be as disinterested as sincere." 
 
 Half distracted with the cutting calmness of her manner, so 
 changed since the time when every feature spoke the struggles of 
 the heart, when the mind's whole strength seemed collected to re- 
 sist iis tenderness. Hurgrave again vehemently refused to believe 
 in her indifference. ** 'Tis bat a few shoi t months," he cried, grasp- 
 ing her hand with a violence that made her turn pale ; " 'tis but a 
 few short months since you loved me with your whole soul, since 
 you said that your peace depended upon my return to virtue. And 
 dare you ansv/er it to yourself to cast away the influence, the only 
 influence that can secure me ?" 
 
 ** If I have any influence with you," returned Laura, with a look 
 and attitude of earnest entreaty, " let it but this once prevail, and 
 then be laid aside for ever. Let me persuade you to the review of 
 your conduct ; to the consideration of^your prospects as an account- 
 able being, of the vengeance that awaits the impenitent, of the es- 
 cape offered in the go.«,pel. As you value your hi^jpiness, let n e 
 thus far prevail. Or if it will move you more," continued she, the 
 tears gushing from her eyes, " I will beseech you to grant this, 
 my only request, in memory of a love that mourned your unworthi- 
 ness almost unto death." 
 
 ** The sight of her emotion revived Hargrave's hopes ; and cast- 
 ing himself at her feet, he passionately declared, while she shu4- 
 
71 
 
 dered at the Impious sentiment, that he asked no Leaven but bet 
 love, and cared not what were his fate if she were lost " " Ah, Sir," 
 said she, with pious solemnity, *' believe me, the time is not dis- 
 tant when the disappointment of this passion will srem to you a 
 
 I sorrow light as the baffled sports of childhood. Believe the testi- 
 
 I mony of one who but lately drew near to the gates of the grave. 
 On a death-bed, guilt appears the only real misery; and lesser 
 
 I evils are lost amidst its horror like shadows in the midnight 
 gloom," 
 
 i . The ideas which liaura was labotiring to introduce into the 
 mind of Ilargrave were such as he had of late too successfully 
 endeavoured to exclude. They had intruded like importunate 
 creditors ; till, oft refused admittance, they had ceased to return. 
 The same arts which he had used to disguise from himself the 
 extent of his criminality, he now naturally employed to extenuate 
 it in the sight of Laura. He assured her that he was less guilty 
 than she supposed ; that she could form no idoa of the force of 
 temptation which had overcome him ; that Lady Bellamer was less 
 the victim of his passions than of her own; he vehemently pro- 
 tested that he despised and abhorred the wanton who had undone 
 him ; and that, even in the midst of a folly for which he now exe- 
 crated himself, his affections had never wandered from their first 
 object. While he spoke, Laura in confusion cast down her eyes, 
 and offended modesty sut" used her face and neck with crimson. 
 She could indeed form no idea of a ht*art which, attached to one 
 woman, could find any temptation in the allurements of another. 
 But when he ended, virtuous indignation flashing in her counte- 
 nance, " For shame, Sir !" said slie. " If any thing could degnule 
 you in my eyes, it were this mean attempt to screen yourself be- 
 Jiind the partner of your wickedness. Docs it lessen your guilt 
 that it had not even the poor excuse of passion ; or think you that, 
 even in the hours of a weakness for which you have given me such 
 just reason to despise myself, I could havo^prized the affections of 
 a heart so depraved ? You say you detest your crime ; 1 fear you 
 only detest its punishment ; for, were you really repentant, my 
 opinion, the opinion of the whole world, would seem to you a trifle 
 unworthy of regard, and the utmost bitterness of censure be but 
 
 ■* an echo to your own self-upraidings " 
 
 '< Hargrave had no inclination to discuss the nature of repentance. 
 His sole desire was to wrest from Laura some token, however 
 slight, of returning tenderness. For this purpose he employed all 
 the eloquence w^hich he had often found successful in similar at- 
 tempts. But no two things can be more different in their effects, 
 
 ', than the language of passion poured into the sympathising bosom 
 of mutual love, or addressed to the dull ear of indifference. The 
 expressions which Laura once thought capable of warming the 
 coldest heart seemed now the mere ravings of insanity ; the lamen- 
 tations which she once thought might have softened rocks, now 
 appeared the weak comft|uinings of a child for his lost toy. With 
 a mi xture of pity and cUsgust she listened and replied'; till the 
 
72 
 
 entrance of Lady Pelham put a period to the dialogue, and Laura 
 immediately quitted the room. ^^■. 
 
 Lady Pelliam easily perceived that the conversation had been 
 particular ; and Hargrave did not long leave her in doubt as to 
 the subject. He acquainted her with his pretensions to Laura, 
 and beg-g-ed her sanction to his addresses ; assuring her that his 
 intercourse with Lady Bellamer was entirely broken off, and that 
 his marriage would secure his permanent reformation. He com- 
 plimented Lady Pelham upon her liberality of sentiment and know- 
 ledge of the world ; from both of which he had hopes, he said, 
 that she would not consider one error as sufficient to blast his cha- 
 racter. Lady Pelham made a little decent hesitation on the score 
 of Lady Bellamer's prior claims ; but was assured that no engage- 
 ment had ever subsisted there. ♦*She hoped Lord Linco^rt would 
 not be averse.'* She was told that Lord Lincourt anxiously de- 
 sired to see his nephew settled. " She hoped Colonel Hargrave 
 was resolved that his married life should be irreproachable. Laura 
 had a great deal of sensibility, it would break her heart to be neg- 
 lected ; and Lady Pelham was sure, that in that case the thought 
 of having consented to the dear child's misery would be more than 
 she could support 1" Her ladyship was vanquished by ^n assur- 
 ance, that for Laura to be neglected by her happy husband wa& 
 utterly impossible 
 
 " Laura's incliiiations then must be consulted ; every thing de- 
 pended upon her concurrence, for the sweet girl had really so . 
 wound herself round Lady Pelham's heart, that positively her la- 
 dyship could not bear to give her a moment's uneasiness, or to 
 press her upon a subject to which she was at all averse." And, 
 strange as it may seem. Lady Pelham at that moment believed 
 herself incapable of distressing the person whom, in fact, she tor- 
 mented with ceaseless ingenuity ! Hargrave answered by confess- 
 ing his fears that he was for the present less in favour than he had 
 once been ; but he disclosed l-Aura's former confessions of par- 
 tiality, and insinuated his Qonviction that it was smothered rather 
 than extinguished. 
 
 Lady Pelham could now account fbr Laura's long illness and low 
 spirits ; and she listened with ©ager curiosity to the solution of 
 the enigma, which had so long perplexed her. She considered 
 whether she should relate to the lover the sorrows he had caused. 
 She judged (for Lady Pelham often jMc/§-e J properly ) that it would 
 be indelicate thus to proclaim to him the extent of his power ; but, 
 with the usual inconsistency between her judgment and her prac- 
 tice, in half an hour she had informed him of all that she had ob- 
 served, and hinted all that she suspected. Hargrave listened, was 
 convinced, and avowed his conviction that Lady Pelham's influ- 
 ence was alone necessary to secure his success. Her ladyship said, 
 " that she should^feel some delicacy in using any strong influence 
 with her nieoe^ as' the amiable orphan had no friend but herself, 
 had owed somewhat to her kmdness, and might be biassed by gra- 
 titude against her own inclination. The fortune which she meant 
 
73 
 
 to bequeath to Laura might by some be thoxig-Iit to confer a right 
 to advise; but, for her part, she tliought lier little all was no more 
 than due to the person whose tender assiduities filled the blar.k 
 which had been left in her ladyship's maternal heart by the ingra- 
 litude and disobedience of he child." This sentiment was pro- 
 nounced in atone so pathetic, and in language so harmonious, that, 
 
 .. though it did not for a moment impose upon her hearer, it deceiv- 
 ed Lady rdham herself,- and she shed tears, which she actually 
 injagined to be forced from, her by the mingled emotions of grati- 
 tude and of disappointed tenderness. 
 
 Lady Pelham hiid no\v-ertered on a subject inc3chaustlble ; her 
 own feelings, her uwn misfortunes, her oMn dear self. Kargrave, 
 who in his hours of tolerable composure was the most polite: of 
 men, listened, or appeared to listen, with unconquerable patience, 
 till he fortunately recollected an appointment which his interest iu 
 her ladyship's conversation had before banished from his mind; 
 when he took his leave, bearhig with him a very gracious invita- 
 tion to repeat his visit. 
 
 With him departed [,ady Pelham's fit of scntlmentalitv ; and, 
 
 ; in five minutes, she had dried her eyes, composed the pa'ragrapli 
 which was to announce the marriage of Lord Lincourt (for she-. 
 hilled oft the old peer witliout ceremony) to the lovely heiress of 
 the amiable Lady Pelham; taken possession of her niece's barouclic 
 and four, and heard herself announced as the benefactress of this 
 new wonder of the world'of fashion. She woidd cut off her rebel- 
 lious daughter with a shilling ; give her up to the begg-ary and ob- 
 scurity which she had chosen, and leave her whole fortune to Lad\ 
 Lincourt; for so, in the fulness of her content, she called Laura. 
 After some time enjoying her niece's prospects, or to speak moie 
 justly, her own, she began to think of discovering how near thcv 
 
 ■ might be to their accomplishment} and, for this purpose, she suni- 
 moned Laura to a conference. 
 
 Lady Pelham loved nothing on earth but herself; yet vanitw 
 gratified curiosity, and, above all, the detection of a mere huiuaii 
 weakness reducing Laura somewhat more to her own level awaken- 
 ed in her bi-east an emotion resembling affoction ; as, throwing her 
 arm.s roimd her niece, she, in language half sportive, half tender, 
 declared her knov.U dge of Laura's secret, and reproaclied her witli 
 
 -having concealed it so well. Insulted, v.'rongcd, and forsaken by 
 Hargrave, Laura had kept his secret inviolable, for she had no 
 right to disclose it ; but she scorned, by any evasion, to preserve 
 her own. Glowing with shame and mortification, she stood silently 
 shrinking from Lady Pelham's looks ; till, a little recovering her- 
 self, she said, " I deserve to be thus humbled for mv folly in found- 
 ing my regards, not on the worth of their'object, but on mv own 
 imagination ; and more, if it be possible, do I deserve, for ex- 
 posing my weakness Vo one who has been so ungenerous as to boast 
 of it. But it is some compensation to mv pride,*' continued she 
 raising her eyes, " that my disorder is cured beyond the possibih! 
 ty of relapse." Lady Pelham smiled at Laura's security, which 
 
 G 
 
'^^ 
 
 74 
 
 aiie did not consider as an infallible sig-n of safety. It was in vain 
 that Laura proceeded solcninly to protest her indifference. Lady 
 Pelham could allow for self-deceit in another's case, though she 
 never suspected it in her own. Vain were Laura's comments upon 
 Ilargrave's character ; they were but the fond reviling-s of offended 
 love. Laura did not deny her former preference ; she even owned 
 that , it was the sudden intellig-ence of Hargrave's crimes which 
 had' reduced her to the brink of the ^ave ; therefore liady Pel- 
 ham was convinced that a little perseverance would fan the smo- 
 thered flame ; and perseverance, she hoped, would not be wanting-. 
 Nevertheless, as her ladyship balanced her fondness for contra- 
 dicting- by her aversion to being contradicted, and as Laura was 
 too much in earnest to study the qualifying tone, the conference 
 concluded rather less amicably than it began ; though it ended by 
 Lady Pelham's saying, not very consistently with her sentiments 
 an hour before, that she would never cease to urge so advanta- 
 geous a match, conceivingthat she had a right to influence the choice 
 of one whom she would make the heiress of forty thousand pounds, 
 Laura was going to insist that all influence would be Ineffectual, 
 but her aunt quitted her without suffering her to reply. She would 
 have followed to represent the injustice of depriving'iVfrs. Herbert 
 of her natural rights ; but she desisted on recollecting that Lady 
 Pelham's purposes were like wedges, never fixed but by resist- 
 ance. , 
 
 The time had been when Lady Pelham*s fortune would have 
 seemed to Hargrave as dust in the balance, joined with the pos- 
 session of Laura. He had gamed, had felt the want of money ; and 
 money was no longer indifferent to him. But Laura's dower was 
 still light in his estimation, compared with its weight in that of 
 Lambert, to whom he incidentally mentioned Lady Pelham's inten- 
 tion. That prudent person calculated that 40,000/. would form a 
 very handsome addition to a fund upon which he intended to,draw 
 pretty freely. He had little doubt of Hargrave's success : he had 
 never known any woman with whom such a lover could fail. He 
 thought he could lead his friend to bargain for immediate posses- 
 sion of part of his bride's portion, and, for certainty of the rest in 
 reversion, before parting with his liberty. He allowed two, or 
 perhaps even three months for the duration of Laura's influence ; 
 during which time he feared he should have little of her husband's 
 company at the gaming-table ; but from thenceforth, he judged 
 that the day would be his own, and that he should soon possess 
 himself of Hargrave's property, so far as it was alienable. He con- 
 sidered that, in the meantime, Laura would furnish attraction suf- 
 ficient to secure Hargrave's stay at '-, and he trusted to his 
 ow^n dexterity for impr</'ving that circumstance to the best advan- 
 tage. He failed not, therefore, to encourage the lover's hopes, and 
 bestowed no small ridicule on the idea that a girl of nineteen 
 should desert a favo\u*ite on account of a little gallantry. 
 
 Cool cunning would engage with fearful odds against impru- 
 dence, if it could set bounds to the passions, as well as direct their 
 
F 
 
 75 
 
 of»urse. Rut it is often deceived in estimating the force of feeling-s 
 which it knows only by their effects. Lambert soon* found that 
 Kc had opened the passage to a torrent which bore all before it. — 
 The favourite stimulus found, its temporary substitute was almost 
 (disregarded ; and llavgrave, intoxicated with his passion, tasted 
 sparingly of the poisoned cup which his friend de.signed for him. 
 His time and thoughts were again devoted to Laura, and gaming 
 \yas only sought as a relief from the disappointment and vexation 
 
 ' which generally attended his pursuit. The irritation of his mind, 
 however, made amends for the lessened number of opportunities 
 for plundering him, by rendering it easier to take advantage of 
 those whicli remained. 
 
 The iiisinnatii'.g manners and elegant person of Ilargrave gained 
 dally on tlie favoiir of Lady Felham ; for the great as well as the 
 little vulgar are the slaves'of mere externals. She permitted his 
 visits at home al^d his attendance abroad, expatiating frequently 
 
 • on the liberality of sentiment which she thus displayed. At first 
 these encomiums on her own conduct were used only to disguise 
 from herself and others her consciousness of its impropriety; but 
 she repeated them till she actually believed them just, and consi- 
 dered herself as extending a charitable hand to rescue an erring 
 brother from the implacable malignity of the world. 
 
 She was indefatigable in her attempts to promote his success 
 with Laura. She lost no opportunity of pressing the subject. She 
 obstinately refused to be convinced of the possibility of overcoming 
 a strong prepossession. Laura, in an evil hour for herself, thought- 
 lessly replied, tliat affection was founded on the belief of excel- 
 lence, and must of course give way when the foundation w^as re- 
 moved. This observation had just fallacy sufficient for Lady Pel- 
 ham's purpose. She took it for her text, and harangued upon it 
 with all the zeal and perseverance of disputation. She called it 
 
 , Laura's theory ; and insisted that, like other theorists, she would 
 shut her eyes against the plainest facts, nay, stifle the feelings of 
 
 , her own mind, rather than admit what might controvert her opi- 
 nion. She cited all the instances which her memory could furnish 
 of agricultural, and chemical, and metaphysical theorism ; and, 
 
 , with astonishing ingenuity, contrived to draw a parallel between 
 each of them and Laura's case. It was in vain that Laura qualified, 
 almost retracted her unluckly observation. Her adversary would 
 not suffer her to desert the untenable ground. Delighted with her 
 victory, she returned again and again to the attack, after the van- 
 quished had appealed to her mercy ; and much more than " thrice 
 »he slew the slain." 
 
 Sick of arguing about the possibility of het indifference, Laura 
 at length confined lierself to simple as.sertions of the fact. Lndy 
 Pelham at first merely refused her belief; and, with provoking- 
 pity, rallied her niece upon her self-deceit ; but, finding that she 
 corroborated her words by a corresponding behaviour to Har- 
 f^^ruve. her ladyship's temper betrayed its accustomed infirmity. 
 ^be peevishly reproached Laura with taking a coquettish delight 
 

 76 
 
 in g-ivin^^pain ; iftsistcd tliat her conduct wns a tissue ^f cruelty 
 and tiffectation ; and upbraided her with dising-enuousness in pre- 
 tending-'^ an indificrence wliich she could not feel. ** And dots 
 your ladjship communicate this opinion to Colonel Hargrave ?" 
 said Laura, one day, fretted almost beyond her patience by a re- 
 monstrance of two hours continuance. " To be sure I do,'* re- 
 turned Lady Pelham. ** In common humanity I will not allow him 
 to suffer more from yotir perverscness than I can avoid," " Well, 
 ]\radam," said Laura, with a sigh and shrug of impatient resigna- 
 tion, " nothing remains but that I show a consistency, which, at 
 least, is not common to affectation." 
 
 Lady Pelham's representations had their effect upon Hargrave. 
 They brought balm to his wounded pride, and he easily suffered 
 them to counteract the effect of Laura's calm and uniform assu- 
 rances of her indifference. While he listened to these, her apparent 
 candour and simplicity, the regret s!ie expressed at the necessity 
 of giving pain, brought temporary conviction to his mind ; and, 
 with transports of alternate rage and grief, he now execrated her 
 inconstancy, then his own unworthiness ; now abjured her, then 
 the vices which had deprived him of her affection. But the joint 
 efforts of Lady Pelham and Lambert always revived hopes suffi- 
 cient to make him continue a pursuit which he had not indeed the 
 fortitude to relinquish. 
 
 His love (if we must give that name to a selfish desire, mingled 
 at times with every ungentle feeling,) had never been so ardent. 
 The well-known principle of our nature, which adds charms to 
 wjiat is unattainable, lent new attractions to Laura's really im- 
 proved loveliness. The smile which was reserved for others 
 seemed but the more enchanting; the hand which he was forbid- 
 den to touch seemed bvit the more soft and snowy ; th>e form which 
 was kept sacred from his approach, bewitched iiim widi more re- 
 sistless graces. Hargrave had been little accustomed to suppress 
 any of his feelings, and he gave vent to this with an entire neglect 
 of'tha visible uneasiness which it occasioned to its object. He 
 employed the private interviews, which Lady Pelham contrived to 
 extort for him, in the utmost vehemence of complaint, protesta- 
 tion, and entreaty. He laboured to awakeo the pity of Laura; he 
 even condescended to appeal to her ambition ; and persevered, in 
 spite of unequivocal denials, till Laura, disgusted, positively re- 
 fused ever again to admit him without witnesses. 
 
 His p'iblic attentions were, if possible, still more distressing to 
 her. Kncouragcd by Lady Pelham, he, notwithstanding the al- 
 most repulsive coldness of Loura's manner, became her onstunt 
 attendant. H.-. pursued her wherever she went 5 .placed hiinself, 
 in defiance of propriety, so a^ to monopolize her convcr-<ation ; 
 a!id seemed to have laid aside all his distinguishing politeness, 
 while he ne.urlected every other woman to devote his ussiduiiles to 
 h<;r alone. He claimed the station by her side till Laura had the 
 mortification to observe that others resignrd it r.t liis nppro.-uh ; 
 he snatched every opportunity of v,hi=:peringhis adulations in her 
 
77 
 
 e*p ; and, far from afTectlng' any concealment in his preference, 
 seemed to claim the character of her acknowledged adorer. It is 
 impossible to express the vexation with which Laura endured this 
 indeUcate pre-eminence. Had Hargrave been the most irreproach- 
 able of mankind, she would have shrunk from such obtrusive 
 marks of his partiality; but her sense of propriety was no less 
 wounded by the attendance of such a companion, than her modes- 
 ty was shocked by her being thus dragged into tlie notice, and 
 committed to the mercy of the public. The exclusive attentions 
 of the handsome Colonel Hargrave, the mirror of gallantry, die 
 future Lord Lincouit, were not, however unde^ired, to be pos- 
 sessed unenvied. Those who unsuccessfully angled for his no- 
 tice, avenged themselves on her to whom they imputed their fail- 
 ure, by looks of scorn, and by sarcastic remarks, which they 
 sometimes contrived should reach the ear of the innocent object 
 of their malice. Laura, unspeakably averse to being the subject 
 of even laudatory observation, could sometimes scarcely restrain 
 the tears of shame and mortification that were wrung from her by 
 attacks which she could neither resent nor escape. In spite of 
 tlie natural sweetness of her temper, she was sometimes tempted 
 to retort upon Colonel Hargrave the vexation which he caused to 
 her ; and his officiousness almost compelled her to forsake the 
 civility within the bounds of which she had determined to confine 
 her coldness. 
 
 He complained bitterly of this treatment, and reproached her 
 with taking ungenerous advantage of his passion. '• Why then,'* 
 said she, " will you force me into the insolence of power ? If you 
 will suffer me to consider you as a common acquaintance, I shall 
 never claim a right to avenge on you the wrongs of society ; but 
 approach no nearer. — I am unwilling to express a sentiment less 
 respectful than dislike." The proud spirit of Hargrave, however, 
 could ill brook the repulses which he constantly provoked ; and 
 often in transports of rage he would break from Laura, swearing 
 thp.the would no more submit to be tlius made the sport of an in- 
 sensible tyrannical woman. 
 
 At first she submitted with patience to his injurious language, 
 in the hope that he would keep his oaths ; but she soon found 
 that he only repaid her endurance of his anger by making her 
 submit to what was yet more painful, a renewal of liis abject 
 supplications. All her caution could not prevent the private in- 
 terviews which slie granted so unwillingly. He haunted her 
 walks, stole upon her unannounced, detained her almost by force 
 at these accidental meetings, or at those which he obtained by 
 the favour of Lndy Pelham. His whole conduct conspired to make 
 him an object of real dread to Laura, though her watchful self- 
 command and habitual benevolence preserved him from her aver- 
 sion- 
 
 Sometimes she could not help wondering at the obstinacy of her 
 persecutor. ♦* Surely," said she to him, '* after all I have said, 
 after the manner in which I have said it, you cannot expect any 
 
 G 2 
 
78 
 
 fruit from all these rhapsodies ; ymi must merely think your ho- 
 iiour bound to keep them up, at whatever hazard to the credit of 
 your understanding-.'* Laura had never herself submitted to be 
 driven into a course of actions contrary to reason, and it never oc- 
 curred to her that her lover had no reasox for !»is conduct, except 
 that he was not sufficiently master of himself to desist from his 
 pursuit. 
 
 From the importunities of Hargrave, however, Laura could 
 sometimes escape. Though they were frequent, they were of 
 i.*i;essity intermitting. He could not always be at Walbourne ; 
 he could not intrude into her apartment. She visited sometimes 
 where he was not admitted, or she could decline the invitation 
 which she knew extended to him. But her persecutions by Lady 
 Pclham had no intermission ; from them she had no retreat. 
 Her chamber was no sanctuaify from so familiar a friend ; and the 
 presence of strangers only served to exercise her ladyship in 
 that ingenious species of conversation which addresses to the 
 sense of one of the company what it conveys to the ear of the 
 rest. 
 
 For some time she employed all her forces in combatting- Lau- 
 ra's supposed affectation ; and when, not without extreme diffi- 
 culty, she Was convinced that she strove against a phantom of her 
 own Creation, she next employed her efforts to alter her niece's 
 determination. Shp tried to rouse her ambition; and again and 
 again expatiated on all the real and on all the imaginary advanta- 
 ges of wealth aiid title. The theme in her ladyship's hands seem- 
 ed inexhaustibtfe, though Laura repeatedly declared that no earth- 
 ly thing could be less in her esteem than distinctions whidi 
 she must share with such a person as Hargrave. Every day 
 and all day, the subject was canvassed, and tlie oft-confnted 
 argument vamped up anew, till Laura was thorwighly weary 
 of the very names of rank, and influence, and coronets, and 
 coaches. 
 
 Next, her ladyship was eloquent upon Laura's implacability, 
 *• Those who were so very unforgiving," she supposed, " weie 
 conscious that they had no need to be forgiven. Such people 
 might pretend to be Christians, but in her opinion such preten- 
 sions were mere hypocrisy." Laura stood amazed at the strength 
 of self-deception, which eould produce this sentiment from lips 
 which had pronounced inextinguishable resentment against an 
 only child. Recovering herself, she calmly made the obvious re- 
 ply, " that she entertained no enmity against Hargrave ; that on 
 the contrary, she sincerely wished him every blessing, and the 
 best of all blessings, a renewed mind ; but that the Christian pre- 
 cept was never meant to make the vicious and the impure the 
 denizens of dur bosoms." It might be thought that such a reply 
 was quite sufficient, but Lady Pelham possessed one grand quali- 
 fication for a disputant ; she defied conviction. She could shift, 
 and turn, and bewilder, till she found herself precisely at the 
 goiutfrom whence she set out. 
 
79 
 
 S'ue had ii practice, too, of all others the most galling to an in- 
 q-enuousand ii dependent spirit — she would invent a set of opinions 
 and sentinicnts, and liven argue upon them as if they were real. 
 It was in vain for Laura to disclaim them. Lady Pelham could 
 prove, incontrovertibly that they wf-re Laura's sentiments ; or, 
 which was the same thing, proceeded as if she bad proved it. She 
 insisted that Laura acted on a principle of revenge against 
 Hnrgrave, for the slight his inconstancy luid put upon her ; and 
 argued most con\ incingly on the folly and wickedness of a revenge- 
 ful spirit. Laura in vain protested her innocence Lady Pelham 
 vascertainof the fact ; and she dilated on the guilt of such a sen- 
 timent, and extenuated the temporary secession of Hargravc, till 
 a by-standcr must have concluded that Laura was the delinquent, 
 anci he her harmless victim. Her ladyship declared, that "she 
 did not wonder at her niece's obduracy. She had never, in her 
 life, known a person of cool temper who was capable of forgiving. 
 She had' reason, for her own part, to be thankful that, if she had 
 the failings of a warm temper, she had its advantages too. She 
 had never, except in one instance, known what it was to feel per- 
 manent displeasure." . '^ 
 
 On this topic Lady Pelham had the more room for her eloquence, 
 because it admitted of no reply ; r.nd, perhaps, for this reason, it 
 was the sooner exhausted ; for it had not been discussed above 
 " half a dozen times, before she forsook it in order to assert her 
 claims to influence her niece's decision. And here her ladyship 
 was suddenly convinced of the indefeasible rights of relationship. 
 ** She stood in the place of Laura's parents, and in their title might 
 claim authority." But finding Laura firmly of opinion that paren- 
 tal authority extended no further Uian a negative voice. Lady 
 Pelham laid aside the imperative tone to take up that of entreaty. 
 "She would not advance the claim which her tried friendship 
 might give her to advise ; she would only beseech, conjure. She 
 hoped her importunities would be forgiven, as they could proceed 
 only from thetenderest regard to her dear girl's welfare. Laura 
 was her only hope ; the sole being on earth to whom her widow- 
 ed heart clung with partial affection — and to see her thus throw 
 away her happiness was more than her ladyship could bear." 
 Closely as Laura had studied her aunt's character, and well as it 
 was now known to her, she was sometimes overpowered by these 
 expressions of love and sorrow ; and wept as she was compelled 
 to repeat that her happiness and her duty must alike be sacrificed 
 ere she could yield to the wishes of her friend. But as she never, 
 even in these moments of softness, betrayed the smallest symp- 
 torn of compliance, Lady Pelham had not patience to adhere to the 
 only method of attack that possessed a chance of success. 
 
 Of all her arts of teazing, this was indeed the^vmost distressing 
 to a person of Laura's sensibility, and she felt W!iit a little relieved 
 when, exasperated by the failure of all her efforts. Lady Pelham 
 burst into vehement upbraidings of her niece's hardness of heart. 
 -* She could liot have conceived," she said, " such obduracy inoHe 
 
80 
 
 $6 young ; In woman too ; a creature who should be all made up of 
 softness. Layra might pique herself upon her stoicism, but a Zeno 
 in petticoats was, in her opinion, a monster. For her part, she ne- 
 ver could resist entreaty in her life." 
 
 " Then I beseech you, Madam," said Laura, after having pa* 
 tiently submitted to he baited thus for three full hours, " do not 
 make mine an exception; but for pity's sake be prevailed upon to 
 drop this subject, 1 assure vou it can have no effect but to distress 
 me." 
 
 ** You maybe determined. Miss Montreville, that all my endea- 
 vours-shall be vain, but I shall certainly never be so far wanting 
 to my duty as to neglect pressing upon you a match so much for 
 your honour and advantage." 
 
 " Is it possible," cried Laura, losing patience at this prospect of 
 the continuation of her persecutions, " that your ladyship can 
 think it for my * advantage' to marry a man I despise ; for my * ho- 
 nour' to share the infamy of an adulterer !" 
 
 •* Upon my word, Miss Montreville," returned lady Pelham, 
 reddening with anger, ** I am constrained to admire the delicacy 
 of your language,; so very suitable to the lips of so very delicate a 
 lady." 
 
 A smile, not wholly free from sarcasm, played on Laura's lips. 
 " If delicacy," said she, " be henceforth to find so strenuous a 
 supporter in your ladyship, I shall hope to be exempted in future 
 from all remonstrance on the subject of this evening's altercation.'* 
 
 If Laura really entertained the hope she mentioned, she was 
 miserably disappointed ; for Lady Pelham remitted not a jot of 
 her tormentings. Her remonstrances were administered in every 
 possible form, upon every possible occasion. They seasoned every 
 tete-^-tete, were insinuated into every conversation. Laura's at- 
 tempts to avoid the subject were altogether vain. The discourse 
 might begin with the conquest of Gengis Khan, but it always end- 
 ed with the advantages of marrying Colonel Hargrave. 
 
 Teazed and persecuted, disturbed iiv every useful occupation 
 and every domestic enjoyment, Laura often considered of the pos- 
 sibility of delivering herself from her indefatigable tormentors/by 
 quitting the protection of her aunt, and taking refuge with Mrs. 
 Douglas. But this plan she had unfortunately deprived herself of 
 the means of executing. 
 
 Laura knew that her cousins, the Herberts, were poor. She 
 knew that Mrs. Herbert was in a situation which needs comforts 
 that poverty cannot command, and it was in vain to expect these 
 comforts from the maternal compassion of Lady Pelham. Slie 
 therefore determined to supply them, as far as possible, from her 
 own little fund ; and fearing that a gift from her might revolt the 
 high spirit of Herbert, she inclosed almost all her half-year's an- 
 nuity m a blank cover, and con^^eyed it to her cousin. All that she 
 retained was a sum far too small to defray the expense of a journey 
 to Scotland ; and several months were to elapse before she could 
 recruit her fund. Till then, she had no resource but patience ; and 
 
.61 
 
 she endeavoured to console herself with a hope that in time the 
 perseverance of her adversaries would fail. 
 
 Often did she with a sigli turn lier eyes towards Norwood — Nor- 
 wood, tlie seat of all the peaceful domestic virtues j where the 
 voice of contention was unheard; where courtly politeness, though 
 duly honoured, held the second place to the courtesy of the hean. 
 But Mrs. De Courcy had never hinted a wish that Laura should be 
 a permanent inmate of her family; and, even if she had. there 
 would have been a g^larlng impropriety in forsaking^ Lady Pel- 
 ham's house for one in its immediate ncig-hboarhood. De Courcy, 
 too, she thought, was not the kind friend he was wont to be. She 
 had of late seen him seldom, wUicli was probably caused by the 
 marked coolness of Lady Pelham's reception ; but it had happen- 
 ed unfortunately that he had twice surprised her in the midst of 
 Ilarg-rave^s extravagancies, when she almost feared to speak to 
 him, lest she should awaken the furious jealousy to which her tor- 
 mentor was subject, and she dreaded that her father's friend (for 
 so she loved to call him) suspected her of encourag-inp the ad- 
 dresses of such a lover. During these visits he had looked, she 
 thought, displeased, and had early taken leave. Was it kind to 
 judge her unheard. Perhaps, if an opportunity had been given lier, 
 she might have assumed courage to exculpate herself; but, with- 
 out even calling to ask her commands, De Courcy was gone with 
 Mr. Bolingbroke to London, to make ai'rangcments fgr Harriet's 
 marriage. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 Though Laura could not escape the attacks of I ady Pelhaftr, 
 she sometimes found means to elude those of Hargrave. She 
 watched his approach, and whenever he appeared, intrenched her* 
 sel£in her own apartment. She confined herself almost entirely 
 to the house, and excused herself from every visit where she 
 thought he might be of the party. He besieged her with letters ; 
 she sent them back unopened. I^ady Pelham commanded her to 
 be present during his visits ; she respectfully, but peremptorily, 
 refused to comply. ^ 
 
 Slie had thus roniained a sort of prisoner for some weeks, when 
 hvr aimt one morniog entered her room with an aspect which Laura 
 cu.:!(l not veil decypher. *• Well, Miss Montreville,'* said she, 
 " you have at last accomplished your ptuposc ; your capricious 
 tvranny JuiS prevailed at Inst; Colonel Flargrave leaves —— this 
 nvtrnini^." " Dear .Madam.'* cr'.ed Laura, starting up overjoyed, 
 " what a deliverance !" ** Oh to be sure, mighty cause you have 
 to cong-iatulate yourself upon a deliverance from a man who might 
 1 spire to the first woman in England ! But you will never have it in. 
 
ybcr powe/ to throw away such another offer. You need hardly 
 expect to awaken such another passion." 
 
 " I hope, with all my heart, I shall not ; but are you certain he 
 will g-o V " Oh, very certain. He lias written to tell me so !" " I 
 trust he will keep his word," said Lam^a ; " and when I am sure 
 he is g"one, I will beg of your ladyship to excuse me for a few: 
 hours, while I walk to Norwood. I have been so shackled 
 of late ! but the first use I make of my liberty sliall be to 
 visit my friends " ** I am afraid, my dear," returned Lady 
 Pelham, with more g-entleness tlian she was accustomed to 
 use in contradiction, "you will scarcely fmd time to visit Mrs, 
 De Courcy. I have long promised to pass some time with my 
 friend Mrs. Bathurst; and I propose setting off to-morrow. I 
 should die of enmti here, now 1 have lost the society tliat has of 
 late given me so much pleasure." " Mrs. Uathurst, Madam, she 
 who was formerly" — '* Poh, poh, child," interrupied Lady Pelhara, 
 ** don't stir up the embers of decayed slander — Will you never 
 learn to forget the little mistakes of your fellow creatures ? Mrs. 
 Bathurst makes one of the best wives in the world ; and to a man 
 with whom every body would not live so well." 
 
 Practice had made Laura pretty expert in interpreting her aunt's 
 language, and she understood more in the present instance than it 
 was meant she should comprehend. She had heard of Airs. Ba- 
 thurst's fame, and, knowing that it was not quite spotless, was ra- 
 ther averse to being the companion of Lady Pelham's visit ; but 
 she never, without mature deliberation, refused compliance with 
 her aunt*s wishes ; and she resolved to consider the matter before 
 announcing opposition. Besides, she was determined to carry her 
 point of seeing Mrs. De Courcy, and therefore did not wish to in- 
 troduce any other subject of altercation. "Though I should ac- 
 company you to-iriorrow, Madam," said she, " I shall have time 
 sufficient for my walk to Norwood. The preparations for my jour- 
 ney cannot occupy an hour ; and, if I go to Norwood now," added 
 she, tying on her bonnet, " I can return early. Good morning. Ma- 
 dam ; to-day I may walk in peace." 
 
 Laura felt as if a mountain had been lifted from her breast as 
 she bounded across the lawn, and thought that Colonel Hargrave 
 was, by this time, miles distant from Walbourne ; but as she pur- 
 sued her way, she began to wonder that Lady Pelham seemed so 
 little moved by his departure. It was strange that she, who had 
 remonstrated so warmly, so unceasingly, against Laura's behaviour 
 to him, did not more vehemently upraid her with its consequences. 
 Lady Pelham's forbearance was not in character — Laura did not 
 know how to explain it> " I have taken her by surprise," thought 
 she, **v.'ith my excursion to Norwood, but she will discuss it at 
 large in the evening ; and probably in many an evening — ^I shall 
 never hear the last of it." 
 
 It was needless, however, to anticipate evil, and jLaura turned 
 her thoughts to the explanation which she was bent upon making 
 to her friends. Th.i anore she reflected, the more she was persn-a- 
 
83 
 
 ded that De Courcy suspected her of encouraging the addresses of 
 Hargrave ; addresses now provoking-ly notorious to all tlie neigh- 
 bourIu)od. He had most probably communicated the same opinion 
 to his mother ; and Laura wished much to exculpate herself, if she 
 could do so without appearing officiously communicative. If she 
 could meet Mr. De Courcy alone, if he sliould lead to the subject, 
 or if it should accidentally occur, she thought she might be able 
 to speak freely to him ; more freely than even to Mrs. De C<»urcy. 
 *« It is strange, too,*' thought she, " that I should feel so little re- 
 straint with a person of the other sex ; less than ever 1 did with 
 one of my own. But my father's friend ought not to be classed 
 with other men.'* 
 
 Her eyes yet swam in tears of grateful recollection, when she 
 raised them to a horseman who was meeting her. It was Mon- 
 tague De Courcy ; and, as he leisurely advanced, Laura's heart 
 beat with a hope that he would, as he had often done before, dis- 
 mount to accompany her walk. But Montague, though evidently 
 in no haste to reach the place of his destination, stopped only to 
 make a slight inquiry after her health, and tlien passed on. Laura's 
 bosom swelled with grief, unmixed with resentment. " He thinks,'* 
 said she, ** that I invite the attentions of a libertine ; and is it sur- 
 prising that he shoidd withdraw his friendship from me ! But he 
 will soon know his error." And again she more cheerfully pur- 
 sued her way. .-■-.— A 
 
 Her courage failed her a little as she entered Norwood. " What 
 if Mrs. De Courcy too should receive me coldly,'* thought ihe ; 
 ** Can I notice it to her ? Can 1 beg of her to listen to ray justifica- 
 tion ?" These thoughts gave Laura an air of timidity and em- 
 barrassment as she entered the room where Mrs. De Courcy 
 was sitting alone. Her fears were groundless. Mrs. Ue Courcy 
 received her with kindness, gently reproaching her for her long 
 absence. Laura assured her that it was wholly involuntary, but 
 ** of late," said she, hesitating, •* I have been very little from 
 home." Mrs. De Courcy gave a faint melancholy smile ; but did 
 not inquire what had confined her young friend. " Harriet has 
 just left me,'* said she, **topay some visits, and to secure the 
 presence of a companion for a very important occasion. She meant 
 also to solicit yours, if three weeks hence you are still to be capa- 
 ble of acting as a bridemaid." Laura smiling was about to reply, 
 that being in no danger of forfeiting that privilege, she would 
 most joj^ully attend Miss De Courcy ; but she met a glance of such 
 marked, such mournful scrutiny, that she stopped ; and the next 
 moment was covered with blushes. ** Ah !" thought she, *' Mrs. 
 De Courcy indeed believes all tliat I feared, and more than I fear- 
 ed — What can I say to her ?'* 
 
 Her embarrassment confirmed Mrs. De Courcy's belief ; but, 
 unwilling further to distress Laura, she said, ** Harriet herself 
 will talk over all these matters with you, and then your own pecu- 
 liar manner will soften the refusal into somewhat almost as plea- 
 sing as consent ; if indeed you are obliged to refuse." *^ Indeed, 
 
84 
 
 Madam," said Laura, " notliin^ can be further fiom rajr iboughls 
 llian refusal ; I shall most willingly, most gladly, attend Miss De 
 Courc} ; but may I — will you allow me t<i — ^to ask you why you 
 sliould expect me to refuse V " And if I answer you," retrained Mrs. 
 De Courcy, " will you promise to be candid with me on a subject 
 wliere ladies think that candour may be dispensed with ?" '* I 
 w ill promise to be candid with you on every subject,*' said Laura, 
 rejoiced at tliis opportunity of enterinq- on her justification. 
 " Then I will own to you," said Mrs. De Courcy, " that circum- 
 .^tances have conspired with public report to convince me that 
 you are yourself about to need the g-ood office wliich Harriet soli- 
 cits fiom you. Colonel Harg'rave and you share between you the 
 envy of our little world of fasluon." "And have you. Madam — 
 has Harriet — has Mr. De Courcy given credit to this vexatious re- 
 port {" cried Laura, the tears of mortification filling- her eyes. 
 *' Ah how diifcrently should I have judged of you !"• — " My dear- 
 est girl," said Mr.'?. De Courcy, surprised but deliglited, " 1 as- 
 sure you that none of us Would, upon slight grounds, believe v.ny 
 thing concerning you, that you would not Wish us to credit. Uut, 
 in tliis instance, I thought my authority indisputable ; Lady Pel- 
 ham" — " Is it possible," cried Laura, " that my aunt could propa- 
 gate such a report, when she knew the teazing, the persecution 
 that I have endured ?" " Lads- Pelham did not directly assure me 
 of its truth ;" answered Mrs. De C^ourcy : " but when 1 ^nade in- 
 Cjtiiries, somewluit, 1 o\\Ti, in the hope of being empowered to 
 contradict the rumour, her answer was certainly calculated to make 
 me believe that you were soon to be lost to us." — " Lost indeed !'* 
 exclaimed Laura. " Uut what could be my aunt's intention ? 
 Surely she cannot still expect to prevail with me. My dear 
 friend, if you knew what I have suilered from her importunities. — 
 But she has only my advantage in view, though, surely, she wide- 
 ly mistakes the means." 
 
 Laura now frankly informed Mrs. De Courcy of the inquietude 
 she had suffered from tlie ])ersevering remonstrances of Lady Pel- 
 liam, and the obtrusive assiduities of [largrave. .Mrs. De Courcy, 
 though she sincerely pitied tlie comfortless situation of Laura, 
 listened with pleasure to the tale. " And is all this confidential ?" 
 said she, "so confidential J.hat I must not mention it even to 
 Moiitague or Harriet V " Oh no, indeed. Madam," cried Laura ; 
 ** I wish, above ^^11 things, that Mr. De Courcy should know it ; 
 tell him all, Madam; and tell him too, that I would rather be in 
 my grave than marry Colonel Hargrave." Laura had scarcely 
 spoken ere she blushed for the warmth with which she spoke, and 
 Mrs. De Courcy's smile made her blush again, and more deeply. 
 But the plea wliich excused her to herself she the next moment 
 urged to her friend. "Ah, Madam," said she, "if you had wit- 
 nessed Mr. De Courcy's kindness to my father ; if you had known 
 how my father loved him, you would not wonder that I am anx- 
 ious for his good opinion.'* " 1 do not wonder, my love," said 
 Mrs, De Courcy, in a tone of heaitfelt affection. " I should be 
 
85 
 
 much more surprised If such a mind as yours could undervalue 
 the esteem of a man like Montague But why did not my sweet 
 Laura take refug-e from her tormentors at Norwood, where no 
 ofiicioiis friends, no obtrusive lovers would have disturbed her 
 quiet ?" 
 
 Laura excused herself, by saying that she was sure her aiuit 
 would never have consented to her absence for more than a few 
 hours ; but she promised, now that Lady Pelliam's particular rea- 
 son for detaining her was removed, that she would endeavour to 
 obtain permission to spend some time at Norwood. *' I fear I 
 must first pay a much less agreeable visit," continued Laura, 
 *' for my unt talks of carrying me to-morrow to the house of a 
 Mrs. Bathurst, of whom you probably have heard." Mrs. Do 
 Courcy knew that Lady Pelham was on terms of intimacy with 
 ^Irs, Bathurst, yet she could not help feeling some surprise that 
 she should choose to introduce her niece to such a chapevon. She 
 did not, however, think it proper, by expressing her opinion, to 
 heighten Laura's reluctance towards what she probably could not 
 prevefit ; and therefore merely expressed a strong wish that Lady 
 Pelham would permit Laura to spend tlie time of her absence at 
 Norv/ood. Laura, though she heartily wished the same, knew 
 her aunt too well to expect that a purpose which she had once 
 announced she would relinquish merely because it interfered with 
 the inclinations of others. Still it was not impossible that it might 
 be reUnquished. A thousand things might happen to alter Lady 
 Pelham's resolutions, though they were invincible by entreaty. 
 Laura lingered with Mrs. De Courcy for several hours, and when 
 at last she was obliged to go, received, at parting, many a kind 
 injunction to remember her promised visit. As she bent her steps 
 homeward, she revolved in her mind every chance of escape from 
 being the companion of her aunt's journey. She was the more 
 averse to attend Lady Pelham because she conjectured that they 
 would not return before Miss De Courcy's marriage, on which 
 occasion Laura was unwilling to be absent. But she was sensible 
 that neither this nor any other reason she could urge, would in 
 the least affect Lady Pelham's motions, Derham Green, the seat 
 of Mrs. Bathurst, was above ninety miles from Walbourne ; and 
 it was not likely that Lady Pelham would travel so far with the in- 
 tention of making a short visit. 
 
 Laiira had quitted the avenue of Norwood and entered the lane 
 which led to that of Walbourne, when the noise of singing, for it 
 could not be called music, made her look round ; and she per- 
 ceived that she was overtaken by a figure in a dingy regimental 
 coat, and a rusty hat, wliich, however, regained somewhat of its 
 original shade by a contrast with the grey side -locks which blew 
 up athwart it. This person was applying the whole force of his 
 lungs to the utterance of ** Hearts of Oak,'* in a voice, the mascu- 
 line bass of which was at times oddly interrupted by the weak 
 treble tones of age, while, with a large crabstick, he beat time 
 against the sides of a staiTeling ass upon which he was mounted 
 
 H 
 
.^: 
 
 86 
 
 The other hand was charged with the double employment of g-uld- 
 ing-the animal, and of balancing a large portmanteau, which was 
 placed across its shoulders. Laura, retaining the habits of her 
 country, addressed the man with a few words of courtesy, to 
 which he leplied with the frankness and garrulity of an old Eng- 
 lishman ; and as they proceeded at much the same pace, they con- 
 tinued the conversation. ]t was, however, soon interrupted. At 
 the gate of a grass field, with which the ass seemed acquainted, 
 the creature made a full stop. — " Get on," cried the man, striking 
 it with his heel. It would not stir. Tlie rider applied the crab- 
 stick more vigorously than before. It had no effect ; even an aSs 
 can despise the chastisement with which it is too familiar. The 
 contention was obstinate ; neither party seemed incFmed to yield. 
 At last fortune decided in favour of the ass. The portmanteau 
 slipped from its balance, and fell to the ground. The man look- 
 ed dolefully at it. •* How the plague shall I get it up again ?" 
 said he. *' Don't dismount," said Laura, who now fir.st ob- 
 served that her companion Lad but one leg — " I can lift it 
 for you.'* 
 
 As she raised it, Laura observed that it was directed to Mr. 
 
 Jones, at Squire Bathurst's, Derham Green, shire. Though 
 
 the name was too common to excite any suspicion, the address 
 struck her as being to ti»e same place which l»ad so lately occupi- 
 ed her thoughts. " Have you far to go ?'* said she to the man. 
 •* No, Ma'am,** answered he, " only to Job Wilson, the carrier's, 
 with this portmanteau, for Colonel Hargrave's gentleman. The 
 Colonel took Mr. Jones with himself in the chaj', but he had only 
 room for one or two of his boxes, so he left this wth the groom, 
 and Ihe groom gave me a pot of porter to go with it." 
 
 The whole affair was now clear. Lady Pelham, finding Laura 
 nnmanageable at home, was contriving that she should meet Col- 
 onel Hai'grave at a place where, being among strangers, she would 
 find it less possible to avoid him. Mrs. Bathurst too was probably 
 a good convenient friend, who would countenance whatever mea- 
 sures were thought necessary. In the first burst of indignation 
 at the discovery of her aunt's treachery, Laura thought of retra- 
 cing her Heps to Norwood, never more to enter tht- presence of 
 her unworthy relation ; but, resentment cooling at the recollec- 
 tion of the benefits she owed to Lady Pelham, she determined on 
 returning to Walbourne, to announce in person her refusal to go 
 with her aunt ; conceiving this to be jthe most respectful way of 
 intimating her intentions. 
 
 As soon as she reached home she retired to her chamber with- 
 out seeing Lady Pelham; and immediately dispatched the follow- 
 ing note to Mrs. De Courcy. " My dear Madam, an accident has 
 happened which determines me against going to Derham Green. 
 Will you think I presume too soon on your kind invitation, if I say 
 that I shall see you to-morrow at breakfast ? Or will not your be- 
 nevolence rather acquire a new motive in the shelterless conditio^ 
 which awaits your very affectionate L. M ?" 
 
87 
 
 She then proceeded to make arrangements for her deparlurcy 
 reflecting-, with tears, on the hard necessity wliich was abeut to 
 set her at variance with the only living- relation v. lio had ever ac- 
 knowledged her She knew that Lady Pelham would be enraged 
 at the frustration of a scheme, to accomplish which she had stoop^ 
 ed to such artifice ; and she feared that, however gentle might be 
 the terms of her intended refusal, her aunt would consider it as 
 unpardonable rebellion. She was, however, firmly resolved against 
 compliance, and all that remained was to use the least irritating 
 mode of denial. 
 
 They met at dinner. Lady Pelham in high good humour, Laura 
 grave and thoughtful. Lady Pelham mentioned her journey ; 
 but, dreading to rouse her aunt's unwearied powers of objurga- 
 tion, Laura kept silence ; and her just displeasure rendering her 
 averse to Lady Pelham's company, she contrived to spend the 
 evening chiefly alone. 
 
 As the supper hour approached, Laura began to tremble for the 
 uilest which awaited her. She felt herself more than half in- 
 clined to withdraw frorji the storm, by departing witliout warn- 
 ing, and leaving Lady Pelham to discover the reason of Iier flight 
 after she was beyoml the reach of her fury. But she considered 
 
 ' that such a proceeding must imply an irreconcilable breach with 
 one to whom she owed great and substantial obligations ; and 
 
 ^ would carry an appearance of ingratitude which she could not 
 
 • bear to incur. Summoning her courage, therefore, she resolved 
 to brave the tempest. She determined, that whate%'er provoca- 
 tion she might endure, she would oflTer none but such as was 
 unavoidable ; though, at the same time, she would maintain that 
 spirit which she had always found the most effectual check to her 
 a\!nt's violence. 
 
 riic supper passed in quiet ; Laura tinwilling to begin the at- 
 l: ck ; Lr.dy Pelham glorying in her cKpected success, Herladv- 
 
 r ship had taken her candle, and was about to retire, before Laura 
 durst venture on tiie subject. " Good night, my dear,* said Lady 
 
 |L Pelham. *'l fear," replied Laura, "I may rather say farwelf, 
 since it will be so long ere I see you again.'* "How do you 
 mean ?'* inquired Lody Pelham. *' That t cannot accompiiny vou 
 
 r to Mrs. Bathurst's,'* replied Lnura ; felcliing, at the close of her 
 
 :- speech, a breath longer than the speech itself. '• You won't go V 
 exclaimed Lady^ F*elham, in a voice of angry astonishment. 
 '* Since it is your wish that I should," returned Laiu'a, meeklv, 
 " I am sorry it is not in my power." " And pray what puts it out 
 of your power ?" cried Lady Pelham, wrath working in her coun- 
 tenance. " I cannot go where I am to meet Colonel Hargrave." 
 
 . For a moment Lady Pelham looked confounded, but presently re- 
 covering utterance, she began — " So ! this is your Norwood in- 
 telligence; and your charming Mrs. De Courcy — your model of 
 perfection — sets spies upou the conduct of all the neic-hbour. 
 hood !" 
 
88 
 
 Laura reddened at this vulgar abuse of the woman on eurlii 
 whom she most revered ; but slic had set a guard upon her tem- 
 per, and only answered, that it was not at Norwood slie received 
 her inrunnation. *• A fortunate, I should rather say, a providen- 
 tial accident," said she, "disclosed to me Uie whole*' — the word 
 * stratagem* was rising to her lips, but she exchanged it for one 
 less oti'ensive. 
 
 " And what if Colonel Hargrave is to be there ?*' said Lady 
 Pelham, her choler risir.g as her confusion subsided. *' I sup- 
 pose, forsooth, my pretty prudish Miss cannot trust herself in 
 ihe house with a man !" "Not with Colonel Hargrave, Madam," 
 tiaid Laura coolly. 
 
 l^dy Pelham's rage was now strong enough to burst the re- 
 straints of Laura s habitual ascendency. " But I say you shall go. 
 Miss," cried she in a scream that mingled the fierceness of anger 
 with the insolence of command. " Yes, I say you shall go ; we 
 shall see whether 1 am always to truckle to a babyfaced chit, a 
 creature that might have died in a workhouse but for my charity." 
 " Indeed, Madam,"' said Laura, *' I do not forget — I never shall 
 forget — what I owe you ; nor that when I was shelterless and un- 
 protected, you received and cherished me." *' Then show that 
 you remember it, and do what I desire," returned Lady Pelham, 
 softened in spite of herself, by the resistless sweetness of Laura's 
 look and manner. " Do not, 1 beseech you. Madam,*' said Laura, 
 *' insist upon this proof of my gratitude. If you do, I can only 
 thank you for your past kindness, and wish that it had been in my 
 power to make a better return." " Do you dare to tell me that 
 you will not go ?" cried Lady Pelham, stamping till the room 
 shook. *' I beg. Madam," said Laura entreatingly, " 1 beg of you 
 )iot to command what I shall be compelled to refuse " " Refuse 
 at your peril !" shrieked Lady Pelham, in a voice scarce articu- 
 late with passion, and grasping Laura's arm in the convulsion of 
 her rage. 
 
 Laura had sometimes been the witness, but seldom the object 
 of her aunt's transport ; and while Lady Pelham stood eying her 
 v/ith a countenance " fierce as ten furies," she, conscious with 
 what burning shame she would herself have shrunk from making 
 such an exhibition, sympathetically averted her eyes as if the virago 
 had been sensible of the same feeling. " I say refuse at your peril !'* 
 cried Lady Pelham, — " Why don t you speak ? obstinate"—" Be- 
 cause," answered Laura with saintlike meekness, " I can say no- 
 thing but what will olfend you — I cannot go to Mrs. Bathurst's." 
 
 Angry opposition Lady Pelham might liave retorted with some 
 small remains of self-possession, but the serenity of Laura exaspe- 
 rating her beyond all bounds, she was so far transported as to strike 
 her a violent blow. Without uttering a syllable, Laura took her 
 candle and quitted the room ; while Lady Pelham, herself confound- 
 ed at the outrage she had committed, made no attempt to detain 
 
89 
 
 Laura retired to her chamber, and sat quietly down to conskk-r 
 the state of lier warfare, which she determined to conclude by let- 
 ter, without exposing- her person to another assault ; but in a few- 
 minutes she was stormed in her citadel, and the enemy entered, 
 conscious of mistake, but with spirit unbroken. Lady Pelham had 
 g-one too far to retract, and was too much in the wrong to recant 
 her error ; her passion, however, had somewhat exhausted itself in 
 the intemperate exercise which she had allowed it ; and though as 
 unreasonable as ever, she was less outrageous. Advancing toward* 
 Laura with an air intended to express onended majesty (for studi- 
 ed dignity is generally the disguise chosen by conscious degrada- 
 tion, ),she began, ** Miss Montreville, do you, in defiance of my com- 
 mands, adhere to your resolution of not visiting Mrs. Bathurst ?*' 
 " Certainly, Madam ;" replied Laura, provoked that Lady Pelham 
 should expect to intimidate her by a blow ; " I have seen no rea- 
 son to relinqtiish it." — " There is a reason, however," returned La- 
 dy Pelham, elevating her chin, curling her upper lip, and giving 
 Laura the side-glance of disdain, *' though probably it is too late 
 to weigh with such a determined lady, and that is, tliat you must 
 either prepare to attend me to-morrow, or return to that beggary 
 from whicli I took you, and never more enter my presence." *• Then^ 
 Madam," said Laura, rising with her native mien of calm command, 
 ** we must part ; for I cannot go to Mrs. Bathurst*s." 
 
 Laura's cool resistance of a tiireat which was expected to be all 
 powerful, discomposed Lady Pelliam's heroics. Her eyes flashing 
 fire, and her voice sharpening to a scream, " Perverse, ungrateful 
 wretch !" she cried, " Get out of my sight — leave my house this 
 instant." " Certainly, if you desire it, Madam," answered Laura, 
 with unmoved self-possession ; •* but, perhaps, if you please, I had 
 better remain here till morning I am afraid it might give rise to 
 unpleasant observations if it were known that I left your house at 
 midnight." 
 
 " I care not who knows it — T would have the world see what a 
 viper I have fostered in my bosom. Begone, and never let me see 
 your hypocritical face again." 
 
 " Then 1 hope," said Laura, " your ladyship will allow a servant 
 to accompanv me to Norwood. At this hour it would be improper 
 for me to go alone." " Oh to be sure,'* cried Lady Pelham, ♦' do 
 go to your friend and favourite and make your complaint of all your 
 harsh usage, and descant at large upon poor Lady Pelham's un- 
 luckly failings. No, no, I promise you, no servant of mine shall 
 be sent on any such errand." ♦* There is fine moonlight," said 
 Laura looking calmly from the window, " I dare say I shall be 
 safe enough alone." " You shall not go to Norwood !" cried Lady 
 Pelham — •* I'll take care to keep you from that prying censorious 
 old hag. You two shan't be allowed to sit primming up your 
 Xnnuths, and spitting venom on all the neighbourhoofl *' Weary of 
 «uch low abuse, Laura took her bonnet, and was leaving the room. 
 Liid\ Pelham placed herself between her and the door. " Where 
 ai-e you going ?" she demanded, in a voice in which rage was alit? 
 H 2 
 
90 
 
 tie mingled with dread. " To the only shelter that England affords 
 ine," returned Laura ; ** to the only friends from whom death or 
 distance does not sever me." " I shall spoil your dish of scandal 
 for to-night, however," said Lady Pelham, flouncing out of the 
 room ; and, slapping the door with a force that made the windows 
 rattle, she locked it on the outside. Laura making no attempt to 
 obtain release, quietly sat down expecting a renewal of the charge. 
 Soon, however, all the household seemed still, and Laura having 
 mingled with the prayer that commended herself to the care of 
 heaven, a supplication for pardon and amendment to her aunt, re- 
 tired to sound and refreshing rest. 
 
 On quitting Laura, Lady Pelham went to bed, pride and anger 
 in her breast fiercely struggling against a sense of blame. But the 
 darkness, the silence, tlie loneliness of night assuage the passions 
 even of a termagant ; and by degrees she turned Irom re-acting 
 and excusing her conduct, to fretting at its probable consequences. 
 
 The courage of a virago is no more than the daring of intoxica- 
 tion. Wait till the paroxysm be past, and the timid hare is not 
 more the slave of fear. Lady Pelham began to feel, though she 
 would scarcely acknowledge it to herself, how very absurdly her 
 contest would figure in the mouthi of the gossips round Walbourne. 
 If her niece left her house in displeasure, if a breach were known 
 to subsist between them, was it not most likely that Laura would 
 in her own defence relate the treatment to which she had been sub- 
 jected ? At all events, if she went to Norwood before a reconcili- 
 ation took place, she would certainly explain her situation to ^f^s. 
 Tie Courcy ; and Lady Pelham could not brave the contempt of the 
 woman whom she disliked and abused. Anger has been compared 
 to a short madness, and the resemblance holds in tliis respect, that 
 in both cases, a little terror is of sovereign use in restoring quiet. 
 Lady Pelham even feared the calm displeasure of Laura, and 
 shrunk from meeting the reproving eye of even the dependent girl 
 whom she had persecuted and re])roache.d and insulted. By de- 
 grees, Laura's habitual ascendency was completely restored, per- 
 iiaps with added strength for its momentary suspension ; for she 
 had rather gained in respectability by patient endurance, wliile 
 Lady Pelham was somewhat humbled by a sense of misconduct. 
 Besides, in the course of eight months residence under her roof, 
 Laura was becomp necessary to her aunt. Her prudence, her gom^ 
 temper, her various domestic talents, were ever at hand to supply 
 the capital defects of Lady Pelham's character. Lady Pelham 
 could not justly be said to love any mortal, but she felt the advan- 
 tages of the method and regularity which Laura had introduced 
 into her family ; Laura's beauty gratified her vanity ; Laura's sweet- 
 ness bore with her caprice ; Laura's talents amused her solitude ; 
 and she made as near an approach as nature would permit to lov- 
 ing Laura. What was of more consequence, Laura was popular 
 in the neighbourhood ; her story would be no sooner told than be- 
 lieved ; and Ladv Pelham's lively imagination strongly represented 
 
91 
 
 to her the aggravation, commentary, and sarcasm, with which such 
 im anecdote would be circulated. 
 
 But though these ideas floated in Lady Pelham*s mind, let it not 
 be thought that she once supposed ihem to be the motives of her 
 determination to seek a reconcilement! No Lady Pelham had 
 explained, and disguised, and adorned her failings, till she had 
 converted tlie natural shame of confession into a notion that a can- 
 did avowal atoned for any of her errors ; and no sooner did she be- 
 gin to think of making confessions to her niece, than the conscious- 
 ness of blame was lost in inward applause of her own candour und 
 condescension. An obsei'ving eye, therefore, would have seen 
 more of conceit than of humility in her uir, when early in the morn- 
 ing, she entered Laura's apartment Laura was already dressed, 
 and returned her aunt's salutation a little more coldly than she 
 Jiad ever formerly done, though with perfect good humour. Lady 
 Pelham approached and took her hand ; Laura did not withdraw 
 it "I fear," said Lady Pelham, •* you think I behaved very ab- 
 iBurdly last night." Laura looked down and said nothing. *' I am 
 willing to own I was to blame," continued her ladyship, '* but peo- 
 ple of strong feelings, you know, my dear, cannot always com- 
 mand themselves." Laura was still silent. " We must forget and 
 forgive the failings of our friends," proceeded her ladyship. Laura, 
 who dreaded that these overtures of peace only covered a project- 
 ed attack, still stood speechless. " Will you not forgive me, Lau- 
 ra ?" said Lady Pelham coaxingly, her desire of pardon increasing, 
 as she began to doubt of obtaining it. " I do, Madam," said Laura, 
 cla.sping Latly Pelham's hand between her own. " I do from my 
 heart forgive all, and if you will permit me, I will forget all — all 
 but that when ( was an orphan, alone in the wide world, you shel- 
 tered and protected me." "Thank you, my dear good girl,*' re- 
 turned Lady Pelham, sealing the reconciliation with a kiss. "I 
 knew you would think it a duty to excuse an error arising merely 
 from my natural warmth, and the interest I take in you — * A bad 
 eficct from a noble cause.' It is a melancholy truth that those 
 v/ho have the advantages of a feeling heart, must share its weak- 
 nesses too." Laura had so often listened to similar nonsene, that 
 it had ceased to provoke a smile. " Let us talk of this no more," 
 said she ; " let me rather try to persuade you not only to excuse, 
 but to sanction the obstinacy that offended you " ** Ah Laura," 
 returned Lady Felham, smiling, ** I must not call you obstinate, 
 but you are very firm. If I could but prevail on you to go with me 
 only for a day or two, I should make my visit as short as you please ; 
 for now it has been all arranged I must go, and it would look so 
 awkward to go without you !" " If the length of your visit depend 
 upon me," answered Laura, waving a subject on which she deter- 
 mined not to forfeit her character for firmness, " it shall be short 
 indeed, for I shall \o\ g to offer some reparation for all my late per- 
 verseness and disobedience " 
 
 At another time Lady Pelham's temper would have failed her 
 at this steady opposition to her will ; but fear kept her in check,- 
 
92 
 
 After a few very gentle expostulations, she g-ave up the point, and 
 inquired whether her niece siill intended to spend the time of her 
 absence at Norwood. Laura answered that she (hd ; and had pro- 
 mised to breakfast there that morning L^on thi> Lady Pelham 
 overwhelmed her with such caresses and endearments, as she in- 
 tended should obliterate the remembrance of her late injurious be- 
 haviour. She extolled Laura's prudence, her sweet and forgiving 
 disposition, her commendable reserve with strangers, and her cau- 
 tion in speaking of herself or of her own affairs. Unfortunately 
 for the effect of the flattery, Laura recollected that some of these 
 qualities had at times been the subject of Lady Pelham's severe 
 reprehensions. She had, besides, sufficient penetration to detect 
 the motive of her Ladyship's altered language ; and she strove to re- 
 press a feeling of contempt, while she replied to her aunt's 
 thoughts as frankly as if they had been frankly spoken ; assuring 
 her that she should be far from publishing to strangers the casual 
 vexations of her domestic life. Lady Pelham reddened, as her 
 latent thoughts were thus seized and exposed naked to her view ; 
 but fear again proved victorious, and she redoubled her blandish- 
 ments. She had even recourse to a new expedient, and for the 
 first time in her life made Latiraan offer of money. With infinite 
 difficulty did Laura suppress the indignation which swelled her 
 breast. She h.id forgiven abuse and insult, but it was beyond en- 
 durance that her aunt should suppose tliat her pardon and silence 
 might be bottght. llestraining her anger, however, she positively 
 refused the money ; and bidding Lady Pelham farewel, departed, 
 amidst pressing injunctions to remain at Norwood no longer tlian 
 till her aimt returned to Wulbourne ; her ladyship protesting that 
 her own home wotdd not be endurable for an hour without the 
 company of her dear Laura 
 
 Lady Pelham imwillingly set out on a journey of which the first 
 intention had been totally defeated ; but she had no alternative, 
 since, besides having promised to visit Mrs. Bathurst, she had made 
 an appointment to meet Hargrave at the stage where she was to 
 stop for the night, and it was now too late to give him warning of 
 his disappointment. Even Hargrave's politeness was no match for 
 his vexation, when he saw Lady Pelham, late in the evening, alight 
 from her carriage unaccompanied by Laura. He listened with 
 impatience to her ladyship's apology and confused explanations ; 
 and more than half resolved to return to to carry on his ope- 
 rations there. But he too had promised to Mrs. Bathurst, whom 
 for particular reasons he wished not to disoblige. The travellers, 
 therefore, next day pursued their journey to Derham Green, be- 
 guiling the way by joint contrivances to conquer the stubbornness 
 of Laura. 
 
93 
 
 CHAPTER XX VII. 
 
 Lauti A had proceeded but a short way towar(;ls Korvrood when 
 she was met by De Courcy, who, with a manner the most opposite 
 to his coldness oi» the preceding day, sprang forward to meet her, 
 his countenance radiant with pleasure. Laura, delighted with the 
 change, playfully reproached him with his caprice Montague 
 coloured, but defended himself with spirit; and a dialogue, more 
 resembling flirtation than any in which Laura had ever engaged, 
 occupied them till, as they loitered along the dark avenue of Nor- 
 wood, a shade of the sentimental begun to mingle with their conver- 
 sation. De Courcy had that morning resolved, firmly resolved, that 
 while Laura was his guest at Norwood, he would avoid a declaration 
 of his sentiments. Convinced, as he now was, that he had no longer 
 any thing to fear from the perseverance of llargrave, he was yet 
 far from being confident of his own success. On the contrary, he 
 was persuaded that he had hitherto awakened in Laura no senti- 
 ment beyond friendship, and that she must become accustomed to 
 him as a lover, before he could hope for any farther grace. He 
 considered how embarrassing would be her situation in a iiouse of 
 which the master was a repulsed, perhaps a rejected, admirer; 
 and he had determined not to hazard embittering to her a residence 
 from which she had at present no retreat Yet the confiding man- 
 ner, the bewitching loveliness of Laura, the stillness, shade, and 
 solitude of their path, had half beguiled him of his prudence, when, 
 fortunately for his resolution, he saw Harriet advancing to meet 
 her friend. Harriet's liveliness soon restored gaiety to the con- 
 versation ; and the party proceeded less leisurely than before to 
 Norwood, where Laura was received with aiFectionate cordiality 
 by Mrs De Courcy. 
 
 Never had the time appeared to Laura to fly so swiftly as now. 
 Every hour was sacred to improvement, to elegance, or to bene- 
 volence. Laura had a mind capable of intense application ; and 
 therefore could exalt relaxation into positive enjoyment. But the 
 p'easure which a vigorous understanding takes in the exercise of 
 il> powers, was now heightened in her hours of study, by the as- 
 sistance, the approbation of i)e Courcy ; and the hours of relaxa- 
 tion he enlivened by a manner which, at once frank and respect- 
 ful, spirited and kind, seemed peculiarly fitted to adorn the do- 
 mestic circle. A part of every day was employed by Mrs. De 
 Courcy in various works of charity ; and, joining in thesf, Laura 
 returned with satisfaction to a habit which she h:^.d unwillingly 
 laid aside during her residence in London, and but imperfectly re- 
 sumed at Walbourne. Amiable, rational, and pious, the family at 
 Norwood realized all Laura's day-dreams of social happiness ; and 
 the only painful feeling that assaded her mind arose from the re- 
 collection that the time of her visit was fast stealing away. Her 
 visit \^as, however, prolonged by a fortunate cold which detained 
 Lady Pelham at Derham Green ; and Laura could not regret an 
 
94 
 
 accident which delayed her separation from her friends. Indeed 
 she began to dread Lady Pelham's return, both as the signal of 
 her departure from Norwood, and as a prelude to the renewal of 
 her persecutions on account of Hargrave. Far from having, as 
 Lady Pelham had insinuated, renounced his pursuit, he returned 
 in a few days from Mrs. Bathurst's ; again established himself 
 with Lambert; and, though he could not uninvited intrude him- 
 self into Norwood, contrived to beset Laura as often as she passed 
 its bounds. In the few visits which she paid, she generally encoun- 
 tered him , and he regularly waylaid her at church. But he had 
 lost an able coadjutor in Lady Pelham ; and now, when no one 
 present was concerned to assist his designs, and when Laura was 
 protected by kind and considerate friends, she generally found 
 means to escape his officious attentions ; though, remembering 
 his former jealousy of Montague, and the irritability of his tem- 
 per, she was scrupulously cautious of marking her preference of 
 De Courcy, or of appearing to take sanctuary with him from the 
 assiduities of Ilargrave. Indeed, notwithstanding the mildness of 
 l)e Courcy's disposition, she was not without fear that he might be 
 involved in a quarrel by the unreasonable suspicions of Hargrave, 
 who had often taxed her with receiving his addresses, ascribing 
 his own failure to their success. She had in vain condescended to 
 assure him that the charge was groundless. He never met De 
 Courcy without shewing evident marks of dislike. If he accosted 
 him, it was in a tone and manner approaching to insult. The most 
 trivial sentence which De Courcy addressed to Laura, drew from 
 Hargrave looks of enmity and defiance; while Montague, on his 
 part, retui-ned these aggressions by a cool disdain, the most oppo- 
 site to the conciliating frankness of his general manners. Latira's 
 alarm lest Hargrave's ill-concealed aversion should burst into 
 open outrage, completed the dread with which he inspived her; 
 and she felt like one subjected to the thraldom of an evil genius, 
 when lie one day announced to her that he had procured leave to 
 
 remove his regiment to , in order, as he said, "that he might 
 
 be at hand to assort his rights over her." 
 
 He conveyed this information as, rudely preventing Mr. Boling- 
 broke and be Courcj^ he led her from Mrs. De Courcy's carriage 
 into church. Laura durst not challenge his presumptuovs exprcs- 
 sion, for Montague was close by her side, and she dreaded that his 
 aversion to arrog'ance and oppression should induce liini to engage 
 in her quarrel. ' Silently therefore, though glowing with resent- 
 ment, she suffered Hargrave to retain the place he had usurped, 
 while Montague followed, with a countenance which a few short 
 moments had clotided with sudden care. '* \h," thought he, 
 " those rights must indeed be strong which he dares thus boldly, 
 thus publicly assert." It was some time ere the service began, 
 and Laura could not help casting glances of kind Inquiry on the 
 saddened face, which, a few minutes before, she had seen bright 
 with animation and delight. Hargrave's eyes followed hers with 
 a far different expression. While she observed him darting a 
 
95 
 
 scowl of malice and aversion on the man to whom he owed his life, 
 Laura shuddered ; and wondering' at the infatuation which had so 
 long' disguised his true cliaracter, bent her head, acknowledged 
 her short-sightedness, and resigned the future events of her life to 
 the disposal of heaven. It was the day immediately preceding 
 Harriet's marriage, and neither she nor Mrs. De Courcy was in 
 church; Laura therefore returned home tete-a. ete with Mon- 
 tague. Ignorant that Hargrave's provoking half whisper had been 
 overheard by De Courcy, she could not account for the sudden 
 change in his countenance and manner; yet though she took an 
 affectionate interest in his melancholy, they had almost reached 
 home before she summoned courage to inquire into its cause. " I 
 fear you are indisposed." said she to him in a voice of kind con- 
 cern. De Courcy thanked her. " No, not indisposed." said he, 
 with a famt smile. "Disturbed, then," said Laura. De Courcy 
 was silent for amoment, and then taking her hand, said, " Mciv I 
 be candid with you ?" " Surely," returned Laura. ** I trust I sludl 
 ever meet with candour in you.'* " Then I will own," resumed 
 De Courcy, *' that I am disturbed. And can the friend of Montrc- 
 ville be otherwise when he hears a right claimed over you by one 
 so wholly unworthy of you ?'* " Ah," cried Lau. a, " you have then 
 heard all. I hoped you had not attended to him." *' Attended !'* 
 exclaimed De Courcy, ** Could any right be claimed over you and 
 I be regardless ?'' ** It were ungrateful to doubt your friendly in- 
 terest in me," replied Laura, " Believe me. Colonel Hargrave has 
 no right o\er me, nor ever shall have." " Yet I did not hear you 
 resist the claim," returned De Courcy. *' Because," answered 
 Laura, " I feared to draw your attention. IJ is violence teinfies 
 me, and I feared that — that you might" — She hesitated, stopped, 
 and blushed very deeply She felt the awkwardness of appearing 
 to expect that De Courcy should engage in a qunrrel on her ac- 
 count, but the simple truth ever rose so naturally to her lips, that 
 she could not even qualify it without confusi .n ** Might what ?" 
 cried De Courcy eagerly ; "Speak frankly, I beseech you." **I 
 feared." replied Laura, recovering heiself, " that the interest you 
 take in the daugliter of your friend might expose you to the rude- 
 ness of this overbearing man." *• And did you upon my accotmt, 
 dearest Laura, submit to this insolence ?" cried De Courcy, his 
 eyes sparkling with exultation. " Is my honour, my safety then 
 dear to you ? Could you think of me even while Hargrave spoke ?'* 
 With surprise and displeasure Laura read the triumphant glance 
 which accompanied his woi-ds. •• Is it possible," thought &lie, 
 **ihat, well as he knows me, he can thus mistake the nature of my 
 regard? or can ':e, attached to another, find jjleasui'e in the idle 
 dream ? Oli m;\n, tliou art altogether vanity ?" Snatching away 
 the hand which he wa.^ pressing to his lips, she coldly replied, " I 
 should have be«n equa'ly atteutive to tlie safety of any common 
 stranger had I expected his interference ; and Colonel Hargrave's 
 speeches canr.ot divert my attention even from- the niost trivial 
 o^'ief't in nature." Poor De Courcy, his towering hopes suddenly 
 
96 
 
 levelled with the dust, shrunk from tiie frozen steadiness of her 
 eye. " Pardon me, Misb Mon\reville," said he, in a tone of min- 
 gled sorrow and reproach, "pardon me for tlie hope,t^at you 
 would make any distinction between me and the most i^ififercnt. 
 I shall soon be cured of my presumption." Grieved at the -pain 
 she saw she had occasioned, Laura would fain have said some- 
 thing to mitigate the repulse which she had given : hut a new light 
 began to dawn upon her, and she feared to conciliate the friend 
 leal siie should encourage the lover. Fortunately for the relief of 
 her embarrassment the carriage stopped. De iJourcy giavely and 
 in silence handed her from it ; and, hurry ii:g to her chamber, she 
 sat down to reconsider the dialogue she had just ended. 
 
 De Courcy's manner more than his words recalled a suspicion 
 which she had oftener than once driven from her mind. Slie was 
 impressed, she scarcely knew why, with a conviction that she 
 was beloved. For some moments this idea aione filled her 
 thoughts ; the next that succeeded was recollection that she ought 
 sincerely to lament a passion which she couid not return. It was 
 her duty to be sorry, very sorry indeed, for such an accident; to 
 be otherwise would have argued the most selfish vanity, the most 
 hard-hearted ingratitude towards tiie best of friends, and the most 
 amiable of mankind. Yet she was not rery sorry ; it was out of 
 her power to convince herself that she was; so she imputed her 
 pliilosophy under her misfortune to doubtfulness (;f its existence. 
 «• But after all," said she to herself, " his words could not bear 
 such a construction ; and for his manner — who would build any 
 thing upon a manner ? While a woman's vanity is so apt to de- 
 ceive her, what rational creature would give credit to what may 
 owe so much to her own imagination ! Besides, did not Mrs. De 
 Courcy more than hint that his affections were engaged ? Did he 
 not e\en himself confess to me that they were ? And I taxed him 
 with vanity ! — Truly, if he could see this ridiculous freak of mine 
 he might very justly retort the charge. Avid see it iie will. What 
 could possess me with my absurd prudery to take oflfence at his 
 expecting that I, who owe him ten thousand kind offices, should 
 be anxious for his safety? How could 1 be so false, so thankless 
 as to say I considered him as a common acquaintance ? — The friend 
 of my fatlier, my departed father ! ihe friend who supported him 
 in want, and consoled him in sorrow ! No wonder that he seemed 
 shocked ! What is so painful to a noble heart as to meet with in- 
 gratitude? But he shall never again have reason to think me vain 
 or ungrateful;" and Laura hastened down stairs that she might 
 lose no time in convincing De Courcy that Sf.e did not suspect him 
 of being her lover, and highly valued him as a friend Slie found 
 him in the drawing-room, pensively resting his forehead against 
 the window sash ; and approaching him, spoke scnne trifle with a 
 smile so winning, so gracious, tliat De Courcy soon forgot both 
 bjs wishes and his fears, enjoyed the present, and was happy. 
 
 The day of Harriet's marriage arrived; and for once she was 
 grave and silept. She even forgot her bridal finery ; and v/hen 
 
97 
 
 I^aura went lo infonn her of Mp.,Bplingbroke*s arrival, she foun.l 
 her ill the libraiy, sitting on the ground in tfears, her liead resting- 
 on the seat of an old-fasliioned elbow-chair. She sprang- up as 
 ^ Laura entered ; and dashing- the drops from her eyes, cried, *' I 
 " have been trying to grow young" again for a few minutes, before I 
 am made ah old woman for life.' Just there I used to sit when I 
 was a little tiling, and laid my head upon my father's knee ; for 
 this was his favourite clifir, and there old Jiover and I used to lie 
 at his feet together. I'll beg this chair of my mother, for now I 
 love every thing at Norwood." Laura drew her away, and she for- 
 got the old elbow-chair when she saw the siiperb diamonds which 
 were lying on her dressing-table. The ceremonMil of the wedding- 
 were altogether adjusted by Mrs. Penelope ; arfd thoiig^Ii, in com- 
 pliance with Mr. Bolingbroke's whnns, she suffered the ceremony 
 to be privately performed, she invited every creature ulio could 
 claim kindred with the names of Bollngbroke or De Courcy to 
 meet and welcome the young bride to her home. Mr. Bolingbroke 
 hs^ving brought a licence, the pair were united at Xorwood. Mr. 
 AVentworth officiated, and De Courcy gave his sister away. Mrs. 
 Bolingbroke's own new barouche, so often beheld in fancy, now 
 really waited to convey her to her future dwelling; but she turned 
 to bid farewell to the domestics who had attended her mfancy, and 
 forgot to look at the new barouche. 
 
 Mr. Bolingbroke was a great man, and could not be allowed to 
 marry quietl}-. Bonfires were lighted, bells were rung, and a cor.- 
 course of his tenantry accompanied the carriages which conveyed 
 the party. The admiration of the company whom Mrs. Penelope 
 had assembled in honour of the day, was divided between Mrs. 
 Bolingbroke's diamonds and her bride-maid; and as the number 
 of each sex was pretty equal, the wonders shared pretty equally. 
 
 " Did you ever see anything so lovely as Miss Monti'cville;" 
 said Sophia Bolingbroke, to the } oung lady who sat next to h.er. 
 " I never can think any body pretty who has red hair," was the rc- 
 ph'. '* If her hair be red," returned Sophia, *' it is the most pui- 
 donable red hair in the world, for it is more nearly black. Don't 
 you admire her figure ?'* " Not particularly ; she is too much of 
 'the May -pole for mc; besides, who can tell wiiat her figure is 
 v/hen she is so muflled up. I dare lay she is stufled, or she would 
 show a littl(« more of her skin." " She has at least an excellent 
 taste in stuffing, then," said Sophia, " for I never saw any ibin.^* 
 so elegantly formed." -. " It is easy to see," said the critic, *' th.a 
 she thinks herself a beauty hy her dressing so affectedly. To-nighu 
 when every body else is in full dress, do but look at hers !" " Pure, 
 unadorned, virgin white," said Miss Bolingbroke, looking at Luu- 
 ra; " the proper attire o%angels !" Tlie name of Miss Montre- 
 Ville had drawn the attention of De Courcy to this dtalog-ue. " £ 
 protest," cried he to Mr. WentwQi-th, who stood by him, *' Sophv 
 Bolingbroke is the most agreeable plain girl lever saw." He theii 
 placed liimsclf by her side; and wiiile she continued to praise 
 Laura, g^ave her credit for all that is most amiable in woman. 
 
 I 
 
98 
 
 Tiie moment he left her she ran to rally Laura upon her con- 
 quest. *• I g-iveyoU joy, my dear," said she, "^De Courcy is cer- 
 tainly in love with you,'* "Nonsense," cried Laura, colouring 
 crimson, " what can make you think so ?'* " Why he will talk of 
 notJiing but ypu, and he looked so delig^hted when I praised you ; 
 :iiul paid me more compliments hi half an hour, than ever I re- 
 ceived in my whole life before." ** If he was so compUmentary," 
 said Laura, smiling-, " it seems more likely that he is in love with 
 you." " Ah," said Sophia, sig-hin^, " that is hot very probable." 
 " Full as probable as the other," answered Laura, and turned 
 
 .vay to ai 
 thoughts. 
 
 During" the few days whicK Laura and the De Courcys spent 
 with the newly-married pair. Miss lloling-broke's observations 
 served to confirm her opinion ; and merely for the pleasure of 
 speaking of 'Montague, she rallied Laura incessantly on her lover. 
 In weighing- credibilities, small weight of testimony turns the 
 scale ; and Laura began alternately to wonder what retarded De 
 Courcy's declaration, and to tax Jierself with vanity in expecting 
 1 hat he would ever make one. She disliked her stay at Orford- 
 l^all, and counted the hours till her return to Norwood. De 
 Courcy's attentions she had long placed to the account of a re- 
 gard whicli, while slie was permitted to give it the nameof friend- 
 sliip, she could frankly own that she valued above any earUily 
 possession. These attentions were now so familiar to her, that 
 they were become almost necessary, and she was vexed at being 
 constantly reminded that she ought to reject them. She had 
 therefore a latent wish to return to a place where she would have 
 a legitimate claim to his kindness, and where at least there would 
 be no one to remind lier that she ouglit to shrink from it. Be- 
 sides, she was weary of the state and magnificence that surround- 
 ed her. While Harriet glided into the use of her finery as if she 
 had been accustomed to it from her cradle, Laura could by no 
 means be reconciled to it. She endiired with impatience a meal 
 of three hours long ; could not cat while six footmen were staring^ 
 at her; started, if she thoughtlessly leant iier head against the^ 
 white damask wall ; and couKl»not move with ease, where cv^rf 
 gesture was repeated in endless looking-glasses-. With pleasure, 
 therefore, she saw the day arrive which was to restore her to easy 
 hospitality, and respectable simplicity at Norwood ; but that 
 very day she received a summons to; attend her aunt at Wal- 
 bourne. 
 
 Unwilling as laura was to quit her friends, she did not delay 
 to comply with Ladv I'elham's requisition. Mrs. De Com cy judg- 
 ed it improper to urge her to stay ; and*Monlague m j>art conso- 
 led himself for her departure, by reflecting, that he would now oe 
 at liberty to disclose his long-concealed secret. " No doubt vou 
 are at liberty," said Mrs. De Coiircv, when he spoke to her o. his 
 intentions, " and I am fixr from pretending to advise and mterfere. 
 Rut, my dear Montague, you iwnst, neither be surprised, nor m 
 
99 
 
 Jcspair, If you be af first imsuccessful. Though Laui a c; .- > ;; s 
 you, piM-iiaps more than esteems you, she is convinced that slic is 
 invuhierahle to love ; and it may be so, but her fancied security is 
 all in your fa^ our." Weary of suspense, however, De Courcy of- 
 ten resolved to know his fate i s^vl often went to \V^aIbourne, de- 
 termined to learn ere he retvii*ned» whether a circle of pU asint; 
 duties was to fill his after life, of whether it was to be spent alone, 
 " loveless, joyless, imendeared ;'* but when lie met the friendly 
 siuileof Laura, :aid remembered that, his secret told, it mit^lit 
 \ anish like gleamincr of a wintry sun, his coAirapfc fiiilud, and tlui 
 iiitendc'd disclosure was again delayed. Yet his manner grew 
 less and Ices" equivocal, and Laiu'a, imwilllng jfl^hc was to own 
 the conviction to herself, could scarcely raaihtaiu her wilful 
 blindness. 
 
 She allowed the subject to occupy the more of her thought?., 
 because it came disguised in a veil of self-condemnation and hu- 
 mility. Sometimes she repeated to licrself, that she should nevci- 
 have known the vanity of her own heart, h.ad it not been visited by 
 so absurd a suspicion ; and sometimes that she should never ha', e 
 been acquainted with its selfishness and obduracy, had she not 
 borne with such indifference, tj)^ thoughts of what must brin^- 
 pain and disappointment to so worthy a breast. But, s]>ite cf 
 Laura's efforts to be miserable, the subject cost her much more 
 perplexity than disti-ess ; and, in wondering whether De Courcy 
 really were her lover, and what could be his motive for concealing* 
 it if he were, she ofLea forgot to deplore the consequences of her 
 charms. 
 
 Meanwhile Ifargrave continued his importunities ; and Ladv 
 Pelham seconded them wilhumveai-ied^persevcrance. In vain did 
 X-aura protest that her indifference" was unconquerable ; in vain 
 assure him that though atotal revolution inhis character mipht 
 regain her esteem, her affection was irrecoverably lost. She 
 could at .iny time exasperate the proud spirit of Ilargrave, till in 
 transports of fury he would abjure her for ever ; but a few Itours 
 always brought ihe "for ever" to an end, and Ilargrave back, to 
 F ipplicate, to importune, and not unfrequently to threaten, 
 l hough her unremitting coldness, however, failed to conquer his 
 passion, it by degrees extinguishe^all of generous or kindly that 
 had ever mingled with the flame ; and the wild unholy fire which 
 her beauty kept alive, was blended with the heart-burnings of an- 
 ger and revenge. From such a passion Laura shrunk with dread 
 and horror. She heard its 'expressions as superstition listens to 
 sounds of evil omen ; and saw his impassioned glances with the 
 dread of one wlio meets the eye of the crouching tiger. His in- 
 creasing jealousy of De Courcy, which testified itself in haughti- 
 ness, and even ferocity of behaviour towards him, and Montague's 
 determined though cool resistance of his insolence, kept her in 
 continual alarm. Though she never on any other occasion volun- 
 tardy entered Hargrave's presence, yet if De Courcv found him at 
 S. albourae, she would hasten to join them, fearing the conscquen- 
 
100 
 
 CCS of a private Interview between two such hostile spirits ; ami 
 this apparent preference not only ag-gravated the jealousy of Har- 
 gi*ave, but roused Lady Pelham's indefatig'able spirit of remon- 
 strance The subject was particularly suited for an episode to 
 her ladyship's harangues in favour of Hargrave ; and she intro- 
 duced and varied it with a dexterity all her own. She taxed Lau- 
 ra with a passion for De Courcy ; and in terms not eminently deli- 
 < ate, reproached her with facility in transferring- her regards. 
 While the charg-e was privately made, it appeared to Laura too 
 g"roundlcss to aficct her temper. But Lady Pelh^m, whose whole 
 life mig-ht be saicjt.to form one grand ejcperiment upon thg powers 
 of provocation, took occasion to rally her upon it before some of 
 her companions ; hinting not obscurely at the secret which Laura 
 liud so religiously kept, and confessed with so much pain. The 
 attempt was partly successful, for Laura was really angry ; but 
 she commanded herself so far as to parry the attack, secretly ypw-^ 
 ing that her candour should never again commit her to the difiprc- 
 lion of Lady Pelham. 
 
 Sometimes assuming the tone of a tender monitress. Lady Pel- 
 ham would affect to be seriously convinced that her niece enter- 
 tained a passion for De Courcy, and treating all Laura's denials as 
 ilie effect of maiden timidit}'-, would pretend to sympathize in 
 lier sufferings, advising her to use her native strength of mind to 
 conquer this unfortunate partiality ; to transfer her affections from 
 one to whom they appeared valueless to him who sued for them 
 with such interesting perseverance. Above all, she entreated her 
 to avoid the appearance of making advances to a man who proba- 
 bly never bestowed a thouglU on her in retum ; thus intimating 
 that Laura's behaviour might bear so provoking a construct io.n, 
 Laura, sometimes irritated, oftener amused by these impei tinen- 
 r.es, could iiave endured them with tolerable'patience ; but they 
 were mere interludes to Lady Pelham's indefi\tigable chidings on 
 the subject of Hargrave. Tliese were continued with a zeal and 
 industry worthy of better success. And yet they could not be 
 said to be wholly unsuccessful, while, though they could not per- 
 suade, tliov could torment. In vain did Laura recount the rea- 
 sons v/liich, even amidst the utmost strength of inclination, would 
 })ave deterred her from a connexion with a person of Hargrave's 
 eharactcr. To reason with Lady Pelham was a laboiu* at once 
 severe and unavailing. She was so dexterous in the use of inde- 
 fmite -anguage, so practised in every art of shift and evasion, that 
 the strongest argument failed to conquer her ; or if forced from 
 her ground, she on the next occasion occupied it again, just as if 
 she had always maintained it undisputed. Remonstrance and en- 
 treaty were not more successful. In defiance of both , Lady Pel- 
 ham continued to ring endless changes on the same endless theme, 
 till Laura's patience would have failed her, had she not been con^ 
 soled by reflecting that the time now drevv jiear when the payment 
 of her annuity would enable her to escape from her unwearied 
 persecutors. ' She heartily wished, however, that a change of sys- 
 
101 
 
 tern ml^ht make her.reaidence with Lady Pelham endurable ; tc: 
 strong- as was her attachment to Mrs. Doug-las, it was no lon^^cr 
 her only friendship ; and she could not wilhovit pain think of quit- 
 ting-, perhaps for ever, her valued fiien.ls at Norwood. 
 
 ^V inter advanced ; Lady Pelham began to talk of her removal 
 to town ; and I>aura was not without hopes, that when removed to 
 a distance from Hargrave, her aunt would remit somewhat of her 
 diligence in his cause. L;iura expected that iiis duty would gene- 
 rally confine him to head-quarters, and she hoped to find in his ab- 
 sence a respite from one half of her plagues. At ail events, from 
 London she thought she could easily procure an escort to Scot- 
 land, and she was determined rather finally to forfeit the protec- 
 tion of Lady Pelham, than submit to such annoyance as she had of 
 late endured. 
 
 Laura could not help wondering sometimes that her aur-t, while 
 she appeared so anxious to promote the success of Hargrave, 
 should meditate a step which woiUd place him at a distance from 
 the object of his pursuit ; but Lady Pelham's conduct was so ge- 
 nerally incojisistent, that Laura was weary of trying to reconciie 
 its contradictories. She endeavoured to hope that Lady Pelliam, 
 at last becoming sensible of the inefficacy of her cilorts, was lier- 
 sclf growing des'.rous to escape the Colonel's importunity; and 
 she thought she could obse've, that as the time of their departure 
 approached^ her ladyship relaxed somewhat of licr industry in 
 f^azing-. ■ 
 
 liutthe motives of Lady Pclliam's removal did rot at all coin- 
 cide with her niece's hopes ; and nothing- could be farther frcm 
 her intention, than to resign her labours in a field so rich in con- 
 troversy and provocation. She imagiued that Laura's obstinacy 
 was occasioned, or at least sti engthencd by the influence of the 
 1)0 Courcys, and she expected that a more general acquaintance 
 with the world would remove her prejudices. At \Vall)ourne, Laii- 
 pa, if ofl'ended, could always take refuge v»iih Mis. l)e Conrcy. 
 In London, she v»ould be more deft-nceless. At ^Va!boul•ne, Lady 
 Pelham acted under restraint, fur there -u^ere few objects to divide 
 V ith her the observation of lier neighbours, and she felt lierself 
 accoimtable to them for the piopiiety of her conduct ; but she 
 would be more at liberty in a place where, each immersed in isi.s 
 own business or pleasure, no oiic liad leisure to comment on tlie 
 concerns of others. She knc Vv that Hargrave would findir^eans 
 t ) escape the duty of remaining with his regiment, anfc^dced Ijad 
 eor.certed v/itli him the whofe plan of her operations. 
 
 .Meanwhile La>ira, altog-ether unsuspicious 'of their designs, 
 gladly prepared for her joMrney, considering it as a f(,rrunate ia- 
 fitance of the instability of Lady Pclham*s pvirposes- She paid a 
 parting visit to Mrs. Uolingbroke, whom she for.nd established in 
 quiet possession of all the goods of fojtunc. Hy the aid of Mrs. 
 I3e Courcy's carriage, she contrived, without molestation from 
 Hargrave, to spend mucli of her time at Norwood, where she wua 
 .always i*eceivecl witli a kindness the most Battering, and loaded 
 1 2 
 
102 
 
 with testimonies of regard. De Courcy stiil kept his secret; and 
 l^aura's suspicions rather diminished when she considered that, 
 thDUg-li he knew she was to go without any certainty of returning-, 
 he "suffered numberless opportunities to pass witliout breathing a 
 syllable of love. 
 
 The day preceding- that which was fixed for the journey arrived ; 
 rind Laura begged Lady Pelham's permission to spend it entirely 
 ■with Mrs. De Courcy. Lady Pelham was rather unwilling to con. 
 sent, for she remembered that her last excursion had been render- 
 ed abortive by a visit to Norwood; but, flattering herself that her 
 present scheme was secure from hazard of failure, she assumed an 
 accommodating humour, and not only ])crmitted Laura to go, but 
 allowed the carriage to convey her, stipulating that she should re- 
 turn it immediately, and walk home in tlie evening. She found the 
 De CouTcys alone, and passed the day less cheerfully than any she 
 liad ever spent at Norwood. Mrs. De Courcy, though kind, was 
 grave and thoughtful ; Montague absent, and melancholy. Har- 
 riet's never falling spirits no long-er enlivened the party, and her 
 place was but feebly supplied by the infantine g-aiety of Ue Courcy s 
 little" protege Henry. This child, who was the toy of all his patron's 
 leisure hours, had, during- her visits to Norwood, become particu- 
 larly interesting to Laura. His quickness, his uncommon beauty, 
 his engaging- frankness, above all, the innocent fondness which he 
 shewed for her, iiad really attached her to him, and he repaid her 
 vv^ith all the affections of his little heart. He would quit his toys 
 to hang upon her ; and, though at other times, as restless as any 
 of Ills kind, was never weary of sitting quietly on her knee, clasp- 
 ing her snowy neck in his little sun-burnt arms. His prattle agree- 
 ably interrupted the taciturnity into which the litttle party were 
 falling, till his grandfather came to take him away. " Kiss your 
 handHenry, and'bid Miss Montreville farewell," said the old man 
 as he was about to take himfrom Laura's arms. "It will be along 
 while before you see her again." " Are you going away ?" said 
 the child, looking sorrowfully in Laura's face. *♦ Yes, far away," 
 answered Laura. " Then Henry will go with you, Henry's dear 
 pretty lady." " No no," said hi's grandfather. *' You must go to 
 your mammy ; good boys love their mammies best" ** Then you 
 ought to be Henry's mammy," cried the child, sobbing, and lock- 
 ing his arms round Laur.Vs neck, ** for Henry loves you best." — 
 •* My dear boy !" cried Laura, kissing hh^ with a smile that half- 
 consented to Ills wish ; but, happening to turn her eyes towards 
 De Courcy, she saw him change colour, and, with an abruptness 
 unlike his* usual manner, he snatched the boy from her arms, and 
 regardless of his cries, dismissed him from the room. 
 
 Tills Uttle incident did not contribute to the cheerfulness of the 
 group. Grieved to part with her favourite, and puzzled to account 
 for De Courcy's behaviour, Laura was now the most silent of the 
 trio. She saw nothing in the childish expression of fondness which 
 should have moved De Courcy ; yet it hadevidently stung him with 
 sudden, uneasiness. She now rec<?U?,cted that sh« had more thajj 
 
103 
 
 orice inquired who were the parents of tliis cnild, and that lue 
 question had id\vii3's been evaded^ A motive of curiosity prompt^ 
 ed her now to repeat her inquiry, and she addressed it to Mrs. Da 
 CoiMcy. "With a slii^ht shade of embaiTassmetit Airs. De Courcy 
 answered, *' His mother was the only child of oiir old servant; a 
 pretty, meek-spirited, unfortunate girl ; and his father" — ** His fa- 
 tlicr's crimes," interrupted Dc Courcy, lu'.stily, '* have brought 
 their own punisliment ; a punishment beyond mortal fortitude to 
 bear ;" — and, catfrliing* up a book, he asked Laura vrhclher she had 
 seen it, ei\deavouring' to divert her attention by pointing- out some 
 pasr\e^es to her notice, l,aura*s curiosity v.as increased by this 
 appearance of concealment, but she hnd no means of gratifying it, 
 and the subject vanished from her mind wiicn she thought of bid- 
 ding farewell to hen beloved friends, perhaps for ever. 
 
 When she was about to go, Mrs. l)e Courcy affectionately era- 
 braced her. " My dear child," said she, " second in my lo-.e and 
 esttem only to niy ov.-n Montague, almost the warmest wish of my 
 heart is to retain you always with me ; but, if that is impossible, 
 short may your absence be, and may you return to us as joyfully 
 as we shall receive you." SVeeping, nnd reluctant to part, i.aura 
 at last tore herself away. Hargrave had so often stolen upon Irer 
 walks that the fear of meeting him was become habitual to her, 
 and she wished to escape him by reaching home before her return 
 could be expected. As she leant on Dc Courcy's arm, asliamed of 
 being unable to suppress her sensibility, slie averted lier head, and 
 looked sadly back upon a dwelling endeared to her by many an in- 
 nocent, many a rational pleasure. 
 
 Absorbed in her regrets, Laura had proceeded a considerable 
 way before she observed that she helcfa trembling arm ; and re- 
 collected that De Courcy had scarcely spokon since their walk be- 
 gan. Her tears suddenly ceased, wMJe confused and disquieted, 
 she quickened lier pace. Soon recollecting herself, she stopped; 
 and thanking him for his escort, begged that he would go no fur- 
 ther. ** I cannot leave you yet," said De Courcy in a voice of re- 
 strained emotion, and again he led her onwards. A few short sen- 
 tences were all that passed till they had almost reached the antique 
 gate which terminated the winding part of the avenue. Here Lau- 
 ra again endeavoured to prevail upon her companion to return, but 
 without success. With more composure than before, he refused 
 to leave her. Dreading to encounter Hargrave while De Courcy 
 Was in such evident agitation, she besouglit him to go, telling 
 him that it was her particular wish that he should proceed no far- 
 ther. He instantly stopped, and clasping her hand between his, 
 .** Must I then leave you, Laura," said he ; "you whose presence 
 has so long been the charm of mV existence r" The blood rushed 
 violently into Laura's face, and as suddenly retired. "And can I," 
 continued De Courcy, ** can I suffer }0u to go v»ithout pouring 
 out my full heart to you ?" Laura breathed painfully, and she 
 pressed her hand upon her bosom to restrain its swelling. ** To 
 talk to joii of passion," resumed De Courcy, " is noUiing- Yo» 
 
lOJt 
 
 have twined yourself with every v.isb and every emprojTTicnt, 
 every motive, every hope, till to part with you is tearing, my heart- 
 string-s." Apfain lie paused. Laura felt that she was expected to 
 reply, and, thoug-h trembling and breathless, made aii effort to 
 speak. ** This is '.vliat I feared," said she, " and yet I wish you had 
 been less explicit, fv)r there is no liuraan beincp whose friendship ia 
 so dear to me a^ yours ; and now I feaV 5^ ought." — Fhe sob which 
 liadbeen strug-f^ling i)i lier brea?it now clicked her utterance, and 
 she wept aloud. " It is the will of heaven," said she, '* that I should 
 be reft of every earthly friend.*' She covered her face and stood 
 labouring to compose herself; while, lieart-struck with a disap- 
 pointment Vv'hiclj was not mitigated by al! the gentleness Mith which 
 it was conveyed, De Courcy was unable to break the silence. 
 
 " Ungrateful ! selfish tliat I am," exclaimed Laura, suddenly 
 dashing the tears from her eyes, "thus to think only of my own 
 loss, while I am giving- pain to the worthiest of hearts. — My best 
 friend, I cannot indeed return the regard with whicli you honour 
 me, but I can make you cease to wish tliat I sliould. And I deserve 
 the sliame and anguish I shall suHer. Slie, whom you honour with 
 your love," continued she, the burning crimson glowing in her fu'ce 
 and neck, " has been the sport of a passion, strong as disgraceful — 
 dis.:^raceful as its object is worthless." 
 
 Her look, her voice, her manner conveyed to- De Cnurcy the 
 strongest idea of the torture which this confession cost her; and 
 no sufferings of his own could make him insensible to those of 
 Laura. " Cease, cease," he cried, *' best and dearest of women,, 
 do not add to my wretchedness the thought of giving pain to you." 
 Then, after a few moments' pause, lie contiriued, " it v.'ould be 
 wronging your noble cailpdour to doubt that you have recalled 
 your affections." ♦• In doing so," answered Laura, " I can claim 
 no merit. Infatuation itself could have been blind no longer." — 
 " Then why, dearest Laura'," cried De Courcy, his heart again 
 boimding with l:ope, '* why may not time and tlie fond assiduities 
 of love" — " Ah !" interrupted Laura, " that is impossible. A mere 
 preference 1 miglit give you, but I need not tell you that I have no 
 more to give." " My heavenly Laura," cried De Courcy, eager 
 joy beaming in his eyes, '* give me but this preference, and I would 
 not exchange it for the fondest passion of all woman-kind." " You 
 deceive yoiu'self," said Laura, mournful}}'', ^ miserably deceive 
 yourself. Such a sentiment codld never content you. You would 
 miss a thousand littl^arts of happiness which love alone can teacl 
 observe a thousand nameless coldnesses whicli no caution could 
 conceal ; and you would be unha]>py without kif<jfwing perhaps of 
 what to complain. Y'ou, who woidd deserve the warmest affection 
 to be content with mere endurance ! Oh no, I should be wretched" 
 in the bare thought of offering you so poor a return." 
 
 *' Endurance, Laura ! i sliouid indeed be a monster to find joy 
 in any thing which you could describe by such a word : But must 
 I despair of awakening such affection as will make duty delightful, 
 such as will enjoy the bliss which it bestows ?'* 
 
 
105- 
 
 '* Believe me, my dear friend," said Laura in a voice as sweet, 
 as soothing", as ever conveyed the tenderest confession, " believe 
 me I :im not insensible to the value of your rep^ard. It adds u new 
 debt of gratitude to all that Montreville's dauii^hter owes you. My 
 highest esteem shall ever be yours, but after what I have confided 
 to you, a moment's cpnsideration must convince you that all be- 
 yond is impossible." ■* Ah 1* thought I)e Courcy, " what will it 
 cost me to believe that it is indeed impossible-" Ikit Laura's avowal 
 was not quite so fatal to his hopes as siie imagined ; and while she 
 supposed that he was summoning fortitude to endure their final 
 destruction, he stood silently pondering Mrs- De Courcy's oft re- 
 peated counsel to kt love borrow the garb of friendship, nor suffer 
 him undisguised to approach- the heai-t where, having once been 
 dethroned" as an usurper, all was in ai-ms against him. 
 
 " If I must indeed renounce every dearer hope," resumed he, 
 "then in your friendship, my ever dear Miss Montreville, I must 
 seek the happiness of my after-life, and surely" — ** Oh no," inter- 
 , rupted Laura, " that must not be — the part, the little part of your 
 happiness which will depend upon earthly connexions, you must 
 find in that of some fortunate woman who has yet a heart to give." 
 " How can you name it to me ?" cried Be Courcy half indignantly ! 
 ** Can he wjio has known you Laura, admired in you all that is n'o- 
 \f\e, loved in you all that is enchanting, transfer his heart to some 
 common-place being ? — You are my business — 5 ou arc n;y plea- 
 sure — I toil but to be wortliy of you — ^_vour approbation is my sweet- 
 est reward — all earthly things are precious to me but as you share 
 in them — even abetter world borrows hope from you. And is this 
 a love to be bestowed on some soulless thing ? No, Laura, I can- 
 not, wiii not .change. If I c'r-not v.in your iove, I will admit no 
 substitute but your friendship." 
 
 " Indeed, Mr^De Courcy," cried Laura, unconsciously pressing, 
 in the energy of her speech, the hand which held hers,' " Indeed 
 it is to no common-place woman that I wish to resign you. Lonely 
 as my own life m.ust be, its chief pleasures must arise from the 
 happiness of my friends, and to know that you are happy." Laura 
 stopped, for she felt her voice grow trcmulous> *' But we will not 
 talk of this now," resumed she, ♦* I shall be absent for some 
 months at least, and in that time )ou will bring yourself to think 
 difll-rently. Promise Tne at least tcymake the attempt.' 
 
 " No iJaura,'*' answered De Courcy, ** that I cannot promise. I 
 will never harass you with importunity or complaint, but the love 
 of you sliall be my heart's treasure, it shall last through life — be- 
 yond life — and if yo'.j c.innot love mc, give in return only such kind 
 thouglits as you woidd bestow on one wb.o would promote your 
 liappiuess at tlic e\pense of liis own. And promise me dearest 
 Laura, that wlicn we meet, you will not receive me with suspicion 
 or reserve, as if you feared that I should presume on your favour, 
 or persecute you v.ith solicitations. Trust to my honour, trust to 
 m} love itself for sparing you all unavailing entreaty. Promise me 
 tli^n ever to consider mc as a friend, a faithful, tender friend ; and 
 
106 
 
 toi-g-et, till my weakness reminds you of it, that ever you knew me 
 as a lover." 
 
 " Ah, Mr. De Courcy," cried Laura, tears fiiHn|^J|ier eyeSj 
 " what thoughts bat the kindest can I ever have of hinti'-who com- 
 forted my fatiier's sorrows, who relieved — in a manner that made 
 relief indeed a kindness— relieved my father's wants ? And what 
 suspicion, what coldness can T ever ISel towards hino whom my fa- 
 ther loved and honoured ? Yps I will trust you ; for I know tliat 
 you are as far above owing fr.vouis to compassion as to fear." 
 
 ** A thousand thanks, beloveid Laura," cried De Courcy, kissing" 
 lier hands, *' and thus I seal our compact. One thing more ; shall 
 I trespass on yournoble frankness, if I ask you wiictJicr, had not 
 another stolen the blessing, I might have hoped to awaken a warmer 
 regard ? whether any labour, any cares could have won for me 
 what he has forfeited ?" 
 
 Silent and blus)iing, Laura stood for a few moments with her 
 eyes fixed on the ground, then . raising them, said, " From yoa 
 I fear no wrong construction of my words, and will frankly own 
 to you that for my own sake, as well as yours, I wish you had 
 been known tome ere the serpent wound me in his poisoned folds. 
 I believe indeed, that no mortal but himself could have inspii-ed 
 the same — what shall I call an infatuation with which reason had 
 nothing to do ? But you have the virtues which. I have been; taught 
 to love, and — and — But what avails it now ? I wfl« indeed a. social 
 creature ; domestic habits, domestic wishes strong in me. But 
 what avails it now V* 
 
 *' And was there a time when you could have loved me, Laura ! 
 Blessings on you for the concession. It shall cheer my exiled 
 heart when you are far distant; sooth me wltK -i3elig>Ut.fui day- 
 dreams of what might have been; and give my solitude a charm 
 which none but you could bring to the most social hour." 
 
 ** Your solitude, my honoured friend," replied Laura, " needs 
 it not ; Uhas better and nobler charms ; the channs of usefulness, 
 of piety ; and long may these form your business and delight But 
 what makes me linger with you ? I meant to have hastened home 
 that I might avoid one as unlike to you as confidence is to fear ; 
 the feelings which you each inspire — Farewell. I trust I shall soon 
 hear that you are w'cU and happy." 
 
 Loth to part, De Courcy endeavoured to detain her while he 
 again gave utterance to his strbng affection ; and when she would 
 be gone, bade her farewell in language so solemn, so tender, that 
 all her self-command could not repress the tears which trickled 
 down her cheeks. . They parted ; he followed her to beg that she 
 would think of him sometimes. Again she left him ; again he had 
 some little boon to crave. She reached the gate, and looking back;' 
 saw Dc Courcy standing motionless where she had last quitted 
 him. She beckoned a farev.ell. The gate closed after her, and 
 De Courcy felt as if one blank dreary waste had blotted the fair 
 fa<;e of n:vturc. 
 
107 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 Tke evening' was closing-, when Laura proceeded on her wri} 
 She had outstaid her purposed time, and from every bush by the 
 pfctii side she expected to see Hargrave steal upon her ; in every 
 gustof tlie chill November ijfiind slie thought she heard his foot- 
 step. She ])asscd the last cottages connected with Norwood. The 
 evening fires glanced cheerfully through the casements, and the 
 voice of rustic mei rinu^nt came softened on the ear. " Amiable 
 Dc Courcy !" tliought L:;ura. >* The meanest of his dependents 
 finds comfort in his protection, while the being on whom I have 
 lavislied the affection whicii might have rejoiced that worthy heart, 
 makes lumself an object of dread, • oven to her whom he pretends 
 to love." She reached home, hoAvever, without interruption, and 
 was going to join Lady Peiham in the sitting room ; when happen- 
 ing to pass a looking-glass, she- observed that her eyes still bore 
 traces of the tears she hrtd been shedding, and, in dread of the 
 merciless raillery of her aunt, she iv-tired to her own room. There 
 with an undefined feeling of despondence she sat down to recon- 
 sider her conversation with De Courcy. 
 
 Never was task more easy, or moi-e unprofitable. She remem- 
 bered ey^ry word tliat De Courcy had uttered ; remembered the 
 very tone, look, and gesture with wUich they were spoken. She 
 recollected too all tliat she h;id said in reply ; but she could by no 
 means unravel the confused effects of tlie scene upon her own mind. 
 She certainly pitied her lover to a very painful degice. *' Poor 
 De Courcy !" said she, accompanying the half-whisper with a heavy 
 sigh. Hut having, in the course of half an hour's rumination, re- 
 peated the soliloquy about twenty times, she began to recollect 
 that De Courcy had borne his disappointmer.t with considerable 
 philosophy, and had appeared to derive no small comfort from the 
 prospect of o'U intercourse of mere friendship. This fortunate re- 
 collection, however, not immediately relieving her, she endeavour- 
 ed to account for her depi'essio-i by laying' hold of a vague ide«. 
 which was floating in her mind, that she had not on this occasion 
 acted as she ought. Friendships between young persons of differ- 
 ent sexes were proverbial fomenters of the tender passion ; and 
 though she was herself in p/i feet s.afrty, was it right to expose to 
 such hazard the peace of De Courcy ? was it generous, was it even 
 honourable Lo increase the difficulties of his self-conquest, by ad- 
 mitting him to the intimacy of friendship? It was true he had 
 voluntarily sought the post of danger ; but then he was under the 
 dommion of an ii'.fluence whicii did not allow him to weigh conse- 
 itjucnccs ; and was it not unp.irdonable in her who was in full pos^ 
 session of herself, to sanction, lo aid liis imprudence ? Yet how 
 could she have rejected a friendship which did her so much ho- 
 nour ? ti : ^-iendship of the man whom her father had so loved and 
 respected I of the man to whom her father had wished to see her 
 connected by the closest ties ! the man to whom she owed obliga- 
 
108 
 
 tions never to be repaid ? Alas ! how had she acknowledg-ed tliese 
 obligations ? By suffering the most amiable of mankind to sport 
 with his aifections, wliile she had weakly thrown away her own. 
 IJut the mischief was not yet totally irremediable ; and dazzled by 
 the romantic ijenerosity of sacrificing her highest eai thly joy to 
 the restoration of her benefa9tor's quiet, she snatched a pen, in- 
 tending to retract her promise. An obsolete notion of decoriftn 
 wasfor once favourable to a lover, and Laura saw the impropriety 
 of writing to De Courcy. Besides, it occiuTed to her that she 
 might witlidraw into Scotland, without formally announcing the 
 reason of her retreat ; and thus leave herself at liberty to receive 
 De Courcy as a friend whenever disoretion should warrant this in- 
 dulgence. After her most magnanimous resolves, however, feel- 
 ing her mind as confused ar.d comfortless as before, she determined 
 to obtain the benefit of impartial counsel, and changed the desti- 
 nation of the paper on which she had already written " My dear 
 i'rieTjd," from De Courcy to Mrs. Doviglas. 
 
 With all her native candour and singleness of heart did Laura 
 detail her case to the monitress of her youth. To reveal De Cour- 
 cy's name was contrary to her principles ; but slie described his 
 situation, his mode of life, and domestic habits. She enlarged 
 upon his character, her obligations to him, and th^ reg'ret v.iiich, 
 for his sake, she felt, tliat particular circumstances rcntlfred her 
 incapable of such an attachment as was necessary for conjugal 
 happiness. She mentioned her compliance with her lover's reqtiest 
 of a continuance of their ff)rmer intimacy ; confessed her doubts 
 of the propriety of her concession ; and entreated Mrs. Douglas's 
 explicit opinion on the past, as well as her directions for the 
 future. y ' 
 
 Her min^d thus unburdened, she was less perplexed and uneasy ; 
 and the next morning cheerfully commenced her journey, pleasing 
 herself with the prospect of being released from the harassing- at- 
 tendance of Hargrave. On the evening of the second day the tra- 
 vellers reached Grosvenor Street; and the unsuspecting Laura, 
 with renewed sentimeuls of gratitude towards her aunt, revisted 
 tlie dwelling which had received lier when she could claim no 
 other shelter. 
 
 Her annuity having now become due, Laura, soon after her ar- 
 rival in town, one day borrowed L;: ^ ■ Peliiam's chariot, that she 
 might go to receive the money, and purchase some necessary ad- 
 ditions to her wardrobe. Hemcmbering, however, the inconve- 
 Hiences to wiiich she had been subjected by her imprudence in 
 leavingherself without money, she regulated her disbursements 
 by the strictest economy ; determined to reserve a sum, which, 
 besides a little gift to her cousin, might defray the expense of a 
 journey to ScotlancL 
 
 Her Wity cliancing to lie through Polborn, a recollection of the 
 civiUtics of her old landlady, induced her to stop and inquire for 
 Mrs. Dawkins. The goodvvomaji almost compelled her to alight ^ 
 .overwheloicd hcr'with welcomes, and asked u hundred questions { 
 
109 
 
 in a breath, giving In return a very detailed account of all Ucf 
 family affairs. She informed Laura, that Miss Julia, having lately 
 read the life of a heroine who in the capacity of a governess cap- 
 tivated the heart of a great lord, had been seized with a desire to 
 seek adventures under a similar character ; but finding that re- 
 commendations for experience were necessary to her udmissiou 
 into any family of rank, she had condescended to serve an ap- 
 prenticeship in the tuition of the daughters of an eminent cow- 
 feeder. The good woman expressed great compassion for tlic 
 pupils of so incompetent a teacher, from whom they couldilearn 
 nothing useful. *'But that was/* she observed, "their father's 
 look out, and in the mean time it was so far well that July was do- 
 ing something towards her keeping." After a visit of some length 
 Laura wished to be gone, but her hostess would not suspend her 
 eloquence long enough to suffer her to take leave. She was at last 
 obliged to interrupt the harangue ; and breaking from her inde- 
 fatigable entertainer, hurried home, not a little alarmed lest her 
 stay should expose her on her return home to oratory of a different 
 kind. Lady Pelham, however, received her most graciously, ex- 
 amined all her purchases, and inquired very particularly into the 
 cost of each. She calculated the amount, and the balance of the 
 annuity remaining in Laura's possession. ** Five and thirty 
 pounds !** she exclaimed — " what in the world, Laura, will you 
 do with 60 much money V* " Perhaps five and thirty different 
 things," answered Laura, smiling ; " I have never had, nor ever 
 shall have, half so much money as I could spend." " Oh you ex- 
 travagant thing !" cried Lady Pelham, patting her cheek. " But 
 take care that some one does not save you the trouble of spending 
 it. You should be very sure of the locks of your drawers. You 
 had better let me put your treasures into my bureau." Laura was 
 about t© comply, when recollecting that thei-e might be some 
 aukwardness in asking her aunt for the money while she conceal- 
 ed its intended destination, she thanked Lady Pelham, but said 
 she supposed it would be perfectly safe in her own ^stody ; and 
 then, as usual, avoided impending altercation by hastening out of 
 the room. She thought Lady Pelham looked displeased ; but as 
 that was a necessary effect of the slightest contradiction, she saw 
 it without violent concern ; and the next time they met, her lady- 
 ship was again all smiles and courtesy. 
 
 Three days, * three wondrous days,* all was sunshine and se- 
 renity. Lady Pelham was the most ingenious, the most amusing, 
 the most fascinating of woman-kind. " What a pity," thought 
 Laura, " that my aunt's spirits are so fluctuating ! How delightful 
 she can be when she pleases !" In the midst of these brilliant 
 hours, Lady Pelham one morning ran into the room where Laura 
 was at work — " Here's a poor fellow," said she, with a look and 
 voice all compassion, " who has sent me his account, and says he 
 must go to jail if it is not paid instantly. But it is quite impossi- 
 ble for me to get the money till to-morrow.** ** To jail !" cried 
 Laura, shocked — " What is the amount?" " Forty pourids," said 
 
 K 
 
110 jg 
 
 Lady Pelham, " and I have not above ten In the house." " T*t^ 
 mine," cried Laura, hastening to bring* it. Lady Pelham stopped 
 her. "No, my dear good girl," said she, " 1 won't takeaway 
 youF little store, perhaps you may want it yourself." ♦* Oh no," 
 •said Laura, " I cannot want it, pray let me bring it." *• The 
 poor man has a large family," said Lady Pelham, " but indeed I 
 am vtjry unwilling to take — " Her ladyship spared further regrets, 
 for Laura was out of hearing. She returned in a moment with 
 the whole of her wealth, out of which. Lady Pelham, after some 
 further hesitation, was prevailed upon to take thirty pounds ; a 
 robbery to which she averred that she would never have consent- 
 ed, but for the wretched situation of an innocent family, and her 
 own certainty of repaying the debt in a day or two at farthest. 
 Several days, however, passed away, and Lady Pelham made no 
 mention of discharging her debt. Laura wondered a little that 
 her aunt should forget a promise so lately and so voluntarily given ; 
 ?)ut her attention was entirely diverted from tlxe subject by the' 
 following letter from Mrs Douglas. 
 
 " You see, my dear Laura, I lose no time in answering your 
 letter, though, for the first time, I answer you with some per- 
 plexity. The weight which you have always kindly allowed to my 
 opinion, makes me at all times give it v/ith timidity ; but':'this is 
 not the only reason of my present hesitation. I cotifess that in 
 
 spite of the apparent frankness and perspicuity with which you 
 have written, I am not able exactly to comprehend you. You des- 
 
 u'ibe a mwi of respectable abilities, of amiable dispositions, of 
 sound principles, and engaging manners. You profess that such 
 qualities, aided by intimacy, have secured your cordial friend- 
 ship, while obligations beyond return have enlivened this friend- 
 ship by the warmest gratitude. But, just as I am about to con- 
 clude that all this has produced its natural effect, and to prepare 
 my congratulations for a happy occasion, you kill my expectations 
 with a dismal sentence, expressing your regrets for having been 
 obliged to reject the addresses of this excellent person. Now this 
 iuight have been intelligible enough, supposing you were pre-occu- 
 pied by a stronger attachment. Uut so far from this, you declare 
 yourself absolutely incapable of any exclusive affection, or of such 
 a regard as is necessary to any degree of happiness in the conju- 
 gal state. I know not, my dear Laura, what ideas you may enter- 
 tain of the fervency suitable to wedded love ; but had you been 
 ?ess peremptory, I should have thought it not unlikely to spring 
 fi'om a young woman's * raost cordial esteem' and * warmest grati- 
 tude' towards a young man with * expressive black eyes,* and* the 
 most benevolent smile in the world.* 
 
 ** From the tenor of your letter, as well as from some expres- 
 sions you have formerly dropped, I am led to conjecture that you 
 ^hink an extravagant passion necessary to the happiness of married 
 life. You will smile at the expression ; but if it offends you, 
 change it for any other descriptive of a feeling beyond tender 
 
Ill 
 
 ^headship, and you will find the substitute nearly . synonymout 
 with the orig-inal. Now this idea appears to me rather errone- 
 ous ; and I cannot help thinking' that calm, dispassionate aftec- 
 tion. at least on the side of the lady, promises more permanent 
 comfort. 
 
 *• All male writers on the subject of love, so far as my little 
 knowledge extends, represent possession as the infallible cure of 
 passion. A very unattractive picture, it must be confessed, of the 
 love of that lordly sex ! but they themselves being the painters, 
 the deformity is a pledge of the resemblance, and I own my small 
 experience furnishes no instance to contradict their testimony. 
 Taking its truth then for granted, I need not inquire whether the 
 passions of our own sex be equally fleeting. If they be, the ena- 
 moured pair soon find themselves at best in the same situation 
 with those who marry from sober sentiments of regard ; that is, 
 obliged to seek happiness in the esteem, the confidence, the for- 
 bearance of eacli other. But if, in the female breast, the fervours 
 of passion be less transient, I need not describe to you the suffer-^ 
 ing's of feminine sensibility under half-returned ardours, nor the 
 stings of feminine pride under the unnatural and mortifying 
 transference of the arts of courtship. I trust, my dear child, that 
 should you even m.oke a marriage of passion, your self-command 
 will enable you to smother its last embers in your own bosom, 
 while your prudence will improve the short advantage which is 
 conferred by its empire in that of your husband, to lay the 
 foundation of an affection more tender than friendship, more last- 
 ing than love. 
 
 ** Again, it is surely of the utmost consequence to the felicity 
 of wedded life, that a just and temperate estimate be formed of 
 the character of him to whose temper we must accommodate our- 
 selves ; wiiose caprices we must-^flkire ; whose failings we must 
 pardon, whether the discord burst upon us in thunder, or steal 
 on amid harmonies wluch render it imperceptible, perhaps half- 
 pleasing. Small chance is there that passion should view wiih 
 the cahn extenuating, eye of reason the faults wiiich it suddenly- 
 detects in the god of its idolatry. The once fervent votary oV 
 the idol, finding it unwoi-tiiy of his v»orship, ncp;!ccts ihe useful 
 purposes to which he mij^Iit apply the gold which it contains. 
 
 •^ I have other reasons Ibr thinking that passion is at best unne- 
 cessary to conjugal J;appiiiess ; but even if 1 should make you :t. 
 proselyte to my opinion, ti.e conviction would, in tlie present 
 case, probably come too late. Such a laan as you dcscriije will 
 probably be satisfied with tlie answer he has received, lie will 
 certainly never importune you, nor poorly attempt to extort from 
 your pityiwhat he could noL ^v in from your love. His attachment 
 will soon subside into a li Icndly regard for you, or be diverted in- 
 to another channel by virtues giaiilar to those which first attracted 
 liim. I only v.'ish, my dear Laura, that alter t'uls change takes 
 place, the * circumstances' may remain iu force which render, 
 you * for ever incapable of repa}ingp him vrith a love likr hU own* 
 
112 
 
 If you are sura that these circumstances are decisive, I foresee no 
 evil which can result from your cultivating a friendship so honour- 
 able and advantag-eous to you, as that of a man of letters and a 
 Christian ; whose conversation may improve your mind, and 
 whose experience may supply that knowledge of the world 
 which is rarely attainable by a woman in the more private 
 '^valks of life. i 
 
 ** To him I should suppose that no danger could arise from such 
 an intercourse. We are all apt to over-rate the strength and du- 
 rability of the attachments we excite. I believe the truth is, that in 
 a vigorous, well-governed, and actively employed mind, love 
 jarely becomes that resistless tyrant which vanity and romances 
 represent him. His empire is divided by the love of fame or the 
 desire of usefulness, the eagerness of research or the triumph of 
 discovery. But even solitude, idleness, and imagination cannot 
 long support his dominion without tlie assistance of hope ; and 1 
 take it for granted from your tried honour and generosity, that 
 your answer has been too explicit to leave your lover in any doubt 
 that your sentence is final. 
 
 " I own I could have wished, that the virtues of my ever dear 
 Laura had found in the sacred characters of wife and mother a 
 larger field than a state of celibacy can afford ; but I have no fear 
 that your happiness or respectability should ever depend upon 
 outward circumstances. I have no doubt that moderate wishes 
 and useful employments Nvill diffuse cheerfulness in the lone- 
 liest dwelling, while piety will people it with guests from 
 heaven. 
 
 ** Thus, my beloved child, I l\ave given my opinion with all the 
 freedom you can desire. I have written a volume rather than a 
 letter. The passion for giving advice long survives that which 
 is the subject of our correspondence ; but to shew you that I can 
 lay some restraint on an old woman's rage for admonition, I will 
 not add another line, except that which assures you that I am, with 
 all a mother's love, and all a friend's esteem. 
 
 Your affectionate 
 
 E, Douglas." 
 
 JLaura read this letter often, and pondered it deeply. Though 
 she could not deny that it contained some truths, she was not sa- 
 tisfied with the doctrine deduced from them. She remembered 
 that Mrs Douglas was the most affectionate of wives ; and con- 
 cluded that in one solitary instance her judgment had been at va- 
 riance with her practice ; and that, having herself made a mar- 
 riage of love, she was not an adequate judge of the disadvantages 
 attending a more dispassionate connexion. Some passages too 
 she could well have spared ; but as these were prophetic rather 
 than monitory, they required little consideration ; and after the 
 second reading, Laura generally omitted them in the perusal of 
 her friend's epistle. Upon the whole, however, it gave her plea- 
 sure. Her coascienc« was relieved by oJ>taining the sanction of Mrs. 
 
113 
 
 Bouglas to her promised intimacy with De Courcy, and al- 
 ready she looked forward to the time when it should be re- 
 jiewed. 
 
 Since her arrival in town, her aunt, all kindness and com- 
 placency, had scarcely named Hargrave ; and, with the sanguine 
 temper of youth, Laura hoped that she had at last exhausted the 
 perseverance of her persecutors. This fruitful source of strife 
 removed, she thought she could without much difficulty submi^i. 
 to the casual fits of caprice to which Lady Pelham ^vas subject . 
 and considering that her aunt, with all her faults, was still lie'- 
 most natural protector, and her house her most proper abode, 
 she began to lay aside thoughts of removing immediately to 
 Scotland, and to look towards Walboume as her permanent 
 home. 
 
 In the mean time she promised herself that the approaching^ 
 winter would bring her both amusement and information The 
 capital, with all its wonders, of which she had hitherto seen lit- 
 tle, the endless diversity of character which she expected its in* 
 habitants to exhibit, the conversation of the literary and the elc- 
 gant, of wits, senators, and statesmen, promised an inexhausti- 
 ble fund of instruction and delight. Nay, the patriotic heart of 
 Laura beat high with the hope of meeting some of tliosc he- 
 roes who, un<£iunted by disaster, where all but honour is lost, 
 maintain the honour of Britain, or who, with happier for- 
 tune, guide the triumphant navies of our iiiiLive land. She 
 was yet to learn how little of character appears through the 
 varnish of fashionable manners, and how little a hero or a 
 statesman at a rout differs from a |&ere Hian of fashion in the 
 same situation. 
 
 Lady Pelham seemed inelined to fiimish her with all the oppor- 
 tunities of observation which she could desire, iritroducing her to 
 every visitor of distinction, and procuring for her the particular 
 attention of two ladies of high rank, who constantly invited her to 
 share in the gaieties of the season. But Laura, instructed in the 
 value of time, and feeling herself accountable for its employment, 
 stopped far short of the dissipation of her companions. She had 
 long since established a criterion by which to judge oftheinno-^ 
 cence of her pleasures, accounting every amusement, from which 
 she returned to her duties with an exhaOsted frame, languid spirits, 
 or distracted attention, to be at best dangerous, and contrary to all 
 rational ends of recreation* Of entertainments which she had ne- 
 ver before witnessed, curiosity generally indiv-ed her for once to 
 partake ; but she found few that could stand her test ; and to those 
 which failed in the trial, she returned as seldom as possible. 
 
 One species alone, if it deserves to be classed with entertain- 
 ments, she was unwillingly obliged to except from her rule From 
 card parties Laura always returned fatigued both in mind and 
 body ; while present at them she had scaiceU any other wish th -n 
 to escape ; and she quitted them unfit for anything but rest, Li.< y 
 Pelham, however, sometimes made it a point that her niece should 
 
 K 2 
 
114 
 
 iccompany her to these parties ; and, though she never asked 
 iaiira to play, was occasionally at pains to interest her in the game, 
 by calling her to her side, appealing to her against ill-fortune, or 
 exacting her congratulation in success. A few of these parties 
 excepted, Laura's time passed pleasantly. Though the calm ofher 
 aunt's temper was now and then disturbed by short gusts of anger, 
 it returned as lightly as it fled ; and the subject, fertile in endless 
 chiding, seemed almost forgotten. 
 
 A fortnight had passed in this sort of quiet, when one morning 
 Lady Pelham proposed to carry Laura to see the Marquis of — — 's 
 superb collection of pictures. Laura, obliged by her aunt's atten- 
 tion to her prevailing taste, eagerly accepted the proposal, and 
 hastened to equip herself for the excursion. Light of heart, she 
 was returning to the drawing room to wait till the carriage drew 
 up, when, on entering, the first object she beheld was Colonel Har- 
 grave, seated confidentially by the side of Lady Pelham. 
 
 l^aura, turning sick with vexation, shrunk back ; and, bewailing 
 ihc departure of her short-lived quiet, returned, half angry, half 
 sorrowful, to her own room She had little time, however, to in- 
 dulge her chagrin, for Lady Pelham almost immediately sent to let 
 her know that the carriage waited. Disconcerted, and almost out 
 of liumour, Laura had tossed aside her bonnet, and was about to 
 retract her consent to go, when, recollecting that the plan had 
 been proposed on her account, without any apparent motive unless 
 to oblige her, she thought her aunt would have just reason to 
 complain of such an ungracious rejection of her civility. 
 
 ** IJesides, it is like a spoiled child," thought she, " to quarrel 
 with my amusement, becanse one disagreeable circumstance at- 
 tends it;" and, readjusting her bonnet, she joined Lady Pelham, 
 not wilhout a secret hope that Ilargrave might not be of the party. 
 The hope deceived her. He was ready to hand her into the car- 
 riage, and to take his seat by her side. 
 
 Her sanguine expectations thus put to flight, the habitual com- 
 placency of Laura's countenance suffered a sudden eclipse. She 
 answered almost peevishly to Hargrave's inquiries for her health:; 
 and so complete was her vexation, that it was long ere she observ* 
 cd how much his maimer towards her was changed. He whispered 
 no extravagancies in her ear ; offered her no officious attentions ; 
 and seized no opportunities of addressing her, but such as were 
 c<^)nsistcnt with politeness and respect, lie divided his assiduities 
 not unequally between her and Lady Pelham ; and even without 
 any apparent reluc!.unce, permitted a genteel young man, to whom 
 the ladies curtsied in passing, to sliare in his office of escort, and 
 almost to monopolize Laura's conversation. Having accompanied 
 the ladies home, he left them immediately, refusing Lady Pelham's 
 invitation to dinner ; and Lama, no less pleased than surprised at 
 this unexpected turn, wished him good morning more graciously 
 than she had of late spoken to him. 
 
 The next day he dined in Grosvenor Street, and the same pro- 
 priety of manner continued.. The following eyeoing Laura again 
 
115 
 
 met with him in a large party. He did not distinguish her parti- 
 cularly from any of her fair competitors. Laura was delighted. 
 She was convinced that he had at last resolved to abandon his 
 fruitless pursuit ; but what had so suddenly wrought this happy 
 change, she could not divine* 
 
 He did not visit Lady Pelham daily, yet it so happened that Lau- 
 ra saw him every day, and still he was consistent. Laura scarcely 
 doubted, yet durst scarcely trust her good fortune. 
 
 The violent passions of H.irgrave, however, in some degree un- 
 fitted him for a deceiver ; and sometimes the fiery glance of impa- 
 tience, of admiration, or of jealousy, belied the serenity of his man- 
 ner. Laura did not fail to remark this ; but she possessed the hap- 
 py faculty of explaining every ambiguity in human conduct, in a 
 way favourable to the actor — a faculty which, though it sometimes 
 exposed her to mistake and vexation, was, upon the whole, at once 
 a happiness and a virtue. She concluded that Hargrave, deter- 
 mined to persecute her no further, was striving to overcome his 
 passion ; that the appearance* she had remarked were only the 
 struggles which he could not wholly repress ; and she felt herself 
 grateful to him for making the attempt, — the more grateful from 
 her idea of its difficulty. 
 
 WitJi her natural singleness of heart, she one day mentioned to 
 Lady Pelham the change in Hargrave's behaviour. " I suppose," 
 added she, smiling, " that, finding he can make nothing more of 
 me, he is resolved to lay me under obligation by leaving me at 
 peace, having first contrived to make me sensible of its full value" 
 Lady Pelham was a better dissembler than Colonel Hargrave ; and 
 acarcely did a change of colour announce the deception, while, in 
 atone of assumed anger, she answered by reproaching her niece 
 with having at last accomplished her purpose, and driven her lover 
 to dt spair. Yet Lady Pelham was aware that Hargrave had not a 
 tliought of relinquishing his pursuit. His new-found self-command 
 was merely intended to throw Laura off" her guard, that Lady Pel- 
 ham might have an opportunity of executing a scheme which 
 Lambert had contrived, to entangle Laura beyond the possibility 
 of escape. 
 
 Many an action, harmless in itself, is seen, by a discerning by- 
 stander, to have in it * nature that in time will venom breed, 
 though no teeth for the present* It happened that Lambert, while 
 at VValbourne, had once seen Laura engaged in a party at chess ; 
 And her bent brow and flushed cheek, her palpitating boson/, her 
 trembling hand, her eagerness for victory, above all, her pleasure 
 in success, restrained but not concealed, inspired him with an idea 
 that play might be made subservient to the designs of his friend ; 
 designs which he was* the more disposed to promote, because, for 
 the present, they occupied Hargrave to the exclusion of that folly 
 of which Lambert had so well availed himself. 
 
 It was Lambert's proposal that he should himself engage Laura 
 in play, and having won from her, by means which he could always 
 command, that he should transfer the debt to Hargrave. The 
 
116 
 
 scheme was seconded by Lady Pelham, and, in part, acquiesced iu 
 by Hargrave. Butihoug-hhe could consent to degrade the woman 
 whom he intended for his wife, he could not endure that any other 
 than himself should be the instrument of her degradation; and, 
 sickening at the s! -.icklcs which the love of gaming- had imposed 
 upon himself, he positively refused to accede to that part of the 
 plan, which proposed to make Laura's entanglement with him the 
 branch of a habit previously formed. Besides, the formation of a 
 habit, especially one so contrary to previous bias, was a work of 
 time ; and a stratagem of tedious execution did not suit the im- 
 patience of Hargrave's temper. He consented, however, to adopt 
 H more summary modification of the same artifice. It was intend- 
 ed that Laura should at first be induced to play for a stake too 
 small to alarm her, yet sufficiently great to make success desira- 
 ble ; that she should at first be allowed to win ; that the stake 
 should be increased until she should lose a sum which it might in- 
 commode her to pan with ; and then that the stale cheat of gam- 
 blers, hope of retiieving her loss, -should be pressed on her as a 
 motive for venturing nearer to destruction. 
 
 The chief obstacle to the execution of this hSnourable enterprise 
 lay in the first step, the difficulty of persuading Lanra to play for 
 any sum which coidd be at all important to her For obviating 
 this, Lady Pelham trusted to the diffidence, the extreme timidity, 
 the abhorrence of notoriety, which nature, strengthened by educa- 
 tion, had made a leading feature in the cliaracter of Laura. Her 
 ladysi.ip determined that the first essay should be made in a large 
 company, in the presence of persons of rank, of fame, of talent, of 
 every qualification which could augment the awe almost amounting 
 to hoiTor, with which Laura shrunk from the g-aze ot numbers. 
 
 Partly from a craving for a confidant, partly in hope of securing 
 assistance. Lady Pelham communicated her intention to the honor- 
 able Mrs. Clermont, a dashing widow of five -and -thirty. The 
 piercing black eyes, the loud voice, the free manner, and good hu- 
 moured assurance of this lady, had inspired Laura with a kind of 
 dread, whicli had not yielded to the advances which the widow 
 condescended to make Lady Pelham judged it most favoura- 
 ble to her righteous purpose, that the first attempt should be made 
 in the house of Mrs Clermont, rather than in her own ; both be- 
 cause tliat lady's higher circle of acquaintance could command a 
 more imposing assemblage of visitors : and because this arrange- 
 ment would leave her bdysh p more at liberty to watch the suc- 
 cess of her scheme, than she could be where she was necessarily 
 occupied as mistress of the ceremonies. 
 
 The appointed evening came, and Lady Pelham, though with the 
 utmost kindness of manner, insisted upon Laura's attendance. 
 Laura would rather have been excused; yet, noi to interrupt a 
 humour so harmonious, she consented to go. Lady Pelham was 
 all complacenc). blie condescended to preside at her neice's toi- 
 lette, and obliged her to complete her dress b> wearing for that 
 evening a superb diamond aigrette, one of the ornaments of her 
 
117 
 
 own earHer years. Laura strenuously resisted this addition to her 
 attire, accounting it wholly unsuitable to her situation ; but her 
 aunt would take no denial, and the affair was not wortliy of a more 
 serious refusal. This important concern adjusted. Lady Pelham 
 viewed her niece with triumphant admiration. She burst forth 
 into praises of her beauty, declaring", tliat she liad never seen her 
 look half so lovely. Yet, with skilful malice, she contrived to 
 awaken Laura^s natural bashfulness, by saying", as they were alight- 
 ing at Mrs. Clermont's door, " Now my dear, don't mortify me to- 
 night by any of your Scotch garichcries. Remember every eye will 
 be turned upon you." " Heaven forbid," thought Laura, and 
 timidly followed her aunt to a couch where she took her seat. 
 
 For a while Lady Pelham's words seemed prophetic, and Laura 
 could not raise her eyes without meeting the gaze of admiration or 
 of scrutiny ; but tlie rooms began to be crowded by the great and 
 the gay, and Laura was relieved from her'vexatious distinction- 
 Lady Pelham did not long sufier her to enjoy her release, but 
 rising, proposed that they should walk. Though Laura felt in her 
 own majestic stature a very unenviable claim to notice, a claim 
 rendered more conspicuous by the contrast offered in the fig*ure of 
 her companion, she could not with politeness refuse to accompany 
 her aunt, and giving Lady Pelham her arm, they began their 
 round. 
 
 Laura, little acquainted withfthe ease which prevails in town 
 parties, coidd not help wondering at the nonchalence of Mrs. Cler- 
 mont, who, leaving her guests to entertain themselves as they 
 chose, was lounging on a sofa playing picquet with Colonel Har- 
 grave. " Mrs. Clermont at picquet," said Lady Pelham. " Come 
 Laura, picquet is the only civilized kind of game you play. You 
 shall take a lesson ;" and she led her niece forwards through a cir- 
 cle of misses, who, in hopes of catching the attention of the hapd- 
 some Colonel Hargrave, were tittering and talking nonsense m.ost 
 laboriously. This action naturally drew the eyes ft" all upon Laura, 
 and Lady Pelham, who expected to find useful engines in her 
 timidity and embarrassment, did not fail to make her remark the 
 notice which she excited. From this notice Laura would have 
 escaped, by seating herself near Mrs. Clermont; but Lady Pelham 
 perceiving her intention, placed herself without ceremony, so as to 
 occupy the only remaining seats, leaving Laura standing alone, 
 shrinking at the consciousness of her conspicuous situation. No 
 one was near her to whom she could address herself, and her only 
 resource was bending down to overlook Mrs. Clermont's game. 
 
 She had kept her station long enough to be fully sensible of its 
 awkwardness, when Mrs. Clermont, suddenly starting up, exclaim- 
 ed, " Bless me ! I had quite forgotten tliat I promised to make a 
 loo-table for the dutchess. Do, my deai* Miss Montreville, take 
 my hand for half an hour." ** Excuse me, madam," said Laura, 
 drawing back, " I play so ill." " Nay, Laura," interrupte<i Lady 
 Pelham, " your teacher is concerned to maintain your skill, ^nd I 
 insist on it that you play admii-ably." " Had not your ladyshir* 
 
118 
 
 better play r" " Oh no, my dear; I join the loo-table." " Come/* 
 said Mrs, Clermont, offering Laura the seat she had just quitted, 
 ** I will take no excuse ; so sit down, and success attend you !'* 
 The seat presented Laura with an inviting opportunity of turning 
 her back upon her inspectors, she was averse from refusing a 
 trifling request, and rather willing to give Hargrave a proof that 
 she was not insensible to the late improvement in his behaviour. 
 She therefore quietly took the place assigned her, while the trio 
 exchanged smiles of congratulation on the facility with which she 
 had fallen into the snare. 
 
 Something, however, yet remained to be arranged, and Lady 
 Pelham and her hostess still kept their stations by her side. While 
 dividing the cards, Laura recollected having observed that, in 
 town, every game seemed played for money ; and she asked her 
 antagonist what was to be the stake. He of course referred that 
 point to her own decision ; but Laura, in profound ignorance of 
 the arcana of card-tables, blushed, hesitated, and looked at Lady 
 Pelham and Mrs. Clermont for instructions. " We don't play high 
 in this house, my dear," said Mrs. Cleinmont, " Colonel Hargrave 
 and I were only playing guineas." " Laura is only a beginner," 
 said Lady Pelham, " and perhaps half a guinea" — Laura inter- 
 rupted her aunt by rising and deliberately collecting the cards. 
 " Colonel Hai'grave will excuse me," said she, " That is far too 
 great a stake for me." ** Don't be absurd,*' my dear," said Lady 
 Pelham, touching Laura's sleeve, and affecting to whisper, " why- 
 should not you play as other people do ?" Laura not thinking this 
 a proper time to explain her conscientious scruples, merely an- 
 swered, that she could not afford it; and, more embarrassed than 
 before, would have glided away, but neither of her guards would 
 permit her to pass. " You need not mind what you stake with 
 Hargrave," said Lady Pelham apart, ** you play so much better 
 than he tluit you will infallibly win." " That does not at all alter 
 the case," returned Laura. " It would be as unpleasant to meto 
 win Colonel Hargrave's money as to lose my own " '* Whatever 
 stake Vliss Montreville chooses must be equally agreeable to me," 
 said Colont 1 llurgrave; but Lauia observed that the smile which 
 accorai^anied these words had in it m<u'e of sarcasm than of coin, 
 placency. " I should be sorry. Sir," said she, " that you lowered 
 your play upon my account Perhaps some of these young ladies," 
 continaed she, looking round to the talkative circle behind — *' Be 
 quiet, Laura," interrupted Lady Pelham, again in an under tone, 
 ** you will make yourself the town-talk with your fooleries," " I 
 hope not," returned Laura, calmly; " but if I do, there is no lielp; 
 little inconveniences must be submitted to for the sake of doing 
 right." ** Lord, Miss Montreville," cried Mrs. Clermont aloud, 
 " What odd notions you have ! Who would mind playing for half 
 a guinea ? It is nothing ; absolutely nothing. It would not buy a 
 pocket handkerchief" It would buy a week's food f^r a poor fa- 
 mily^thought Laura; and she was confirmed in her resolution ; but 
 not w'illmg to expose this reason to ridicule, and a little displeased 
 
that Mrs. ClermoBt should take the liberty of urging her, she 
 coolly, yet modestly replied, "That such matters roust greatly 
 depend on the opinions and circumstances of the parties concern- 
 ed, of which they were themselves the best judg-es." " I insist on 
 j'our playing,'* said Lady Pelham, in an angry half-whisper. ** If 
 you will'make yourself ridiculous, let it be when I am not by to 
 share in the ridicule." " Excuse me. Madam, for to-night,," re- 
 turned Laura, pleadhigly. " Before another evening I will give 
 you reasons which I am sure will satisfy you." " I am sure," said 
 Hargrave, darting a very significant look towards Laura, ** if Miss 
 Montreville, instead of cards, prefer allowing me to attend her in 
 your absence, I shall gain infinitely by the exchange." liaura, 
 to whom his glance made this hint ^ery intelligible, reddened ; 
 and, saying she would by no means interrupt his amusement, was 
 again turning to seek a substitute among her titterring neighbours, 
 when Mrs. Clermont prevented her, by calling out to a lady at a 
 considerable distance, " My dear dutchess, do have the goodness 
 to come hither, and talk to this whimsical beauty of ours. She is 
 seized with an economical fit, and has taken it into her pretty little 
 head that I am quite a gambler because I fix her stake at half a 
 guinea." " What may not youth and beauty do ?" said her grace, 
 looking at Laura with a smile, half sly, half insinuating. *' When 
 I was the Miss Montreville of my day, I too might have led the 
 fashion of playing for pence, though now I dare not venture even to 
 countenance it." The mere circumstance of rank could never dis- 
 compose Laura; andrather taking encouragement from the charm- 
 ing, though faded countenance of the speaker, she replied, *' But 
 in consideration of having no pretensions to lead the fashion, may 
 I not claim exemption from following it ?" *' Oh, by no means,** 
 said her grace. "When once you have entered the world of fa- 
 shion, you must either be the daring leader or the humble follower. 
 If you choose the first, you must defy the opinions of all other 
 people; and, if the last, you must have a suitable indifference for 
 your own." " A gentle intimation,** returned Laura, " that in the 
 world of fashion, I am quite out of place, since nothing but my 
 own opinion is more awful to me than that of others." ** Miss 
 IVfontreville,*' said Lady Pelham, with an aspect of vinegar, •* we 
 all wait your pleasure." *' Pray, Madam,'* answered Laura, **do 
 not let me detain you a moment ; I shall easily dispose of myself." 
 *' Take up your cards this instant, and let us have no more of these 
 airs," said Lady Pelham, now without affectation whispering, in 
 order to conceal from her elegant companions the wrath which was, 
 however, distinctly written in her countenance. 
 
 It now occurred to Laura as strange, that so much trouble 
 should be taken to prevail upon her to play for more than she in- 
 clined. Hargrave, though he had pretended to release her, still 
 kept his seat, and his language had tended rather to embarrass 
 than relieve her. Mrs. Clermont had interfered further than Laura 
 thoug-ht either necessary or proper; and Lady Pelham was ea|>er 
 to carry her point. Laura saw that iher^: was something in all this 
 
.#' 
 
 120 
 
 wkich she did not comprehend} and, looking up to seek an ex 
 planation in the faces of her companions, she perceived that the 
 whole trio seemed waiting her decision witli looks of various in- 
 terest. The piercing black eyes of Mrs. Clermont were fixed upon 
 her with an expression of sly curiosity. Hargrave hastily with- 
 drew a sidelong glance of anxious expectation ; while Lady Pel- 
 ham's face was flushed with angry impatience of delay. •• Has 
 your ladyship any particular reason for wishing that I should play 
 for a higher stake than I think right ?** said Laura, fixing on her 
 aunt a look of calm scrutiny. Too much out of humour to be com- 
 pletely on her guard, Lady Pelham's colour deepened several 
 shades, while she answered, ** I, child ! what should make you 
 think so ?" " I don't know," said Laura. " People sometimes try 
 to convince from mere love of victory; but they seldom take the j 
 trouble to persuade without some other motive.** " Any friend,** J 
 said Lady Pelham, recollecting herself, " would find motive enough 1 
 for what I have done, in the absurd appearance of these littlenesses 
 to the world, and the odium that deservedly falls on a young mi- 
 ser." •• Nay, Lady Pelham," said the dutchess, " this is far too 
 severe. Come," added she, beckoning to Laura with a gracious 
 smile, •* you shall sit by me, that I may endeavour to enlarge your 
 conceptions on the subject of card-playing." 
 
 Laura, thus encouraged, instantly begged her aunt's permission 
 to pass. Lady Pelham could not decently refuse ; and, venting 
 her rage, by pinching Laura's arm till the blood came, and mut- 
 tering, through her clenched teeth, " obstinate \vretch," she suf- 
 fered her niece to escape. Laura did not condescend to bestow 
 any notice upon this assault, but, pulling her glove over her wound- 
 ed arm, took refuge beside the dutchess. The fascinating manners 
 of a high-bred woman of fashion, and the respectful attentions of- 
 fered to her whom the dutchess distinguished by her particular 
 countenance, made the rest of the evening pass agreeably, in spite 
 of the evident ill humour of Lady Pelham. Her ladyship restrain- 
 ed the further expression of her rage till Laura and she were on 
 their way home ; when it burst out in reproaches of the parsimony, 
 obstinacy, and perverseness which had appeared in her niece's re- 
 fusal to play. Laura listened to her in silence ; sensible, that while 
 Lady Pelham' s passion overpowered the voice of her own reason, 
 it was vain to expect that she should hear reason from another . 
 But, next day, when she judged tliat her aunt had had time to grow 
 cool, she took occasion to resume the subject ; and explained wItJi 
 such firmness and precision, her principles in regard to the uses 
 of money, and the accountableness of its possessors, that Lady 
 Pelham laid aside thoughts of entangling her by means of play ; 
 since it was vain to expect that she would commit to the power of 
 chance that which she habitually considered as the sacred deposit 
 of a father, and spetjlaUy destined for the support anii comfort '^ ■" 
 hrs children. 
 
121 
 
 CHAPTER XXJX. 
 
 HAftGRAVE no sooner perceived the futility of his design to in- 
 volve Lauia in a debt of honour, than he laid aside the disg-uise 
 vhicli had been assumed to lull her vigilance, and which he had 
 never worn without difficulty. He condescended, however, to save 
 appearances, by taking advantage of the idea which Laura had her- 
 self suggested to Lady Pelliam, and averred that he had made a 
 powerful eftoit to recover his self-possession ; but he declared 
 that, having totally failed in his endeavours to obtain his liberty, 
 he was determined never to renew them, a»id would trust to time 
 and accident for removing Laura's prejudice. h\ vain did she as- 
 sure him that no time could produce such a revolution in her 
 sentiments as would at all avail him ; that though his eminent 
 improvement in worth might secure her esteem, her affections 
 wei-e alienated beyond recal. The old system was resumed, and 
 with greater vigour than before, bccimse with less fear of obser- 
 vation, and more frequent opportunities of attack. Every meal, 
 every visit, every public place, furnished occasions for his inde- 
 fatigable assiduities, from wh»ch Laura found no refuge beyond 
 the precincts of her own chamber 
 
 Regardless of the vexation which such a report might give her, 
 he chose to make his suit the subject of the tittle-tattle of the day. 
 By this manosuvre, in which he had before found his advantage, 
 l»e lioped that several purposes might be served. The publicity 
 of his claim woidd keep other pretenders at a distance ; it would 
 oblige those who mentioned him to Laura to speak, if not favoiira- 
 bl\, at least witii decent caution ; and it might possibly at last in- 
 duce her to listen with less reluctance to wliat every one spoke of 
 as natural and probable. Lady Pelham seconded his intentions, 
 by hints of her niece's engagement, and confidential complaints to 
 her friends of the mauvaise honte which made Laura treat with 
 such reserve tlie man to whom she had been so long affianced. 
 The consequence of their manocuvreing was, that IIargra\e's right 
 to persecute Laura seemed universally acknowledged. The men 
 at his approach, left her free to his attendance ; the women en- 
 tertained her with praises of his person, manners, and equipage; 
 with hints of her situation too gentle to warrant direct contradic- 
 tion ; or charges made with conviction too strong to yield any form 
 of denial. 
 
 Lady Pelham, too, resumed her unwearied remonstrances, and 
 teazed, chided, argued, upbraided, entreated, and scolded, through 
 every tedious hour in which the absence of visitors left Laura at 
 her mercy. Laura had at one time determined against submitting 
 to such treatment, and had resolved, that if it were renewed, she 
 would seek a refuge far from her persecutors, and from England. 
 But that resolution had' been formed when there appeared no im- 
 mediate necessity for putting it in practice ; and England contain- 
 ed somewhat to whi^h Laura clung almost unconsciously. Amidst 
 
122 
 
 all her vexations, Mrs. De Courcy's letters soothed her ruffled spi- 
 rits; and more than once, when she had renewed her determination 
 to quit Lady Pelham, a few lines from Norwood made her pause ou 
 its tulfdment, reminding- her that a few months, however unplea- 
 sant, would soon steal away, and that her return to the country 
 would at least bring- some mitigation of her persecutions. 
 
 Though Mrs. Dc Courcy wrote often, and confidentially, she 
 never mentioned Montague further than was necessary to avoid 
 particularity. She said little of his health, nothing of his spirits or 
 occupations, and never hinted any knowledge of his rejected love. 
 Laura's inquiries concerning him were answered witli vague po- 
 liteness ; and thus her interest in the state of his mind was con- 
 stantly kept awake. Often did she repeat to herself, that she hoped 
 he would soon learn to consider her merely as a friend ; and that 
 which we have often repeated as truth, we in time believe to be 
 true. 
 
 Laura had been in town about a month, when one of her letters 
 to Norwood was followed by a longer silence than usual. She 
 wrote again, and still the answer was delayed. Fearing that ill- 
 ness had prevented Mrs. De Courcy from writing, Laura had en- 
 dured some days of serious anxiety, when a letter was brought 
 her, addressed in Montague's hand. She hastily tore it open, and 
 her heart fluttered between pleasure and apprehension, when she 
 perceived that the whole letter was written by him- It was short and 
 cautious. He apologized for the liberty he took, by saying, that a 
 rheumatic affection having prevented his mother from using- her 
 pen, she had employed him as her secretary, fearing to alarm 
 Laura by longer silence. The letter throughout was that of a kind, 
 yet respectful friend. Not a word betrayed the lover. The ex- 
 pressions of tender interest and remembrance with which it 
 abounded, were ascribed to Mrs. De Courcy, or at least shared 
 with her, in a manner whicli prevented any embarrassment in the 
 reply. Laura hesittited for a moment, whether her answer should 
 be addressed to Mrs. De Courcy or to Montague ; but Montague 
 was her benefactor, their intimacy was sanctioned by her best 
 friend, and it is not difficult to imagine how the question was de- 
 cided. Her answer produced a reply, which again was replied to 
 in its turn ; and thus a correspondence was established, which, 
 thoug-h at first constrained and formal, was taught by Montague's 
 prudent forbearance, to assume a character of friendly ease. 
 
 This correspondence, which soon formed one of Laura's chief 
 pleasures, she never affected to conceal from Lady Pelham. On 
 the contrary, she spoke of it with perfect openness and candour. 
 Unfortunately, however, it did not meet with her ladyship's ap- 
 probation. She judged it highly unfavourable to her designs in 
 regard to Hargrave. She imagined, that if not already an affair 
 of love, it was likely soon to become so ; and she believed that, at 
 all events, Laura's intercourse with the D« Courcys would foster 
 those antiquated notions of morality to which Hargrave owed his 
 ill success. Accordingly, she first objected to Laura's new cor- 
 
123 
 
 reapontlence ; then lectured on its impropriety and imprudence ; 
 and, lastly, took upon her peremptorily to prohibit its continuance. 
 Those who are already irritated by?oppression, a trifle will at last 
 rouse to resistance This was an exercise ot" authority so far be- 
 yond Laura's expectations, that it awakened her resolution to sub- 
 mit no longer to the importunity and persecution which she had so 
 long endured, but to depart immediately for Scotland. Willing-, 
 however, to execute her purpose with as little expense of peace 
 as possible, she did not open her intentions at the moment of irri- 
 tation. She waited a day of serenity to propose her departure. 
 
 In order to procure the means of defraying" the expense of her 
 journey, it was become necessary to remind Lady Pelham of her 
 loan, winch appeared to have escaped her ladysliip's recollec- 
 tion. Laura, accordingly, one day gently hinted a wish to be re- 
 paid. Lady Iclham at first looked surprised, and affected to have 
 forgotten the whole transaction; but, upon being very distinctly 
 reminded of the particulars, she owned that she recollected 
 something of it, and carelessly promised to settle it soon ; adding 
 that she knew Laura had no use for the money. Laura then frank- 
 ly announced the purpose to which she meant to apply it ; saying-, 
 that as her aunt v/as now surrounded by more ag-i-eeable society, 
 she hoped she might, without inconvenience, be spared, and would 
 therefore relieve Lady Pelham of her charge, by paying a visit to 
 Mrs. Douglas, flagc flamed in Lady Pelham's countenance, wliile 
 slie burst into a torrent of invective against her niece's ingrati- 
 tude, and coldness of heart ; and it mingled with triumph as slie 
 concluded by saying,—-*' Do, Miss ; by all means go to your pre- 
 cious Scotland, but find the means as you best can^; for not one 
 penny will I give you for such a purpose. 1 have long- expected 
 some such fine freak as this, butl thought I should di^ap]X)int it.*' 
 Not daunted by this inauspicious beginning, Laura, taking en- 
 couragement from her aunt's known instability, again and again 
 renewed the subject ; but Lady Pelham's purposes, however easi- 
 ly shaken by accident or caprice, were ever inflexible to entreat} . 
 " She possessed," she said, *' the means of pi-eventing her niece's 
 folly, and she was determined to employ them." Laura burnt 
 with resentment at the injustice of this determination. She ac- 
 knowledged no right which Lady Pelliam possessed to detain her 
 against her own consent, and she considered the detention of her 
 lawful property as little else than fraud. But jierceiving that re- 
 monstrance was useless, she judged it most prudent not U; em- 
 bitter, by vain recriminations, an intercourse from winch she 
 could not immediately escape. Without furtlre?!^ complaint or 
 upbraiding, she submitted to her fate ; content with resolving to 
 employ more diircreetly the next payment of her annuity, arid 
 with making a just but unavailing ap{)cal to her aunt's gene'rosit}', 
 by as.serting the rigljt. of dtfcjicelessness lo protection.- Ludy 
 PcDiam had not the ^fejitest idea of conceding any thing to this 
 claim. On the contrary,' tl»e certainty that Laura could not with- 
 drawfrom licr pov/cr, c.icouraged her to use it with less restrain'; 
 
124 
 
 Fihe invited Hargrave to a degree of familiarity which he had not 
 before assumed ; admitted him at all hours ; sanctioned any free- 
 dom which he dared to use with Laura; and forced or inveigled 
 her into frequent tetda-tetes with him. 
 
 Frettfed beyond her patience, Laura's temper more than once 
 failed under this treatment, and she bitterly reproached Ilargrave 
 as the source of all her vexation. As it was, however, her habi- 
 tual Ptudy to convert every event of her life to the purposes of vir- 
 tue, it soon occurred to her, that, during these compulsory inter- 
 views, she might become the instrument of awakening her unwor- 
 thy lover to more noble pursuits. Like a ray of light, the hope of 
 usefulness darted into her so»d, shedding a cheering beam on ob- 
 jects which before were dai k and comfortless ; and, with all the 
 enthusiastic warmth of her character, she entered on her volun- 
 tary task ; forgetting, in her eagerness to recal a sinner from the 
 error of his ways, the weariness, disgust, and dread with which 
 she listened to the ravings of selfish passion. She no longer en- 
 deavoured to avoid him, no longer listened to him with frozen si- 
 lence or avowed disdain. During their interviews, she scarcely 
 noticed his protestations, but employed every interval in urging 
 him, with all the eloquence of dread, to retreat from the gulf 
 which was yawning to receive him ; in assuring him, with all the 
 solemnity of truth, that the waters of life would repay him a thou- 
 sand-fold for the poisoned cup of pleasure. Truth, spoken by the 
 loveliest lips in the world, confirmed by the lightnings of a vvitch- 
 ing eye, kindled at times in Hargrave a something which he mis- 
 took for the love of virtue. He declared his abhorrenee of his for- 
 mer self, asserted the innocence of his present manner of life, and 
 vowed that, for the future, he should be blameless. But when 
 Laura rather incautiously urged him to give proof of his reforma- 
 tion, by renouncing a passion whose least gratifications were pur- 
 chased at the expense of justice and humanity, he insisted that 
 she required more than nature could endure, and vehemently pro- 
 tested that he would never, but with life, relinquish the hope of 
 possessing her. Her remonstrances had however one effect, of 
 which she was altogether unconscious. Hargrave could not esti- 
 mate the force of those motives which led her to labour so earn- 
 estly for the conversion of a person wholly indifferent to her ; and 
 though she often assured him that her zeal^was disinterested, he 
 cherished a hope that she meant to reward his improvement. In 
 this hope he relinqui.shed, for a while, the schemes which he had 
 devised against the unsuspecting Laura, till accident again deci- 
 ded him against trusting to her free consent for the accomplish- 
 mcMit of h's wislies. 
 
 Among other exercises of authority to which Lady Pelham was 
 emboldened by her niece's temporary dependence on her will, slie 
 adhered to her former prohibition of Laura's correspondence with 
 I)e Courcy. Laui*a, unwilling to make i(|jkppear a matter of im- 
 t>ortance, promised that she would desist ; but said that she must 
 Hist write to Mr. De Courcy to account for her seeming caprice. 
 
125 
 
 Lady Pelliam consented, and the letter was written. It spoke ot 
 Laura's situation, of her sentiments, of her regret for Ifargrave's 
 strange perseverance, of the dread and vexation to which he oc- 
 casionally subjected her. To atone for its being the last, it was 
 more friendly, more communicative than any she had formerly 
 ^yritten. Laura meant to disguise under a sportive style the ei- 
 fects wiiich oppression had produced upon her spirits ; and the 
 playful melancboly which ran tlu-oughout, gave her expressions 
 :m air of artless tenderness. Lady Pelham passed threugh the 
 liall as this letter was lying upon the table, waiting the servant 
 who was to carry it to the post ; she looked at it. The sheet was 
 "^comjjletely filled. She wondered wh4t it could contain. She took 
 it up and examined it, as fur as tlie-«:eal would permit her. What 
 she saw did but increase her curiosity. It was only wafered, and 
 therefore easily opened ; but then it was so dishonourable to open 
 a letter. Yet what could the letter be the worse ? A girl should 
 have no secrets from her near rchitions. Still, to break a seal ! — 
 It was felony by the law. Lady Pelham laid down the letter and 
 walked away, already proud of having disdained to do a base ac- 
 tion ; but she heard the servant coming for his charge ; she 
 iliought it best to have time to consider the matter. She 
 could give him the letter at any time — and she slipped it into her 
 pocket. 
 
 Sad sentence is produced against * the woman who deliberates -J 
 Lady Pelliam read the letter ; and tlien, in the heat of hei* resent- 
 ment at the manner in which her favourite was mentioned, shewed 
 it to Hargrave. As he marked the innocent confiding frankness, 
 the unco;istrained respect, the chastened Vet avowed regard, with 
 which Laura addressed liis rival, and cohy-asted them with tlie 
 timid caution which, even during the reign of passion, had charac- 
 terized her intercourse with himself, — contrasted them too with 
 the mixture of pity, dislike, and dread, whichliad succeeded her 
 infatuation, all the pan^js of rage and jealousy took hold on the 
 soul of Hargrave. llc^ould have vented his frenzy by tearing 
 the letter to atoms, but Lady Pelham snatched it from his quiver- 
 ing grasp, and dreading detection, sealedlmd restored it to its 
 first destination. ;^' 
 
 The first use which he made of his returning powers of self- 
 conunund, was to ui-ge Lady Pelham s concurrence in a scheme 
 which he had before devised, but which had been laid aside in 
 c()nsi'([u<.-nce of his ill-founded hopes. He entreated tl'.c her 
 ladyship would, by an oppo) tune absence, assist his intention ; 
 wliich was, he said, to aiaini L;tura with the horrors of a pretend- 
 ed arrest for an imaginary debt, and to work upon the grateful- 
 ness of her disposition, by himself appearing as her deliverer from, 
 her supposed difficulty. Lady Pelham in vain urged the futility 
 of this stratagem, representing the obstacles to its accompliah- 
 ment, and the certaiij|ty of early detection. Hargrave continucdto 
 importune, and slie vielded. 
 
 l2 
 
126 
 
 Yet Hargrave himself was as far as LadyPelhum from expect- 
 iiig any fruits from the feeble artifices which he had detailed to 
 her. He had little expectation that Laura could ever be induced 
 to receive any pecuniary obligation at his hands, and still less that 
 she would consider a loan which she might alm.ost immediately 
 repay, as a favour important enough to be rewarded with herself. 
 He even determined that his aid should be offered in terms which 
 ivoxild ensure its rejection. Though he durst not venture to un- 
 fold his whole plan to Lady Pelham, his real intention was merely 
 to employ the disguise of law in removing Laura from even the 
 imperfect protection of her aunt, to a place where sheHvould bej 
 utterly without defence from his power. To the baseness of his 
 purpose he blinded himself by considering the reparation which 
 he should make in bestowing wealth and title on his victim ; its 
 more than savage brutality he forgot in anticipation of the grati- 
 tude with whicJi Laura, humbled in her own eyes, aiid in those of 
 the world, would accept the assiduities which now she .spurned. 
 He little knew the being whom he thus devoted to destruction ! 
 Incited by jealousy and resentment, he now resolved on the im- 
 mediate execution of his design ; and he did not quit ^^ady Pel- 
 ham till he had obtained her acquiescence in it so far as it was 
 divulged to her. H^ then hastened to prepare the instruments of 
 his villaoy ; and ere he gave himself time to cool, all was in rea- 
 diness for the scheme which was to break the innocent heart that 
 bad loved and trusted him in seeming virtue, and pitied and pray- 
 ed for him and warned him in guilt. How had the shades of evil 
 deepened since the time when Hargrave first faltered between his 
 infant passion and a virtuous purpose! He had turne(i from the 
 path which * shineth more and more unto the perfect day.* . On 
 that in v/hich he trodethe night was stealing, slow but sure, which 
 closes at last in outer darkness. 
 
 One morning at breakfast, I^ady Pelham, with more than usual 
 civility, apologized for leaving Laura alqne during the rest of the 
 day, saying that business called her a few miles out of town, but 
 that she would return in the evening. She did not say whither 
 she was going ; and Laura, never imagining that it could at all 
 concern her to know, did not think of inquiring. Pleasing her- 
 self with the prospect of one day of peace and solitude, she saw 
 her aunt depart, and then sat down to detail to the friend of her 
 youth her situation, her wishes, and her intentions. She was in- 
 terrupted by a servant who came to inform her that two men be- 
 low desired to speak with her. Wondering who in that land of 
 strangers could have business with her, Laura desired that they 
 should be shewn up stairs. Two coarse robust-looking men, ap- 
 parently of the lower rank, entered the room. Laura was una- 
 ble to divine what could have procured her a visit from persons of 
 their appearance ; yet, with her native courtesy, she was motion- 
 mg them to a seat, when one of them steppeld forward ; and, lay- 
 ing on her shoulder a stick which he held, said, in a rough fero- 
 
 T.ious voice, " Lavira MoptrevUle, I^restyou at the suit of John 
 
127 
 
 M>kc3.*' Laura was surprised but not alavimed. *• This must he 
 some mistake," said she, ** I know no such person as John Dykes." 
 " He knows you though, and that is enoug-h,*' answered t^e man. 
 "Friend," returned Laura, mildly, " jou mistuke me for some 
 other person." *' What, Miss," said the other mun, advancing", 
 **do you pretend that you ai*e not Laura Montreville, daughter of 
 tlie late Captain William Montreville, of Glenuibertin Scotland ?" 
 Laura, now changing colour, owned that she was the person so 
 described. " But," said she, recovering herself, " I cannot be 
 arrested. I do not owe five shillings in tlie world." ** Mayhap 
 not. Miss/* said the man, " but your fatlier did ; and you can be 
 proved to have intermeddled witfi his effects as his heiress, which 
 makes you liable for all his debts. So you'll please pay me the 
 two hundred pounds which he owed to Mr. John Dykes." " Two 
 hundred pounds !" exclaimed Laura. " The thing is impossible. 
 My father left a list of his debts in his own hand-writing, and they 
 )iave all been faithfully discharged by the sale of his property in 
 Scotland." The men looked at each other for a moment, and 
 seemed to hesitate ; but tlie roughest of tVe two presently an- 
 swered, " What nonsense do you tell me of lists ? v/Iio*s to be- 
 lieve all that ? I have a just warrant : so either pay the money or 
 come along." " Surelvj friend," said Laura, who now suspected 
 the people to be mere swiinllers, ** you cannot expect that I should 
 pay such a sum without inquiring into your right to demand it. If 
 your claim be a just one, present it in a regular account, properly 
 attested, and it shall be paid to-morrow." " I have nothing to 
 do with to-mori'ow. Miss," said the man. " I must do my busi- 
 ness. It's all one to me whether you pay or not. It does not put 
 a penny in my pocket ; only if you do not choose to pay, come 
 along ; for we can't be ;itaying here all day." " I cannot procure 
 the money just now, even though I were willing," answered Lau- 
 ra, with spirit, " and I do iiot believe you have any right to re- 
 move me." ** Oh, as for rigfi't. Miss, we'll let you see that. There 
 is our warrant, payerly signed and sealed. You may look at it 
 in my hand, for I don't much like to trust you with it." 
 
 The warrant was stamped, and imposingly wi-itten upon parch- 
 mcnt. With the tautology which Laura had been taught to expect 
 in a law-paper, it rung changes upon the permission to seize and 
 confine the person of Laura Montreville, as heiress of William 
 Montreville, debtor to John Dykes, of Pimlico. It was signed as 
 by a magistrate, and marked with the large seals of office. Laura 
 now no longer doubted ; and, turning pale and faint, asked the 
 men whether they would not stay for an hour wh le she sent to Fins- 
 bury Square, to beg the advice of Mr. Derwent, Lady Pelham*s 
 man of business. '* You may send for him to the lock-up house," 
 said the savage. " We have no time to spare." ** And whither 
 will you take me ?" cried Laura, almost sinking with hoiTor. — 
 " Most likely," answered the most gentle of the two ruffians " you 
 vould not like to be put into the coin^ion prison j and you may 
 
128 
 
 have as g'ood accommodations in my house as mig^lit scrre j. 
 
 '^Tphl'of her dismay, Laura's presence of mind did not entirely 
 foisake her. She hesitated whether she should not send to bcj? 
 S"e assistance of some of Lady Telham's -<^f -^"^^"f ' «^ ,f ^^^^^^^ 
 their advice in a situation so new to her. Aniong them all there 
 was none with whom she liad formed any intimacy ; none whom, 
 in her^present circumstances of embarrassment and humihaUon, 
 she felt herself inclined to meet. She shrunk at the thought of the 
 form in wliich her story might be represented by the mal.gnant or 
 m Tudging, and she conceived it her best course to submit qmely 
 to an inconvenience of a few hours' cont nuance, fi;om which he 
 did not doubt that her aunt's return would that evening relieve her 
 still the idea of being a prisoner; of committmg herself to such 
 attendan s ; of being an inmate of the abodes of misery, of degra- 
 dation perhaps of vice, filled her with dread and horror, while 
 s£g on a crouch, she covered her pale face with her hands, and 
 inwardly commended herself to tlie care of Jieaven. 
 
 The men, meanwhUe, stood whispermg apart, and seemed t -, 
 liave forgotten the haste which they formerly expressed. At last 
 one of them, after looking from the window into the street sud. 
 denlv approached her. and, rudely seizmg her arm, cried, Come, 
 Miss, the coach can't wait all day. It's of no use crying; we re too 
 well used to that, so walk awuy if you don't choose to be carnecU 
 Laura dashed the tears from her eyes, and, ^^^^f ^X t^-y»^87«/^^!,"- 
 ga-e her arm, was silently following her conductor to the door, 
 when it opened, and Hargrave entered. . i i 
 
 Prepared as he was for the scene of distress, determined as he 
 was to let no movement of compassion divert \ns pui-pose, he could 
 not resist the quiet anguish which was written in the lovely iace 
 o?h-is victim ; Ind, turning with real indignation to her tonn-^^^^^^^ 
 he exclaimed, " Ruffian ! what have you done to her ? but quick. 
 W recollecting himself, he threw his ll-m familiarly ^;"""f^ ^^^^ ^"^^ 
 said, - My diarest Laura, what is the meanmg^of a I ihi. ? ^^ hat- 
 Ian these people want with you l" « Nothing wh>ch c^n at all 
 concern yoi, Si^-," said Laura, her spirit retm-mng ^^^o<^nc^ 
 of his address, « Nav, my dear creature," said 1 argra^ e. I am 
 sue something terrible ha's happened. Speak, ^'^-^(.^^J^ 
 turning to his emissaries, « what is your business with M'^s 4on. 
 tre ill? ?'> « No great matter. Sir," answered the mun; only 
 we lave a writ agSinst her for two hundred pounds and she does 
 Lt choose to pa; it ; so we must take her to a ^tt e^nug p ace» 
 that's all.-' "To a prison ! You, Latn-a, to a pnso.. ! "^"^^"Y iC 
 Isno? to be thought of. Leave the room, feUows and le me a^^^ 
 with Miss Montrevilie;' " There is no occasion, ^ .r -^^^^^^^^^^ 
 «' I- am wiUing to submit to a sliort confinement. Afv aunt u.tuins 
 IhL ev.ning.^nd she will undoubtedly -<'^^l^;^^;';^y ^ 
 ought to be much the same to me what room I .rhabit ^'l 'J^^j'- *^^^ 
 intervenin^r hours." " Good heaven ! Luuni do you consider what 
 Jou sa/ Do vou consider lh« horrors-the di^Brace ? Dearest girl. 
 
129 
 
 suffer me to settle this affair, and let me for once do something' 
 that may give you pleasure." Laura's spirit revolted from the free- 
 dom with which this was spoken. Suffering undeservM humilia- 
 tion, never had she been more jealous of her claim to respect. " I 
 am obliged to you. Sir," said she, " but your good offices are im- 
 nccessary. Some little hardship, I find, I nnist submit to ; and I 
 believe the smallest within my choice is to let these people dispose 
 of me till Lady Pelham's return." Hargi-ave reddened. "She pre- 
 fers a prison," thought he, " to owing even the smallest obligation 
 to me. But her pride is near a fall ;" and he smiled with trium- 
 phant pity on the stately mien of his victim. 
 
 He was, in effect, almost indifferent whether she accepted or 
 rejected his proffered assistance. If she accepted it, he was de- 
 termined that it should be clogged with a conditon expressly stat- 
 ing, that he was for the future to be received with greater favour. 
 If she reftised, and he scarcely doubted that she would, he had 
 only to make tlie signal, and she would be hurried, unresisting, to 
 destruction. Yet, recollecting the despair, the distraction, with 
 which she would too late rliscover her misfortune ; the bitter up- 
 braidings with which she v/ould meet her betrayer ; the frantic 
 anguish with which she would mourn her disgrace, if, indeed, she 
 survived it, he was inclined to wish that she would choose the 
 more quiet v/ay of forwarding his designs, and he ag-ain earnestly 
 entreated her to permit his interference. Laura's strong dislike 
 to being indebted for any favour to Hargrave, was somewhat ba- 
 lanced in her mind by horror of a prison, and by the consideration 
 that she could immediately repay him bv the sale of part of her 
 annuity. Though she still resisted his offer, therefore, it was less 
 firmly than before. Hargrave continued to urge her. " If," said 
 l)e, " you dislike to allow me the pleasure of obliging you, this 
 trifling sum may be restored whenever you please ; and if you af- 
 terwards think that any little debt remains, it is in your power to 
 repay it a thousand fold. .',Pne kind smile, one consenting look, 
 were cheaply purchased with a world." The hint which conclud- 
 ed this speech seemed to Laura manifestly intended to prevent her 
 acceptance of the offer which he urged so warmly. ** Arc yoti not 
 ashamed. Sir," said she, with a disdainful smile, "thus to make a 
 parade of generosity which you do not mean to practise ? 1 know 
 you do not — cannot expect, that I should poorly stoop to purchase 
 your assistance." ** Upon my soul, Laura," cried Hargrave, seiz- 
 ing her hands, '* I am most earnest, most anxious, that you should 
 yield to me in this affair ; nor will I quit this spot till you liave con- 
 sented — nor till you have allowed me to look upon your consent as 
 a pledge of your future favour." Latn-a indignantly snatched her 
 hand.s from his grasjx *' All that I compreliend of this," said she, 
 •' is insult, or.ly insult. Leave me. Sir ! It Is unworthy even of you 
 to insult tl)e misfortunes of a defenceless woman." -Hargrave 
 would not be repulsed. He again took her hand and persevered in 
 his entreaties, not forgetting, however, to insinuate the conditions. 
 Laura, in silent scoruj turned from him, wondering what could be 
 
130 
 
 the motive of his strange conduct, till it suddenly occurred to her 
 that the arrest might be a mere plot contrived by Hargrave him- 
 self for th^ purpose of terrifying her into the acceptance of the con- 
 ditions necessary to her escape. This suspicion once formed 
 gained strength by every (Circumstance. The improbability of the 
 debt ; the time chosen when Lady Pelham was absent ; the oppor- 
 tune arrival of liargrave ; the submission of the pretended bailiffs 
 to his order ; his frequent repetition of the conditions of his offer, 
 at the same time that he a]^eared to wish for its acceptance ; all 
 conspired to convince Laura that she Was intended to be made the 
 dupe of a despicable artifice. Glowing with indignation, she again 
 forced herself from Hargrave. " Away with this contemptible 
 mockery," she cried, " I will hear no more of it. While these peo- 
 ple choose to guard me in this house, it shall be in an apartment 
 secure from your intrusion." Tljen before Hargrave could prevent 
 her, she left him, and shut herself into her own chamber. 
 
 Here, at greater liberty to think, a new question occurred to her. 
 In case of her refusal to accept of H.ojgrave's terms — in case she 
 actually preferred intrusting herself to the,p.retemled bailiffs, whi- 
 ther could they intend to convey her ! Laura's blood ran cold at 
 tlie thought. If they were indeed the agents of Hargrave, what 
 v/ as there of dreadful that she h:tcl;'not to fear !~ Yet she could 
 scarcely believe that persons could be found to attempt so daring 
 a villany., Woidd they venture upon an outrage for which they 
 must answer to the laws ! an outrage which. Lady Pelham would 
 ^certainly feel herself concerned to bring to imn^ediate detection 
 and punishment. " Unfortunate chance !" cried Laura, " that my 
 aunt should be absent just when ^he might have saved mc. And I 
 know not even where to seek lier. Why did she not tell me whi- 
 ther she was going ? She who'fwas wont to be so open ! — Can this 
 be a part of this cruel snare ? Could she — Oh it is impossible ? 
 My fears make me suspicious and unjust." 
 
 Though Laura thus endeavoured ^ acquit Lady Pelham, her 
 suspicion of Hargrave*s treachery augmented every moment. — 
 While she remembered that her father, though he had spoken to 
 her of his affairs with the most confidential frankness, h^d never 
 hinted at such a debt, never named such a person as Ids pretended 
 creditor — while she thought of the manner of Hargrave's interfer- 
 ence, the improbability that her own and her father's name and 
 address, as well as the casualty of L:idy Pclham's absence should 
 be known to mere strangers — the little likelihood that common 
 swindlers would endeavour to extort money by means so hazardous 
 and with such small chance of success — her conviction i*ose to cer- 
 tainty ; and she determined that nothing short of force should 
 place her in the power of these impostors. Yet how soon might 
 that force be employed ! How feeble was the resistance which slie 
 could ofier ! And who would venture to aid her in resisting the 
 pi-etended servants of law ! " Miserable creature that f am !" cried 
 she, wringing her hands in an agony of grief and terror, ** must I 
 jiubmit to this cruel wrong? — Is tiiprc no one to save mc— -no 
 
131 
 
 friend near ; — Yes ! }-cs, I have a friend from whom no treachery of 
 man can tear rac — w ho can deliver me from their violence — who 
 can do more — can make their cruelty my passport to life eternal. 
 Let me not despair then— Let me not be wanting' to myself— "VN'ith 
 His blessing the feeblest means are mighty." 
 
 After a moment's consideration Laura rung her bell, and the 
 maid who usually attended her appeared. " Catherine," said Laii* 
 ra, endeavouring to speak composedly, " will you obhge me by 
 going to P'insbury Square, to Mr. Derwent, and begging of him to 
 come hither instantly ?" " Bless me, Madam," cried the girl, " you 
 look as if you were just going to faint ! can I get you any thing I** 
 *• No, no, I shall not faint," said Laura. " Go, my dear — go quick- 
 ly — if you would save a wretch from destruction. Stop not a mo- 
 ment, 1 implore you ! — Oh Catherine, more than lifi^ depends on 
 you !" The girl's curiosity was strongly excited by these words, 
 as well as by the strange visit of tlie men who were waiting in tlie 
 lobby. Slie w^ould fain have staid to make inquiries, but the im- 
 ploring anguish of Laura's look and manner was u*resistible, and 
 she hastened out of the room. Laura then double-locking the 
 door determined that by force only it should be entered, and 
 throwing herself on a seat, strove to rally the spirits siie was so 
 soon to need. In a few minlites, liowever, Catherine returned, and 
 tlirough the key hole informed Laura that she had been intercept- 
 ed by the men below stairs, who would not suffer any one to leave 
 the house. All is then as I feared," cried Laura in a voice of des- 
 peration. " And has he made his cruel plot so sure ? Is there no 
 escape ? Oh Catherine ! cannot you steal away from them ? Is 
 there no means to save me ?" Moved by the voice of anguish, the 
 girl promised to do her utmost, bilt confessed that she had little 
 hope of succeeding. 
 
 For a moment Laura believed her fate scaled, and almost gave 
 herself up to despair ; but now convinced of the treacliery of Har- 
 grave, and imwillingly obUged to suspect Lady Pelham's conni- 
 vance, indignation at such unexampled baseness and cruelty again 
 roused her tainting spirit. Again she determined to resist to the 
 uttermost, and if dragged by force from her place of refuge, to ap- 
 peal to the humanity of the passengers in the streets. " Surely," 
 thought slie, *' even connnon strangers will not permit such op- 
 pression." The windows of her chamber looked towards the gar- 
 dens behind the house ; and she now regretted that she had not 
 rather shut herself up in one of the front apartments, from whence 
 she could have explained her situation to the passers by. Seeing 
 no other chance ot escape, she resolved on attempting to change 
 her place of i-efuge, and was approaching the door to listen whe- 
 ther any one was near, when she was startled by the rough voice 
 of one of the pretended bailiffs. "Come along. Miss," he cried, 
 *' we are quite tired of waiting. Come along." The shuddering 
 Laura made no reply. "Come, come. Miss," cried the man again ; 
 ** you have had time enough to make ready." Laura continued si- 
 lent, while the rufhai; Cidled to her again' ^nd again, shitjking the 
 
132 
 
 door violently. He threatened, with shocking oaths, that he would 
 burst it open, and that she should be punished for resisting tiic 
 officers of justice. A.11 was in vain. Laura would not answer a sin- 
 gle word. Trembling in every limb, she listened to his blas- 
 phemies and vows of vengeance, till she had wearied out her per- 
 secutor, and her ear was gladdened with the sound of his depart- 
 ing steps. He was almost immediately succeeded by his less fe- 
 rocious companion, who more civilly begged her to hasten, as their 
 business would not permit any longer delay. Finding that she 
 would not answer, he reminded her of the consequences of ob- 
 structing the execution of law ; and threatened, if she continued 
 obstinate, to use force. Laura sat silent and motionless, using 
 every momentary interval of quiet, in breathing a hasty prayer for 
 deliverance. Tlie least violent of the fellows pi-oved the most per- 
 severing ; yet at last she had the satisfaction to hear him also re- 
 tire Pi-esently a lighter step approached, and Hargrave called to 
 her. *'Miss ivJontreviUe ! Laura ! Miss Montreville !" Laura was still 
 silent. He called again, without success. "Miss Montreville is 
 ill," cried he aloud, as if to some one at a distance. " She is insensi- 
 ble. The door must be forced." " No ! no," cried Laura, determin- 
 cd not to leave him this pi'ctence, *' 1 am not insensiblej npr ill, if 
 j'OU would leave me in peace." " For heaven*s sake, then," return- 
 ed he, " let me speak a few words to you." '* No," answered Lau- 
 ra, ** you can say nothing that I wish to heai*." ** I beseech you, I 
 implore you," said Hargrave, '* only by one word put it in my power 
 to save you from these miscreants^ — say but that one little word, 
 and you are free." '* Man, man !" cried Laura vehemently, " why 
 will you make me abhor you ? I want no freedom but from your 
 persecutions ! Begone !" " Only promise me," said Hargrave, 
 lowering his voice, ** only promise me that you will give up that 
 accursed De Courcy, and I wdl dismiss these men." " Do you 
 curse him who saved your life 1 Monster ! Leave me ! I detest 
 you." Hargrave gnawed his lip with passion. " You shall dearly 
 pay this obstinacy," said he, and fiercely strode way. 
 
 in the heat of his wrath, he commanded his coadjutors to force 
 the door ; but the law which njakes the home of an Englishman a 
 sacred sanctuary, extends its precious influence, in some faint de- 
 gree, to the breasts even of the dregs of mankind ; and these 
 wretches, who would have given up Laura to any other outrage, 
 hesitated to perpetrate this. They objected the danger. " Does 
 your honour think," said one of them, " that the servants will 
 stand by and allow us to break open the door." " 1 tell you," said 
 Hargrave, " all the men servants are from home. What do you 
 fear from a parcel of women ?" " Women can bear witness as 
 well as men, your honour ; and it might be as much as our necks 
 are worth to be convicted. But if your honour could entice her 
 out, vre*d soon catch her." Hargrave took two or three turns along 
 the lobby, and then returned to Laura : " Miss Montreville," said 
 he, " my dearest Miss Montreville, I conjure you to admit me 
 only for a moment. Thes« savages will wait no longer. They are 
 
tlcteriTiined to force your door. Once more I implore you, before iL 
 is too late, let me s]>eak with you. I expect them every moment/* 
 Laura's breast swelled with indig^nation at this vite pretence of 
 kindness. " Acting under your command, sir," said she, " 1 doubt 
 not that they may even dare this outrag-e. And let them at their 
 peril. If the laws of my country cannot protect, they shall avenj^e 
 me." For a moment Ilarg-rave stood confounded at this detection, 
 till anger replacing- sham^— ** Very well, madam," he cried ; " in- 
 sult me as you please, artd take the consequences." He then re- 
 joined his emisaries -, and by bribery and threats endeavoured to 
 prevail upon them to consummate their violence. The men, un- 
 willing- to forfeit the reward of the hazard and trouble they had 
 already undergone, allured by Hargrave*s pi-omiscs, and fearing 
 his vengeance, at last agreed to drag their hapless victim to her 
 doom. 
 
 Having taken such instruments as they could find, for the pi/r- 
 posc of forcing the door, they followed Hargrave up stairs, and 
 prepared to begin their work. At this near prospect of the success 
 of all his schemes, Hargrave's rage Ixsgan to cool ; and a gleam 
 of tenderness and humanity reviving in his heart, he shrunk from 
 v.itnessing- the anguish which he was about to inflict. "Stop,'* 
 s-aid he t6 his people, who were approaching the door ; " stay a 
 few moments ;" and, putting his hand to his forclicad, he walked 
 about, not wavering in his pui'pose, but endeavouring to excuse 
 it to himself " It is all the consequence of her own obstinacy," 
 said be, suddenly stopping. " You may go on — No ; stay, let 
 me first get but of this house. Her cries would drive n>e 
 iTiad. — Make haste — lose no time after I am gone. It is better 
 over." 
 
 Besides the motive wirich he otvned, HargraVe v.as impelled to 
 depart by the dread of meeting Laura's upbraiding eye, antl by 
 the shame of appearing even to the servants, who were so soon 
 to know his baseness, an inactive spectator of Laura's distress. 
 He hastened from the house, and the men proceeded in their 
 work. With dread and horror did Laura listen to their attempts. 
 Pale, breathless, her hands clenched in terror, she fixed her 
 strained eyes on the door, which every moment seemed yielding ; 
 then flying to the window, surveyed in despair the height, which 
 made escape an act of suicide ; then again turning to tlie door, 
 tried with her feeble strength to aid its resistance. In vain I it 
 yielded, and the shock threw Laura on the ground. The ruffians 
 raised her, more dead than alive, and were seizing her lily arms 
 to lead her away ; but, with all her native majesty, slie motioned 
 |]iem from her. " You need not touch me," said she, *♦ you see I 
 can resist no further.'' Witli the composure of dcspaii-i she fd- 
 lowed them to the hall, where, her strength failing, she sunk iij)- 
 on a scati The servants now in pity and amazement approachlr.,^ 
 her, she addressed herself to <;ne of them. ** Will you g<> witii 
 me, my good friend," said she, " that you may rettun and tell 
 Lady Fefham where to find her niece's 'corp^€>l'* The ^iiican- 
 
134 
 
 sented with tears in her eyes ; but one of the fellows qrietl, ** No, 
 no, she may rut> after the coach if she likes, but she don't go with- 
 in side." *• Why not ?" said the other with a brutal leer. " They 
 may both get home again together. They'll be free enough soon." 
 Laura shuddered. *' Where wandered my senses," said she, 
 *' when I thought of subjecting any creature to the chance of a 
 fate like mine ! Stay here, my dear, and tell LadyPelham, that I 
 charge her, by all her hopes here and hereafter, to seek me before 
 she sleeps. Let her seek me wherever ihere is wickedness and 
 wo — and there, living or dead, I shall be found." " Let's have 
 done with all this nonsetise," said one of the men. " John, make 
 the coach draw up close to the door." The fellow went to do as 
 he was desired ; while the other with a handkerchief prepared to 
 stifle the cries of Laura, in case she should attempt to move the 
 pity of passengers in the street. Laura heard the carriage stop, 
 she heai'd the step let down, and the sound was like her death 
 knell. 
 
 The man hurried Rer through the hall. He opened the street 
 door— and Catherine entered witli Mr. Derwent. Laura, raising 
 her bowed down head, uttered a cry of joy. "I am safe!" she 
 cried, and sunk into the arms of Catherine. 
 
 Mr. Derwent immediately directed his servants to seize the fel- 
 low who kad held Laura, the other having made Itis escape upon 
 seeing the arrival of her deliverers. Laura, soon recovering, told 
 her tale to Mr. Derwent, who ordering the man to be searched, 
 examined the warrant, a«d declared it to be false. . The danger 
 attending forgery, however, had been avoided, for there was no 
 magistrate of the same name with that which appeared in the sig- 
 nature. Hargrave's villany thus fully detected, Laura wished to 
 dismiss his agent ; but Mr. Derwent would not permit such atro- 
 city to go unpunished, and gave up the wretch to the arm of law. 
 He then quitted Laura, leaving his servant to attend her till Lady 
 Pelham's return ; and, worn out with the emotion she had under- 
 gone, she threw herself on a bed to seek some rest. 
 
 Early in the evening Lady Pelham returned, and immediately 
 Inquired for her niece. The servants, always attentive and often 
 uncharitable spectators of the actions of their superiors, had be- 
 fore observed the encouragement which their misti-ess gave to 
 Htirgrave, and less unwilling to suspect than Laura, were convin- 
 ced of Lady Pelham's connivance in his purpose. None of them 
 therefore choosing to announce the failure of a scheme in which 
 they believed her so deeply implicated, her questions produced 
 no information e.Kcept that Miss Moiitreville was gone indisposed 
 to bed. The habitual awe with which the good sense and discern- 
 ment of Laura had inspired Lady Pelham, was at present aug- 
 mented almost to fear by the consciousness of duplicity. She 
 shrunk from encountering the glance of quiet scrutiny, tlie plain 
 direct question which left no room for prevarication, no choice be- 
 tween simple truth and absolute falsehood. But curiosity to know 
 the success of the plot, and still morw a desire to discover how 
 
135 
 
 far she was suspected of abetting it, prevailed over her fears ; and 
 having before studied the part she was to play, she entered Lau- 
 ra's apartment. 
 
 She found her already risen and prepared to receive her. " My 
 dear child," said her ladyship, in one of her kindest tones, " I am 
 told you have been ill. What is the matter ?" " My illness is no- 
 thing-. Madam," answered Laura, " but I have been alarraed in 
 }our absence by the most daring-, the most unprincipled outrage !" 
 " Outrage, my dear !'* tf^ed Lady Pelham, in a voice of the utmost 
 surprise ; " What outrage ?'* Laura then, covnmanding by a pow- 
 erful effort the indignation which swelled her heart, related her 
 injuries without comment ; pausing at times to observe how her 
 aunt was affected by the recital. Lady Pelham was all amaze- 
 ment ; which, though chiefly pretended, was partly real. She was 
 surprised at the lengths to which Hargrave had gone, and even 
 suspected his whole design, though she was far from intending to 
 discover her sentiments to her niece. . " This is the most extraor- 
 dinary thing I ever heard of!" cried she, when Laura had ended. 
 ** What can have been the meaning of this trick ? What can have 
 incited the people ?" ** Colonel Hargrave, Madam," said Laura 
 without hesitation. " Impossible, my dear ! Hargrave can be no 
 further concerned in it, than so far as taking advantage of the ac- 
 cident to extort the promise of a little kindness from you. He 
 would never have ventured to send the men into my house on such 
 an errand." " One of them confessed to Mr. Derwent, before the 
 whole family, that Colonel Hargrave was his employer." " Aston- 
 ishing !" cried Lady Pelham. " And what do you suppose to 
 have been Hargrave's intention ?" *' I doubt not. Madam," return- 
 ed Laura, commandingher voice, though resentment flashed from 
 her eyes, " I doubt not that his intentions were yet more base and 
 inhuman than the means he employed. But v/hatever they were, 
 I am certain he would never have dared to entertain them, had it 
 not been for the encouragement which your ladyship h.ts thought 
 proper to give him." " 1, child !'* cried Lady PeUiam, truth in 
 her colour contradicting the falsehood of her tongue, " Surely 
 you do not think I would encourage him in such a plot !" *• No, 
 Madam," answered L»«ra, "I hope and believe you are incapa- 
 ble of consenting to such wickedness. I allude only to the gene- 
 ral countenance which you have always shewn to Colonel Har- 
 grave." Lady Pelham co\dd implicitly relv upon Laura's word ; 
 and finding that she was herself unsuspected, she had leisure to 
 attempt palliating the offence of her protegee. " That counte- 
 nance," returned she, " shall be completely withdrawn for the fu- 
 ture, if Hargrave does not explain this strange frolic entirely to 
 my satisfaction." *' Frolic, Madam !" cried Laura, indignantly. 
 " If that name belong to crimes which would disgrace barbarians, 
 then call this a frolic!" "Come, my dear girl," said Lady Pelham, 
 coaxingly throwing her arm round Laura, 'you are too much, and 
 I must own, according to present appearances, too justly h'rita- 
 ■ ed, to talk of this afl'air oooUy to-night. To-moiTow we sliaU con- 
 
^ crse about it. Now let's go to tea." " So, Maclam,?^ said Luui'a 
 with spirit, for she saw tlirough her aunt's intention of g-lossing- 
 over Ilargrave's viilany — " I will never again expose myself to the 
 chance of meeting- a wretch whose crimes are my abhorrertite. 
 I will not leave this room till I quit it for ever. Madam, you have 
 often called me firm. Now 1 will prove to you that! am so. Give 
 lue the means to go hence in a manner becoming your niece, or my 
 own limbs shall bear me to Scotland, and on the charity of my fel- 
 low-creatures will I rely for support." *^I protest, my love," cri- 
 ed Lady Pelham, *' you are absolutely in a passion ; I never saw 
 you so angry till now." ♦* Your ladyship never saw me have such 
 reason for anger," replied Laura. "I own I am angi-y, yet 1 know 
 that ray determination is right, and I assure you it wiU outlive the 
 heat with which it is expressed.".. 
 
 Had Laura's purpose been more placidly announced it would- 
 have roused Lady Pelham to fury ; but even those who have least 
 command over their tempers have generalship enough to perceive 
 the advantage of the attack ; and the passion of a virago has com- 
 jnonly a patriarchal submission for its elder-born brother. Lady 
 I'elham saw that Laura was in no humour for trifling ; sli€ knew 
 that her resolutions were not easily shaken ; and she quitted her 
 upon pretence of fatigue, but in reality that she might consider 
 how to divert her from thfe purpose which she had announced so 
 peremptorily. 
 
 Laura was every day becoming more necessary to her aunt, and 
 to think of parting with her was seriously disagreeable. Besides, 
 Laura's departure would effectually blast the hopes^of Hargrave : 
 and what would then become of all Lady Pelham's prospects of 
 borrowing consequence from the lovefe young Countess of Lin- 
 court ? Never wanting in invention. Lady Pelham thought of a 
 hundred projects for preventing her niece's journey to Scotland. 
 Her choice was fixed, by a circumstance which she could not ex- 
 clude from her consideration. The story of Hargrave*s nefarious 
 plot was likely soon to be made public. It was known to Mr. Der- 
 went, and to all hcv own household. Her conscience whispered that 
 her connivance would be suspected. Mr. Derwent might be dis- 
 creet ; but what was to be expected from the discretion of ser- 
 vants ? The story would spread from the footmen to the waiting- 
 maids, and from these to their ladies, till it would meet her at 
 every tvu-n. Nor had her imprudent consent left her the power of 
 disclaiming all concern in it, by forbiddmg Hargrave her house, 
 t^ince he would probably revenge himself by disclosing her share 
 in the stratagem. Lady Pelham saw no better means of palliating 
 these evils, than by dismissing her establishment and returning 
 immediately to Walbourne ; and she hoped, at the same time, 
 that it might not be impossible to prevail on Laura to change the 
 direction of her journey. For this purpose she began by beseech- 
 ing her niece to lay aside thoughts of retiring to Scotland ; and 
 uas beginning to recount all the disadvantages of such a proceed- 
 ji^r: but Laura would listen ti) no remonstrance ou the subject j 
 
127 
 
 deolarlng that if, after what had happened, she remained in a place 
 where she was liable to such outrage, she should be herself ac- 
 countable for whatever evil might be the consequence. Lady Pel- 
 ham then proposed an immediate removal to Walbourne, artfully- 
 insinuating, that, if any cause of complaint should there arise, Lau- 
 ra would be neai* the advice and assistance of her friends at Nor- 
 wood, and of Mrs. Bolingbroke. Laura was not without some 
 wishes that pointed towards Walbourne ; but she remembered the 
 importunities which she had there endured, and she firmly resist- 
 ed giving occasion to their renewal. Lady Pelbam had then re- 
 course to tender upbraidings. "Was it possible that Laura, the 
 only hope and comfort of her age, would quit her now, when she 
 had so endeared herself to the widowed heart, reft of all other- 
 treasure — now, when increasing infirmity required her aid— now, 
 v,hen tlie eye which was so soon to close, was fixed on her as on 
 its last earthly treasmc ! "Would Laura thus cruelly punish her 
 for a crime in which she had no share ; a crime which she was 
 Willing to resent to the utmost of her niece's wishes !" Lady Pel- 
 Kam talked herself into tears, and few hearts of nineteen are hard 
 enough to resist the tears of age. Laura consented to accompany 
 lier aunt to Walbourne, provided that she should never be impor- 
 tuned on the subject of Hargrave, nor even obliged to see him. 
 These conditions Lady.Pclham solemnly promised to fulfil, and, 
 well pleased, prepared for her journey. Hargi-ave, however, 
 waited on her before her departure, and excused himself so well 
 on the score of his passion, his despair, and his eager desire of his 
 being allied to Lady Pelham, that, after a gentle reprimand, he 
 was again received into favour, informed of the promises which 
 had been made against him, and warned not to be discouraged if 
 their performance could not immediately be dispensed with. Of 
 this visit Laura knew nothing ; for she adliered to her resolution 
 of keeping her apartment, nor ever crossed its threshold, till, on 
 the third day after her perilous adventure, the can-iage was at thp 
 door which conveyed lier to Walbourne» 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 As Lady Pelham's carriage passed the entrance of the avenue 
 which led to Norwood, Laura sunk into a profound reverie ; in 
 the course of which slie settled most minutely the behaviour pro- 
 per for her first meeting with De Courcy. She decided on the 
 gesture of unembarrassed cordiality with which she was to accost 
 Eim ; intending her manner to intimate that she accounted him a 
 friend, and only a friend. The awkwardness of a private inter- 
 view she meant to avoid by going to Norwood next day, at an hour 
 which she knew that Montague employed in rending aloud to hi» 
 m2 
 
138 
 
 .i-.i-^.. All tlils excellent arrangement, however, was untop- 
 tnnately useless. Laura was taking- a very early ramble in what 
 had always been her favourite walk, when, at a sudden turn, she 
 saw De Courcy not three steps distant. Her white gown shining 
 through the still leafless trees had caught his attention, tlie slight- 
 est glimpse of her form was sufficient for the eye of love, and he 
 had advanced prepared to meet her ; while she, thus taken by 
 surprise, stood before him conscious and blushing. At this confu- 
 sion, so flattering to a lover, De Courcy's heart gave one bound of 
 triumphant joy ; but he was too modest to ascribe to love what 
 timidity might so well account for, and he prudently avoided re- 
 minding Laura, even by a look, of either his hopes or his wishes. 
 Quickly recollecting herself, Laura entered into a conversation 
 which, though at first reserved and interrupted, returned by de- 
 grees to the confitlential manner which De Courcy had formerly 
 won froin her under the character of her father's iriend. 
 
 Thi^ confidence, so precious to him, De Courcy was careful nc- 
 rer to interrupt. From the time of Laura's return, he. saw her al- 
 most daily. She made long visits to Mrs, De Courcy ; he came 
 ©ften to Walbourne ; they met in their walks, in their visits ; they 
 spent a week together under Mr. Bolingbroke's roof; yet De 
 Courcy religiously kept his promise, nor ever wilfully reminded 
 Laura that he had a wish beyond her friendship. Always gentle, 
 xespectfid and attentive, he never invited observation by distin- 
 guishing her above others who had equal claims on his politeness. 
 She only shared his assiduities with every other woman whom he 
 approached ; nor did he betray uneasiness when she, in her turn, 
 received attentions from others. His prudent self-command, had 
 the effect which he intended; and Laui:a, in conversing with him, 
 telt none of the reserve which may be supposed to attend hiter- 
 course with a rejected admirer. His caution, even at times, de- 
 ceived her. She recollected Mrs. Douglas's prophecy, that * his 
 attachment would soon subside into friendly regard,' and imagined 
 she saw its accomplishment. *' Flow happy are men in having 
 such flexible affections," thought she with a sigh. " I wonder whe- 
 ther he has entirely conquered the passion which, three short 
 months ago, was to * last through life — beyond life ?' I hope he 
 has,*' whispered she with a deeper sigh ; and she repeated it again — 
 *' Ihope he has,'* — as if, by repeating it, she would have ascertain- 
 ed that it was her real sentiment. Yet, at other times, some little 
 inadvertency, unheeded by less interested observers, would awa- 
 ken a doubt of De Courcy's self-conquest ; and in that doubt Laura 
 unconsciously found pleasure. She often reconsidered the argu- 
 ments wh)c4i her friend had used to prove that passion is unneces- 
 sary to the happiness of v/edded life. She did not allow that she 
 was convinced by them ; but she half wished that she had had an 
 opportunity of weiglilng them before she had decided her fate with 
 regard to De Courcy, Meanwhile, much of her time was spent in 
 his company, and his presence had ever brought pleasure with it. 
 Week after week pasi^ed agreeably away, and the close of the win- 
 
130 
 
 ler nt(Miccl for the disquiet which had mfijlvcd its commencement. 
 During all this time, Laura saw nothings cf Hargrave. His visits, 
 indcccljto Walbourne, were more frequent than slie* supposed ; 
 but the only one of which she liad beeu ir.n)rmed, Lady Felham 
 affected to announce to her, advising lier to avoid it by spending 
 that day at Norwood. Since their retr.vn from town, her ladyship 
 had entirely desisted from her remonslrauces in his favour] and 
 Laura hoped that his last outrage had opened her aunt's eyes to 
 the deformity of his character. And, could Lady Pelham's end 
 have been pursued without annoyance to any living being, it would 
 long before have shared the perishable nature of her other pur- 
 poses. But whatever conferred the Invaluable occasion of torment- 
 ing, was cherished by Lady Pelhamjas the dearest of her concerns ; 
 and she only waited fit opportunity to shew tliat she could be as 
 stubborn in th waiting the wishes of others, as capricious in vary- 
 ing her own. De Courcy's attachment could not escape her pene- 
 tration ; and as she wasiar frrtm intending to desert the cause of 
 Hargrave, she saw, with displeasure, the progressive advancement 
 of Laura's regard for the friend of her father. Though sh.e was suf- 
 ficiently acquainted with Laura to know that chiding would eflect 
 no change in her sentiments or conduct, she had not temper enough 
 to restrain her upbraiding-s on this subject, but varied them with 
 all the skill and perseverance of a veteran in provocation. ** She 
 did not, she must confess, understand the delicacy of ladies whose 
 affections could be transferred from one man to another. She did 
 not see how any modest woman could find two endurable men in 
 the world. It was a farce to tell her of friendship and gratitude, 
 and such like stuff. Every body knew the meaning of a fiiendship 
 between a girl of nineteen and a good-looking young fellow of five- 
 and-twenty. She wondered whether Laura was really v.ise enough 
 to imagine that De Courcy could afford to marry her ; or whether, 
 if he were mad enough to think of such a thing, she coidd be so 
 ungenerous as to take advantage of his folly, to plunge him into 
 irretrievable poverty ; and this too, when it was well known that a 
 certain young heiress had prior chiims upon him.'* Laura at first 
 listened to these harangues with tolerable sangfroid,- yet they be- 
 came, she was unconscious why, every day more provoking. 
 
 Though she had self-command enough to be silent, her changing 
 colour announced Lady Pelham's victory, and it was followed up 
 without mercy or respite. It had, hovvcver, no other effect than 
 that of imposing a little restraint when her ladyship happened to 
 be present ; for De Courcy continued his attentions, and Laura re- 
 ceived him with increasing favour. 
 
 Lady Pelham omitted none of the minor occasions of disturbing 
 this harmonious intercourse. She interrupted their tete-a-tetes, 
 beset them in their walks, watched their niost insignificant looks, 
 pried into their most common-place messages, and dexterously 
 hinted to the one whatever foible she could sec or imagine in the 
 other. A casual breath of scandal soon furnished her witli a golden 
 opportunity of sowing dissension, and she iTSt no^time in taking 
 
140 
 
 advauiage of the hint. " It is treating- me like a baby," said she 
 once to Laura, after opening in form her daily attack; " it is treat 
 ing me like a mere simpleton to expect that jou are to deceive 
 me with your flourishing sentiments about esteem and gi*atitude. 
 Have esteem and g-ratitude the blindness of love ? Don*t I see that 
 you overlook in your beloved Mr Montague De Courcy faults 
 which in anotlier you would think sufficient excuse for any ill-treat- 
 ment that you cliose to inflict ?" Laura kept silence ; for of late 
 she had found that her temper could not stand a charge of this kind. 
 " What becomes of all your fine high-flown notionsof purity, and 
 so forth," continued Lady Pelham, '* when 5'ou excuse his indis- 
 cretions with his mother's proteg^ey and make a favourite and a 
 play-thin^- of his spoilt bantling?" Laura turned pale, then red- 
 tlei^ed violently. ** What protegee ? what bantling !" cried she, 
 quite thrown offher guard. " I know of no indiscretions — I havq 
 no play-things." — " What! you pretend not to know that the brat 
 he takes so much notice of is his own. Did you never hear of his 
 affair with a pretty girl whom his m.nmma was training as a wait- 
 ing-maid for her fine-lady daughter ?** *• Mr. De Courcy, Madam !" 
 cried Laura, making a powerful strug-gle with her indignation— 
 *' He seduce a girl who, as a member of his family, was doably 
 entitled to his protection ! Is it possible that your ladyship can 
 give credit to such a calumny ?" *' Hey-day," cried Lady Pelham, 
 with a provoking laugh, " a most incredible occurrence to be sure ! 
 And pray why should your immaculate Mr. De Courcy be impec- 
 cable any more than other people ?" " I do not imagine. Madam,'" 
 returned Laura, with recovered self-possession, " that Mr. De 
 Courcy, or any of the human race, is perfectly sinless ; but nothing 
 short of proof shall convince me that he is capable of deliberate 
 wickedness ; or even that tlie casual transgressions of such a man 
 can be so black in their nature, so heinous in their degree. It 
 were next to a miracle if one who makes conscience of guarding 
 his very thoughts, could, with a single step, make such progress 
 in iniquity." " It were a miracle indeed,** said Lady Pelham, 
 sneeringly, " if you could be prevailed upon to believe any thing 
 that contradicts your romantic vagaries. As long as you are de- 
 termmed to worship De Courcy, you'll never listen to any thing- 
 that brings him down from his pedestal " " It is wasting' time," 
 returned Laura calmly, " to argue on the improbability of this ma- 
 licious tale. I can easily give your ladyship the pleasure of being 
 able to contradict it. Airs. Bolingbroke is at Norwood. She will 
 tell me frankly who is the real father of little Henry, and I shall 
 feel no difliculty ia asking her. Will you have the goodness to 
 lend me the carriage for an hour ?** " A pretty expedition truly 1" 
 cried Lady Pelham, '* and mighty delicate and dignified it is for a 
 young lady, to run about inquiring into the pedigree of all the bas- 
 tards hi tlie country ! I assure you, Miss Montreville, 1 shall nei- 
 ther countenance nor assist such a scheme !" ** Then, Madam," 
 answered Laura coolly, " I shall walk to Norwood. The claims 
 of dignity, or even of delicacy, are surely inferior to tkose of jus- 
 
Ill 
 
 tice aud gnttitude. But ihoagli it should subject me to the scorn 
 of all mankind, I will do what in mc lies to clear his good name 
 whose kindness ministered the last comforts tliat sweetened the 
 life of my father." 
 
 The manner in which these words were pronounced, shewed 
 Lady Pelham that resistance was useless. She was far from wish- 
 ing to quarrel with the IJe Courcy family, and she now began to 
 fear that she sheuld appear the })ropagator of this scandal. Having 
 little time to consult the means of safety, since Laura was already 
 leaving the room, she hastily said, '* I suppose in your explana- 
 tions with Mrs. Bolingbroke, you will give me up for your autho- 
 rity ?'* "No, Madam," replied Laura, with a scorn which she 
 could not wholly suppress, ** your ladyship has no right to think 
 so at the moment when I am shewing such concern for the 
 reputation of my friends." Lady Pelham would have fired at this 
 disdain, but her quietus was at hand — she was afraid of provoking 
 Laura to expose her, and therefore she found it perfectly possible 
 to keep her temner. " If you are resolved to go," said she, ** you 
 had better waitrfll I order the carriage; I fear we shall have rain." 
 Laura at first refused ; but Lady Pelham pressed her, with so ma- 
 ny kind concerns for a slight cold whiciv she had, that though she 
 saw through the veil, she suffered her ladyship to wear it undis- 
 turbed. The carriage was ordered, and Laura hastened to Nor- 
 wood. 
 
 Though she entertained not the slightest doubt of De Courcy's 
 integrity, she was restless and anxious. It was easy to see that 
 her mind was pre-occupied during the few minutes which passed 
 before, taking leave of Mrs, De Courcy, she begged Mrs. Boling- 
 broke to speak with her apart. Harriet followed her into another 
 room ; and Laura, with much more embarrassnrvent than she had 
 expected to feel, prepared to begin her interrog-ations. Harriet, 
 fi*om the thoughtful aspect of her companion, anticipating some- 
 thing of importance, stood gravely waiting to hear what she had 
 to say; while Laura was confused by the awkwardness of explain- 
 ing her reason for the question she was about to ask. " I have 
 managed this matter very ill," said she at last, pursuing her 
 thoughts aloud. "I have entered on it with so much formality, 
 that you must expect some very serious affair; and, after all, I am 
 only going to ask a trifling question. Will you tell me who is the 
 father of my pretty little Henry ?" Harriet looked surprised, and 
 answered — "Really, my dear, I am not sure that I dare. You in- 
 quired the same thing once before ; and just when I was going to 
 tell you, Montague looked so terrible, that I was forced to holcFmy 
 tongue. But what makes you ask ? What! you wun't tell ? Then 
 I know how it is. My prophecy has proved true, and the good 
 folks have given liim to Montague himself Ah ! what a tell-tale 
 face you have, Laura ? And who has told you this pretty story ?" 
 " It is of no CO tsequence," replied Laura, " that you should know 
 my authority, provided that I have your's to contradict tlie slander.** 
 " Vou shall have better authoritv than mine," returned Harriet.— 
 
142 
 
 " Those who were maUclous enough to invent such a tale of Mon- 
 tague, might well assert that his sister employed falsehood to clear 
 him. You shall Iiear the whole from nurse Mai-garet herself; and 
 her evidence cannot be doubted. Come, will you walk to the cot- 
 tage and hear what she has to say ?" 
 
 They found Margaret alone ; and Harriet, impatient till her bro- 
 ther should be fully justified, scarcely gave herself time to answer 
 the old woman's civilities, before she entered on her errand. 
 " Come, niirse," said slie, with all her natural frankness of man- 
 ner, " I have something particular to say to you. Let's shut the 
 door, and sit down. Do you know somebody has been malicious 
 enough to tell Miss Montreville that Montague is little Henry's 
 fatlier." Margaret lifted up her hands and eyes. ** My young 
 master, madam !" cried she — " He go to bring shame and sorrow 
 into any honest man's family! If you'll believe me, miss," con- 
 tinued she, turning to Laura, " this is, begging your pardon, the 
 wickedest lie that ever was told" Laura was about to assure her 
 that she gave no credit to the calumny, but Harriet, who had a 
 double reason for wishing that her friend shouHJflisten to Marga- 
 ret's tale, interrupted her, saying, *' Nurse, I am sure nothing 
 could convince her so fully as hearing the whole story from your 
 own lips. I brought her hither on purpose ; and you may trust to 
 her, I assure you, for she is just such a wise prudent creature as 
 you always told me I ought to be." " Ah, madam," answered 
 Margaret, " I know that ; for John says she is the prettiest be- 
 haved young lady he ever saw ; and says how fond my lady is of 
 her, and others too besides my lady, though it is not for servants 
 to be making remarks." *' Come then, nurse," said Harriet, " sit 
 down between us ; tell us the whole sad story of my poor foster- 
 sister, and clear your friend Montague from this aspersion." Mar- 
 garet did as she was desired. " ■'^^7 yes !" said she, tears lending 
 to her eyes a transient brightness, ** I can talk of it now ! Many a 
 long evening John and T speak of nothing else. She always used 
 to sit between us,<^but now we both sit close together. But we 
 are growing old," continued she, in a more cheerful tone, '* and 
 in a little while we shall see them all again. We had three of the 
 prettiest boys ! — My dear young lady, you will soon have children 
 of your own, but never set your heart upon them, nor be too proud 
 of them, for that is only provoking Providence to take them away." 
 ** I sliall probably never have so much reason," said Harriet, " as 
 you had to be proud of your Jessy." The mother's pride had sur- 
 vi«d its object; and itbi-ightened M.irgaret's faded countenance, 
 as^ressing Harriet's hand between her own, she cried, " Ah, bless^ 
 you ! you were always kind to her. She was indeed the flower of 
 my little flock ; aud when the boys were taken away, she was our 
 comfort for all. But I was too' proud of her. Five years since, 
 there was not her like in all the country round. A dutiful child, 
 too, and never made us sad and sorrowful till — and such a pretty 
 modest creature ! But I was too protid of her " 
 
143 
 
 Margaret stopped, and covered her face with the comer of her 
 apron. Sympathizing tears stood in Laurji's eyes; while Harriet 
 sobbed aloud at tlie remembrance of the play fellow of her infancy. 
 The old woman first recoverf d herself '* I shall never have done 
 at this rate,'* said she, and, dryiiifi;' her eyes, turneil to address the 
 rest of her talc to Laura. " Well, ma'am, a gentleman who used 
 to come a visiting to the castle, by ill fortune chanced to see her ; 
 and ever after thac he noticed her and spoke to her ; and flattered 
 me up too, saying, what a fine looking young creature she was, 
 and so well brought up, and what a pity it was that she should be 
 destined for a tradesman's wife. So, like a fool as I was, I thought 
 no harm of his fine spe.^ches, because Jessy always said he behaved 
 quite modest and respectful like. But John, to be sure was angry, 
 and said that a tradesman was her equal, and that he hoped her 
 rosy cheeks would never g'.ve her nrtjons above her station ; and, 
 says he,— I am sure many and many a time I have thought of his 
 words — says he, * God grant I never see worse come of her than 
 to be an honest tradesman's wife.* My young master, too, saw the 
 gentleman one day speaking to her ; and he was so good as to ad- 
 vise her himself, and told her that the gentleman meant nothing 
 honest by all his fine speeclies So after that she would never 
 stop with him at all, nor give an ear to a word of his flatteries ; but 
 always ran away from him, telling him to say those fine things to 
 his equals. So, one unlucky day I had some matters to be done in 
 the town, and Jessy said she would like to go, and poor foolish I 
 was so left to myself that I let her go. So she dressed herself in 
 her clean white gown. — I remember it as it were but yesterday. 
 I went to the door witli her, charging her to be home early. She 
 shook hands vvitli me. Jessy, says 1, you look just like a bride. 
 So she smiled. No, mother, says she, I shan't leave home so mer- 
 rily the day Heave it for all — nnd I ne\er saw my poor child smile 
 again. So she went, poor lamb, little thinking! — and I stood in the 
 door looking after her, thinking, like a fool as I was, that my young 
 master need not Ij.ive thought it strange though a gentleman had 
 taken her for a wife, for there were not many ladies that looked like 
 her.'* 
 
 Margaret rested her arms upon her knees, bent her head over 
 tliem, made a pause, and then began again. " All day I was as 
 merry as a lark, singing and making every thing clean in our little 
 habitation here, where [ tiiought we shouhl all sit down together 
 so happy when John came home at night from the castle. So it 
 was getting darkish before my work was done, and then I began to 
 V'onder what was become of Jessy ; and n)any a t'me I went ac)|^s 
 the green to see if there was any sight of her. At last John came 
 home, and I told him that I was beginning to be frightened ; but 
 he laughed at me, and said she had perhaps met with some of her 
 comrades, and was gone to ta"ke her tea with them. So we sat 
 down by the fire ; but 1 coidd not rest, for my mind misgave me 
 sadly ; so says I, John, I will go and see after my girl. Well, says 
 
 hc; we- may as wcU go andinQ^t her.— AIasI A^\ ft sad meeting 
 
144 
 
 vas that! We went to the d(>or; I opened it, and someboJy fv!l 
 against me. — It was Jessy. She looked as dead as she did the day 
 1 hiid her hi her coffin ; and all her pretty cheek was blue, and her 
 pretty mouth, that used to snnile so sweetly in my face when she 
 was a baby on my knee*, it was all bloody. And her pretty shining 
 hair that 1 used to comb so often — Oh woe, woe is me! How could 
 I see such a sig-ht and live." 
 
 The mother wrung her withered hands, and sobbed as if her 
 heart were breaking. Laura laid her arms kindly round old Mar- 
 garet's neck, for misfortune made the poor and the stranger her 
 equal and Iier friend. Sheofferedno words of unavailing consola- 
 tion, but pitying tears trickled fast down her cheeks ; while Mrs. 
 Bolingbroke, her eyes flashing indignant fires, " Surely the curse 
 of heaven will pursue that wretch !" " Alas !" said Margaret, " I 
 fear I cursed him too; but I was in a m .nner beside myself then. 
 God forgive both him and me ! My poor child never cursed him. 
 All that 1 could say she would not tell who it was that had used her 
 so. She said she should never bring him to justice ; and always 
 prayed that his own conscience might be his only ptmishment So 
 from vthe first we saw that her heaitwas quite broken ; for she 
 would never speak nor look up, nor let me do the smallest thing 
 for lier, but always said it was not fit that 1 sliould wait on such a 
 one as she. Well, one night, after we were all a bed, a letter was 
 flung in at the window of Jessy's closet, and she crept out of her 
 bed to take it. I can shew it you, Miss, for it was under her pil- 
 low when she died." Margaret, unlocking a drawer, took out a 
 letter and gave it to Laura, v/ho read it in these words ; 
 
 ** My dear Jessy, 
 "I am the mo.st' miserable wretch upon earth; I wish I had 
 been upun ihc nick the hour I met you. I am sure I have been so 
 ever since. Do not curse me, dear Jessy ! Upon my soul, I liad fur 
 less thought of being the ruffian 1 have been to you, than 1 have at 
 this moment of blowing out m}- own brains. I wvsh to heaven that 
 I had been in yonr own stati(m that I might have made you amends 
 for the injury 1 have done. l>ut you know it is impossible for me 
 to many you. I inclose a bank bill for 100^., and f will continue to 
 pay you the same sum annually while you live, though you should 
 3iever consent to see me more. If you make me a father, no ex- 
 pense-shall be spared to provide the means of secrecy and comfort. 
 No accommodation whicli a wife could have shall be withheld from 
 you. Tell me if there be any thing more that I can do for you. I 
 shall never forgive myself for what I have done. I abhor myself; 
 and, from this hour, 1 forswear all woman kind for your sake. 
 Once more, dear Jessy, pardon me, 1 implore you." 
 
 This letter was without signature ; but the hand-writing was 
 familiar to Laura, and could not be mistaken. It was Hargrave's. 
 Shuddering at this new proof of his depravity, Laura inwardly oT- 
 fered a thanksgiving that she had escaped all connexion with sucii 
 
115 
 
 a monster. " You nir.y tnisi my friend vvith tlie wretch's name," 
 said Harriet, anxious that Laura's conviction sliould be complete. 
 ** She Avill make no imprudent use of it." " 1 sliould never have 
 known it myself had it not been for this letter," answered Marga- 
 ret. " But my poor child wished to answer it, and slie was not 
 rihle to cai-ry the answer herself, so she was obliged to ask her fa- 
 ther to go with it. And first she made us both promise on the 
 bible, never to bring him either to shame or punishment ; and then 
 she told us that it was that same Major Hargravn tjiat used to 
 speak her so fair. Here is the scroll that John took of her an- 
 swer :" 
 
 **Sir, I return your money, for it can be of no use where I am 
 going. I will never curse you ; but trust I shall to the last have 
 pity on you, who had no pity on me. 1 fear your sorrow is not 
 right repentance ; for, if it was, you would never think of com- 
 mitting a new sin by taking your ov.n life, but rather of making 
 reparation for the great evil you have done. Not that I say this in 
 respect of wishing to be your wife. My station makes tliat unsuita- 
 ble, more especially now when I should be a disgi*ace to any man. 
 And I most say, a wicked person would be as unsuitable among 
 my friends ; for my parents ai'e honest persons, although their 
 daughter is so unhappy as to bring shame on them. 1 shall not live 
 long enough to disgrace them any farther, so pray inquire no more 
 for me, nor take the trouble to send me money, for 1 will i^ot buy 
 my coffin with the wages of shame ; and I shall need nothing else. 
 So, wishing that my untimely end may bring you to a true repent- 
 ance, I remain, Sir, the poor dying disgraced, 
 
 " Jessy Wilson.'' 
 
 *' Ah, ISliss," continued Margaret, wiping from the paper tlie 
 drops which had fallen on it, " my poor child's prophecy was true- 
 She always said she would just live till her child was born, and 
 then lay her dishonoured head and her broken heart in the grave. 
 I\Iy lady and Miss Harriet there were veiy kind, and my young- 
 master himself was so good as to promise that he would act the 
 part of a father to the little orphan. And he used to argue with 
 her that she should submit to the chastisement that was laid upon 
 lier, and tliat she might find some comfort still ; but she always 
 said that her chastisement was less than she dci«crvcd, but that 
 she could never wish to live to be * a very scorn of men, an outcast 
 and ah alien among her mother's children.* So the day tluit little 
 Henry was born, she was doing so well, that we were in hopes she 
 would still be tipared to us ; buj^.. she knew better; and, whfTt I 
 was sitting by her, she pulled me ciose to her, * Mother,' Suid she, 
 looking pleased like, ' the time of my release is at hand now,' and 
 then she charged me never to give poor little Henry to his cruel 
 father. I had not power to say a word to her, but sat hushing the 
 baby, with my heart like to break. So, b^ and by, she said to me 
 »guin, but very weak and low like, * my brotliers lie side by sid^ 
 
 N 
 
146 
 
 ill the cliurch jard, lay ine at their feet ; it is good enough for me.' 
 So she never spoke more, but closed her eyes, and slipt quietly 
 away, and left her poor old mother." 
 
 A long pause followed Margaret's melancholy tale. " Are you 
 convinced, my friend V* said Mrs. Bolingbroke at length. " Fully," 
 answered Laura, and returned to silent and thankful meditation. 
 ** My master," said Margai'et, " has made good his promise to 
 poor Jessy. He has shewn a father's kindness to her boy. He paid 
 for his nursiug, and forces John to take aboard for him that might 
 serve any gentleman's son ; and now it will be very hard if the 
 end of all his goodness is to get himself ill spoken of; and nobody 
 saying a word against him that was the beginning of all this mis- 
 chief. But that is the way of the world." " It is so," said Laura. 
 *• And what can better warn us that the earth v.as never meant fi)r 
 our resting-place. The ' raven' wings his way through it trium- 
 phant. The ' dove* finds no rest for the soIq of her foot, and turns 
 to the ark from whence she came." 
 
 Mrs. Bolingbroke soon after took leave of her narse, and the 
 ladies proceeded in their walk towards Walbourne. Harriet con- 
 tinued to express the warmest detestation of the profligacy of 
 Hargi-ave, while Laura's mind was chiefly occupied in endeavour- 
 ing to account for De Courcy's desire to conceal from her the enor- 
 mity which had just come to her knowledge. Unable to divine 
 his reason, she applied to Harriet. " Why, my dear," said she, 
 •* should your brother have silenced you on a subject which could 
 only be mentioned to his honour ?" '* He never told me his rea- 
 sons," said Harriet smiling, " but if you will not be angry 1 may 
 try to guess them." " I think," &aid Laura, " that thus cautioned, 
 I may contrive to keep my temper ; so speak boldly." *' Then, my 
 dear," said Harriet, " 1 may venture to say that I think he suspect- 
 ed you of a partiality for this wretch, and would not shock you by 
 a full disclosure of liis depravity. And I know," added she, in a 
 voice tremulous with emotion, *' that in him this delicacy was vir- 
 tue ; for the peace of his life depends on securing your aflectionate, 
 your exclusive preference." " Ah, Hai'riet, you have guessed 
 right. — Yes ! I see it all. Dear generous De Courcy !" cried Laura, 
 and burst into tears. Harriet had not time to comment upon this 
 agitation ; for the next moment De Courcy himself was at her side. 
 For the first time Laura felt embarrassed and distressed by his 
 presence. The words she had just uttered still sounded in her 
 ear, and she trembled lest they had reached that of De Courcy. 
 She was safe. Her exclamation v.- as unheard by Montague — but he 
 instantly observed her tears, and they banished ftom his mind 
 every other idea than that of Laura in son-ow. He paid his com- 
 pliments like one whose attention was distracted, and scarcely an- 
 swei-ed what his sister addressed to him. Mrs. Bolmgbroke in- 
 wardly cnjo\ing his abstraction and Laura's embarrassment, de- 
 termined not to spoil an opportunity which she judged so favour- 
 able to her brother's suit. *' This close walk," said she witii a sly 
 smile, " was never lueaut for a trio. It is just fit for a pair of lovers. 
 
147 
 
 ?sow I have letters to write, and if you two \v'A\ excuse me" — TTe 
 Coiircy colouring" crimson, had not presence of mind to make any 
 reply, while Laura, thoug'h burning with shame and vexation, an- 
 swered witli her habitual self-command, " Oh pray my dear, use 
 no ceremony. Here are none bxii friends'' The emphasis which 
 she laid upon the last word, wrung' a heavy sigli from De Ccui C}' ; 
 who, while his sister was takine^ leave, was renewing his resolu- 
 tion not to disappoint the confidence of Laura. 
 
 The very circumstances which Mrs. BoUn|:;-broke had expected 
 should lead to a happy eclaircissentent, made tliis interview the 
 itiost reserved and comfortless which the two friends had ever had. 
 Laura was too conscious to talk of tlie story which she had just 
 heard, and she was too full of it to enter easily upon any ciher 
 subject. With her gratitude for the delicacy which De Courcy had 
 observed towards her, was mingled a keen feeling of humiliation 
 at the idea that he had discovered her secret before it had been 
 eonfided to him ; for we can sometimes confess a weakness whicli 
 we cannot without extreme mortification see detected. Her silence 
 and depression infected De Courcy ; and the few short constrained 
 sentences which were spoken during their walk, formed a contrast 
 to the general vivacity of their conversations. Laura, however, 
 recovered her eloquence as soon as she found herself alone with 
 Lady Pelham. With all the animation of sensibility, she related 
 the storj* of the ill-fated Jessy ; and disclosing in confidence the 
 name of her destroyer, drew, in the fullness of her heart, a com- 
 parison between the violator of laws human and divine, owing his 
 life to the mercy of the wretch whom he had undone, and the kind 
 adviser of inexperienced youth, the humane protector of forsaken 
 infancy. Lady Pelham quietly heard her to an end ; and then 
 wrinkling her eyelids, and peeping through them with her glitter- 
 ing blue eyes, she began, "Do you know, my dear, 1 never met 
 with prejudices so strong as yours ? When will you give over 
 looking for prodigies ? Would any mortal but you expect a gay 
 young man to be as correct as yourself? As for yoiu* immaculate 
 Mr. De Courcy, with his sage advices, I think it is ten to one tiiat 
 he wanted to keep the girl for himself. Besides, I'll answer for it, 
 Haro;-rave would have bid farewell to all his indiscretions, if you 
 would have married him." "Never name it. Madam," cried Laura 
 warmly, " if you would not banish me fiom your presence. His 
 marriag-e with me would have been itself a crime ; a crime aggra- 
 vated by being, as if in mockery, consecrated to heaven. For 71:^ 
 connexion with such a person no name is vile enough." " \A'ell, 
 WtU," said Lady Pelham, shrugging her shoMlders, " I propiiesy 
 that one day you will repent haying refused to share a title with 
 the handsomest man in England." " All distinction between right 
 and wrong," returned Laura, " must first be blotted from ray mind. 
 The beauty of his person is no moie to me than the shining colours 
 of an adder; and the ra:ik which your ladyship prizes so highly. 
 
148 
 
 would but render me a more conspicuous mark for the infamy in 
 "which his wife must share." 
 
 Awed by the lightnings of Laura's eye, Lady Pelham did not 
 venture to carry tlie subject farther for the present. She had of 
 late been watching an opportunity of procuring the re-adniission of 
 Hargrave to the presence of his mistress ; but this fresh discovery 
 Ivid served, if possible, to widen the breach. Hargrave's fiery 
 temper submitted with impatience to the banishment which he had 
 so well deseryed, and he constantly urged Lady Pelham to use 
 her authorityln his behalf Lady Pelham, though conscious that 
 th'.s authority had no existence, was flattered by having power as- 
 cribed to her, and promised at some convenient season to interfere. 
 Finding lierself, however, considerably embarrassed by a promise 
 which she could not fulfil without hazarding the loss of Laura, she 
 was not sorry that an opportunity occurred of evading the per- 
 formance of her agreement. She therefore acquainted Hargrate 
 v.'ith Laura's recent discoveiy, declaring that she could not ask 
 her niece to overlook entirely so great an irregularity. From a re- 
 gard to tlie promise of secrecy which she had given to Laura, as 
 well as in common prudence, Lady Pelham had resolved not to 
 mention the De Courcy family as the fountain from which she had 
 drawn her intelligence. Principle and prudence sometimes go- 
 verned her ladyship's resolutions, but seldom swayed her practice. 
 In the first interview with Hargrave which followed this rational 
 determination, she was led by the mere vanity of a babbler to give 
 sucb hints as not only enabled liim to trace the story of his shame 
 to Norwood, but inclined him to fix the publishing of it upon Mon- 
 tague. 
 
 From the moment when Hargrave first unjustly suspected Laura 
 of a preference for De Courcy, his heart had rankled with an en- 
 n>Ity wliich a sense of its ingratitude served only to aggravate. — 
 The cool disdain with which De Courcy treated him — a strong 
 suspicion of liis attachment — above all, Laura's avowed esteem and 
 regard — inflamed tiiis enmity to the bitterest hatred. Hopeless as 
 he was of succeeding in his designs by any fair or honourable 
 means, lie might have entertained thoughts of relincjuishing his 
 suit ; and of seeking, in a match of interest, the means of escape 
 from his embarrassments : but that Laura, with all her unequalled 
 charms, sl)Ould be the prize of De Courcy, that in her he should 
 obtain .all that beauty, affluence, and love could give, was a thought 
 not to be endured. Lady Pelham, too, more skilled to practise on 
 the passions of others than to command her own, was constantly 
 cxciiing him, by hints of De Courcy's progress in the favour or" 
 Laura; while Lambert, wean" of waiting fin- tlie tedious accom- 
 plishment of his own scheme, continually goaded him, with Siv 
 sarcasms on his fiulure in the arts of persuasion, and on his p;;- 
 lience in submitting to be baffleil in h>s wishes by a haughty girl. 
 In the heat of his irritation, HaruTave 'o'len s-Aore that no powe: 
 
149 
 
 on earth Should long dday the gratification of his love and his re- 
 venge. But to marry a free-bom British woman against her con- 
 sent, is, in these enlightened tinies, an affair of some difficulty ; 
 and Uargrave, in his cooler moments, perceived that the object of 
 three years* eager pm'suit was farther than ever from his attain- 
 ment. 
 
 Fortune seemed in every respect to oppose the fulfilment of his 
 designs, for his regiment at this time received orders to prepare to 
 embark for America ; and Lord Lincourt, who had discovered his 
 nephew's ruinous connexion with Lambert, had influence to pro- 
 cure, from high authority, a hint that Hargrave would be expected 
 to attend his duty on the other side of the Atlantic. 
 
 The news of this arrangement Hargrave immediately conveyed 
 to Lady Pelham, urging her to sanction any means which could be 
 devised for making Laura the companion of his voyage. Lady Pel- 
 ham hesitated to carry her complaisance so far; but she resolved 
 to make the utmost use of the time which intervened to promote 
 the designs of her favourite. Her ladyship was not at any time 
 muci) addicted to the communication of pleasurable intelligence, 
 and the benevolence of her temper was not augmented by apros- 
 f»ect of the defeat of a plan in which her vanity was so much inte- 
 rested. She therefore maliciously withheld from her niece a piece 
 of information so likely to be heard with joy. It reached Laura, 
 however, by means of one who was ever watchful for her gratifi- 
 cation. T)e Courcy no sooner ascertained the truth of the report, 
 ihan he hastened to convey it to Laura. 
 
 He found her alone, and was welcomed v/ith all her accustomed 
 cordiality. " I am sorry," said he, with a smile which conti-adicted 
 his words, •* I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news to you; but I 
 could not deny myself the edification of witnessing your fortiiude. 
 Do you know that you are on the point of losing tlxe most assidu- 
 ous admirer that ever woman was blessed with ? In three weeks 
 Colonel Hargrave embarks for America. Nay, do not look incre- 
 dulous. I assure you it is true.** " Thank heaven," cried Laura, 
 **I shall once more be in peace and safety 1^ *• Oh, fie I Is this 
 your regret for so ardent a lover I Have you no feeling ?" " Just 
 such a feeling as the poor man had when he escaped from beneath 
 the sword that hung by a hair. Indeed, Mr. De Courcy^ I cannot 
 tell you to what a degree he has embittered the two last years of 
 my life. But I believe,*' continued she, blushing very deeply, "I 
 lieed not explain to you any of my feelings towards Colonel Har- 
 grave, since I find you have I know not what strange faculty of di- 
 vining them.'* Assisted by a conversation which he had had with 
 bis sister, De Courcy easily understood Laura's meaning. Re- 
 spectfully taking her baud, " Pardon me," said he, in a low voice, 
 " if 1 have ever ventured to guess what it was your wish to conceal 
 from me.** *' Oh, believe me,** cried Laura, with a countenance 
 ' -d rnamier of mingled candour and modesty, " there is not ». 
 
 N 2 
 
150 
 
 Ihought of myiieait that I wish to conceal from yoa , huiuc ii u^u 
 you, even my most humbling' weaknesses are sure of meeting with 
 delicacy and indulgence. But since you are so good an augur," 
 added she, with an ingenuous &mile, " I trust you perceive that I 
 shall need no more delicacy or indulgence upon the same score,'* 
 The fascinating sweetness of her looks and voice, for the first time 
 beguiled De Courcy of his promised caution. *' Dear, dear Laura," 
 he cried, fondly pressing her hand to his breast, " it is I who have 
 need of indulgence, and I must — I must sue for it. I must repeat 
 to you that"— Laura's heart sprung to her lips, and unconsciously 
 snatching away her hand, she stood in breathless expectation of 
 what was to follow. " Madman, that I am !" cried De Coiircy, re- 
 called to recollection by her gesture — *' whither am I venturing '."' 
 That was precisely what of all things Laura was most desirons to 
 know ; and she remained with her eyes fixed on the ground, half 
 dreading the confidence, half the timidity of her lover. A momen- 
 tary glance at the speaking countenance of Laura, glowing with 
 confusion, yet brightened with trembling pleasure, awakened the 
 strongest hopes that ever had warmed De Courcy's bosom. " Be- 
 loved Laura," said he, again tenderly approaching her, " remem- 
 ber, I am but human. Cease to treat me with this beguiling con- 
 fidence. Cease to bewitch me with these smiles, which are so like 
 all that I wish, or suffer me to" — Laura started, as her attention 
 was drawn by some one passing close to the ground window near 
 which they were standing " Ah !" cried she, in a tone of vexa- 
 tion, " there is my evil genius. Colonel Hargrave is come into the 
 house. He will be here this instant. Excuse me for driving you 
 away. I beseech you do not remain a moment alone with him." 
 
 Laura was not iTiistaken. She had scarcely spoken, ere, with a 
 dark cloud on his brow, Hargrave entered. He bowed to Laura, 
 who was advancing towards the door. " I am afraid, Madam, I 
 interrupt you," said he, darting a ferocious scowl upon De Cour- 
 cy. Laura, without deigning even a single glance in reply, left 
 the room. Hargrave, as he passed the window, had observed the 
 significant attitude of the lovers ; and his jealousy and rage were 
 inflamed to the uttermost by the scorn which he had endured in 
 the presence of his rival. Fiercely stalking up to De Courcy, 
 ** Is it to you. Sir," said he, "that I am indebted for this inso- 
 lence ?" " No, Sir," answered De Courcy, a little disdainfully, 
 ** I have not the honour of regulating Miss Montreville's civili- 
 ties." " This is a paltry evasion," cried Hargrave. "Is it not to 
 your misrepresentations of a youthful indiscretion that I owe Miss 
 Montreville's present displeasure ?" " I am not particularly am- 
 bitious of the character of an informer," answered De Courcy ; 
 and taking his hat, wished Hargrave a stately good morning. 
 " Stay, Sir !" cried Hargrave, roughly seizing him by the arm. " I 
 roust have some further conversation with you — You don't go 
 yet." " I am not disposed to ask your permission," returned De 
 
151 
 
 Courcy ; and coolly liberating" his arm, walked out of the house. 
 Boiling" with rage, Hargrave ^liov/ed him. ** It \s easy to see, 
 •Sir," said he, " from whence you borrow a s])irit that never was 
 lutural to you — Your presumption builds upon the partiality oi' 
 hat fickle capricious woman. But observe. Sir, that 1 have claiirs 
 on her ; claims which she herself was too happy in allowing' ; and 
 no man shall dare to interfere with them," " I shall dare," re« 
 turned De Courcy, anger kindling- in his eyes, *' to inquire by what 
 lig'ht }'ou employ such expressions in reg-ard to Miss Montreville ; 
 ami whether my spirit be my own or i.ot, j'oa shall find it suffi- 
 cient to prevent your holding- such languag-e in my presence." " In 
 your presence, or the presence of all the devils," cried Har^ave, 
 *• 1 will maintain my right ; and, if you fancy that it interferes 
 with any claim of yours, you know how to obtain satisfaction. 
 There is but one way to decide the business." " I am of your 
 opinion," replied De Courcy, " that there is one way, provided 
 that we can mutually agree to abide by it ; and that is, an appeal 
 to Miss Montreville herself." Hargrave turned pale, and his lip 
 quivered with rage. " A mode of decision, no doubt," said he, 
 ** which } our vanity persuades you will be all in your favour ! No, 
 no, .Sir, our quarrel must be settled by means in which even your 
 conceit cannot deny my equality." *' By a brace of pistols, j'ou 
 mean of course," said Ue Courcy, coolly ; " but I frankly tell you, 
 Oolonel Hargrave, that my notions must have changed before I 
 can find the satisfaction of a gentleman in being murdered ; and 
 my principles, before I shall seek it in murdering you." " Curse 
 on your hypocrisy !" cried Hargrave. " Keep this canting to co- 
 zen girls,' and let me revenge my wrongs like a man, or the world 
 shall know you. Sir." " Uo you imagine," said De Courcy, with 
 a smile of calm disdain, " that I am to be terrified into doing 
 what I tell you 1 think wrong, by the danger of a little misrepre- 
 sentation ? You may, if yo\i think fit, tell the world that I will 
 not stake my life in a foolish quarrel, nor wilfully send an unre- 
 penting sinner to his great account ; and, if you go on to ascribe 
 for my forbearance any motive which is derogatory to my cha- 
 racter, I may, if/ think fit, obtain justice as a peaceable citizen 
 ought ; or I may leave you undisturbed the glory of propagating 
 a slander which even you yourself believe to be groundless." 
 
 De Courcy's coolness served only to exasperate his adversary. 
 " Truce with this methodistical jargon !" cried he fiercely. " ft 
 may impose upon women, but I see through it. Sir— see that it is 
 but a miserable trick to escape what you dare not meet." " Dare 
 not !" cried De Courcy, lightnings flashing from his eye. " My 
 nerves have failed me, then, since" — He stopped abruptly, for he 
 scorned at such a moment to remind his antagonist of tlie coura- 
 geous effort to which he owed his life. *• Since when ?" cried 
 Hargrave, more and more enraged, as the recollection which De 
 Courcy had recalled, nlaced before him the full turpitude of his 
 -onduct.— ." Do you think I owe you thanks for a life which you 
 
152 
 
 have made a curse tome, by cheatin.£^ me of its dearest pleaaui'Ci ' 
 But may tortures be my portion if I do not foil you !" 
 
 The latter part of this dialog-ue was carried on in a close shady 
 lane which branched off' from the avenue of VValboarne. The dis- 
 pute was proceeding- with increasing- warmth on both sides when 
 it was interrupted by the appearance of Laura. From a window 
 .she had observed the gentlemen leave the house together ; had 
 watched Hargrave's angry gestures, and seen Ue Courcy accom- 
 pany him into the by-path. The evil which she had so long dread- 
 ed seemed now on the point of completion ; and alarm leaving no 
 room for reserve, she followed them with her utmost speed. 
 
 ** Oh, Mr. De Courcy," she cried, with a look and attitude of 
 most earnest supplication, " for mercy leave this madman ! — If 
 you would not make me for ever miserable, carry this no fur- 
 ther — I entreat — I implore you. Fear for me, if you fear not for 
 yourself." The tender solicitude for the safety of his rival, which 
 Hargrave imagined her words and gestures to express, the trium- 
 phant delight which they called up to the eyes of De Courcy, ex- 
 asperated Hargrave beyond all bounds of self-command. Fran- 
 tic With jealousy and rage, he drew, and rushed fiercely on De 
 Courcy ; but Montague having neither fear nor anger to disturb 
 his presence of mind, parried the thrust with his cane, closed 
 with his adversary before he could recover, wrested the weapon 
 from his hand ; and having calmly ascertained that no pers!ie=n 
 could be injured by its fall, threw it over the fence into the ad- 
 joining field. Then taking Hargrave aside, he whispered tli at he 
 would immediately return to -him ; and, giving his arm to Laura, 
 led her towards the house. 
 
 She trembled violently, and big tears rolled down her colour- 
 less cheeks, as, vainly struggling with her emotion, she said, 
 ** Surely you will not endanger a life so precious, so" — She was 
 unable to proceed ; but, laying- her hand on De Courcy's arm, she 
 raised her eyes to his face, with sucli a look of piteous appeal as 
 reached his very soul. Enchavited to find his safety the object of 
 such tender interest, he again forgot his caution ; and, fondly 
 supporting with his arm the form which seemed almost sinking to 
 the earth, " What danger would I not undergo," he cried, " to 
 purchase such concern as this ! Be under no alarm, dear Miss 
 Montreville. Even if my sentiments in regard to duelling were 
 other than they are, no provocation should tempt me to implic.ite 
 your revered name in a quarrel which v.'ould, from its very nature, 
 become public." Somewhat tranquillized by his words, Lauv.i 
 walked silently by his side till they reached the house, when, jvi 
 a cheerful tone, he bade her farewell "A short farewell," said 
 he, •• for 1 must see yon again this evening." Laura could scarce- 
 ly prevail on herself to part from him. *' May I trust you ?" said 
 she, with a look of anxiety that spoke volumes. "Securely, 
 dearest Laura," answered he. '* He whom you trust needs no 
 other motive for rectitude '* He then hastened from her into the 
 field, whither he had tlu'own Havgruve's sword ; and having found 
 
it, sprung over into tlie lane where he had left its owner. Grace- 
 fully presenting" it to him, De Coiircy beg-ged pardon for having 
 deprived him of it, ** though," added he, " 1 believe you are now 
 rather disposed to thank me for preventing the effects of a mo- 
 mentary irritation." Hargrave took his sword, and in surly si- 
 lenre walked on ; then, suddenly stopping, he repe.ited that there 
 was only one way in which the quarrel could be decided ; and ask- 
 ed ))e Courcy whether he was determined to refuse him satisfac- 
 tion. *' The only satisfaction.'* returned Ue Courcy, " which is 
 consistent with my notions of right and wrong, I will give you 
 now, on the spot. It is not to my information Ihat you owe Miss 
 Montreville's displeasure. Circumstances, which I own were 
 'rtrholly foreign to any consideration of your interests, induced me 
 to keep your secret almost as if it bad been my own; and it is 
 from others that she has learnt a part of your conduct, which, you 
 must give me leave to say, warrants, even on the ground of mo- 
 dern honour, my refusal to treat you as an equal." "Insolent'.'* 
 cried Hargrave. " Leav^ me — avoid me, if you would not again 
 provoke me to chastise you, unarmed as you are." •* My horses 
 wait for me at the gate," said De Courcy, coolly proceeding by 
 his side, " and your way seems to lie in the same direction as 
 mine." 
 
 The rera.^inde^ of the way was passed in silence. At the gate, 
 I^ Courcy mounting his horse, bid his rival good morning, which 
 the other returned with an ungracious bow. De Courcy rode 
 home, and Hargrave, finding himself master of the field, return- 
 ed to Walbotirne. There he exerted his utmost influence with 
 Lady Pel ham to procure an opportunity of excusing himself to 
 liaura. Lady Pelham confessed that she could not venture to take 
 the tone of command, lest she should drive Laura to seek shelter 
 elsewhere ; but she promised to contrive an occasion for an inter- 
 view which he might prolong at his pleasure, provided such a one 
 could be found without Iter apparent interference. With this pi'o- 
 mise he was obliged for the present to content himself, for during 
 his stay, La\ira did not appear. She passed the day in disquiet. 
 She could not rest. She could not employ. herself. She dreaded 
 lest the interview of the morning should have been only preparato- 
 ry to one of more serious consequence. She told herself a hundred 
 times that she was sure of De Courcy*s principles ; and yet feared 
 as if they had been unworthy of confidence. He had promised to 
 see her in the evening, and she anxiously expected the perform- 
 ance of his promise. She knew that if he came wl\'e Lady Pel- 
 hara was in tlie way, her ladyship would be<too vigilant a guard 
 to let one confidential word be exchanged. She therefore, with a 
 half- pardonable cuniiing, said not a word of De Courcy's promis- 
 ed visit ; and as soon as her aunt betook herself to her afternoon's 
 nap, stole from the drawing-room to receive him. Yet perhaps 
 she never met him witli less semblance of cordiality. She blush- 
 ed and stammered vv bile she expressed her hopes that the morn- 
 ing*s dispute was to have no further consequences, and apologized 
 
154 
 
 for tlie interest she took in it, in language more cold than she 
 would have used to a mere stranger. Scarcely could the expres- 
 sion of tenderness have delighted the lover like this little ill-con- 
 certed affectation, the first and the last which he ever witnessed 
 in Laura Montreville. " Ah, dearest Laura," cried he, " it is too 
 late to retract — You have said that my safety was dear to you ; 
 owned that it was for me you feared this morning, and you shall 
 not cancel your confession." Laura's colour deepened to crim- 
 son, but she made no other reply. Then, with a more timid voice 
 and air, De Gourcy said, " I would have told you theii what deoi- 
 presumptuous hopes your anxiety awakened, but that 1 feared to 
 extort from your agitation what perhaps a cooler moment might 
 refuse me. My long-loved, ever dear Laura, will you pardon me 
 tliese hopes ? Will you not speak to me ? — Not one little word to 
 tell me that I am not too daring." Laura spoke not even that little 
 word. She even made a faint struggle to withdraw the hand which 
 De Gourcy pressed. Yet the lover read the expression of her half- 
 averted face, and was satisfied. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 ** Pray," said Lady Pelham to her niece, ** what might you and 
 your paragon be engaged in for the hour and a half you were to- 
 gether this evening ?" 
 
 *' We were discussing a very important subject. Madam," an- 
 swered Laura, mustering all her confidence. 
 
 »* May I be permitted to inquire into the nature of it ?" re- 
 turned Lady Pelham, covering her spleen with a thin disguise of 
 ceremony. 
 
 " Certainly, Madam," replied Laura. " You may remember I 
 once told you that if ever I received addresses which I could with 
 honour reveal, I should bespeak your ladyship's patience for my 
 tale. Mr. De Courcy was talking of marriage, Madam r and — 
 and I—" 
 
 " Oh, mighty well, Miss Montreville," cried Lady Pelham, swell- 
 ing with rage, " I comprehend you perfectly. You may spare 
 your modesty. Keep all these airs and blushes till you tell Colo- 
 nel Hargrave that all your fine high-flown passion for him has been 
 quite at the service of the next man you met with !" 
 
 Laura's eyes filled with tears of mortification, yet she meekly 
 answered, ** 1 am conscious that the degradini;- attachment of 
 which I was once the sport merits your upbraidings ; and indeed 
 they have not been its least punishment." She paused for a mo- 
 ment, and then added, with an insinuating smile, " I carf bear 
 -hat you should reproach mc with my new choice, fji- inconstaRcy 
 
155 
 
 is tlie prescriptive right of woman, and nothing else can be ob- 
 jected to my present views." 
 
 *• Oh, far be itfioin me," cried Lady Pclham, scorn and anger 
 growing lier whole little person into active motion, " far be it 
 from me to make any objection to your immaculate swain ! I 
 would have you understand, however, that no part of my proper- 
 ty shall go to enrich a parcel of proud beggars. It was indeed my 
 intention, if you had made a proper match, to give yon the little 
 all that 1 have to bestow; but if you prefer starving with your 
 methodist parson to being the heiress of five-and-forty thousand 
 pounds, I have no more to say. However, you liad better keep 
 your own secret. The knowledge of it might probably alter Mr. 
 i)e Courcy's plans a little." 
 
 " Your ladyship," answered Laura, with spirit, "has good ac- 
 cess to know that the love of wealthh'as little influence on my pm-- 
 poses ; and « assure you that Mr. De Courcy would scorn upon any 
 terms to appropriate what he considers as the unalienable right of 
 your own child. Though we shall not be alRuent, we shall be too 
 rich for your cliarity, and tliat is the only claim in which I could 
 compete with Mrs. Herbert." 
 
 This mention of her daughter exasperated Lady Pelham to fury. 
 In a voice half choaked with passion, she cried, " Neither that re- 
 bellious wretch, nor any of her abettors or imitators shall ever have 
 countenance or assistance from me No! Not though they sliould 
 beg with their starved bantlings from door to door." To this in- 
 teniijerate speech Laura made no reply, but quietly began to pour 
 out the tea. Lady Pelham continued to hurry up and down the 
 room, chafing, and venting her rage in common abuse ; for a scold 
 in a drawing-room is not very unlike a scold at a green-stall. The 
 storm meeting with no opposition, at length spent itself; or sub- 
 sided into short growlings, uttered at the intervals of a surly si- 
 lence. To these, us no answer was absolutely necessary, none was 
 returned. Laura did not utter a syllabic, till Lady Pelham's wrath 
 beginning to give place to her ciu"iosity, she turned to her niece, 
 sa}ing, " Pray, .Miss Montreville, when and where is this same 
 wise marriage of yours to tr^ke place V* 
 
 " The time is not quite fixed. Madam," answered Laura. "As 
 soon as you can conveniently spare me, I intend going to Scotland; 
 and when you, and .Mrs. De Courcy wish me to return, Mr. De 
 Courcy will escort me back." 
 
 "I spare you!" returned Lady Pelham with a sneer — "Oh, 
 Ma'am, if that is all, pray don't let me retard your raptures. You 
 may go to-mon-ow, or to-night, Ma'am, if you please.— Spare you, 
 indeed ! Truly, while I can afford to pay a domestic, I need not be 
 dependent on your assistance ; and, in attachment or gratitude, 
 any common servant may supply your place.'' 
 
 The rudeness and ingratitude of this speech again forced the 
 tears to Lama's eyes ; but she mildly replied, " Well, Madam, as 
 soon as you find a substitute for me, 1 shall be ready to depart," 
 Then to escape further insult she quitted the room. 
 
156 
 
 l^ady Pelham's wrath at the derangement of her plan would nol 
 suffer her to rest till she had communicated the disaster to Colonel 
 Tlargrave. Early next morning-, accordingly, she dispatched a 
 note requiring his immediate presence at Walboux'no, He obey^ 
 the summons, and was as usual privately received by I^ady Pelhanr. 
 He listened to her intelligence with transpoits of rage rather than 
 of sorrow. He loaded his rival with execrations, declaring that he 
 would rather see Laura torn in pieces than know her to be the 
 wife of De Courcy. He sv/ore that he would circumvent their 
 schemes, and that though his life should be the forfeit, he would 
 severely revenge the sufferings he had endured. 
 
 Lady Pelhani had not courage to encounter the evil spirit which 
 she had raised. Subdued, and crouching' before his violence, she 
 continued to give a terrified assent to every extra> agance he utter- 
 ed, till he announced his resolution of seeing Laura on the instant, 
 that he might know whether she dared to confirm this odious tale. 
 Lady Pelham then ventured to represent to him that Laura might 
 be so much offended by this brei'.ch of contract, as to take refuge 
 with Mrs. De Courcy, a measure wliich would oppose a new obsta- 
 cle to any scheme for breaking oft the intended marriage. She 
 assured him that she would grant every reasonable assistance in 
 preventing a connexion so injurious to her niece's interest, though 
 she knew Laura's obstinacy of temper too w'ell to hope an\ thing 
 irom direct resistance. She hinted that it would be most prudent 
 to give the desired interview the apper.rance of accident, and she 
 promised to contrive the occasion as soon as Hargrave was suiR- 
 ciently calm to consider of improving it to the best advantage. 
 
 But calm was a stranger to the breast of Hargrave. The dis- 
 quiet which is the appointed portion of the wicked, raged there be- 
 yond controul. To tlie anguish of disappointment were^dded the 
 pangs of jealousy, and the heart-burnings of hatred and revenge. 
 Even the loss of the object of three years' eager pursuit was less 
 cutting than the success of De Courcy ; and the pain of a forfeiture 
 which was the just punishment of a former crime, was heightened 
 to agony by the workings of such passions as consummate the 
 misery of fiends. 
 
 The associates of the wicked must forego the consolations of 
 honest sympatiiy. All Hargra^e's tortures were aggravated by 
 the sarcasms of Lambert; who, willi)ig to hasten the fever to itfj 
 crisis, goaded him with coarse comments upon the good fortune of 
 his rival, and advices (which he well knew would act in a direct 
 opposite to their seeming pui-pose) to desist from further conipc- 
 tition. After spending four-and-twenty hours in alternate fits of 
 rage and despair, Hfu:grave returned to Lady Pelham, informing 
 her, that wiiatever were the conseqtience, he would no longer de- 
 lay seeing Laura. Liidy Pelham had foreseen this demand ; and, 
 though not without fear of the event, had prepared for compliance. 
 She had already arranged her scheme, and the execution was 
 easy. 
 
V5t 
 
 Laura's favourite walk, in the shrubbery led to a little suuimt. 
 house, concealed in a ihickct of acacias. Thither I«ady Pelham 
 had conveyed some dried plants, and had requested Laura's assist- 
 ance in classing' them. Laura had readify agreed, and that very 
 morning' had been allotted for the task. Lady Pelham, having first 
 directed Hurgrave where to take his station, accompanied her un- 
 suspecting niece to th^ summer house, and there for a while joined 
 in her employment. Soon, however, feigning a pretext for half an 
 hour's absence, she quitted Laura, intending at first to loiter in the 
 shrubbery, as a kind of safeguard against the ill consequences of 
 her imprudent connivance ; but meeting with a gardener who was 
 going to transplant a bed of favourite auriculas', she followed him 
 to watch over their safety, leaving her niece to guard her own. 
 
 Scarcely had Laura been a minute alone, ere she was startled by 
 the entrance of Hargrave, and seriously alarmed by seeing him 
 lock the door, and deliberately secure the key. ** What is it } ou 
 mean, Sir ?'* said she, trembl'mg. 
 
 ** To decjde your fate and mine !*' answered Hargrave, with ,a 
 loc^ and voice that struck terror to her soul. *' I am told you are 
 a Bride Laura," said he, speaking through his clenched teeth. 
 *' Say;^' continued he, firmly grasping her arm. "Speak! is it 
 so ?" 
 
 I know no right," said Laura, recovering herself, "that you 
 have to question me — nor meanly thus to steal — " 
 
 " No evasions !" interrupted Hargrave, in a voice of thunder. 
 "1 have rights — rights which I will maintain while I have being. 
 Now tell me, if you dare, that }'ou have transferred them to that 
 abhorred — " 
 
 He stopped, — his utterance choaked by the frenzv into which he 
 had worked himself. *' What has transported you to this fury. 
 Colonel Hargi-ave ?" said Laura, calmly. ** Surely you must be 
 sensible, that whatever claims I might once have allowed you, 
 have long since been made void by your own conduct. I will not 
 talk to you of principle, though that were of itself sufficient to 
 sever us for ever ; but ask yourself what ri^ht you can retain over 
 the woman whom you have insulted, and forsaken, and oppressed, 
 and outraged ?" 
 
 " Spare your taunts, Laura. They will only embitter the hour 
 of retribution. And may hell be my portion, if I be not richly re- 
 paid for all the scorn you have heaped upwi me. I will be revenged, 
 proud woman. You shall be at my mercy, where no cool canting 
 villain can wrest you from me !'* * ,.., , 
 
 His threats, and the frightful violence with'^i^faiek they were ut- 
 tered, filled I .aura with mingled dread ami pity. ** Command your- 
 self, I beseech you. Colonel Hargrave," suid she. " If you resent 
 the pain which, believe me, I have most unwillingly occasioned, 
 yon are amply revenged. You havfe affea4y caused me s«fferings 
 which mock description." 
 
 " Yes, yes- I know it," cried Hargrave in anuider voice, " You 
 were not then so hard. You could feel when tbat^ie wanton firsl 
 
 o 
 
158 
 
 seduced me from you. Then think what I nosv endure, when th»s 
 coid-blooded— but may I perish if I do not snatch his prize from 
 him. And think not of resistance, Laura ; for, by all that I have 
 suHered, resistance shall be vain." 
 
 ** Why do you talk so dreadfully to me ?" said Laura, making 
 a trembling- effort to release her arm, which he still fiercely grasp- 
 ed. •* Why, why, will you not cease to persecute me ? 1 have ne- 
 ver injured you. I have forgiven, pitied, jJrayed for you. How 
 have I deserved this worse than savage cruelty ?'* 
 
 " Laura," said Hargrave, moved by the pleadings of a voice 
 which would have touched a murderer's heart, " you have still a 
 choice. Promise to be mine. Permit me only by slow degrees, to 
 regain what I have lost. Say that months — that years hence you 
 will consent, and you are safe." 
 
 " Impossible !" said Laura. ** I cannot bind myself. Nor could 
 you trust a promise extorted by fear. Yet be but half what 1 once 
 thought you, and t \rill esteem" — 
 
 " Esteem !" interrupted Hargrave, with a ghastly smile. " Yes ! 
 And shrink from me, as you do now, while you hang on tliat de- 
 tested wretch till even his frozen heart warms to passion. Nor!" 
 continued he, with an awful adjuration, ** though the deed bring 
 me to the scaffold, you shall be mine. You shall be my wife, too, 
 Laura — but not till you have besought me — sued at my feet for the 
 title you haVe'so often despised. 1 will be master of ^our fate, of 
 that reputation, that virtue which you worship — and your minion 
 shall know it, that he may writhe under jealousy and disappoint- 
 ment." 
 
 " Powers of Mercy 1" cried Laura, raising her eyes in strong 
 compunction, ** have I made this mine idol!" Then turning on 
 Hargrave a look of deep repentance, " Yes, * she continued, "I 
 deserve to see thee as thou art, without mitigation vile ; since on 
 thee my sacrilegious heart bestowed such love as was due to the 
 Infinite alone." 
 
 ** Oh, Laura." cried Hargrave, softened by the remembrance of 
 her youthful affection, *' let but one faint spark of that love revive, 
 and 1 will forget all your scorns, and feel again such gentle wishes 
 as blest OHr first hours of tenderness. Or only swear that you will 
 renounce that bane of my existence — that you will shrink from 
 him, shun him like a serpent ?— Or give me your word only, and I 
 v.-ill trust it. Your liberty, your person, shall be sacred as thqse 
 of angels. Promise then"— 
 
 ** Why do you attempt to terrify me ?'" said Laura, her indigna- 
 -;on rising as her alarm subsided. " I have perhaps no longci the 
 right — even if I had the inclination — to utj.er such a vow. I trust 
 tiiat in this land of freedom, I am safe from your violence. My re- 
 putation, frail as it is, you cannot hatln without permission from 
 on high ; and if, for wise purposes,' the permission be given, I 
 doubt not that I shall be enabled to bear unjust reproach — na\v 
 wan to profit by tlie wTc-.np-," 
 
159 
 
 na-.>,i\oL iui.eiea her to conclude ; rag-e bereft lum To i- a irme, 
 of the power of utterAhce. Then, burstinjy into a torrent of reproach, 
 he upbraided her in lang'uag'e the most insulting-. **I3o you dare to 
 own," said he, *'that yoiir base inclinations favour that abhorred — 
 that this accursed marriage is your choice— -jour free choice ?" — 
 lie paused in vain for a i'eplvl Laura would not irritate him fur- 
 ther, and scorned to disgtiisfe the truth. " Then, Laura," said ho^ 
 and he confirmed thfe sentence with a dreadful oath, *• jou liave 
 sealed your fate. Thi»Vk*you that your l)e Courcy shall foil me ? 
 By Heaven, 1 will see you. perish first. I will tear you from him, 
 though 1 answer it with my life and soul. Let this be the pledge of 
 my triumph" — and he mads a motion to clasp her rudely in his 
 aiMTTs. With a cry of dread and horror, Laura sprung- from him, 
 and, throwing open the casemefjt, called loudly for assistance. — 
 Harg-rave forced her back; ** Spare your alarms, my lovely proud 
 one," said he, v»'ith a smile, which made her blood run cold, " You 
 are safe till me meet where cries will be useless. "What ? may I 
 not even kiss this pretty hand, as earnest that you shall soon be 
 mine beyond the power of fate ?'* "Silence, audacious!" cried 
 Laura, bursting into tears of mingled fear and indignation, while 
 she struggled violently to disengage her hands. *' Nay, this rosy 
 clieek will coiitent me better," cried Hargrave, and was again at- 
 tempting- to clasp her — when the door wa;5 burst suddenly open, 
 and I>e Courcy appeared. 
 
 " Ruffian !" he exclaimed, approaching Hargrave, who, in his 
 surprise, permitted his prey to escape. Her fears now taking a 
 new direction, Laura flew to intercept De Courcy. ** Ah !" she 
 cried, " my folly has done this. Fly from this madman, I entreat 
 you. I have nothing to fear but for you. Begone, T implore you." 
 
 " And leave you to such treatment ? Not while I have life ! — 
 When vo;i choose to go, I will attend you. For you, Sir ! — But I 
 must stoop below the language of a gentleman ere I find words to 
 describe 3our condtict." ' 
 
 " For F-icaven's sake," cried Laura, *' dearDe Courcy, provoke 
 him no farther. Let us fly this place ;"'a'nd cling-ing to De Courcy's 
 arm, she drew him on ; while, with the other, he defended her from 
 Hargrave, who had advanced to detain her. Her expression of re- 
 g-ard, her confiding attitude, exasperated tlie frenzy of Hargrave 
 to tlie uttermost. Almost imconscious of his own actions, he drew 
 a pistol from his pocket and fired. Laura uttered a cry of terror, 
 clasping- her lover's arm more closely to her breast. " Be not 
 alarmed love,'" whispered l)e Coiu'cy. *' It is nothing !" — and stag- 
 gering forward a few paces, he fell to the ground. 
 
 I^aura, in desperation, rushed from the summer-house, calling 
 wildly for help ; then. strucK with the fearful thought that Har- 
 grave might now comjdete his bloody work, she hastened back. 
 l)uring the few momci\ts of her absence, De Courcy addressed his 
 murderer, whose rage had given place to a wild stupor. ** 1 fear 
 this is an unlucky stroke, Hargrave. Save yourself. My horse is 
 at the gate '* Hargrave answered only with a groan ; and, striking- 
 
160 
 
 his ^clend\ed hand on his Ibrnhead, turned aviay. His crinle \v;*s 
 unpremc^tUtated. No train of self-deceit had reconciled his con- 
 soiree to its atrocity. The remembrance of the courage which 
 had saved his life ; the g-enerous concern of De Courcy for his 
 safety ; humanity, the last virtue which utterly forsakes us, aU 
 awakened him to remorse, keen and overwhelming-, like every other 
 passion of Hargrave. Xot bearing- to look upon his victim, he stood 
 iixed and motionless ; while Laui'a,.on her knees, watched, in dis- 
 may, the chan{>ing countenance of De Courey»ahd strove to staunch 
 the blood which was streaming- from his v/ound. 
 
 De Courcy once more tried to cheer Laura with words of com- 
 fort. " Were it not," said he, *^ for the pleasure this kind concern 
 Jives me, I might tell jtou that I do not suffer much pain. I am 
 sure I could rise, if I could trust this slender arm," laying his hand 
 gently upon it. Laura eagerly ogTered her assistance as he at- 
 tempted to raise himself ; but U>e effort overpowered him, and he 
 3unk back fainting. 
 
 In the strong language of terror, Laura now besought Hargrave 
 to procure help. Still motionless, his forehead resting against the 
 wall, his hands clenched as in convulsion, Hargrave seemed not to 
 heed her entreaties. " Have you no mercy ?" cried she, clasping^ 
 the arm from which she had so lately shrunk in horror. " He 
 saved your life. Will you let him peri.sh without aid ?" " Off, 
 woman !'* cried Hargrave, throwing her from him. " Thy 
 ivitchcraft has undone me ;" and he distractedly hurried away. 
 
 Laura*8 terror was not the passive cowardice of a feeble mind. 
 She was left alone to judge, to act, for herself— for more than her- 
 Sell. Immediate, momentous decision was necessary. And she 
 did decide by an effort of which no mind enfeebled by sloth or self- 
 ishness would have been capable. She saw that loss of blood was 
 the cause of De Courcy*s immediate danger, a danger which might 
 be Irremediable before he could receive assistance from more skil- 
 ful hands than hers. Such remedy, then, as she could command 
 she hastened to apply^ 
 
 To the plants which their beauty had recommended to Lady 
 Pelliam, Laura had added a few of which the usefulness was known 
 to her. Agaric of the oak was of the number, and she had often 
 applied it where many a hand less fair would have shrunk from 
 the task. Nor did she hesitate now. The ball had entered near 
 the neck ; and the feminine, the deUcatc Laura herself disengaged 
 the wound from its coverings ; the feeling, the tender Laura 
 herself performed an office from which false sensibility would have 
 recoiled in horror. 
 
 She was thus employed when she was found by a woman whom 
 Hargrave had met and sent to her assistance, with an indistinct 
 message, from which Laura gathered that he was gone in search 
 of a surgeon. The woman no sooner cast her eyes on the bloody 
 form of De Courcy, and on the colourless face of Laura, more 
 death-like than his, thap, with noisy imbecility, she began to be- 
 wail and ejaculate. Laura, however, instantly put a step to her 
 
161 
 
 exclamations hy dispatching her for cordiils and assistance In a 
 few minutes all the l\ousehold was assembled round De Courcy ; 
 yet such was the general curiosity, horror, or astonishment, that 
 he would have remained unaided but for the firmness of her who 
 was most interested in the scene. She dismissed every one whose 
 presence was unnecessary, and silenced the rost by a peremptory 
 command. She administered a cordial to recruit the failing 
 strength of De Courcy ; and causing hin\ to be raised to tlie pos- 
 ture which seemed the least painful, made her own trembling- 
 arms his support. 
 
 Nothing further now remained to be done, and Laura began to 
 feel the full horrors of her situation ; to weigh the fearful proba- 
 bility that all her cares were vain ; to upbraid herself as the cause 
 of this dire tragedy. Her anguish was too great to find relief in 
 tears. Pale and cold as marble, chilly drops bursting from her 
 forehead, she sat in the stillness of him who waits the sentence of 
 condemnation, save when a convulsive shudder expressed her suf- 
 fering. 
 
 The mournful quiet was interrupted by the entrance of Lady 
 Pelham ; who, quite out of breath, began a string of questions, 
 mixed with abundance of ejaculation. " Bless my soul ! ' she cried, 
 " how has all this happened ? For heaven's sake, Laura, tell me 
 the meaning of all this. Why don't you speak, girl ? Good Lord ? 
 could not you have prevented these madmen from quarrelling ] — 
 What brought Ue Courcy here ? How did he find you out ? Wliy 
 don't you speak ? Mercy on me ! is the girl out of her senses I" 
 
 The expression of deep distress with which Laura now raised 
 her eyes, reminded Lady Pelham of the sensibility requisite upon 
 such an occasion, which her ladyship's curiosity had hitlierto dri- 
 ven from her recollection. Approaching, therefore, to De Courcy, 
 she took a hasty look of this dismal spectacle; and exclaiming, 
 "Oh what a sight is here ! Unfortunate Laura ! Dear wretched 
 girl !" she began first to sob, and then to scream violently. Laura 
 motioned to the attendants to lead her away ; and she suffered 
 them to do so without resistance ; but she had no sooner crossed 
 the threshold, than, perceiving the spectators, whom curiosity 
 had collected in the shrubbery, she redo^^ibled her shrieks, strug- 
 gled, beat herself; and, but for the untoward strength of her 
 nerves, would have soon converted her ])retended fit into reality. 
 Wearied with her eflTorts, she was beginning to relax them, when 
 the surgeon appeared, and her ladyship was more vociferous than 
 ever. Mr. llaby, a quiet sensible man, undertook her cure before 
 he proceeded to liis more serious business i and, either guided by 
 his previous acquaintance with his patient, or by his experience in 
 similar cases, gave a prescription which, though simple, was per- 
 fectly efficacious. He directed that the lady should be instantly 
 secluded in her own chamber, with only one attendant ; and the 
 iremcdy proved so beneficial, that her ladyship enjoyed a night of 
 tranquil repose. 
 
 2 
 
W2 
 
 He next turned liis altention to De Caurcy ; and judg-inp^ it proper 
 '.o extract the ball without delay, advised Laura to retire Without 
 opposition she prepared to obey ; and, seeing- De Courcy about to 
 speak, put her liand on his lips to save him the exertion, and her- 
 self the pain of a farewell. Yet, as she resided her charge, raising 
 her eyes to lieaven, once more to commend De Courcy to the di- 
 vine protection, tlie fervour of her supplication burst into words: 
 " Oil if it be possible ! If it be possible !" — she cried. " Yes it is 
 possible," said De Courcy, comprehending the unfinished sen- 
 tence. " Your firmness, noble creature, has made it possible." 
 Ueproaching herself with having allowed De Courcy to perceive 
 her alarm, slie hastened away ; and seating herself on the steps 
 that led to the door, awaited in silence the event of the operation. 
 
 Here, as she sorrowfully called to mind the various excellen- 
 cies of De Courcy, his piety, his integrity, his domestic vir- 
 tues, so Lately known, so soon to be lost to her, she suddenly 
 Pecollected the heavier calamity of the mother deprived of 
 such a son, and perceived the inhumanity of permitting the 
 stroke to fall without preparation. Having access to no messenger 
 more tender than a common servant, she determined, though with 
 unspeakable reluctance, herself to bear the tidings to Mrs. De 
 Courcy. "I will knovv- the worst," thought she, " and then" — 
 
 She stalled at a faint noise that sounded from th.e summer-house-. 
 Steps approached the door from within. She sprung up, and the 
 surgeon appcarec^. " I have tlie happiness to tell you," said he, 
 ** that if no fever take place, our friend is safe. The chief danger 
 Las been from loss of blood ; and your presence of mind — Ah ! — 
 Do you feci faint ?" — 
 
 The awful interest which had supported the spirits of Laura thus 
 suddenly withdrawnj the tide of various feeling overpowered 
 • hem ; and she sunk into orie of those long and deep faintings 
 which were now unhappily become in some degree constitutional 
 .vith her. Mr. Haby having given directions for her recovery, 
 placed De Courcy in Lady Pelham's carriage, and himself attend- 
 ed him to Norwood ; where he mitigated Mi s. De Courcy's horror 
 and distress by assurances of her s.'.y.^.^^ safely, whicli he again de- 
 lighted Montague by ascribing to the cares of Laura. 
 
 It was late in the evening before Laura was sufficiently collected 
 to review? Av'ith composure the events of the day ! As soon, how- 
 ever, as she was capable of considering all the circumstances, a 
 suspicion occurred that her unfortunate interview with Ilargrave 
 bad been sanctioned, if not contrived by Lady Pelham. That lie 
 should know the place and the hour in which he might surprise 
 her alone ; that to this place, which, because of its loneliness, she 
 had of late rather deserted, she should be conducted by her aunt ; 
 tl)at at this moment she should upon a trivial pretence be left in so- 
 litude — seemed a coincidence too strong to be merely accidental. 
 8he recollected some symptoms; of private communication between 
 Lady Pelham and H.argrave. Suspicions of connivance in the in- 
 famous stratagem of licr arrest again pcvived in Iter mind. Lady 
 
163 
 
 Felham, she perceived, had afforded her a protection at best im- 
 perfect, perhaps treacherous. Hargrave's laie tin eats too, as she 
 Tevolved them in her thoughts, appeared more like the intimations 
 of settled design than the vague ravings of passion. Prudence, 
 therefore, seemed to require, that she should immediately provide 
 for her own safety : and indignant at her aunt's breach of confi- 
 dence, hastened the purpose which she formed, to leave Wal- 
 bour^xe without delay. She determined to go the next morning to 
 Norwood, there to remain till De (Joiurcy shewed signs of conva- 
 lescence, and then perform her long-projected journey to Scotland. 
 
 In order to avoid uni)leasant altercation, slie resolved to depart 
 without warning Lady i'elham of her intention ; merely announcing 
 by letter the reasons of her conduct. The affectionate Laura 
 would not have parted from the meanest sei*\ant without a kindly 
 farewell, but her innate abhorrence of treachery steeled her heart, 
 and she rejoiced that it was possible to escape ail present inter- 
 course with her deceitful kinswoman. 
 
 As soon as the dawn appeared she arose ; and on her knees 
 thankfully acknowledged the protecting care which had watched 
 over her, since first as a destitute orphan she applied to Lady Pel- 
 ham. She blessed the goodness which had softened in her favour 
 a heart little subject to benevolent impressions, which had restored 
 her in sickness, consoled her in sorrow, delivered her from the 
 snares of the wicked, and opened to her the joys of virtuous friend- 
 ship. And where is the wretch so miserable that he may not in 
 the review of eighteen months find subjects of gratitude still more 
 numerous! Laura began no important action of her life without 
 imploring a blessing on the event ; and she now proceeded to com- 
 mend herself and her future prospectis to the same care of which 
 she had glad experience 
 
 The proper business of the morning ended, she had begun to 
 make an-angements for her immediate departure ; when she heard 
 Lady Pelham's bell ring, and the next instant a noise like that oc- 
 casioned by the fall of something heavy. She listened for a while, 
 but all was again still. The rest of the family were yet buried ia 
 sleep, and Laura hearing no one stirring fo ajiswer Lady Pelham's 
 summons, began to fear that her aunt was ill, perhaps unable to 
 make any further effort to procure assistance. At this idea, all 
 her just indignation subsiding in a moment, she flew to Lady Pel- 
 ham's chamber. 
 
 Lady Pelliam was lying on the floor, having apparently fallen in 
 an attempt to rise from her bed. She was alive though insensible ; 
 and her face, though altered, was .still florid. Laura soon procuring 
 help, raised her from the gi-ound ; and guessing that apoplexy was 
 her disorder, placed her in an upright posture, loosened her night- 
 clothes, and having hurried away a se: aut for Mr. Raby, ventured, 
 until his arrival, upon such simple remedies as she knew might be 
 safely administered. In little more than an hour the surgeon ar- 
 rived, and having examined his patient, declared her to be in ex- 
 ^neTOe danger. Before he left her, however, he succeeded in re- 
 
164 
 
 bloring' Iter to some degree of recollection ; yet, far from chang-ing 
 his first opinion, he advised Laura to lose no time in making- every 
 necessary use of an amendmetit which he feared would be only 
 transient. V 
 
 From Lady Pelham, he went to Norwood; and returning- to 
 Walbourne in the evening", brought the pleasing- intelligence that 
 De Courcy continued to do well This second visit produced no 
 change in his sentiments, and he remained persuaded that though 
 Ladv Pelham might continue to linger for a time, the shock had 
 been too great to allow of complete recovery. Laura now rejoiced 
 that she had not executed her purpose of leaving Walbourne ; since, 
 liad her aunt's illness succeeded to the rag'c which her departure 
 would have excited, she could never have ceased to blame herself 
 as the cause. She looked with profound compassion, too, upon 
 the condition of an unfortunate being, whose death bed was neither 
 smoothed by affection, nor cheered by pious hope. ** Unhappy 
 woman !'* thought sh.e, as she sat watching an unquiet slumber 
 into which lier aunt had fallen, "to whom tlic best gifts of natui-e 
 and of fortune have, by some fatality, been useless, or worse than use- 
 less ; whose affluence has purchased no higher joys than half-grudg- 
 ed luxuries ; whose abilities have dazzled otlicrs and bewildered i)er- 
 self, but lent no steady light to guide her way ; whose generosity has 
 called forth no gratitude, whose kindness has awakened no affection ; 
 to whom length of days has brought no reverence, and length of in- 
 timacy no friends ! Kven the sacred ties of nature have been to her 
 unblessed. Her only child, driven from her in anger, dares not 
 approach to share the last sad offices with me, who, in performing 
 them, must forgive as v.'ell a^ pity. Favourite of fortune ! what 
 has been wanting to thee save that blessing which * bringeth no 
 sorrow with it ?' But that blessing was light in thine esteem, and 
 amidst the glitter of thy toys, the * pearl of gi'eat price' was disre- 
 garded." 
 
 For some days Lady Pelham continued much in the same situa- 
 tion. She suffered no pain, yet g-ave no signs of amendment. Oa 
 the sixth morning from her first attack she grew suddenly and 
 materially worse. It was soon discovered that her limbs were 
 paralyzed, and the surgeon declared that her end could not be very 
 distant. Her senses, however, again returned, and she continued 
 free from pain. She shewed little apprehension of her own dan- 
 ger; and Laura debated with herself whether she should permit 
 her aunt to dream away the last precious hours of probation, or en- 
 deavour to awaken her to a sense of her condition. 
 
 Laura liad no faith in death bed repentance. She knew that 
 resolutions of amendment which there is no longer time to practise, 
 and renunciations of sin made under the immediate prospect of 
 punishment, are at best suspicious She knew that, in the ordinary 
 eourse of providence, the grace which has been long despised is at 
 length justly withdrawn. Yet she saw that she had no riglit to 
 judge Lady Pelham as wholly impenitent ; and she considered a 
 death bed as highly suitable to the renewal, though not the begin- 
 
165 
 
 mi\g of repentance. She knew, too, that the call- miffht be made 
 effectual even at the * eleventh hour ;' and tlie bare chance was 
 wortli the toil of ages. She felt how little she herself would have 
 valued the mistaken pity which could suffer her to enter on the 
 ' dark valley' without a warning to cling- closer to the * staff" and 
 rod* of comfort: — She therefore ventured to hint gently to Lady 
 Pelham the opinion of her medical friends, and to remmd her of 
 the duty of preparing for the worst. 
 
 X.ady' Pelham at first appeared a good deal shocked ; and lay for 
 some time apparently meditating on her situation. At last, reco- 
 vering her spirits, she said, ** Your nerves, Laura, were always so 
 coarse, that you seemed to me to take a pleasure in thinking of 
 shocking livings ; but I am sure it is abominably barbarous in you 
 to tease me with them now I am ill. Do keep your horrid fancies 
 to yourself, or keep away till you are cured of the vapours — I dare 
 3ay it is your dismal face tliat makes me dream so unpleasantly.^ 
 
 Laura, however, was not to be so discouraged. She took occa- 
 sion to represent that no harm could ensue from preparing to meet 
 the foe ; since his march was not to be retarded by shutting our 
 eyes on his advances, nor hastened by the daring which watched 
 his approach. She at length thought she had succeeded in con- 
 vincing her aunt of her danger Lady Pelham said that she feared 
 she was dying, and she believed that she said the truth. But Lady 
 Pelham had had sixty years' practice in self-deceit. The fear 
 might flutter in her imagination, but was not strong enough to 
 touch her heart Laura, however, made use of her acknowledg- 
 ment to press upon her the duties of forgiveness and charity to- 
 wards all mankind, and especially to-wards her child ; reminding 
 her of the affecting parity of situation between offending man and 
 his disobedient offspring. Lady Pelham at first answered impa- 
 tiently that she would not be urged on this subject ; but as her 
 spirits began to fail under the first confinement which she had 
 ever endured, she became more tractable. " God knows," said 
 she t« Laura, one day, " we have all much need to be forgiven , 
 ami therefore we must forgive in our turn. For my part, I am siu'C 
 I die in charity with all mankind, and with that creature among 
 the rest. However, I shall take my friend the Spectator's advice, 
 and remember the difference between giving afld/orgiving.'* 
 
 Laura often begged permission to send for Mrs. Herbert ; but 
 Lady Pelham sometimes postponed it till she should get better, 
 sometimes till she should grow worse, l^aura was in th.e mean 
 time her constant attendant ; bearing with her peevishness, sooth- 
 ing her caprice, and striving to rouse in her feelings suiiable to 
 her condition. Finding, however, that she made but little pro- 
 gress in her pious work, she begged that she might be allowed to 
 take the assistance of a clergyman. " A clergjman, child !" cried 
 Lady Pelham. ** Do you imagine me to be a papist? Or do you 
 think me capable of such weak suj>erstitioH as to place more re- 
 liance on a parson's prayers than on yours, or my maid Be'ty's * 
 Xo, no! I trust I have been no worse than other people ; andl 
 
166 
 
 hope, though I may o« weak, I shall never be fanatical. Besides, 
 I have too hig-h a sense of the Divine Justice to think that our 
 Maker would first give us unei-overnable passions, and then pumsh 
 •us for yielding to them. A pidegmatic being like you, may indeed 
 he called to a strict account; but people of strong feelings rpust 
 be judged by a different standard.'* " Oh, Madam," said Latira:, 
 "be assured that our Mviker gives U3 no unconquerable passions. 
 If we ourselves have made them so, it becomes us to be humbled 
 in the dust, not to glory in tlie presumptuous hope that He will 
 soften the sanctions of his law to favour our remissness." 
 
 Driven from the strong hold of justice, rather by the increase of 
 her bodily languor, than by the force of truth, the dying sinner had 
 recourse to mercy — a mercy, however, of her own composing. " It 
 is true," said she, one day, to Laura, "that 1 have done some 
 tliings which I have reason to regret, and which, I must confess, 
 deserve punishment. But Divine Mercy towards believers, we are 
 told, is infinite ; and tliough I may at times have doubted, I have 
 never disbelieved." Laura, shuddering at this awful blindness, 
 was striving to frame a useful reply, when she saw her aunt's 
 countenance change It was distorted by a momentary convuK 
 sion, and then fixed for ever in the stillness of death. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIL 
 
 Laura was more shocked than afflicted by the death of a per.- 
 son whom she was unable to love, and had no reason to respect. 
 She lost no time in conveying the news to Mrs Herbert, begging 
 that she would lierself come and give tlie necessary direction. 
 Thinking it proper to remain at VValbourne till after her aunt's 
 funeral, she refused .Mrs. I)e Courcy's invitation to spend at Nor- 
 wood the time which intervened. De fJourcy continued to re- 
 cover fast; and Laura, thinking she might soon leave him 
 without anxiety, again fixed an early day for her journey tx) 
 Scotland. 
 
 Notwithstandli^g Laura's knowledge of the phlegmatic temper- 
 ament of her cousin, she was surprised at the stoicism with which 
 Mrs. Herbert supported the death of her mother She examined 
 the dead body with a cold comment on its appearance ; gave or- 
 ders for the interment in an imfaltering voice ; and neitlier seem- 
 ed to feel nor to affect the slightest concern. Nor did htv phi- 
 losopliy appear to fail her one jot, when, upon opening the will, 
 she was found to be left without inheritance. The paper, which 
 had been drawn up a few moiUhs before, evinced Lady Pelham's 
 adherence to her scheme for her niece's advancement; and this, 
 with her obstinate enmity to Mrs. Herbert, furnished the only in- 
 etances of her consistency or perseverance, which were' ever 
 
ItiJ 
 
 ♦ 
 
 known to the woi-ltl. Her whole property she bequeathed to Lau- 
 ra Montreville, and to her second son upon taking the name of 
 Pelham, provided that Laura married Color.el liargrave, or a 
 peer, or the eldest son of a peer; but if she married a commoner, 
 or remained unmarried, she was to inherit only ten thousand 
 pounds, the bulk of Uie property going to a distant relation. 
 
 The very hour that this will was made public, Laura informed 
 the contingent heir that he might possesshimself of his inheritance, 
 since she would certainly never perform the conditions which 
 alone could destroy his claim. Not acquiescing in the justice of 
 excluding Mrs. Herbert from her natural rights, she would instant- 
 ly have offered to share with her cousin the bequest of Lady Pel- 
 ham ; but considering that her engagement with De Courcy pnti- 
 ticd bim to decide on the disposal of whatever belonged to his fu- 
 ture wife, she hastened to ask his sanction to lier purpose. De Cour- 
 cy, without hesitation, advised that the whole should be gi\ en up 
 to its natural owner. " We shall have enough for hum! le com- 
 fort, dear Laura," said he, "and have no need to gra.sp at a doubt- 
 ful claim." Laura, however, differed from him in opinion. She 
 thought she might, in strict justice, retain part of the bequest of 
 BO near a relation ; and she lelt pleased to think that she should 
 enter the De CoUrcy family not altogether portionless. She there- 
 fore reserved two thousand pounds, giving up the rest uncondi- 
 tionally to Mrs. Herbert. 
 
 These points being settled^ nothing now remained to retard 
 Laura's journey to Scotland. Mrs. De Courcy, indeed, urged her 
 to postpone it till Montague should acquire a right to be her es- 
 cort ; but Laura objected that it was her wish to give a longer 
 time to her old friend than she thought it proper to withdraw De 
 Courcy from his business and his home. She reflected, too, with 
 a light heart, that a protector in her journey was now less neces- 
 sary, since her mad lovei', as Harriet called C^olonel Hargrave, 
 had embarked for Amerii;a. Laura had heard of his departure 
 before her aunt's death ; and she gladly observed that favourable 
 v.'inds were speeding him across the AtUa'tic 
 
 The day preceding that on which she meant to leave Walbournc, 
 she spent with Mrs. De Courcy and Montague ; who, though not 
 entirely recovered, was able to resume his station in the family- 
 room. De Courcy, wiih the enthusiasm of youth and love, spoke 
 of his happy prospects ; his mother, with the sober eje of e>pe- 
 rience, looked forward to joys as substantial, though less daz- 
 zling ; while fem.inine modesty suppressed the pleasure with 
 which Laura felt that she was necessary to these schemes of bliss. 
 With the confidence of mutual esteem they arranged their plan of 
 life— -a^lan at once embracing usefulness and leisure, retirement 
 and hospitality. Laura consented that one month • one little 
 month,' should begin the accomplishment of these golden dreams ; 
 for she permitted De Courcy to follow her at the end of that time 
 to Scotland- A .lew weeks they were to spend in wandering 
 through the .romantic scenes of her native iandi and, then join. 
 
168 
 
 • 
 
 Mrs. De Gourcy at Norwood, which was to continue her perma- 
 nent abode. 
 
 Laura remained with heir friends till the evening* was closing ; 
 then, avoiding" the solemnity of a farewell by a half-promise of 
 stopping as she passed the next day, she sprung- into Mrs. De ' 
 Courcy's carriage, and drove off Tears rushed to De Courcy's 
 eyes as the carriage was lost to his sight, " I am still weak," 
 thought he as he dashed them away. ** She will soon return to 
 bring gladness to every heart, and double joy to mine. To-mor- 
 row too I shall see her," thought he ; yet he continued depressed, 
 and soon retired to his chamber. 
 
 Mrs. De Courcy and her son met early the next morning, ex- 
 pecting that Laura would early begin her journey. Montague 
 stationed himself at the window to watch for her appearance ; 
 half fearing that she would not keep her promise, yet every mi- 
 nute repeating that it was impossible she could go without bidding 
 farewell. The breakfast hour arrived, and still Laura came not. 
 De Courcy, impatient, forgot his weakness, and insisted upon walk- 
 ing to tlie gate that he might inquire whether a carriage had pass- 
 ed from Walbourne. 
 
 He had scarcely left the house when old John, with a face that 
 boded evil, hastily came to beg tliathis lady would speak with a 
 servant of Lady Pelham's. Mrs. De Courcy, somewhat alfumed, 
 desired that the servant might come in. " Please, Ma^am,'* said 
 he, ** let me know where 1 may find Miss Montreville. Tlie car- 
 riage has waited for her these three hours '" ** Good heavens !" 
 cried Mrs. De Courcy, in consternation, ** Is Miss Montreville 
 not at Walbourne ?" " No, Madam, she has not been there since 
 yesterday morning." Mrs. De C«urcy, nov^r in extreme alarm, 
 summoned her coachman, and desired to know where he had left 
 Miss Montreville the evening before. He answered, that, at Lau- 
 ra's desire, he had set her down at the gate of Walbourne ; that 
 he had seen her enter ; and afterwards, in turuing the carriage, 
 had observed her walking along the avenue towards the house. 
 Inexpressibly shocked, Mrs. De Courcy had yet the presence of 
 mind to forbid alarming her son with these fearful tidings. As 
 soon as she could recollect herself, she despatched old Wilson, on 
 whose discretion she thought she might rely, to inform De Cour- 
 cy that a message from Walbourne had made her cease to expect . 
 Laura's visit. Montague returned home, sad and chsappointed. 
 His melancholy questions and comments increased the distress of 
 his mother. ** Did she not even write one line ?** said he. " Could 
 you have believed that she would go without one farewell — that 
 she could have passed our very gate ?" " She was willing to spare 
 you the pain of a farewell," said Mrs. De Courcy, checking the an- 
 guish of her heart. " Siie will write soon, 1 hope." 
 
 But day after day passed, and Laura did not write. Mrs. De 
 Courcy, still concealing from lier son a misfortune which she 
 thought him yet unequal to bear, used every possible exertion to 
 tface the fugitive. She offered high rewai-^s to whoever could 
 
169 
 
 uftbid the smallest clue to discovery. She advertised in every 
 newspaper except that which De Courcy was accustomed to read. 
 Her suspicions ai first falling- upon Har^rave, she caused particu- 
 lar inquiry to be made whether any of his domestics had been left 
 in Kng-land witli orders to follow him ; but she found that he with 
 Lis wliole suite had sailed from Europe more than a fortnight be- 
 fore L:iura*s disappearance. She employed emissaries to prose- 
 cute tlie search in almost every part of the kingxlom. Judging the 
 metropolis to be the most likely place of concealment, she made 
 application to the olncers of police for assistance in her inquiries 
 there. Ail was in vain. No trace of Laura was to be found. 
 
 For a while De Courcy amused himself from day to day with the 
 hope of hearmg from her ; u hope which his mother had not the 
 courage to destroy. He calculated that she would reach the end 
 of her journey on the sixth day alter that on which slie left him. 
 On the seventh she would certainly write ; therefore in four or five 
 more he slunild undoubtedly hear from licr. TJie expected day 
 came, and passed as others had done, without bringing news of 
 I^aura. Another and another came, and ended only in disappoint- 
 ment. De (Jourcy was miserable. He knew not how to account 
 for a silence so adverse to the considerate kindness of Laura's 
 character, except by supposing- that illness made her unable to 
 write. This idea gathering- strength in his mind, he resolved to 
 follow her immediately to Scotland, tracing her through the route 
 which he knew she intended to take. Mrs. De Courcy in vain at- 
 tempted to dissuade him from the prosecution of his design, and 
 tosooihe him with hopes which she too well knew would prove 
 deceitful. He was resolute, and Mrs. De Courcy was at last 
 obliged to prevent his fruh less journey by unfolding- the truth. 
 The utmost tenderness of caution was insufficient to prevent the 
 effects of this blow on De Courcy's bodily frame. In a few hours 
 strong fever seized him ; and his wound, which had hitherto worn 
 a favourable ap;jeKrance, gave alarming symptoms of infiammarion. 
 Three weeks did Mrs. De Courcy watch by his bedside in all the 
 anguish of a motlicr's fears ; forgetting, in her anxiety for his 
 life, that he must for a time live oidy to sorrow. Tlie balance lon^ 
 hung- doubtful. At length the strength of Ins constitution and 
 his early habits of temperance prevailed. By slow tlegrces his 
 health was restored, though his spirits were still oppressed by 
 a dejection^ which long- withstood every cffoi-t of reason and of 
 religion. ' • ' 
 
 To diver*^ his sojtow rather than in the hope of removing its 
 cause, he left his home, and wandered through the most unfre- 
 quented parts of England making anxious, yet almost hopeless, 
 inquiries for his lost treasure. Sometimes, misled by false intel- 
 lig' nee, he was hurried from place to place in all th". eagerness of 
 expectation, but bitter disappointment closed the pursuit ; and the 
 companion of his relaxation, his encouragement in study, his pat- 
 tern in virtue, iht friend, tlie mistress, almost the wife, was lost 
 beyond recal. 
 
 r 
 
170 
 
 ^Vhilc De Courcy was thus lang-ulshin^ on a sick-bed or wanikr- 
 ing^ restless and miserable, Lauru too was a wanderer, a prey to 
 care marc deep, more hopeless. 
 
 The soft shades of twilig-lit were stealing- on as s])e cast a last 
 lookback towards Norwood ; and were deepening fast as with a 
 slg-h, half-pleasing", half-melancholy, she surveyed the sheltering- 
 chesnut-tree where slie had once parted from De Courcy. As she 
 approached her home, tlie sta*'s coming- forth poured their silent 
 languag'e into the ear of piety. Never deaf to this lioly call. Laura 
 dismissed her attendants that she mig-lit meditate alone. Sne pi'o- 
 ceeded slowly along-till she came to the entrance of a woody lane, 
 which branched oft from the avenue. She stopped, half-inclined 
 to enter ; a sensation of fear made her pause. The next moment 
 the very consciousness of that sensation induced her to proceed. 
 ** This is mere childish superstition," said she, and entered the 
 lane. Slie had taken only a few steps when she felt herself sud- 
 denly seized from behind ; one person forcibly confining- her arms 
 while another prevented her cries. Vainly strug-g-ling ag-ainst 
 inasculin^ streng-th, slie w-as hurried rapidly forward, till, her 
 breath failing-, she could resist no farther. Her conductors, soon 
 quitting- the beaten path, drag-ged her on throug-h a little wood 
 that sheltered the lawn towards the east ; till reaching- a gap which 
 appeared to have been purposely made in the park wail, Laura 
 perceived a carriage in waiting. Again exerting the strength of 
 desperation, she struggled wildly for freedom ; but the unequal 
 contest soon was closed ; she was lifted into the carriage ; one of 
 the men took his place by her side, and they drove off with the 
 speed of lightning. .\ 
 
 From the moment when she recovered recollection, Laura had 
 not a doubt that she owed this outrage to Hargrave. She w^ as con- 
 vinced that his pretence of leaving the kingdom had been merely 
 intended to throw her off her guard, and that he was now waiting, 
 at no distant place, the success of his daring vlUany. At this 
 idea, a horrible dread seizing her, she threw herself back in the 
 carnage and wept in despair. Her ■attendant perceiving that she 
 no longer struggled, with a coarse expression of pity, released her . 
 from ins grasp; and, taking tlie handkerchief from her mouth, 
 told her, " she might cry as long as she pleased, for he knew it 
 did a woman's heart good to cry." Laura now besought him to 
 tell iier whither she was going. "You'll know that by and by," 
 said he. " Let me alone. I am going to sleep ; do you the 
 same." 
 
 Tlie bare mention of his purpose revived Laura's hopes. " Sure- 
 ly," thought she, " while he sleeps, I may escape. In spite of 
 this fearful speed I may spring out ; and if I could gain but a few 
 steps, in this darkness 1 should be safe." Full of this })ro)oct, she 
 remained still as the dead ; fearing by the slightest sound or mo- 
 tion to retard ti»e sleep of her guard. At last his breathinir an- 
 nounced that he was asleep ; and Laura began, with ti'cmbiifig 
 hands, to attempt her escape. The blinds were drawn up ; and if 
 
171 
 
 she could let clown that on the si^e of the can^lage where sl.c sa+, 
 she miglit without difficulty open the door. She tried to stir tlic 
 blind. It refused to yield. She used her utmost force, but it re- 
 mained (inn. She ventured, cautious and trembling-, to attempt 
 that on the other side. It dropt ; and Laura thou[-l)t she Was free. 
 It only remained to open the door of the chaise and leap out. She 
 tried it ; but the door was immoveable, a»d, in despair, she shrunk 
 back. Again she started up ; for it occurred to her that, tliough 
 with more dang-er, she might escape by the windov/. Cautiously 
 stepping- across her g-uard, slie leant out and placed her hands oa 
 the top of the carriage, that, trusting to her arms fur supporting 
 her weight, s!ie might extricate herself, and drop from thence 
 into the road, liaising herself upon the edge of die step, she fix- 
 ed her hands more firndy. Sl>e paused a nioment to listen whe- 
 ther her guard were undisturbed. He still slept soundly ; and rest- 
 ing her lijxihs upon the window frame, she prepared to complete 
 her escape. 
 
 A moment more and she had been free ; when a h.orsefnan i id ir.g 
 tip, pushed her fiercely back, upbraiding witlj tremendous oaths, 
 the carelessness of his companion. The fellow, rousing himself, 
 retorted upon the wretched Laura the abuse of his comrade, 
 swearing tit at " since he saw she was so cunning, he would keep 
 better \v:itch upon her for the future." 
 
 The desponding Laura endured his reproaches in silence. Find- 
 ing herself thus doubly guarded, she resigned all hope of escaping 
 by her own unaided exertions ; and mingling silent prayers witli 
 her fearful anticipations, she strove to reanimate her trust that 
 she should not be wholly forsaken. Sometimes her habitual confi- 
 dence prevailed, and she felt assured, that she should not be left 
 a prey to the wicked. Yet the dreadful tlireats, the fiery passions 
 of HargTave rose to her recollection, and she again shuddered in 
 despair. She suddenly remembered Jessy Wilson.. Starting, with 
 an exclamation of hon or and aflright, she songlit some weapon 
 which niight disjicnse to her a death less terrible ; and instinc- 
 tively gra.sping her pen-knife, hid it in her bosom. The next mo- 
 ment she .'hrunk from her purpose, and doubted the lawfulness of 
 such defence. *' Will he dare his own life, too?" thought she. 
 *' Oh, Heaven ! in mercy sprue me the necessity of sending a 
 wretch to his great accoimt, with all his crimes unrepented on his 
 head- or pardon him and me .'" 
 
 She continued to conimend herself to Heaven, till her terrors by 
 degrees subsided She began again to feel the .steady trust wiitch 
 is acquired by ill who are habituated to a grateful consideration 
 of the care which they experience ; a trust that even the most ad- 
 verse events sliall terminate in their rt ul advantage ; that the rug- 
 ged and slippery ways of this dark wilderness, shrdl, at the dawn 
 of everlasting day, be owned as the fittest to conduct us to the 
 house of our Father. She began, t«;o, to regain the confidence 
 which strong minds naturally put in their own exertion?. She re- 
 Solved not to be wanting to herself; nor, by brooding over her 
 
172 ' -] 
 
 terrors, to disable herself from taking advantag-e of any providen- 
 tial circumstance which might favour her esc pe. 
 
 Morning at length began to dawn, but the blinds being closely 
 drawn up, Laura could make no observations on the country 
 through which she was passing. She remarked that the furious 
 speed with which she had at first been driven, had slackened to a 
 slow pace ; and she judgjed that the wearied cattle could not pro- 
 ceed much further. She hoped that it would soon be necessary 
 to stop : and that during the few minutes in wliich they halted to 
 change horses, she miglit find means of appealing to the justice 
 of her fellow-creatures. " Surely," said she, "some heart will be 
 open to me." 
 
 After proceeding slowly for some time the carriage stopped. 
 Laura listened for the sounds of hviman voices, biit all was silent. 
 She lieard the trampling of horses as if led close by tlie carriage. 
 Some one was certainly near who had no interest in this base op- 
 pression. " Kelp ! Oh help me," cried Laura. ** I am cruelly 
 and wrongfully detained. I have friends that will reward you. 
 Heaven will reward you ! — Help me ! for kind mercy, help me !" 
 ** Heyday!" cried the fellow in the carriage, with something be- 
 tween a grin and a stare, " who is the girl speaking to ? Wiiat ! 
 did you imagine we should be wise enough to bring you within 
 holla of a whole yardful of stable boys and pif)ing chambermaids ? 
 Reward indeed ! Set your heart at rest, Miss ; "we shall be reward- 
 ed without your friends or Heaven either." 
 
 The carriage agj^in proceeded with the same speed as at first, 
 and Laura strove to support with composure this new blow to her 
 hopes. Her companion, now producing a bottle of wine and some 
 biscuits, advised her to share with him ; and that she might not 
 wilfully lavish her strength and spirits, she consented. Once more 
 in the course of the day the travellers stopped to change horses* 
 and Laura once more, though with feebler hopes, renewed her ap- 
 peals to justice and to pity. No answer greeted her ear. Again 
 she was hurried on her melancholy way. . 
 
 The day, as it advanced, seemed rougli and gloomy. The wind 
 swept in gusts through the trees, and the rain beat upon the car- 
 riage. The evening* was drawing on when Laura rem.arked th.at 
 the motion was changed. The chaise proceeded slowly over soft 
 uneven ground, and she guessed, with dismay, that it had quitted 
 all frequented paths. In renewed alarm, she again besought her 
 companion to tell her whither he meant to conduct her, and for 
 what end she was thus cruelly forced from her home. " Why, how 
 should 1 tell vou what I don't know myself?" answered the man. 
 " I shan't conduct you much farther — and a good riddance. As 
 for the end, you'll see that when it comes." 
 
 About an hour after quitting the road, the carriage stopped; 
 and the man letting down the lilind, Laura perceived through the 
 dusk, that they were on a barren moor. Waste and level, it seem- 
 ed to spread before her; but the darkness prevented her from dis- 
 tinguishing its features or its bouudariea. Suddenly, as the gust 
 
17;> 
 
 died awKV, s;ie tancied she heard the roar of waters. She lisle;;- 
 ed ; but the wind swelled a^ain, and she heard only its howlinga 
 over the heath. The horseman who had rode away wlien the car- 
 riage stopped, now galloped back, and directed the postilion to 
 proceed. They went on for a few hundred yards, and again they 
 stopped. The' roar of waters again burst on Laura's ear, now 
 swelling In thunder, now sinkii«g in a sulfen murmur. She saw a 
 light glimmer at a distance. It was tossed by tlie billows of the 
 ocean 
 
 The door of the chaise was opened, and she was lifted from it. 
 Gliding from the arms of the rviffian who held her, and clasping 
 his knees, " Oh! if you have the heart of a man," she cried, "let 
 me not be torn from my native land— let me not be cast on the mer- 
 ciless deep. Think what it is to be an exile — friendless in a 
 strange land — ^the sport, the prey of a pitiless enemy. CMi! if you 
 have need of mercy, have mercy upon me." " Holla ! Robert," 
 shouted the ruffian, " take away this girl. She's enough to make 
 a man play the fool and whimper." The otlicr fellow now ap- 
 proaching, lifted Laura, more dead than alive, from the ground, 
 and, wrapping her in a large cloak, bore her towards the beach. 
 - In a creek sheltered by rocks from the breakers, lay a small 
 boat. One man sat near tbe bow, roaring a hoarse sea- song. As the 
 party approached, hcppse, and pushing tlie boat ashore, received 
 the half lifeless Laurain his brawny arms, cursing lier with strange 
 oaths for having made him wait so long. Then, on his uttering a 
 disjcordant yell, two of litis companions apjieared ; and after ex- 
 changing with I^aura's guards a murmuring account of the trouble 
 they had undergone, pu.shed ofl" from the land. Tiie keel grated 
 along the pebbles ; tlve next moment it floated on the v/aves, and 
 Laura starting up, threw back the cloak from her face, andwitlv 
 strained eyes gazed onlier parting" native laud, till ali behind was 
 darkness. 
 
 A pang of anguish striking t& her beavt, she made once more a 
 desperate cflort to awaken pity. Stretching her clasped hand.9 
 towards the man \\ho sat near lier, she cried, in the piercing^ 
 voice of misery, "Oh take pity on me ! F ani aiv orphan. I have 
 beard that sailors have kindly hearts — Have pity, then— land mo 
 on the wildest coast, and I will fall down there and pray for you !" 
 The person to whom she spoke having eyed her for a moment in 
 silence, coolly drew in his oar ; and rising, wrapped her close in 
 the cloak and laid her down in tlie bottom of the boat, advising her 
 with an oath to " keep snug or she would- caps i.2e them." In des- 
 pair she renounced all further ef?brt. Silent and motionless she 
 jay, the cold spray d;tshing over her \m heeded ; till wet, chilled^ 
 and miserable, she was lifted on board a small brig which lay 
 about half a mile from the shore She was carried down U> the 
 cabin, which was more decent than is usual in vessels of thutsize. 
 A clean looking Avoman attended to undress her; n-ght olf-the.s 
 were in readiness for her; and every accommodation pr)videtl 
 "which her aituation rendered possible. Every thing served to coa- 
 
: 
 
 174 
 
 vince her of the care and precantion with' which thrs crtrel schcmo 
 had been concerted, and to shew her the depth of the snare into j 
 which she had fallen. ! 
 
 She was laid in her narrow orib, ere it occurred to her that 
 Haigrave mig^ht be near to watch his prey. Exhausted as she was, i 
 sleep fled at the thought. She Irstened for his voice, for his foot- ' 
 step, amid the unwontcd'tiiscord tliiit disturbed her ear. Daylight i 
 returned, and no sound reached, her more terrible than that of the 
 gale rattling in the cordage and dashing the waves against the 
 vessel's side. Worn out with fatigue and sufiei ing, she slept at 
 length ; and a mid-day sun glanced by fits tlnough her grated 
 •window ere she awoke to a new sense of sorrow. Sl)e rose, and 
 going upon deck, looked sadly back upon the way she had uncon- 
 sciously passed. Behind, the blue mountains were sinking in the 
 distance; on the left lay a coast imknown to her; before her 
 Stretched tlie boundless deep, unvaried save by the whitening 
 surge. 
 
 Laura spent most of her time upon deck, the fresli air reviving 
 her failing spirits. One male and one female attendant seemed 
 appropriated to her, and sei*ved her with even ofHcious assiduity. 
 Hoping that some opportunity might occur of transmitting an ac- 
 count of her situation to England, she begged these obsequious^ 
 attendants to supply her with writing ma?»rialsi but was firmly, 
 though respectfully, refused. 
 
 The third morning came, and Laura looked in vain for any ob- 
 ject to vary the immeasurable waste. The sun rose from one un- 
 bending line, and sunk again in naked majesty. She observed that 
 tke course of the vessel was in general directly west ; and if she 
 had before doubted, this circumstance would have convinced her 
 of her destiftation. She once ventured to inquire whither the ship 
 was bound, but was answered that "she should knaw that where 
 ?he rea<;hed the port." 
 
 It was on the fourth of May that Laura began her ill-omened 
 voyage. On the twelfth of June, land ! land ! was shouted in the 
 voice of joyful triumph. All ran to gaze with glad eyes on what 
 seemed alow cloud, faintly descried on the verge of the horizon- 
 all but Laura who looked sadly forward, as to the land of exile, of 
 degradation — of deatli. Day after day that dreaded land approach- 
 ed ; till, by degrees, the boundless ocean was narrowed to a mighty 
 river, and the unfrcquent sail, almost too distant for mortal sight, 
 was multiplied to a busy fleet, plying in eveiy direction their 
 cheerful labours. At length a city appeared in view, rising like 
 an amphitheatre, and flashing bright with a material unknown to 
 European architecture. Laura inquired what toWn it was ; and, 
 though refused all information, surmised that Quebec lay before 
 her. 
 
 Opposite the town, the ship hove to ; a, boat was launched, and 
 La<ira expected to be sent on shore. Nor did she unwillingly pre- 
 pare to go. " Surely.' thought she, '* in this populous city some 
 one will be found to listen to my xsX^, and wrest me from the arm 
 
175 
 
 ofthe oppressor.'* The boat however departed without her, car- 
 rvin«^ ashore the man who had hitherto attended her. After re- 
 wiaiiiing' on shore for several homs, the man retiu'ned, and the 
 vessel ag-ain proceeded in her yoyu^e. Lanra now imagined that 
 Montreal was her destined port ; and again she strove to hope 
 that, among- numbers, she should find aid. 
 
 A still cloudy evening had succeeded to a sultry day, when 
 Laura observed an unusr.al bustle upon deck. It was grow ing 
 dark, when, as she leant over the rail, to watch the fire-flies that 
 flashed like stars in the air, the captain approaching her, told her 
 that she must go ashore, and immediately lifted her into a boat 
 which lay along side. Her attendants and baggage were already 
 there ; the sailors had taken their oars ; and, roaring to their com- 
 panions a rough ** good night," made towards the land Instead, 
 however, of gaining the nearest point, tl>ey rowed into what in the 
 darkness seemed a creek ; but I^aura soon perceived that, having 
 left the great river on which they had hitherto sailed, they were 
 following the course of one of its tributary streams. The darkness 
 prevented her from distinguishing objects on the banks, though 
 now and then a light glimmering from a casement, shewed that 
 the ha.unts of man were near. She could not even discern the 
 countenances of the sailors ; but she observed, that he who seem- 
 ed to direct the other, spoke in a voice which was new to her ear. 
 All night the rowers toiled up the stream. The day dawned ; 
 and Laura perceived that, parsing an opc^i cultivated plain, she 
 was pursuing her course towards woods impervious to the light. 
 l>ark and tangled they lowered over the strean?, till they closeA 
 around, and every cheerful object was blotted from the scene. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXin. 
 
 The travellers had proceeded for some time shaded by the 
 overhanging woods, the distance lengthened by the dreary same- 
 ness of their way, when a wild halloo smote Laura's ear ; and she 
 perceived that three Indians stood at the water-edge, making signs 
 for the boat to land To her unspeakable surprise, the sailors 
 joyfully obeyed the signal. They ran their bark h» a creek to 
 which the Indians pointed, and cheerfully busied themselves in 
 discharging their cargo. Placed with her attendants on a little 
 eminence, which rose above the swampy margin ofthe river, Lau- 
 ra took a fearful survey ofthe scene around her. Save where the 
 sluggish stream opened to the daj', her view was bounded to a few 
 yards of marshy ground, rank with unwholesome vegetation. No 
 track appeared to lead from this desolate spot. Between the gigan- 
 tic pines, brush-wood and coarse grass spread in sad liuturiance- 
 
176 
 
 No trace was here of Ijuman footstep. All was dreay and foAoti^ 
 as the land wliich the first wanderers visited un-vvilling-. 
 
 She had not long" continued lier melancholy survey, when the 
 two stoutest of the Indians approached ; and one of them, after 
 tulking- apart with Iier attendants, lifted her female servant in his 
 arms, and walked on. The other miiking some uncouth g-estures. 
 })rcpared to raise Laura from t!>e ground. She shrunk back alarm- 
 ed ; but the Indian, in broken French, asstn-ed her that he would 
 not hurt her ; and, pointinjj towards the woods, reminded her ot 
 the difficulty of passing- them on foot. Her valet, too, represented 
 the fatigue she must undi.-rg'o, if she refused the assistance of the 
 Indian. But Laura preferring* a toilsome march to such a mode of 
 conveyance, persevered in lit*r refusal ; and bidding- them lead the 
 way, followed into the pathless wild. 
 
 ■ They continued their journey for several hours^, no object meet- 
 ing their sight that might mark the stages of their way. No work 
 of man appeared, not even the faintest trace that ever man had 
 toiled through tliis wilderness ; yet Laura perceived that tlie In- 
 dians proceeded wltliout hesitation. The position of the grass, 
 the appearance of the leaves, g-ave indications sufficient to guide 
 them in their route. One of them carried abng of provisions ; .and 
 having reached a spot where the ground was firm and dry, he in- 
 vited Laura to sit down and take some refreshment. Faint wit!i 
 fatigue, Laiu'a thankfully acceded. Scarcely, however, had she 
 seated herself on the j,*. ass, ere her attention was drawn by a 
 slight, though unu&tial noise; and she was told tluit it was caused 
 by a rattlesnake. At this intelligence her maid screaming, started 
 up, and was going to dart forward into the wood. The Indians be- 
 held her terror with silent conte.mpt, wliile Laura calmly detained 
 her with gentle force. " St.iy, Mary," said she. " If you tread on 
 the animal you are gone ! If we are quiet, we may probably sec 
 and avoid it." The influence which Laura always acquired over 
 those with whom she lived, prevailed over Mary's dread; and in a. 
 few moments the serpent was seen by one of the Indians, who killed 
 it with a single blow. 
 
 Their hasty meal ended, the party pracr-< ded on their way ; but 
 Jthey had not g-one far ere Laura, worn out with toil and sorrow, 
 sunk upon the ground. She had nov/ no choice ; and the Indian, 
 lifting her with the same ease as he would have done an infant, 
 went on with more speed than before. 
 
 Towards the close of the day, the woods suddenly opened into 
 a small field, surrounded by them on evei-y sidt, which appeared 
 to liave been itself imperfectly redeemed from the same state of 
 waste luxuriance. In the centre stood a house, or rather calkin, 
 mdely constructed of the material which nature so lavishly sup- 
 plied. Around it a small patch, inclosed by apallisade, bore marks- 
 of forsaken cultivation. Beyond this inclosure, logs of prndig-ious 
 size lay scattered through the field, and the roots, which had not 
 been cleared from the groui>d, were again sliooting luxuriantly .-i~ 
 
177 
 
 With a faint sensation of g-ladness, Laura beheld traces of liuman- 
 kind. Yet no living" creature appeared. Here reig-iu-d pvinitnal 
 stillness. The winds had died away. A suUry calm filh^d the air. 
 The woods were motionless. The birds were silent." All was 
 fixed as in death, save where a dull stream stole under the tall canes 
 that deformed its margin. 
 
 Mary's exclamations of grief and surprise first informed Laura 
 that she had reached her home To Laura the drearine.«is of the 
 scene was of small concern. No outwai'd circumstances could add 
 to the horrors with which her fears were familiar While her at- 
 tendant bewailed aloud that ever thirst of gain had lured her from 
 4iappy England, Laura was inwardly striving to revive the hope 
 that sudden death might snatch her from the gi-asp of the oppres- 
 sor ; and renewing her oft repeated prayer — " Oh that i'hou 
 wouldst hide me in the grave !" But no selfish sorrow could make 
 her regardless of the woes of others. ** Courage, Mar}'.** said she, 
 with a foreboding smile, " vre shall soon be released; and both, I 
 hope, find shelter-in our Father's house. * 
 
 The cabin was divided into three apartments, each entering from 
 the other. To the innermost Laura was conducted ; and she saw 
 that it had been arranged for her. The window was secured with 
 iron. The furniture, unlike that of the other rooms, was new and 
 r!\t inelegant. Laura looked round to observe whethe.' any trace 
 of Hargrave's presence was visible. None appeared. She examined 
 every recess and corner of her new abode, as one who fears the 
 lurking assassin. She ascertained that Hargrave was not its in- 
 mate ; and thanked Heaven for the prospect of one night of peace. 
 It was in vain, however, that she tried to discover how long this 
 reprieve might last. The servants either could not, or would not 
 give her any information. She was too well acquainted with the 
 character of her oppressor to hope that he woidd long delay his 
 coming. " To-moi*row, perhaps'*— thought she ; and th/* cold shiver- 
 ing came over her, which now ever followed her anticipation of the 
 future. " Yet why do I despair ?" said she. "Is any time too short, 
 Jarc any means too feeble for the Power — for the Wisdom in which 
 I trust ? But since the hour of trial may be so near, let me not 
 waste the time which should prepare for it — prepare to cast off this 
 poor clog of earth, and rise beyond its sorrows and its stains," 
 
 Laura's bodily frame, however, could not long keep pace with 
 the efforts of her mind, for her health and strength were failing" 
 under the continued influence of grief and fear. The form, once 
 rounded in fair proportion, was wasted to a shadow. The once 
 graceful neck bent mournfully forward. The lilly arms hung down 
 in listless m.elancholy. The cheek, once of form inimitable, was 
 sunk and hollow now. The colour, once quick to tell the modest 
 thouglit, was fixed in the paleness of the dead. And death was 
 ever present to her thoughts — sole point to which her hope turned 
 steadily ',' 
 
 One only desire lingered upon earth. She wished that some 
 friend should pity her hard fate, and knOw that the victim had 
 
178 
 
 shrank from it, though in vain. Intending" to leave behind licr 
 some attestation of her innocence, she besoiiglit Mai*y to procure 
 for her the means of writing-. ** Why sliould you fear to trust me ?" 
 said she. •' To whom upon earth' can my complaint reach now ■ 
 You may see all I write, Mary ; and perhaps wlicn I am g^one you 
 will youi-self convey it to my friend. Your master will not prevent 
 you then ; for then he will have pity on me, and wish that he liad 
 not dcr.lt with me so hardly." The'irresistible sAveetness of Laura 
 liad won the heart of her attendant, and Mary promised that she 
 would endeavotir to g-ratify licr. S!ie said that the writing mate- 
 rials v/ere kept carefully locked up by Robert, the man-servant ; 
 that bis master's orders on that subject had been peremptory ; that 
 sJie was sure he would not venture to disobey while there remain, 
 ed a possibility of conveying' intellig-ence from the place of their 
 confinement; that two of tiie Indians were to depart on the follow- 
 ing day ; that after they were gone, no means of access to the ha- 
 bitable world remaining, Robert might possibly relax his strict- 
 ness, and permit Laura to amuse herself with writing. Mai7's 
 words awakened in Laura's mind an idea that all was not yet lost. 
 The Indians were suspected of favouring her. Tiiey might then 
 hear her appeal to human pity, to hiunan justice. If she could find 
 means to speak with them apart, she would plead so earriestly that 
 even sava.« es Vv^mld be moved to mercy ! At these thoughts a r.^.y 
 of hope once more kindled in her breast. It was the lasst. All day 
 she watclied for an opportunity to address one of the Indians. In 
 vaiii ! Robert guarded her with such relentless fidelity, that she 
 foimd it impossible to efPect her purpose. The Indians departed. 
 Miry performed her promise, and the unfortunate Laura wrote the 
 following letter, Vv'liich Avas afterwards, by Hargrave's permission, 
 conveyed to Mrs. Doug"las. 
 
 " From this dreary land of exile, to whom .shall I address my- 
 Keif save to y^'u, mine own friend, and my father's friend ? Where 
 tell my sad fate save to you, who first taught me the hope that looks 
 beyond it ? And let it comfort your kind heart to know, that while 
 you are shedding tears over tliis last memorial of your Laura, I 
 shall be rejoicing in tlie full consummation of that hope. 
 
 *' There is indeed another fiiend! One to wliom my last earthly 
 thoughts are due ! liut I cannot tell him, that she who was almost 
 the wife of his bosom is gone down to adlslionoured grave. I have 
 not time to sofivn ray sad talc to him, nor to study words of com- 
 fort; for tlie moments are precious with me nov.-. A few, a very 
 few, are all that remain for preparation. I must not rob theirx of 
 their awful right. Tell him my story as he is able to bear it. Tell 
 him my innocence, and he will lielieve it, for he knew my very soul. 
 But I must hasten, lest tlie destroyer come, ere, in these lines, I 
 close my connexion with" this world of trial." 
 
 [She then proceeded to give a simple naiTafivc of her wrono^s. 
 She expressed no bitterness against the author of them. She spoke 
 of him as of a misguided being, and pitied the anguish which he 
 W.1S preparing for hiiriseli.] " Tell Mr. De Courcy," she proceeded. 
 
in 
 
 '- tiiut I chai'g-e him, by all the love he bcnrs rr.c, to fort,M\c n,:- 
 enemy, even from tiie heart foi give hmi. Let him Uo more. Let 
 him pray lor him ; and if tliey meet, admonisli liiin. It may be that 
 his heart will soften when he remembers me.* 
 
 [The remainder of the letter was written at intervals. Laura 
 spent her time chiefly in acts of devotion, of self-examination, and 
 repentance. It was only when exhausted nature could no long^er 
 follow these exercises of the soul, that she returned to add another 
 line to her picture of wretchedness] 
 
 " Tlie saints who resisted unto blood striving- ag-ainst sin, 'vho 
 gave up their lives in defence of the truth, looked forward to the 
 hour of their departure rejoicing. IJut I must s:o to the grave laden 
 with shame and sorrow. My soul is weary of my life, and yet I 
 must fear to die. Yet let my enemy a little while delay his comiiig-, 
 and my death also will be joyful. Let liim stay only a few day.s, 
 and I shall be deaf to the voice of the oppressor. I am wasting- fast 
 away. If he haste not to catch tiiC shadow, it will be gone 
 
 " The people whom he has appointed to guard nis poor pi ^soncr, 
 no longer watch me as tluy tiuce did. It is useless. A few short 
 steps and my feeble iimbs bend to the earth, rcnrmding me v. iiitlaer 
 I am hastening. 
 
 " When 1 am gone, '»iary will carry you the ringlets which you 
 vere wont to twine round your fir.ger Send one of them to her 
 who should have been my sister ; but give not any to my owi. Mon- 
 tague, for he will pine over them wlien'he might be happy in sonie 
 new connexion. Yet tell him th;it I loved him to the end. I believe 
 he sometimes doubted of my lovt-; but tell him that I bore him a 
 firm aiiection. I'assion is unlit for the thhigs of this world. 
 
 *' 1 have a letter from my eneniy. In two days more. 
 
 " I have a knife concealed in my bosom. All night it is hidden 
 beneath my pillov,- ; and when my wear} eyes close for a m</ment, 
 I grasp it, and the chill touch rouses me v.gain. Mine own dear 
 friend, did you think when first you taught me to join my little 
 hands in prayer, that these hantis should be stained with mur- 
 der ? ' 
 
 " Is it a crime to die when 1 can rio longer live with innocence ? 
 "When there is no escape but in the gra\ e, is it forbidden to hide 
 me there ? My n^in<i grows feeble now. I cannot discern between 
 good and evil. 
 
 " Why is my soul bowed down to the dust, as if the fountain of 
 compassioji were sealed ? 1 will yet trust IJim who is tlie helper 
 of tliose who have no help in nian. It may be that he will meli the 
 heart of my enemy, and move him to let me die in peace. Or per- 
 haps even the sight of my persecutor may be permitted to burst 
 the rending heart — to scare the trembling spirit from its prison — 
 
 •• This day is my last, and it is closing now ! The silence of 
 midnight is ai'ound me. !i;v it again return a' deeper nigh.t shall 
 close for me, and tlie weary pilgrim shall sink to rest. It is time 
 that I loosen me from the earth ; I will not give my Issi lioirs trr 
 this land of shadows. Then fare vqu well, mine own dear friend ! 
 
180 
 
 You first pointed my wishes to that better world where I shall not 
 long wait your coming-. And fare thee well, mine own Montag-iie ! 
 'l\dcc comfort. I was not fit to linger here ; for 1 had desires that 
 cunh. could not satisfy ; and thiisting-s after a perfection which this 
 weak heart could not attain. Farewell — ^I will look back no more. 
 
 Jfargrave^s Letter to Laura. 
 
 " My dearest Laura — Tlic tantalizing- business which has so long* 
 thwarted my wishes will siill detain me for two days. Your g-en- 
 tle mind cannot imag-ine what this i}*z\iy cost me. V!y only recom- 
 pense is, that it affords me an opportunity of shewing- yoU some- 
 what of that consideration with which i could always wish to treat 
 you. 1 willingly forego the advantage of surprise for the sake of 
 allowing you to exercise that decision which you are so well quali- 
 fied to use discreetly. You know Laura how I have doated on you. 
 For near four long years you have been the desii'e of my soul ; and 
 now that my happy d-iring has placed me within reach of my ut- 
 most wishes. I W(»uld fain attain them without distress to you 
 
 This is no time for concealment; and you must pardon me if I am 
 explicit with you. I have known the disposition of Lady Pelham's 
 fortune from tlie hour when it was made. You know that with all 
 my faults I am not sordid; but circumstances have rendered mo- 
 ney necessary to me. Except in the event of Lord Lincoiu't's death, 
 1 cannot return to Pingland otherwise than as you)- husband. 1 will 
 own too, dearest Laura, that after all I have done, and all that I 
 may be compelled to do, I dare not trust for pardon to your pity 
 alone. I must interest your duty in my cause. Consider your 
 situation, then, my beloved, and spare me llic pain of distressing 
 you. I have watched you, implored you, pined for you — I have 
 borne your coldness, youl scorn. I have ven. Lured my life to ob- 
 tain you. Judge wliether I be of a temper to be baulked of my re- 
 ward. You must be mine, bewitching Laura. No cool, insulting, 
 plausible pretender can cheat me of you now. Trackless woods 
 <li\ide you from all human kind. I have provided, against the pos- 
 sibility of tracing your retreat It rests with you then to choose 
 whether yo\i will bies.s my love with a willing and honourable i-c- 
 wa.rd, or force me to extort the power of bestowing obligation.— 
 -Afy charming Laura, for now indeed I may call you mine, pardon, 
 iri consideration of its Sincerity, the abrupt language 1 am com- 
 pelled to l-.old. — One thitig more. In three weeks I must return 
 hither. The engagement of your British attemlants expires be lore 
 that time. I cannot for a moment allow myself to suppose \ hat 
 you vvill prefer a hopeless solitary exile to the reparation which I 
 shall even then be so anxious to make ; to the endearments of a 
 fond husband, of an impassioned lover ; to the envy and the iiomage 
 of an admirir.g world. Suiter me rather, dear lovely girl, lo exult 
 i'l the hope that you wiltre<reive, without reluctance, the man Iq 
 
181 
 
 whom fate assigns you, and that you will recal sonl«%hat of the 
 tenderness you once confessed for j'our own ever-devoted, 
 
 " ViLLIERS HarGRAVE." 
 
 Laura's Ansiva , 
 (Sent with tlie two foregoing to Mrs. I>oiiglas :) 
 
 ** I thought my spirit had been broken, crushed never more to 
 rise. Must the g-low of indignation ming-lc with the damps of death ? 
 Rut I will not upbraid you. The language of forgiveness best befits 
 me now. The measure of your injuries to me is almost full ; while 
 those which you have heaped upon yourself are yet more deep and 
 irreparable. * My blasted fame, my life cut off in its prime, even 
 the horrible dread that has overwhelmed me, are nothing to the 
 pangs of hopeless remorse, the unaccepted struggle for repentance. 
 Yet a little while, and this darkness siiall burst into light ineffable. 
 Yet a little while, and this sorrow shall be as the remembrance of 
 a troubled dream. But you — Oh Hargrave, have pity on yovirself. 
 
 " It was not to warn, it was to plead witli you, that I won on my 
 knees the consent of your messenger to bear my reply. I will strive 
 to hope ; for you were not always pitiless, i have seen you feel 
 for the sufferings of a stranger, and ha^-e you no mercy for me ? — 
 Alas ! in those pitying tears I saw you shed, began this long train 
 of evil ; for then began my base idolatry, and justly have you been 
 made the instrument of my punislnnent. 
 
 ** My mind wanders. 1 am weaker than a child. Oh Hargrave, 
 if you have human pity let the feeble spark expire in peace. Here, 
 where no Christian footstep shall hallow the turf that covers me, 
 nor song of Christian praise rise nea4- my grave, here let mc lay me 
 down and die — and I will bless } ou that I die in peace. I dare i^.ot 
 spend my parting breath in uttering unholy vows, nor die a volun- 
 tary partner in your crimes. Nor would I, had my life been pro- 
 longed, have joined to pollution this dust, which, perishable as it 
 is, must rise to immortality — which, vile as it is, more vile as it 
 soon may be, shall yet * put on incorruption.' Why then should 
 you come hither ? Will it please you to see this poor piece of clay, 
 for which you hare ventured your soul, faded to an object of hor- 
 ror ? — cast uncofiined into the earth, robbed of the decencies which 
 Christians pay even to the worst of sinners ? When you look upon 
 my stiffened corpse will you then triumph in the security of your 
 possession ? Will you again exult in hope when you turn from my 
 grave and say, * here lies the wretch w hom I have undone !' 
 
 " Come not I charge you, if you would escape the anguish of the 
 murderer. When did the evil of your deeds stop within your first 
 intention.? Do not amuse your conscience with tiic dream of repa- 
 ration. I am fallen indeed, ere you dare insult me with the thought ! 
 W^ill you wed the dead ? Or could I outlive your injiu'ies, think 
 you that I would sink so low as to repay them with myself r — re- 
 ward with VOWS of love a crime more black than murder .' Though 
 
■i^-^^KXi^i 
 
 mv name, already degraded through you, must no more claim al- 
 liance with the good and worthy, think you that I would bind 
 mvself be,fore heaven to a wretch 'who owed his very life to my 
 undeserved mercy ? Inlmma" '■ Your insults have roused tV.e fail- 
 ing spirit. Yet I must q«eil these last stirrings of nature. Instant, 
 full, and free must be my forgiveness.; for such is the forgiveness 
 which I shall soon require. 
 
 " Perhaps, as now you Seem to think me fit for any baseness, 
 you will suppose my forebodings a poor deceit to win you from 
 your purpose. See then if you can trace in these unsteady lines 
 the vigour of health. Ask him who bears them to you, how' looks 
 now the face which you call lovely ? Ask him if the haj\d which 
 gave this letter looks soft and graceful now ? I love to gaze upon 
 it. It bids me hope, for it is like no living thing. Inquire minutely. 
 Ask if there remains one charm to lure you on to farther guilt.— 
 And if death has already seized on all, if he has spared nothing to 
 desire, will you yet hurry him on his prey ? You have made life 
 a burden too heavy for the weary frame. AVill you make dentli 
 too dreadful to be endured ? Will you add to its horrors till na- 
 ture and religion shrink from it in agony ? 
 
 *' I cannot plead with you as I would. My strength fails. 'My 
 eyes are dim with weeping. Oh gi'ant that this farewell may be 
 the last — that we may meet no more till I welcome you with the 
 joy which angels feel over the simierthat repenteth." 
 
 The whole of the night preceding Hargrave's arrival, was passed 
 by Laura in acts of devotion. In her life, blameless as it had ap- 
 peared to others, she saw so much gi'ound for condemnation, that, 
 had her hopes rested upon her own merit, they would have vanish- 
 ed like the sunshine of a winter storm. Their support was more 
 mighty ; and they remained unshaken. The raptures of faith 
 beamed on her soul. By degrees they triumphed over every fear ; 
 and the first sound that awoke the morning, was her voice raised 
 in a trembling hymn of praise. 
 
 Her countenance elevated as in hope ; her eyes cast upwards ; 
 her hands clasped ; her lips half open in the unfinished adoration ; 
 her face brightened with a smile, tlie dawn of eternal day — she 
 was found by her attendant. Awe-struck, the woman paused, and 
 at a reverent distante gazed upon tlie seraph ; but her entrance 
 had called back the unwilling spirit from its flight ; and Laura, 
 once more a feeble child of eartii, faintly inquired whether her 
 enemy were at liand. Mfuy answered that her master was not ex- 
 pected to arrive before the evening ; and entreated that Laura 
 would try to recruit her spirit!^;, and accep* of some refreshment. 
 Laura made no opposition. She unconsciously swallowed what 
 ■was placed before hcv ; unwittingly suffered her attendant to lead 
 her abroad ; nor once heeded aught that w?s done to her, nor 
 aught that passed before her eyes, till lier exhausted limbs found 
 rest upon the trunk of a tree, which lay mouldering near UiQ spot 
 where its root Wfts sending forth a luxuriant thicket. 
 
TliG breath of morning blew dull on t1>€ wasted form of Laura, 
 wliile it somewhat revived her to strength and recollection. Her 
 attendant seeing her shiver in the breeze, compassionately wrap- 
 ped her more closely in her cloak, and ran to seek a warmer co- 
 verini^. "She feels for my bodily wants/* said Laura. "Will 
 she have no pltv for the suflTerings of the soul? Yet wiiat relief 
 can she afford ? What help is there for me in man ? Oh be Thou 
 iTiv help who art the guard of the defenceless 1 Thou who canst 
 shield in every danger— Thou who canst guide iii every diffi- 
 culty." 
 
 Her eye rested as it fell nffen a track as of recent footstep?;. 
 They had brushed away the dew, and the rank grass had not }et 
 risen from their pressure, The unwonted trace of man's presence 
 arrested her attention ; and her mind, e:vhausted by suHering, and 
 sharing the weakness of its frail abode, admitted the supersti- 
 tious thought that these marks afforded a providential indication 
 for her guidance. Transient animation kindling in her frame, she 
 followed the track as it wound round a thicket of poplar; then, 
 suddenly recollecting herself, she became conscious of the delu- 
 sion, and shed a tear over her menial decay. 
 
 Slie was about to return, when she perceived that she was near 
 the bank of the river. Its dark flood was stealing noiseless by, and 
 Laura, looking on it, breathed the oft repeated wish that she could 
 seek rest beneath its vavcs. Again she moved feebly forward. 
 She reached the brink of the stream, and stood unconsciously fol- 
 lowing its course with her eye ; when a light wind stirring the 
 canes that grew down to the water edge, she beheld close by her 
 an Indian canoe. With suddenness that mocks the speed of light, 
 hope flashed on the darkened soul ; and, stretching her arms in 
 wild ecstacy, " Help, help," cried Laura, and sprung towards 
 the boat. A feeble echo from the further shore alone returned 
 the cry. Again she called. No human voice replied. But deli- 
 rious transport lent vigour to her frame. She sprung into the 
 bark ; she pressed the slender oar ligainst the bank. The light 
 vessel yielded to her touch. It flotited. The stream bore it along. 
 The woods closed around her prison. "Thou hast delivered 
 me !" she cried ; and sunk senseless. 
 
 A meridian sun beat on her uncovered head ere Laura began to 
 revive. Recollection stole upon her like the remembrance of a 
 ieverish dream. As one who, waking from a fearfvd vision, still 
 trembles in his joy, she scarcely dared to hope that the dread hour 
 was past, till raising her eyes she saw the dai'k woods bend over 
 lier, and steal slov/ly away as the canoe glided on witli the tide. 
 The raptures of fallen man own their alliance with pain, by seek- 
 ing the sumo expression. Joy and gratitude, too big for utterance, 
 long poured themselves forth in tears. At length returning com- 
 S-osure permittiiig the language of ecstacy, it was breathetlin 
 ■ ;je accents of devotion j and tiie lone wild echoed to a song of 
 '.ieHverauco. 
 
184 
 
 The saintly strain arose unmixed with other sound. No breeze 
 moaned throug-h the impervious woods. No ripple broke the 
 stream. The dark shadows trembled for a moment in its bosom 
 as the little bark stole by, and then reposed ag^ain. No trace ap- 
 peared of human presence. The fox peeping from the brushwood, 
 the wild duck sailing- stately in the stream, saw the unwonted 
 strang-er without alarm, untaught as yet to flee from the des- 
 i:royer. 
 
 The day declined ; and Laura, with the joy of her escape, be- 
 gun to mingle a wish, that, ere the darkness closed around her, 
 she might find shelter near her fellow being-s. She was not igno- 
 rant of tlie dangers of her voyage. She knew that the navigation 
 of the rivep was interrupted by rapids. A cataract which broke 
 its course had been purposely described in her hearing. She ex- 
 amined her frail vessel and trembled ; for life was again become 
 precious, and feebl^ seemed her defence against tlie torrent. The 
 canoe, which could not have contained more tlian two persons, 
 was constructed of a slender frame of wood, covei*ed with the bark 
 of the birch. It yielded to the slightest motion, and caution was 
 necessary to poise in it even the light form ©f Laura, 
 
 Slowly it floated down thb lingering tide ; and, when a pine of 
 larger size or form more fantastic than his fellows enabled her to 
 measure her progress, she thought that through wilds less impas- 
 sable her own limbs v/ould have borne her more swiftly. In vain 
 behind eacli tangled point did her fancy picture the haunt of man. 
 Vainly amid the mists of eve did she trace the smoke of sheltered 
 cottages. In vain at every winding of the stream she sent forward 
 a longing eye in search of human dwelling. The narrow view 
 was bounded by tb.e dark wilderness, repeating ever the same pic- 
 ture of dreary repose. 
 
 The sun went down. The shadows of evening fell ; not such 
 as in her happy native land blend softly with the last radiance of 
 day ; but black and heav}', harshly contrasting with the light of a 
 naked sky reflected from the waters, where they spread beyond 
 the gloom of impending woods. Dark, and more dark the night 
 came on. Solemn even amid the peopled land, in tliis vast soli- 
 tude it became more awful. Ignorant how near the place of dan- 
 ger might be, fearing to pursue darkling her perilous way, Laura 
 tried to steer her light bark to the shore, intending to moor it, to 
 find in it a rude resting-place, and in the morning to pursue her 
 way. Laboriously she toiled, and at length reached the bank in 
 safety ; but in vain she tried to draw her little vessel to land. Its 
 weight resisted her strength. Dreading that it should slip from 
 her grasp and leave her without means of escape, she re-entered 
 it, and again glided on in her dismal voyage. She had found in 
 the canoe a little coarse bread made of Indian corn ; and this, with 
 the water of the river, formed her whole sustenance. Her frame 
 worn out with previous suffering, awe and fear at la^t yielded to 
 fatigue ; and tlie weary wanderer sunk to sleep. 
 
185 
 
 i: ;. ..o i..Lo ou il;u iiiOrnin^ oCa cli;iu"._. .w^., \..,zn .a low r.uL:- 
 jnunng- sound stealing on the silence awoke Laura from the rest of 
 innocence. She listened. The murmur seemed to sv/ellonher 
 ^ar. Slie looked up. The dark woods slill bent over her. But 
 they no long-cr touched the margin of tlie stream. They stretch- 
 ed tlieir giant arms from the summit of a precipice. Their image 
 was no more reflected unbroken. Tiie gray rocks which support- 
 ed them but half lent their colours to the rippling water. The 
 wild duck, no longer tempting the stream, flew screaming overits 
 bed. Each object hastened on with fearful rapidity, and the mur- 
 muring sound was now a deafening roar. 
 
 Fear supplyirg' super-human strength, Laura strove to turn the 
 course of her vessel. S!.e strained every nerve ; she used the force 
 of desperation. Half-hoping that the' strug-gle might save her, 
 i)alf- fearing to note her dreadful progress, she toiled on till the oar 
 was torn from her powerless grasp, and hurried along with the 
 I; de. 
 
 'i'iie fear of death alone had not the power to overwhelm the 
 soul of Laura. Somewhat might yet be done perhaps to avert hei' 
 f.ite, at lea.st to p/cpare for it. Feeble as was the chance of life j it 
 was not to be rejected. Fixing her cloak more firmly round her, 
 I^uura bound it to the slender frame of the canoe. Then commend- 
 ing herself to heaven with the fervour of a last prayer, she, in 
 dread stillness, awaited her doom. 
 
 With terrible speed the vessel hurried on. ItAvas whirled roimd 
 b}' the torrent — tossed fearfully — and hurrie^l on again. It shot 
 over a smoothness more dreadful than the eddying whirl. It rose 
 upon its^prow. La\u*a clung- to it in the convulsion oi" terror. A 
 moment she trembled on the giddy rerge. The next, all was 
 vlarkness ! V 
 
 CKAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 Wken Laura vv^astestored to recollection, she found herself in 
 u plain decent apa^ment. Several persons of her own sex were 
 Iiumanely busie^in attending her. Her mind retaining a <ronfus- 
 ed remembrixuce of the past, she Inquired where she v/as, and how 
 she had been brought tliither. An elderly woman, of a prepossess- 
 ing appearance, answered with almost maternal kindness, "that 
 she was among friends all anxious for her safety ; begged that she 
 would' try to sleep ; and promised to satisfy her curiosity when 
 she should be more able to converse.'* This benevolent person, 
 vhose name was Falkland, then administered a restorative to her 
 patient; and Laura, uttering almost incoliereat expressions of 
 L;raiitude, composed herself to rest. 
 
186 
 
 AwakeLing- refrcslied and collected, she found Mrs, Falkknc; 
 and one of her daughters still watching* by her bed-side. L&ui\ 
 ag-ain repeated her questions, and Mrs. Falkland fulfilled her pro- 
 mise, by relating" that her husband, v/ho was a farmer, having- been 
 employed with his two sons in a field which overlooked the river, 
 had observed the canoe approach the full : that seeing it too lata 
 ■ 6 prevent the accident, they had liurried down to the bed of the 
 :.lream below the cataract, in hopes of intercepting the boat at its 
 appearance : That being accustomed to float wood down the tor- 
 rent, they knew precisely the spot where their assistance was 
 :inost likely to prove eilectual : That the canoe, though covered 
 with foam for a moment, had instantly risen again, and that Mr, 
 Falkland and his sons had, not without danger, succeeded in 
 drawing- it to land." She then, in her turn, inq'iircd by what ac- 
 cident Laura had been exposed to such a perilovis adventure ; ex- 
 pressing- her wonder at the direction of her voyage, since Falkland 
 farm was the last inhabited spot in that district. Laura, ming- 
 ling her natural reserve with a desire to satisfy her kind hostess, 
 answered, that she had been torn from her friends by an inlmman 
 enemy, and that her perilous voyage v/as the lea.st effect of his 
 barbarity. *• Do you know," said Mrs. Falkland, somewhat mis- 
 taking- her meaning-, ** that to his cruelty you partly owe your 
 life ; for had he not bound you to the canoe, you must have sunk 
 while the boat floated on." Laura heard with a faint smile the ef- 
 fect of her self-possession ; but considering it as a call to pious 
 gratitude rather than a theme of self-applause, she forbore to offer 
 any claim to praise ; and suffered the subject to drop without fur- 
 ther explanation. 
 
 Having- remained for two days with this hosj)itable family, Lau- 
 ra expressed a wish to depart. She communicated to Mr. Falk- 
 land her desire of returning immediately to Europe ; and begged 
 that he would introduce her to some asylum wliere she might wait 
 the departure of a vessel for Britain. She expressed her willing- 
 ness to content herself with the poorest accommodation, confess- 
 ing that she had not the means of purchasing any of a higher class. 
 All the wealth, indeed, which she could command, consisted in a 
 few guineas which she had accidentally had about her when she 
 was taken from her home ; and a ring which Mrs. De Courcv had 
 given her at parting. Her hosts kindly urged her to remain with 
 them till they should ascertain that a vessel was immediately to 
 «ail, in which she might secure her passage ; assuring her that a 
 week scarcely ever elapsed without some departure for her native 
 country. Finding, however, that she was anxious to begone, Mr. 
 Falkland himself accompanied her to Quebec. They travelled by 
 land. The country at first bore the characters of a half-redeemed 
 wilderness. The road wound at times through dreary woods, at 
 others through fields where noxious variety of hue bespoke im- 
 perfect cultivation. At last it approached the great river ; and 
 Laura gazed with delight on the ever-changing, rich, and beautiful 
 J^cenes which were pr«5«nted to her view ; scenes which she had 
 
187 
 
 passed Uiiiiecded when {p-ief and fear veiicri every prospect i-.: 
 i^loom. One of the nuns in the Hotel lyicn was the sister of Mre 
 l-Vikland ; and to her care Mr. l-'alkland intended to commit his 
 charge. But before he had been an hour in tlio town, he received 
 information that a ship was weig-hing" anchor for the Clyde, and 
 Laura cag'er]y embraced the opportunity. Tlie captain being" in- 
 formed by Mr. Falkhand, that she could not advance the price of 
 lier passage, at first hesitated to receive her; but when, with the 
 irresistible candour and majesty that shone in all her looks and 
 words, she assured him of his reward ; when she spoke to him in 
 the accents of his native land, the Scotsman's heart melted ; and 
 having satisfied himself that she was a Highlander, he closed the 
 bargain, by swearing that he was sure he might trust her. With 
 tears in her eyes, Laura took leave of her benevolent host ; yet her 
 heart bounded with joy as she saw the vessel cleaving the tide, and 
 each object in the dreaded lar.d of exile swiftly retiring from her 
 view. In a few days that dreaded land disappeared. In a few 
 more the mountains of Cape Breton sunk behind tlie wave. The 
 brisk gales of autumn wafted the vessel cheerfully on her way ; 
 and often did Laura compute her progress. 
 
 In a clear frosty morning towards the end of September, she 
 heard once more the cry of land ! — now music to her ear. Now 
 with a beating breast she ran to gaze upon a ridge of mountains in- 
 denting the disk of the rising sun ; but the tears of rapture dim- 
 med her eyes, when every voice at once shouted ** Scotland !'* 
 
 All day Laura remained on deck, oft measuring, with the light 
 vsplinter,'the vessel's course through the deep. The winds favour- 
 ed not her impatience. Towards evening they died away, and 
 scarcely did the vessel steal along the liquid mirror. Another and 
 another morning came, and Laura's ear was blessed with the first 
 sounds of her native land. The tolling- of a bell was borne along 
 the water ; nov/ swelling loud, and now falling softly away. The 
 humble village church was seen on the shore ; and Laura could 
 distinguish the gay colouring of her country-women's Simday at- 
 tire — the scarlet plaid, transnriitted from generation to f^cneration, 
 pinned decently over the plain clean coif— the bright blue gown, 
 the trophy of more recent housewife^3^ To her every form in the 
 well-known garb seemed the form of a friend.' The blue moun- 
 tains in the distance — ^the scattered woods — the fields yellow with 
 the harvest — the river sparkling in the sun, seemed, to the wan- 
 derer returning from the land of strangers, fairer than the gardens 
 of Paradise. 
 
 Land of my aflTections ! — when " I forget thee, may my right 
 hand forget her cunning V* Blessed be thou among nations ! Long^ 
 may thy wanderers return to thee rejoicing, and their hearts 
 throb with honest pride when they own themselves thy chil- 
 dren \ 
 
 The vessel at last cast anchor, and all was cheerfid bustle ; 
 every one eager to hurry ashore. Some hastened to launch the 
 boat ; some ran below to geek out the little offeringe of love which 
 
188 
 
 liicy iiad Drought for their frieiuls. Never had Laura iieard souiiir 
 so animating- as the cry of *' all ready!" followed by tiie li^ht 
 shoi-t stroke of the oar tiiat sent her swiftly forward. Many a 
 wistful g^lance did the rowers turn. " There's mother on the pier- 
 liead !" cried one. " I see Annie and tlie bairns i" cried another : 
 and the oar was plied more swifjy. 'I'he}- landed. The shout of 
 joy, and the whisper of afftrciion were exchanged on every side. 
 Laura stood back from ihti tuniuk, breathing- a silent thanksgiv- 
 ing on behalf of herself and her companions. " Poor lassie I" said 
 the captain, approachip.g atr, *' is tliere naebody to v/elcome thee ? 
 Come ! I'm goiitg up to Glasgow ihe night to see my wife and the 
 owners ; and if ye like to gang wl' me, ye'll he sae far on your 
 way to }our friends." Loura thankfully accepted the proposal ; 
 and tiie fly-boat btii^g just about to sail up the river, she placed 
 in it tiie little packet of r>ecessaries which she had collecttid at 
 Quebec, and accompanied the good-natured sailor to his home. 
 
 She was kindly receivc-d by his wife and daughter, and furnish- 
 ed with the best accommodations they could command. The next 
 morning she gave the captahi a draft for the price of her passage ; 
 and producing her purse and .Mrs. De Courcy^s ring, oftered them 
 as further secui-ity ; saying, that as she was now in her own coun- 
 try, a few shillings would support her till she reached lier friends, 
 since she might travel to Pertlishire on foot. The sailor, however, 
 positively refused to accept of any thing more than the drafr, 
 swearing that if he were deceived in Laura, be v^oukl never trust 
 woman again. He then, at her desire, procured her a seat in 
 the stage-coach, and once more she proceeded on her journey. 
 
 At a small village, a few miles from Pertli, she desired to be set 
 down. A by-road led from the village to Mr. Douglas's parish. 
 The distance was said to be only seven miles ; and Laura, forget- 
 ting tlie latitude allowed to Scottish measurement, thought she 
 might easily reach the parsonage before night-fall. Leaving her 
 little parcel at the village, she hastened forward; — ^now pausing a 
 moment as some well-known peak or cliif met lier eye, now bound- 
 ing on wi- ;^ the light step of joy. She pictui*ed the welcome of af. 
 fection ; already she saw the mild countenance of lier early friend ; 
 already she felt the eiPvbrace of love. .^ 
 
 • Darkness surprised her v/hen she had yet mucli of her journey 
 to perform, and had shrouded every object ere she reached the 
 well-known gate, and saw across the nai-row lawn the lights stream- 
 ing from the window. She stopped — fear stealing on her joy. In 
 five months what changes miglit not have happt^ned ! Her friend, 
 her mother, might be ill, might be dead ? So m-.ist weak man miti- 
 g:ite with the prospect of evil, the transports which belong not to 
 his inheritance ! She again proceeded. She entered Ihe hall. The 
 parlmu- door was open. A group of cheerful fices appeared, ruddy 
 with youth and health ; but Laura's eye rested on one of more ma* 
 ture, more interesting- grace, — one shaded with untimely silver, 
 and lighted up with milder fires. She remained motionless, fear- 
 ing to surprise her friend by too suddenly appearing, till one of ibe 
 

 8#' 
 
 g-irls, observing" lier, exclaimed, in a transport of joy, " Laura ! 
 Mamma ! Laura !" Mrs. Doug-las sprung from her seat ; and the 
 welcome of affection, the embrace of love, were reality ! 
 
 The first burst of j^ladness was succeeded by the solicitous in- 
 quiry, by the interestint^ narrative ; and Laura beg"uiled her friend 
 of many tears by the story of her sad vo\ ag-o, her hopeless captivi- 
 ty, her perilous escape. Tears, too, of real bitterness rose to 
 her own eyes, at tlie thoug-lit that, althoug-h she h;id escaped from 
 the cruelty of her oppressor, yet its consequences must be lasting 
 as her life ; and that she was now pouring- her story perhaps into 
 the only ear that would be open to her protestations of innocence. 
 But she would not cloud the hour of joy by calling the attention 
 of her friend to the shade that rested on her prospects ; nor di- 
 minish her own gratitude for deliverance from more real misfor- 
 tune, by anticipating the scoi'ns of the world. She uttered not the 
 faintest foreboding of evil, b\it continued with serene cheerfulness 
 to * charm as she was wont to do,' till at a late hour the friendly 
 party separated for the night. 
 
 Weary as she was, T-.aura could not rest. She had a task to 
 perform too painful to be thought of with indifference. It was ne- 
 cessary to write to De Courcy ; and to damp all the pleasure which 
 a knowledge of her safety would convey, by retracting engage- 
 ments which had been made when her allianbcj inferred no disho- 
 nour. She well knew that De Courcy himself, convinced of her in- 
 nocence, would spurn tlie idea of forsaking her in misfortune, — of 
 giving, by his desertion, a sanction to calumny. And should she 
 take advantage of -his honour and his love to fix in his heart tlie 
 incurable anguish of following to the wife of his bosom the glance 
 of suspicion or of scorn ! The world's neglect was trivial in hev 
 estimation. Even its reproaches mi^t be endured by one who 
 could appeal from its sentence to a higher tribunal. But what 
 should ease the heart whose best affections were turned to poison 
 by domestic shame ; the heart jealous of the honour which it 
 could not defend, bleeding at the stab from which it dared not 
 recoil ? 
 
 Laura had already taken her resolution, and the next day saw it 
 effected. She wrote to De Courcy, detailing minutely every event 
 that had befallen her from the hour of their separation till her 
 landing in Britain. There her narrative closed. She told not in 
 what spot the wanderer had found rest. She did not even inti- 
 mate in what part of the island she had disembarked, lest it should 
 furnish a clue to her present retreat. Nor did she, by expressions 
 of tfenderness and regret, aggravate the pang which she was com- 
 pelled to inflict. In words like these she proceeded. ** And now, 
 my respected fricml, I imagine you pausing to offer a thanksgiv- 
 ing for yourself and me. Let it not damp your just gratitude that 
 somewhat of evil is permitted to mingle with this signal deliver- 
 ance. Let not my escape from a misfoitune the most dreadful be 
 forgotten, even though the world should refuse to believe in that 
 
 cape. For thus it must be. Known to have been in the power 
 
190 
 
 of that bad man, will tlie harsh-judf^ing" world believe me inno- 
 cent ? Will it be believed that he ventured to cast his very life up- 
 on my merC}-, by drag-.^ing- me unwillinj^ from my hom.e ? So long 
 the sport of his lingoverned passions, will it be believed that I have 
 not even seen liim ? 
 
 '* I know it will be difficult to convince you that an unjust sen- 
 tence can be pronounced ftgainst me. Certain yourself of the 
 truth of my story, you imng-ine that it will find easy credence with 
 others. B'lt even if ^ve coidd chanf*'c tiie r.atu''e of man, and 
 teach strangers to jud^je witii the candour of friendship,, who shall 
 furnish them with the materials for judging- ? Not he, who, in cor- 
 roborating' my tale, nmst publish his owji disgrace ! Not the weak 
 l.aura, who, by a const-tutional defect, shrinks even from the eye 
 where she cannot read distrust ! 
 
 " Consider all this, and you will at once perceive the reasons 
 which induce me to conceal myself from you for a time. Engage- 
 ments formed vmder circumstances now so materially changed I 
 cannot consider as binding. You, I fear, mav think otherv/ise, and 
 be hurried on by your generous nature to tempt a fate which that 
 very turn of mind would render insupporcable. My own part in 
 this fate I think I can bear. The share which would fall upon you, 
 I own Avould crush me to the dust. My spirits ai-e not yet what 
 they have been. I am weary of struggling with a pervQj-se heart, 
 ever leading me aside from duty. I will not lend it arms by ex- 
 posing myself to entreaties and argumei-ts to which I cannot yield 
 without betraying my best friend to anguish unpitied and hopeless; 
 anguish which v/ould bear with double pressure on my.s€lf. 
 
 " A stain is fallen on my good name, and • the glory has depart- 
 ed from me.' Be it so ! He who doth all things well, hath chosen 
 my lot, and His choice shall be n)ine. I trust l shall be enabled to 
 act as becomes one who is' degraded in the public eye I have 
 sometimes shrunk from the approbation of the world — that little 
 circle I mean which v.*eare apt to call the world. Xow I will hide 
 me from its censure; and shall find in the duties v.hich peculiarly 
 belong to the fallen — ^the duties of humility, of charity, and of de- 
 votion — enough to make life still no unplcasing pilgrimage. A 
 good name has l>een justly likened to a jewel — precious, not neces- 
 sary. But if you, my dear friend, covet fame for me, look for- 
 ward to the time when an assembled universe sliall behold my ac- 
 quittal, when a Judge, before whom the assenibled universe is us 
 nothing, shall proclaim me for his own." 
 
 This letter Laura accompanied with another, in v.'hich slie beg- 
 ged Mrs. De Courcy's assistance in rcconcilitig her son to the 
 change "in his prospects. Both vv-ere inclosed by Mr. Douglas to a 
 friend in London, who was dii*ectedto forward them by post; thus 
 avoiding any trace of the quaiter from wr.ence they came. 
 
 Her lotth'us'chosen, Laura began to make arrangements for en- 
 tering on a mode of life befitting her situation. Fearing that the 
 shaft of slander should glance aside i'i\y>n hersclftotjie friends wha 
 
101 
 
 still clunprto lier, she steadily ic /. : i Mrs. Doug-la./.. v.. ;ii, i. . . 
 tatioHH to make the parsonag-c her h(;:nc. Her fiither's little iurm 
 at Cilenalbert had been annexed to one of larger size. The cott;;t)^e 
 remained untenaiited, and thither Laura determined to retire, llcr 
 fortr.ne, however far from affluent, she. thoiirfht wrntid .suflicc to 
 support the humble establishment which s'le meant to rttaiu. One 
 servant was sufficient for her who had been accustomed to "inake 
 few claims on the assistance of others. To obviate ti)e impropriety 
 of livin,^ alone while yetextrenic youth made even nominal protec- 
 tion valuable, she invited an elderly widow lady, poorj but respect- 
 able, to preside in her household, la nccessnry preparatioi s for 
 her removal to Glenalbert, in affectionate assiduities to the friends 
 with whom she resided, in compensating to her own poor for her 
 long-, tliongh involuntary neg-lecl of iheit claim«, Laiu'a sought a 
 refuse from painful reflection ; and, if a sigh arose at the review of 
 her aliei-cd prospects, she called to mind lier deliverance, and re- 
 gret was exchang-ed for thankfulness. The vain mig^t have be- 
 wailed a seclusion thus unliruei\, thus perrr*anent; the worldly 
 noinded might have mourned tlie foneitiiro of •ai'thly prosperity; 
 any spirit, unsupport'.d by religion, nius; have sunk under unme- 
 rited disgrace, embittered by a keen sense of shame and constitu- 
 tional timidity. Laura was a chrisiian^ftd she could even at tintes 
 rejoice that the spirit of vaniy was nJ»iHcd, the temptations of 
 the world withdrawn ; even where thelSio^' was more })ainful, she 
 liumbly believed that it was ncces.'^ary, i.iv^ ": > J. i-.lly owned that 
 it w^as kind. 
 
 The arrangements for her new establishment were soon com- 
 pleted, and tlie time cuine when i^anra wils to begin her life of se- 
 clusion. Tlie day before her intev.ded : (^moval she completed her 
 twentieth year; arid Mrs. Dougl:;s wo^Ai have assembled a little 
 group of friends to celebrate the occsppn. but Laura steadily op- 
 posed it. " Let not one who is suspected, * said she, *' assume 
 the boldness of innocence! yet, since t!ie suspicion wrongs me, I 
 will not wear tr.e melancholy of guilt. Give the children a holiday 
 for my sake, and I shall be as playful and as silly as the voungcst 
 of them." The holiday was granted ; and Laura, amidst the jo3iul 
 noisy little company that soon assembled fOund her, forgot that 
 she was an outcast. " 
 
 She was busily searching ever}' corner for the hidden handker- 
 chief, the little rogue who had concealed it hi his shoe laugl. ng 
 the while and clappinpr his hands in delight, when she smarted at 
 tlie voice of a stranger in the lobby, who wa^ announcing' thai he 
 had a letter for Mrs. Douglas, which he could deliver to no person 
 but herself. The next moment the stranger was shown into the 
 room, and Laui a with amazement beheld her American attendant. 
 The amazement on his part ^'^J|||^ greater. He started, he trem- 
 bled, and at first shrunk frqaoflSfflKlTa . then eagerly advancing to- 
 wards her, ** Bier.s my soui. Madam!" he exclaiined, •* are you 
 alive? Then Mary's wpl'ds tu:e trae, and th$ angels watch over 
 vou.'* 
 
192 
 
 It was some time before the man's astonishment would permit, 
 him to declare his errand. At last when his curiosity had been 
 partial!} satisfied, he w:is prevailed upon to enter on his narrative. 
 " You may remember. Madam," said he, addressing himself to 
 Laura, " it was the morning we expected my master, (though I 
 told Mary, for a make-believe, that he would not come till even- 
 ing,) that morning Mary took you out and left you; for which I 
 w:is mortal angry with her, for my mind misgave me that some 
 mischief would come of it. So she ran down to the place where 
 she left you sitting, but you were not there. Then slie looked all 
 about, but she could see you no where. She was afraid to go 
 among the canes, for fear of the rattlesnakes, so she ran home and 
 told me. So 1 went with her, scolding her to be sure all the way. 
 Well, we sought and sought, till at last, half in the water and half 
 on the shore, we found your hat ; and then to be sure none of us 
 never doubted tliat you had drowned yourself; and Mary cried 
 and wrung her hands like a distracted creature, saying that my 
 master was a wicked wretch that liad broken your heart, and often 
 and often she wished that we could find you to give you cliristian 
 burial, for she said she was sure your ghost would never let her 
 rest in her bed. But we liad no drags, nor any thing to take you 
 up with out of the water. Well, we were just in the midst of all 
 our troubles when my master came. *' Well, llobert," says he, in 
 his hearty -way, " Where is my angel ?'' 1 had not the heart to say 
 a word; so with that Mai'y ran forward sobbing like a baby, and 
 says she, just offhand, "Miss Montreville is in a watery grave, 
 and I am sure. Sir, some heavy judgment will light on him that 
 drove her to it." So my master •stood for a moment thunder-struck 
 as it were, and theu he flew upon us both like a tiger, and shook 
 Hs till he scarce left breath in us, and swore that it was all a trick, 
 and that he would make us produce you or he would have our 
 lives. So I tried to pacify him the best I could ; but Mary answer- 
 ed him up, that it was all his own doing, and that he might seek 
 you in the river where he would find your corpse. This put my 
 master quite beside himself; and he catched her up, and flung her 
 from him, just as if she had been a kitten; and then he flew down 
 to the river side, and 1 followed him, and shewed him where we 
 had found your hat ; and explained to him how it was not our fault, 
 for we liad both been very civil and given you no disturbance at 
 all, which you know. Madam, was true. So, close to the place 
 where we found your hat we saw tlie print of your little shoe in the 
 bank ; and when my master saw it he grew quite distracted, cry- 
 ing out that he had ntiurdered you, and that he would revenge you 
 upon a wretch not fit to live, (meaning himself, Madam,) and so he 
 would have leaped mto the river ; but by this time one of the ser- 
 vants he brought with him came up, and we forced him back to 
 the house. Then he grew more quiet; and called for Mary, and 
 gave her his purse with all his money, and bid her tell every thing 
 about you, ?\Iadam ; how you had behaved, and M'hat you had said. 
 So she told him, crying all the while, for she repented from het 
 
iKftrt that ever she consented to have any hand in' the business. 
 And sometimes he would start away and gnash his teeth, and dash 
 his head against the wall ; and sometimes he would bid her go on, 
 that he might run distracted at once and forget all. So she told 
 him that }Ou had written to one Mrs. Douglas, in hopes that when 
 you were* dead he would take phy on yon, (repeating your very 
 words. Madam ) Then he asked to see the letter, and he carried 
 it into your room. And there we heard him groaning and speak- 
 ing to himself, and throwing himself against the walls ; and we 
 thought it best to let him come to himself a little and not disturb 
 him. So by and by he called for pen and ink, and I carried them 
 to him, thinking if he wanted to write it was a sign he was grow- 
 ing more calm Then he continued writing for some time, though 
 now and then we heard him restless as before. At last he opened 
 the door, and called me, " Robert," says he, quite calm and com- 
 posed like, " if you deliver this packet as directed, you will earn 
 three hundred pounds. But be sure to deliver it with your own 
 hand." I was going to ask something more about it, for I did not 
 just know what he meant about the 300/. ; but he pushed me out, 
 and shut himself into the room. Then I bethought myself that 
 there was something strange like in his look, and that he was pale, 
 and some how not like himself So I went to the kitchen to con- 
 sult with the rest what we had best do. So I had scarcely g*ot 
 there when I heard a pistol go off, and we all ran and burst open 
 the door, and there we saw my master, Madam, laid out upon ."Nliss 
 Montreville's bed, and the pistol still in his hand^ though he was 
 «one dead. Madam, for I suppose the ball had gone right through 
 his heart.'* 
 
 Laura, dreadfully shocked, and no longer able to listen to this 
 norrible relation, hastened out of t^ room, leaving Mm. Douglas 
 to hear wliat yet remained to be told of the history of a man of 
 pleasure ! ! ! The s<-rvant proceeded to tell that he and his com- 
 panioivs had conveyed their inaster's body to head-quarters, had 
 seen it buried with nvilitary honours, and"" then Lad sailed in the 
 first ship for Britain. That remembering the charge to deliver the 
 packet with his own hand, he had come down to Scotland on pur- 
 pose to execute bis trust ; and hoped that-Mrs. Douglas would ful- 
 fil his master's promise. He then delivered tlie packet, which Mi-s. 
 Douglas opening in his presence, found to contain a bill for 300/. 
 in favour of Robert Lewson, not payable without her signature ; 
 the two letters which Laura had written during her exile, and the 
 following lines, rendered almost illegible by the convulsive start- 
 ings of the hand which traced tliem. 
 
 " The angel whom I have murdered, was an angel still. * The 
 destroyer came,' but found her not. It was her hi«t wish that }ou 
 sliould know her innocence. None can attest it like me. She was 
 purer than heaven's own light. She loved you. There is another 
 •^o, w!»om she protests that she loved to the last— but it was me 
 *vncwhom she loved with passion. In the aiiguish of her sou'. 
 
 R 
 
194 
 
 bhe called It ' idolatry ;* and the words of agony are true. Butf, 
 like a base fool, cast away hep love for the heartless toyings of a 
 wanton ! And shall I, who might hstVe been so blest, live now to 
 bear the gnawings of this viper — this hell never to be escaped ? 
 
 " She has said that she must goto the grave laden with shame ; 
 that her name is degraded through me. Once more, then, I charge 
 you, proclaim her innocence. Let no envious tongue presume to 
 stain that name. Let it be accounted holy. I will save what she 
 loved better than life, though I have persecuted her — driven her 
 to death — forced her to hide in the cold waters all that was love- 
 liest in woman. She says that she will meet you in heaven-— and 
 it must be true, for falsehood was a stranger to her lips. Theiv 
 tell her that he who was her murderer, was her avenger too. It 
 is said that self-destruction is the last — worst crime. In others it 
 may be so. In me it is but justice ; for every law condemns the 
 murderer to die. He who destroyed that angel should die a thou> 
 sand deaths. Justice shall be speedy. 
 
 "VlLLIERS HaRGRAVE." 
 
 Mrs. Douglas had no sooner read the contents df her packet^ 
 than she hastened to communicate them to Laura. The horror 
 inspired by Hargrave's letter, and the dreadful destiny of the wri- 
 ter, did not render her insensible to the pleasure of being empow- 
 ered to clear, beyond a doubt, the fame of her young friend. Lau- 
 ra was, however, for the present, in no state to share her joy. She 
 could only weep ; and, trembling, pray that she might be enabled 
 to guard against the first beginn'mgs of that self-indulgence, whose 
 end is destruction ! 
 
 Mrs. Douglas at last fbund means to rouse her by naming Die 
 Courcy, and reminding hep of bis right to immediate information 
 of this happy change in her situation. Laura, as superior to co- 
 quetry as to any other species of despicable cruelty, instantly sat 
 down to communicate the news to her lover. To her plain unvar- 
 nished tale, she added copies of the letters which attested her in- 
 nocence, with Lewson's account of the names *nd address of 
 those persons who had been employed to carry her from Eng- 
 land. 
 
 Evening was drawing on before Laura bad finished her task ; 
 and, desirous to recruit her spirits before she joined the family 
 circle, she stole abroad to breathe the reviving air of her native 
 hills. She had crossed the little lawn, and was opening the gate, 
 when seeing a carriage drive quickly up, she drew back. The 
 carriage stopped. She heard an exclamation of joy, and the next 
 moment she was pressed to the heart of I)e Courcy. 
 
 Laura first recovered uttei'ance. ** What happy chance," she 
 cried, " has brought you here just at the moment when I am per- 
 niittedto rejoice that you are come?*' "Ah, Laura," said De 
 Catircy, " could I know that you were alive and in Britain, yet 
 make no efibrt to find you ? I was convinced that Airs. Douglas 
 must know your retreat. I was sure that I could plead so tJiat no 
 
^ 
 
 uow lIiaTefounil 
 
 human heart could fesist my entreaties, 
 thee, I will na^r leave thee but with life.' 
 
 Tlie little shrubbery walk which led round the liiwn to the par- 
 sonag-e was not half a quarter of a mile in length, yet it was an 
 hour before the lovers reached the house ; and before Laura pre- 
 sented De Courcy to her friend* she had promised that in one week 
 she would reward his tried aflection ; and had settled, that after 
 they, had spent a few days in delightful solitude at Glenalbert, she 
 would accompany him to Norwood. 
 
 Laura has now been for some years a wife ; and the same qual- 
 ities which made her youth respectable, endear her to the happy 
 partner of her maturer life. She Still finds daily exercise for her 
 characteristic virtue ; since even Amidst the purest worldly bliss, 
 self-denial is necessary. But the tranquil current of domestic 
 happiness affords no materials for narrative. The joys that spring; 
 from chastened affection, tempered desires^ useful employment^ 
 and devout mevlitation, must be felt — they cannot be described. 
 
 THE EKR 
 

 iTtjCy. 
 
1 ■ 
 
 ;.13.29 B911S P 23009