»miti^ y^y !i^ »ijp«»«w»v<». A «' «Q >lMr lHK^rV¥mM "m » 1 l f / K^ I 7^ WOMAN'S AMBITION, WOMAN'S AMBITION ^ %nh. M. L. LYONS a ti tr tl : SAMUEL TINSLEY, o, SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND. 1875. [Al/ Kii/hts reserveii.^ ^^/^ WOMAN^S AMBITION. CHAPTEE L DuxMEKE Abbey was a place that any man might have been proud of, more particularly if, like Mr. Longueville, it had been handed down to him through a long line of ancestors, whose name had descended to him unsullied by the slightest stain or blemish. The demesne, rich in natural beauty, had been, from generation to generation, improved according to the taste of each successive age. When this story commences it was in the possession of a lineal descendant of Sir Ralph de Longueville, to whom the lands had been granted by the first William. Mr. Longueville had, some seventeen years before, when a young and remarkably handsome man, mar- ried Lady Augusta Ventnor, the daughter of an earl, who could count three generations of nobility, which, being a novelty in a family who had nothing else to boast of, was consequently the more highly valued by them; and Lady Augusta fancied she had stepped from her rank by marrying one of the richest com- moners in the county ; a connection with whom would have been valued by the highest nobles in the land. 1 2 WOMAN S AMBITION. Lady Augusta was not without some good qualities, but they either sprang from, or were so hedged in by, pride, a^ to be of little account to her in her daily walk through life. She had been tauoht to think that people of the present day, whatever their rank might be, ought not to show any pride, although she had never been forbidden to foster that meanest of all feelings. Condescension was the form in which it most pleased her to show it, consequently she was overwhelmingly condescending when at Dunmere to her country neighbours, who had before her advent been accustomed to mix with the Longuevilles as with each other. Having condescended to marry Mr. Longueville, she condescended to be kind to him also ; but being of an overbearing temper, though politic, she frequently tried to gain, what most of the gentler sex have been accused of wishing for, power. Fortunately for both, her husband's high principles prevented his yielding to her when he believed himself to be in the right; while his chivalrous spirit, added to the true love he bore his wife, inclined him to give way to her without hesitation in trifles. It was not, there- fore, a very difficult task for her to guide him where those principles were not called into question : his fine manly disposition could not even suspect his wife of finesse ; as, with all the gallantry of his race, he be- lieved women were to be yielded to in all that did not militate against his motto, " L'honneur et Llton- netete ; " particularly, as he said, poor things, they had little enjoyment in life, not being able to mix in field sports, and were always running after a parcel of children. He had two fine boys of his own, whose heads he WOMAN S AMBITION. 3 patted whenever tliey came in his way, and took them out in the winter holidays to hunt ; and at the end of that time sent them back to Eton, well supplied with pocket-money. He had not much reason to pity Lady Augusta, for all the trouble her children gave her. She certainly was proud of them, had them well-dressed because they belonged to herself, but had never been seen to fondle them, or express the slightest affection for them. They were both remarkably handsome. Gerald, the elder, was like his mother. He had her haughty upper-lip, her finely-chiseled aquiline nose, and dark flashing eyes. He also inherited her dis- position so completely as to make it evident, should the interests of the mother and son ever come into collision, that the shock would be fearful ! The other boy, Monmouth, was the favourite of the tenantry. The old people shook their heads, and wished Mr. Monmouth had been the heir. Nor was this wish of theirs to be wondered at. His fine open intellectual brow, surrounded by thickly-curling nut- brown hair, his dark blue eyes, and sunny smile, bespoke him a Longueville, and his ready word of kindness endeared him to every heart. It was a fine summer's eveninof in Aucrust, — rather a dull season for sportsmen, when only rabbit-shooting is practicable, — and the keeper was beginning to insinuate that, for the sake of the other game, there should be rabbits enough left for the foxes ; an insinuation he always took care to make before it was at all neces- sary ; as he well knew that repeated efforts would be required before Mr. Longueville would be induced to lay down his gun, which was almost a part of himself, until the commencement of the huntinor season. 4 WOMAN S AMBITION. He was sitting in the drawing-room waiting for dinner, and looking over the " Sporting Calendar " ; Lady Augusta was reclining on a sofa, almost sunk in the cushions. She was anything but an indolent person, but she thought it dignified and graceful to ap- pear so. After a long silence she said, — " Mr. Longaeville, have you heard any more of those strange people you were speaking off ? " "What strange people, my dear ? From Asia, Africa or America ? " " I mean those people who were about taking Rose- neath." " Oh ! you mean Mrs. Egerton, do you not ? " " Yes, some such name as that; I think I never heard it befoi-e." He looked at his wife with as much of a dis- approving glance as his fine countenance ever assumed, and said, rather shortly, — " You might have heard the name often. They have been settled at Koseneath for the last fortnight." " Are they people I shall be obliged to visit ? " He threw down the book he had in his hand, rose and went to the window near which Lady Augusta was seated, before he replied, — " I hope, my love, that 3'ou will not only visit Mrs. Eorerton, but make her residence at Roseneath as agreeable as possible to her. She is the widow of an old friend of mine, Major Egerton." Lady Augusta's colour rose ; she fancied this speech savoured of dictation, and as she was always most tenacious of being first, she was determined not to yield to aught save entreaties. She answered, — " Oh ! I have no doubt a most respectable person, but officers often marry nobodies, picked up in their woman's ambition. 5 travels, and I should like to know who the widow of your friend is/' Wich a slightly-sarcastic expression, he said, — " You need not fear contamination ; she was a Per- cival, a niece of Lord Unsmere." " Oh ! that alters the case. But is it not rather a small place for a person of fortune to take ? " Lady Augusta was rather annoyed than otherwise, to find that her condescension could not be brought to bear on her new neighbours. "Poor thing," rejoined Mr. Longueville, ^'I am afraid she has but little fortune ; but she is not the less to be liked for that ; and I am sure, my love, you will not be the less kind to her because she cannot surround herself with all the gew-gaws of fashion." This was just the opening for Lady Augusta, so she said, — " Certainly not ; a nobleman's niece must always command respect." " I wish, my lov^e, you could forget such nonsense. A woman, and a lady, ought always to be treated as such." Dinner was opportunely announced at this moment, and with a flushed brow he offered his arm to Lady Auorusta to conduct her to the dinino^-room. He loved his wife, and her little- minded pride was the only fault he could ever allow himself to believe that she had — the only flaw in her disposition that ever roused hin^. to anger. Like all persons who are haughty witliout strength of character, she could be frightened, and in the present instance she was not sorry to avoid the necessity for continuing the conver- sation. AVOMAX'S AMBITION, CHAPTER 11. RoSENEATH was a very pretty, ornamental cottage, within the walls of Danmere Abbey. It had been built by a maiden aunt of Mr. LoDgueville, who had died a few years before, and who was still lamented by her humble neighbours, who had looked to her for advice and sympathy in all their sorrows and joys. It was generally believed that Mr. Longueville's affection for his aunt had been so great as to prevent his letting the cottage to any one ; but, like many general beliefs, it was soon shown to be a mistake. He only waited until he could meet with a worthy successor, and one who would not interfere with the game. The widow of his old friend was just the ])erson he would wish to see at home in his place ; for Roseneath was so completely a part of Dunmere that the park was quite as much a part of the one as of the other. And thus there were few families to whom Mr. Longueville would have chosen to let the cottage. Mi's. Egerton had furnished it plainty, but with such a degree of elegance as to testify that she had cultivated the taste, so useful in a woman, of having everything around her in keeping with herself — show- ing by all her belongings that she is a lady in feeling, as well as in name and social position. It was with a feeling of peace and satisfaction, if not of actual happiness, that she took possession of woman's ambition. her pretty home, with her two little girls, to whose education she had determined completely to devote herself. The elder was very like herself, fair and gentle, with golden hair and blue eyes, and was what any one might call a pretty child ; but she was often overlooked, from the extreme loveliness of her younger sister. Agnes was a brilliant beauty, and, child as she was, she valued it much beyond its real worth. She was very high-spirited, and it required all the gentle firm- ness of her mother to keep the necessary command over her ; but when out of Mrs. Eoferton's sigrht, she always took the lead with her gentle sister Grace, whose yielding, confiding, unselfish nature, inclined her to give way to the stronger will of Agnes, without an idea that she could do otherwise. The children were fond of each other. Agnes was. lively and good- tempered, and though she never gave up to Grace, she received more love from her than she gave in return. The morninor studies were over, and Mrs. Eorerton and her daughters were sitting at work together, as the day was too warm for the children to be out of doors, when Agnes started from her seat, and clap- ping her hands, exclaimed, — "Oh! mama, here is such a beautiful carriage coming up the approach ! " " I suppose," said her mother, looking at the child's face of delight, " it is Lady Augusta Longueville." " Oh ! mama," replied the child, " I wonder what she will think of me ! " " I hope," answered her mother, " if she notices you at all, she will think you a ladylike, quiet little girl." " But, mama, my dress," said she, glancing down- wards at her frock." 8 woman's ambition. " You are quite as well dressed as I wish you to be, and your frock is the same as Grace's." During this dialogue, Grace had risen, and removed the remains of some groundsel, with which Agnes had been feeding her canary, and just as she had finished jb%v silent preparations the maid — who, like everything that surrounded Mrs. Egerton, was the perfection of neatness — announced the visitor. Lady Augusta had not been five minutes in the room without discoverinor that, notwithstandingr what she called Mrs. Egerton^s poverty, her condescension would be of no avail there. Mrs. Egerton had such a quiet way of putting persons just in the place she wished them to keep, that Lady Augusta began equally to fear and to dislike her. The visit gave but little pleasure on either side ; for Mrs. Egerton was dis- appointed to find her new acquaintance so unlike the ideal she had formed of her from Major Egerton's description of her husband, and she instinctively felt that Lady Augusta was a person — much as she esteemed Mr. Longueville — of whom she could never hope to make a friend. It is almost always a safe way of judging a wife, to imagine her the very reverse of her husband, and vice versa. Had Mrs. Egerton so reasoned, she never would have taken Roseneath, and this book never would have been written. When the visitor was gone Mrs. Egerton was more silent than usual : she was not able to understand why she felt so very much disappointed ; but before she, could settle the matter to her satisfaction, Grace said, — " Mama, has that lady any children ? " " Yes, my love, she has two sons." Before Grace could reply, Agnes exclaimed, — WOMAN S AMBITION. 9 '' Oh ! how delightful ! I wish I had brothers, it is so stupid always playing with a girl." Mrs. Egerton smiled, and said, — '•' I am afraid you are a discontented little girl ; if you had two brothers, and no sister, you would find it much more stupid ; as your brothers, like the Longue- villes, would be at school nine months in the year." " Well, mama, I should have them the other three. But I believe it is better as it is ; for, you know, now I can have Grace always, and I suppose we shall have Lady Augusta's sons to play with when they come to the abbey, and they will do instead of brothers." '' I rather think not, my dear," rejoined her mother. " I should like yqyj much to have a brother, mama," said Grace, " but I should be very sorry to have that handsome lady for my mama.,' " And why not, Grace ? " asked Agnes. " I am sure I should be delis^hted to drive in that beautiful car- riage, and live in that great house, which Minnie says is the wonder of the world." " I am quite happy in this pretty cottage," said Grace. " I fancy there are no roses peeping in at the windows of that great stone house ; and even if there are, I am quite sure I would rather have my own dear mama than all the grandeur in the world." While the children were talkino^, Mrs. Eg^erton had turned to the window, scarcely knowing whether the heartless — or at least careless — speech of the one child, or the sweet s^entle affection of the other, had brousfht the tears to her eyes. She could not speak for a few moments ; and even when she had regained her self- command, she changed the subject by telling the chil- dren to get their hats for a walk, as she thought the breeze had risen. lo woman's ambition. While they were out, Mrs. Egerton came to the resolution of keeping her children quite away from the abbey, feeling that anything like an intimacy with its inmates would be injurious to both of them; but particularly to Agnes, whose rising vanity, with the apparent absence of any real depth of feeling, had begun to cause her both sorrow and anxiety. A few days after the above-mentioned call, Mr. Longueville entered Lady Augusta's boudoir, and found her reading a note. When she had finished it, she tossed it to him a^cross the table, sayings — *' I think this is quite intolerable ; your fiiend Mrs. Egerton, will not come to dinner without her children." " Well, then, ask the children ; they are pretty, well- behaved little girls, and I am fond of looking at any- thing pretty." He glanced at his wife and smiled. She took the compliment to- herself, but though she answered the smile, she was not pleased at the idea of having the children ; for she did not wi&h to establish any intimacy with Mrs. Egerton. Mr. Longueville read the note, and then said, — " My darling, you have made a mistake. Mrs. Egerton says she always remains at home with her children. I think she shows her sense, her girls are well worth taking care of ; but perhaps she may come if she can bring them with her." Lady Augusta thought so too, and while she was considering how best she could evade compliance with her husband's wishes, he left the room, not imaojininor that there could be a second opinion on the subject; so there was nothing left for it but to sit down and write the invitation, which she did with a very bad grace. A couple of hours after, she received Mrs. woman's ambition. II Egerton's answer, excusing herself on the plea that her children were too young to go into company. Lady Augusta was delighted, and Mr. Longueville was satisfied that the kindness had been offered. That day, however, she was doomed not to pass without meeting with a greater disappointment than Mrs, Egerton's acceptance of her reluctant invitation would have procured her. The old rector of the parish had died some time before ; and from the hour of his death she had made many unsuccessful attempts to induce Mr. Longueville to delegate to her the appointment of the new incum- bent ; but she had found that this was one of those matters in which he was determined to have his own way. At dinner he said, — " I think I have at last heard of a clergyman who will be a fit person to succeed good old Mr. Lyster." "I do hope, Mr. Longueville, he will be a more agreeable one. The last rector never thought of any- thing but his schools and his sermons." "And I hope the next will do the same !" answered Mr. Longueville. '' My old friend Lovett, of Baliol, speaks of him in the highest terms." "I think it would have been much better," said Lady Augusta, " to have kept the living in covirtien- davi for Monmouth." " My dear, I never would hold out such an induce- ment to a son of mine to enter the church, and even if he were to be ordained, I should never dream of committing to a mere boy the care of six thousand souls, at an age when he ought to be a curate, and learning what at any period of life must be a difii- cult and responsible task." 12 woman's ambition. " I think that is the greatest nonsense ; I would let every one take care of themselves," said Lady Augusta. " I am sure Mr. Lyster never did me any good." ''I only wish I had given more heed to the good old man when he was in health," answered Mr. LonfTueville. " I can never forg^et him when he was dying. He had but one anxiety, that was the choice of his successor; but I believe I made him perfectly happy by telling him that I would leave it entirely to Lovett. I would have been glad if you could have been with me at his death-bed. I never was so solemnized in my life." " Really, I cannot conceive how you can talk about such dreadful things, it makes me quite shiver ! " returned his wife. " My dear Augusta," said Mr. Longueville, " surely it is absolutely necessary to think of what must take place. I have been reflecting much on the subject since we have lost our poor old friend ; and I hope I shall make a better use of Mr. Percival's ministry." " Mr. Percival ! " exclaimed Lady Augusta, with a start ; " is he any relation of Mrs. Egerton's ? " " Ha ! I never thought of that," said he ; "I hope it may turn out to be so." Lady Augusta sank into no very pleasant silence, and in a few minutes rose and left the room. AVOMAX'S AMBITION. J 3 CHAPTER III. Time passed happily at Roseneath, though without variety. The children were too clever to cause Mrs. Egerton much trouble in their education. Agnes showed the most decided taste for music, which Mrs. Egerton was perfectly capable of cultivating. The children had never been taken to the abbey, much to Agnes's annoyance, as she declared to Grace, in private, that she would give anything to have a good play with Monmouth, and she thought it very hard her mama would not allow them to go there. As to Gerald, she was sure she should not like him, he looked so proud and so disagreeable. " It is very odd, Agnes, how you can see and know every one," said Grace. " Never you mind," repHed Agnes ; " I suppose you would not use your eyes, even if I told you how ; so I may spare myself the lecture your propriety would inflict upon me if I were to tell 3^ou when I contrive to look over my shoulder." Grace laughed and said, — " I think, Agnes, you must have eyes in the back of your head." Her propriety, as Agnes called it, was rather too young to take fright at any one looking over their shoulder, though, had Agnes added that she was doing so when they were in church, she would have been quite shocked. 14 AVOMAN S AMBITION. The cliildren were just springing into girlhood. Grace was fifteen, and her sister a year younger though in mind and appearance more like a girl of sixteen. Roseneath, though within the walls of the demesne, was not more than a mile from the village, which was close on the outside of the walls, and to which the family had access by a postern door, a key of which was given to Mrs. Egerton when she had taken the place. Lady Augusta asked her, in a most patronising manner, to visit the schools, as it might be an amuse- ment to her to do so. It was an amusement which Lady Augusta partook of rather sparingly, driving there once a year at the instigation of her husband, who would gladly have had her take an interest in all the good that was going on around her. Mrs. Egerton was not long in profiting by this very condescending permission, and she found it not only a source of interest, that Lady Augusta could not have understood, but also of usefulness to her own children, by enabling her to give them in a practical form that best of all teaching, letting them find that the truest pleasures arise from ministering to the happiness of others. After her relation, Mr. Perciv^al, had been presented to the living, she took part in everything that tended to the welfare and improvement of the poor on the estate, which comprised the whole parish. Greatly to the astonishment of Mr. Longueville, he found, on making Mr. Percival's acquaintance, that he was but five-and-twenty, consequently of only two years' standing in the church. He was, however, a young man of the highest order of intellect, devoted from choice to the ministry, and exceedingly hand- woman's ambition. 15 some, apparently unconscious of the fact. His figure was tall and commanding, his head nobly formed and well set on, his broad calm forehead sobered down the brilliancy of his eyes, which darkened almost to blackness when he was speaking on any subject that particularly interested him, and gave an intense power, almost irresistible, to all that he wished to impress on his hearers ; when we add to this an oval face, a nose not quite Grecian, and a mouth and chin beautifully moulded, expressing both firmness and refinement, we may say, with truth, that few could look on Alfred Percival with indifference. He soon acquired not only the love of his parishioners, but the respect and reverence of all with whom he came in contact ; the solitary exception being Lady Augusta Longueville, who, thouorh she retained the dislike she had from the first taken to him, was just sufficiently awed by his appearance and reserve of manner to be always punctiliously civil to him ; which civility he appre- ciated at its true value. To Mrs. Egerton he was almost like a son, and he was very soon quite at home at Roseneatli. Her health did not allow of her walk- ing so much as her daughters, and though he could not be expected to escort them, yet she was convinced that he was as watchfully careful of them as if he had been indeed their brother. Mrs. Egerton was not at all of a suspicious nature, but she knew that Agnes was fearless of any consequences, when there was amusement to be had; and that the heedlessness of her character would prevent her distinguishing, or perhaps caring to distinguish, right from wrong. The Longueville 's had grown into young men, and the slight acquaintance between the young people was not at all likely to be increased ; nor would it lb woman's ambitiox. have given Mrs. Egerton any uneasiness had it been otherwise. But since Gerald and Monmouth had gone to college, they had been in the habit of bring- ing home with them a set of young companions, whose characters might be much more questionable ; and she often regretted that Agnes w^as not like Grace, or that Grace had not more power and influence over Agnes. One day their mother told them that she had planned a nice long walk for them. She wished them to take some jelly to a poor girl who w^as ill. " You had better cross the park, my loves," said she; "that way will be much more beautiful, and safer, too, for you may be returning late." " Mama," replied Grace, " if we meet Mr. Percival may I ask him to return with us ; I have often heard of poachers in the woods, and I think I shall be afraid if the darkness should overtake us." " I never saw such a coward as you are, Grace ! " said Agnes. " Come and put on your hat before your courage altogether oozes out. I wonder you are not afraid of losing your way, or meeting the fairies, or some such pretty adventure ! " "I think you may venture, Grace," said her mother; " Agnes will take care of you." Grace hesitated; she had other fears than those which arose from poachers. Agnes was always long- ing for some adventure, and Grace had an undefined dread of something, she scarcely knew what, when far from home with her. However, as she could not give her fears a name, she was obliged to yield ; she was, however, determined, should she be fortunate enough to meet Mr. Percival, to ask him to walk home with them, as her mother had not forbidden her doing so. WOMAN S AMBITION. I 7 Agnes was almost wild with spirits. Grace's appre- hensions had reminded her of the possibility of meet- ing with something novel, and they had scarcely left the house before Agnes exclaimed, — "How I do hope we may meet the Longuevilles when we are returning, and you will see if I won't ask them to take care of us back to the cottasje. I mean to turn into a mouse for the occasion, and fancy every bush a cat." "Agnes, you are the oddest girl I ever saw !" "If you tell me the number of people you have seen, my dear, since we have been buried alive at Rose- neath, I may perhaps appreciate your compliment," she answered. " It has not been very great, I must confess," replied her sister ; " but you will allow I have seen oddities enough before we came here. What do you say to your darling schoolfellow, Mary Vere ? " " That I never should have been up to half the fun I am, if I had not known her. The worst thing she ever did was to run away with that horrid man. Catch me marrying any one who has not at least ten thousand a year ! " A merry peal of laughter from Grace rather discon- <;erted Agnes, and she stopped ; but as Grace's merri- ment continued, she became vexed, and exclaimed, — " I cannot think what you are laughing at ! " As soon as Grace could get the use of her voice, she said, — " I am laughing, Agnes, at the idea of a girl of fourteen talking quite seriously of being mamed; besides, I cannot see the absolute necessity of being married at all. I am sure I am too happy now to wish myself old enough to marry." 2 1 8 woman's ambition. " Mary Vere was not as old as I am when we were at school together, and I am sure she often talked of being married." " I often wondered, and I wonder still, Agnes, what you could see in that girl to like. I know those two yeai-s we were at school were to me most miserable." "Oh 1 I only cared for the fun," replied Agnes, in a careless tone of voice. " I hope," said Grace, after a short silence, " that we shall meet Mr. Percival. It would scarcely be pleasant to ask the Longuevilles to walk with us, they are always so distant, and they are just at an age when I should not know what to say to them." "I am sure I would rather have them than Mr. Percival and his stupidity," retorted Agnes. " Stupidity ! Agnes 1 " repeated Grace. " I thought 3^ou delighted in him. I am sure when he is talking so beautifully with mama you look as if you would not lose a word for the world." " All a mistake, my dear ; I don't heai' one word in ten ; I am only looking at his handsome face, and it is certainly worth looking at, I must confess. I never saw such eyes ; and you know I could not stare at him so if he were not talking, it would make him fancy I admired him." Another laugh from Grace, but a less merry one, greeted this sally; it soon stopped, however, and she said very gravely, — " I do wonder how you can talk such nonsense, Agnes ; such a person as Mr. Percival would never cast a second thought on any one staring at him, particu- larly a child." " I wish you would not always keep calling me a child. I am not half as much a child as yourself." WOMAN S AMBITION. 1 9 Grace walked on in silence, while Agnes, as if to prove to Grace's satisfaction that she was a mere child, ran races with the dogs. When they reached Fanny Leigh's cottage, finding the poor girl better, Grace read and talked to her until she feared being overtaken by the twilight. Every moment she hoped for Mr. Percival's entrance ; but at last they were obliged to leave without seeing him, to Agnes's great delight. "Now, Grace," said she, "take notice, I mean to scream at the very first bat I spy, and you may echo it if you like." " I do not think that would be the wisest thing we could do," replied Grace, " for it would only show we were afraid." "Well, my dear," returned Agnes, "that is the very thing I mean to be, you know. I told you I meant to turn into a mouse, if it should be convenient." " Oh, is that all ? " said Grace, who thought Agnes was in jest; "in that case you must not expect me to help you ; you know I never could act, even in a charade." They v/ent on talking and laughing till the shades of evening fell around them. There was not in reality any cause for fear. The moon had risen, and, although the west was still glowing with the rich golden light that the sun sometimes vouchsafes to leave behind him, she threw such a lovely radiance over the scenery, that Grace forgot all her fears, in her admiration of the lights and shadows cast through the trees, ever vary- inor with the eveninor breeze, the freshness of which added to her enjoyment. A whistle was heard in the distance, and Agnes caught Grace's arm, exclaiming, — 20 woman's ambition. " Listen, Grace ! there tliey are ! " "Oh ! " whispered Grace, clasping her hands, " what shall we do?" "You goose, it is only Monmouth Longueville whistling for his dog. Do you think I don't know it ? " They quickened their pace — Grace from fear, Agnes from the hope of meeting the young Longuevilles. They were descending a very steep path, when a dog rushed out of the underwood, and barked at their dogs. Agnes gave a loud scream, and then called for help as loudly as she could. Grace, who was really frightened, could not utter a sound. They heard hasty steps, and the next moment Monmouth Longueville sprang through the bushes on the pathway. He separated the dogs immediately, and then turned to the girls to apologise for his dog having caused them such an alarm. Agnes, who always took the head, said, — " If it had been daylight we should not have been frightened ; but we have been overtaken by the dark- ness, and every noise is terrific to us." Monmouth was a fine, manly young fellow, with much of his father's chivalrous spirit, and his first thought was to offer his escort ; w^hich offer of course Agnes accepted, with the careless grace of three-and- twenty rather than the girlish timidity of fourteen. When they reached the bottom of the pathway they found Gerald quietly waiting for his brother, who told him of his intention. Gerald's idea was that the young ladies ought not to have been out at that hour, and that it was a great bore ; but cold and haughty as he was, he was too much of a gentleman to show any dislike to the disagreeable task of accompanying' them which was forced on him by Moumouth. . Agnes did not derive much pleasure from her woman's ambition. 2 1 adventure, as she called it, for Gerald was imperturb- able ; she could make nothing of him, and often, in the course of the walk, she wished that she had not chosen him for her companion, when she beard the merry frank tones of Monmouth's voice, at some distance behind her, with Grace. When they parted at Rose- neath gate, where Grace assured them there was nothing more to fear, the young men pursued their way home. Monmouth said to his brother, — " Why did you not fly to the rescue, man, when you heard those pretty girls scream ? " " Because I gave a good guess who they were, and I had no intention of being taken in to escort them, when there was no real danger." " Danger or no danger," laughed Monmouth, " I had a very pleasant walk with that pretty golden- haired Grace." "' I certainly think you had the best of it. I must say I rather admired the quiet dignity with which she thanked and dismissed us at the gate. The other would have kept us dangling after them to the last moment." "Agnes has glorious eyes," said Monmouth ; " I wish you could have seen them as I did in the moonlight, when she was thanking me for offering to go home with them. They looked as if they had light in themselves — like two dark brilliant stars." " Yes," replied Gerald, " that is the great defect in Agnes Egerton's character, as well as in her beauty ; there is no repose, she is always at something ; just a girl in whom I do not believe." " You are a regular Turk, Gerald ! " said Monmouth, 'T cannot imagine what there is in such eyes to distrust." " And you, Monmouth, are a regular Longueville ; I think you have faith in all womankind, and in Ethel woman' s ambition, Gordon in particular. By the wsiy, if you exalt all the sex so very high, you will have no pedestal left to place her upon." " Oh ! Ethel Gordon ! " repeated Monmouth, '' as the old women say, she is too good to live. I never saw any one who gives me more the idea of what an angel might be. And as to the girl I may love wanting to be placed on a pedestal, I shall take her into my heart, to the exclusion of every one else, and I think that ■will be pedestal enough for her ; and it is more than you will do for any woman, my good fellow." " Ton my word, a modest young gentleman. I hope your idol will be content with her single worshipper." " She would be very little worth the worship if she were not," was Monmouth's reply to this. After a pause Gerald said, — " I wish my father would bring Ethel to live with us ; he is her jSrst guardian, and old Penrose would have no right to keep her if he did not allow him." "I believe my mother does not wish to be bored with her education," returned the other ; " and you know it is old Mrs. Penrose's /o7'^6. I heard my father say she should come home when she was eighteen." " Yes, just in time to leave the coast clear for you, Monmouth ; I shall be abroad then." Monmouth said gravely, — " It does not matter, Gerald ; she will be free when you return, so far as I am concerned." Gerald turned a quick glance at his brother, but the uncertain light prevented him from reading his counte- nance ; and there was such a melancholy cadence in his voice, that Gerald felt puzzled. After a few minutes of silence Monmouth changed the subject of conversation. AVOMAN S AMBITION. 2^ CHAPTER IV. Ethel Gordox, alluded to by the young Longuevilles in the preceding chapter, had inherited a large pro- perty, and had been left to the joint guardianship of Mr. Longueville and Mr. Penrose, with the express condition that she should remain with Mr. and Mrs. Penrose until she was eighteen. A stranger seeinor her for the first time, in an attitude of perfect repose, would pronounce her a remarkably graceful, aristocratic-looking girl, without anything peculiarly attractive in her face ; but the moment she spoke, or even appeared interested in the conversation around her, her whole countenance changed ; the ex- pression of her eyes and mouth became most lovely, and her fascinating smile disclosed a treasure of the most exquisite pearls. Nor was it possible again to lose the feeling of her loveliness. Her face and its expression were as indivisible as the swan and its shadow : once seen they could not be separated again ; nor, indeed, did she give her admirers much time to make the attempt ; for she w^as the personification of happiness, and her beautiful smile was continually shedding light and animation around her. Three years passed, bringing in their train no greater event than Gerald's coming of age, with its consequent festivities and speechifying, which Agnes declared to be the stupidest affair that was ever got up. 24 WOMAN S AMBITION. '' Did 3'ou think so ? " answered Grace, to whom the declaration was made. " I found it delightful to see so many people enjoying themselves. The scenery of the park never looked more lovely ; at night, too, it was like fairy work, between the moon and the coloured festoons of lamps; I w^as quite sorry to come away." " Yes, the coming aw^ay was the worst of it, just as the dancing commenced."' " You know, Agnes, mama does not like dancinor and Mr. Percival was orone some time before we left." "And I suppose that was the reason you were so ready to go." Grace blushed, and said, — " Agnes, you are always fancying people have some extraordinary reason for their actions. Is it not pos- sible to do a thing simply because it is right ? " " Since you ask me the question, I may say I think it just possible for you to do so, but that it is not possible for me; and I fancy the rest of the world, or at least the greater part of them, are in the same predicament." " How I wash you could be serious sometimes Agnes." " Well, then, I will be serious, and tell you that if the fete at Dunmore is a good specimen of the world's pleasures, I should be inclined to cut the whole con- cern, and settle down into a country clergyman's wife." " Agnes ! Agnes ! indeed you should not talk so ; I am sure you are not in earnest now." " Grace, Grace .' I am quite seiious ; but you need not blush so for me, for there are other clerg3aiien in the world besides Mr. Percival." Grace knew well that her sister was thinkingr of Mr. WOMAN S AMBITION. 25 Percival, and she was right ; for Agnes's love of a hand- some face, and of admiration, had led her not only to appear as if she were listening to Mr. Percival's con- versation, but really to listen to it ; while he, on his part, had become ardently attached to her. Blinded by her beauty, he had contrived to delude himself into the belief that she was possessed of all those elements of character which would eventually form a noble- minded woman; and judging of her tastes and dis- position through the medium of her mother's, from whom he rarely saw her separated, he f^icied she would become all which he would most desire in a wife. Without being an absolute hypocrite, Agnes had an unfortunate facility in adapting herself to any one whom she wished to please; a certain fear too — which, if he had not been so handsome, would have made her shun his society — prevented her from show- ing, when in his presence, the worst points in her disposition. Gerald had been abroad for some time, and Ethel Gordon had reached the age when, according to her father's will, she w^as to become an inmate of the Abbey. Lady Augusta was growing anxious for Gerald's return, as she had no doubt of his success in obtaining the hand and fortune of his father's ward. Some mothers would have preferred seeing lier married to their second son, if, as in Monmouth's case, that son might be considered quite unprovided for ; but Lady Augusta thought more of herself, for she was aware that, in the event of Gerald's marrying a woman without money, the least Mr. Longueville would settle on him would be five thousand a year, which, out of a rental of twenty thousand, would make 26 woman's ambitiox. a great difference in their annual expenditure ; for Mr. Longueville lived up to, though never beyond, his income. Such being the state of affairs, her principal aim was the union of Gerald and Ethel Gordon. She never hinted it to Mr. Longueville, for she knew he would only laugh at her, and tell her to leave the boys — as he still continued to call them — to themselves, and she might be sure two such hand- some fellows would pick up nice wives some time or another. In due time Ethel arrived, with her maid, phaeton, and cream-coloured ponies. She had need of her joyous nature, for, early left an orphan, she had been brought up by the wife of her guardian with the greatest strictness. This lady was, fortunately for Ethel — as the latter was doomed to leave her at the ao'e of eicrhteen — a cold unlovable person, but of strict principles, and she had been most anxious to do her duty by her husband's ward ; but not having children of her own, she perhaps overdid it. The fault, as it happened, was on the right side ; for Ethel, with her happy disposition, might easily have been spoiled. As it was, she had grown into womanhood as purel}' unselfish as any human creature could be ; and though it was not to be expected that she should feel much sorrow in parting from Mrs. Penrose, she had a great respect for her, and was most grateful to her for not sending her to school, which she had heard was the fate of most wards. She was fond of old Mr. Penrose, but she was much fonder of Mr. Lono^ueville ; so, on the whole, the chancre was CD ' ' ' O (juite to her taste, and she came ready to be pleased with everything and everybody. WOMAN S AMBITIOX. 27 The week after her arrival, she said to Lady Augusta, — '■' Who were those very interesting-looking girls who sat on the other side of the church ? There were three of them ; thouorh one I should take to be a much older sister, or she might even be the mother of the young ones." " I fancy you mean the Egertons, my dear. If you like I will take you to see them, or perhaps you would prefer waiting until they have been to call on you." " Oh, not at all," replied Ethel ; " they are just the sort of people I should like to know, so the sooner we become acquainted the better." Lady Augusta smiled. Before Ethel's arrival at the Abbey, she had determined to make it as agree- able to her as possible ; and, judging from herself, she . conceived that the best way would be to allow her her own way on all occasions, and yield to all her whims, one of which she supposed this fancy for the Egertons to be. Now in the blandest manner, she said, — " Suppose you drive me over in your pony carriage. That will be unceremonious enough for you, will it not ? " "Oh, yes, that will be just the thing;" and Ethel rang for the phaeton. They were all at home at Roseneath, and it was certainly the most agreeable visit Lady Augusta had ever paid there. Nothing could freeze where Ethel was. She was delighted with the place, with Grace, with Agnes, but, above all, with Mrs, Egerton. Her description of her afterwards to Monmouth was, that she did not think that any living creature could be in a passion in her presence. " ^Yhat a pity you do not indulge in passions," said 28 woman's ambition. he ; " we might send you to E-oseneath to be cured. By the way, I think you must be right ; Mrs. Egerton certainly has some talisman of the kind, for Agnes looks much quieter now than she used to do. I remember Gerald had such a dislike to her: he said she always overpowered him." " I never mind a word Gerald says," she answered. " I always tell him he says those things for effect ; and I know he does." " I must defend poor Gerald," pleaded Monmouth, " I do not think Agnes Egerton is a person to be ]iked. I am sure you will not like her/' and, with some hesitation, he added, " I feel almost inclined to hope you will not." " Then you are inclined to hope a very uncharitable thing, and a very unreasonable one also, for she seems to me a most beautiful, animated, sweet-looking girl ; and I expect that she and her sister Grace will be my greatest friends." "Who was at Roseneath when you were there to- day ? " asked Monmouth, " Only Mrs. Egerton and her two daughters." " So I thought," he answered. " When you have seen her in company with gentlemen you will change your opinion of Miss Agnes Egerton." " Now, Moumouth, that is what I call very unjust. I daresay all the gentlemen of her acquaintance, yourself amongst the rest, are laying yourselves at her feet, and then you find fault — don't you ? — when she looks pleased at your homage." " She certainly is greatly admired, but I am not one of her adorers." " Well, then, suppose I try the effect of your pre- sence on her the next time I go there." WOMAN S AMBITION. 29 "I shall only be too happy to try it under your protection," said Monmouth, laughing. "I hope you will give me a seat in your phaeton." " Not at all ; I have no fancy for breaking the poor little ponies' backs. It is a very nice walk." " But will my mother approve of your taking such a long walk ? " inquired Monmouth. '■ Don't you put mischief into your mother's head," laughed Ethel. ''Lady Augusta and I have made a tacit agreement to let each other alone ; 1 can see it quite plainly, and I mean to profit by it." Ethel, though she said this playfully, was quite serious in the intention she expressed ; and wlienevei: it suited her to be independent of Lady Augusta, she never hesitated in being so. One use she made of her liberty was, to establish an intimacy at Roseneath ; and, notwithstandincr Monmouth's warnino^, she was quite as ready to form a friendship with Agnes as with Grace. She allowed that Grace was more lov- able, but she always defended Agnes, for she said that everyone, with the exception of Mr. Percival, was un- just to her. Agnes returned Ethel's good will by the most unwearied efforts to please her. A proceeding on her part that caused Monmouth's lip to curl with a disdain that was foreign to his nature. It is only fair to add that Monmouth always saw Agnes under disadvantageous circumstances, and that he was decidedly prejudiced against her. 30 woman's ambition. CHAPTER V. " Agnes," said Grace, " I wish you would come to the school with me." " What a bore you do make of that school," replied Agnes ; " I think it is a great pity you do not become mistress of it altogether." " When all trades fail, as Minnie says," answered Grace, laughing, " so I may ; but that will not help me at present, for I want to save myself a longer walk, by taking Mary Brown the frock for her little sister." " I wish you would ask mama to go with you ; I am so anxious to get on with this drawing. Mr. Per- cival says it is only because I am so idle that I do not draw as well as you do." " You draw very well, Agnes, and you sing a thousand times better than I do. ' " Yes, but " Whatever the " but " might have been, Agnes did not find it so easy to tell ; and the two sisters blushed as deeply as if they each had a secret to conceal from the other. Grace did not wait to elicit the meaning of the " but " from Aornes. She went to her mother, as Agnes had suggested, and asked her to accompany her to the school. The first person Grace saw on their way thither was Mr. Percival, though they did not meet him, and WOMAN S AMBITION. 3 I she was uncertain whether Mrs. Egerton had recoQr- nized him or not. Without being quite aware of it, Grace was unwilling to speak of him, particularly as she guessed that he would call at Roseneath and spend sometime in superintending Agnes's drawing. Mr. Percival was quite an artist, and for four years had, at intervals, given both the girls instruction in drawing and painting. He had done so when they were children, from regard for Mrs. Egerton, and afterwards he had continued the lessons from the interest he felt in the sisters themselves, particularly in Agnes. He had succeeded in making Grace as good an artist as himself; but Agnes had not so great a taste for the art, and had, moreover, been very idle in her childish days, having given him trouble enough — sometimes on purpose — to weary the patience of any one less deeply interested in her than he was. Agues grew into a woman at an age when most girls have scarcely emerged from childhood. At fifteen she was, in appearance and mind, at least three years older than Grace, who was peculiarly youthful in manner. It was a dangerous position for Mr. Percival to be placed in, and the consequences were just what might be expected. Agnes's beauty and powers of fascina- tion gained over him an irresistible influence, which had advanced so gradually, that it had never occurred to him to check it. As he entered the room, Agnes exclaimed, — " Oh, Mr. Percival ! I am so glad you have come. I am in such a state about my drawing. My unfortu- nate lake looks as if it were hanging in the clouds, ready to fall in a deluge on my foreground." He smiled as he sat down beside her, that fascina- 32 woman's ambition. ting smile, so rarely seen by any one but herself, and which was quite lost on her at that moment, as she was contemplating her performance with a would- be melancholy air. " Your lake is certainly rather cloudy," said he ; *' but if you will give me your sponge, I will throw a little more light on the subject." " Who could believe that a sponge could be turned into a fairy wand, and create such beauty out of the daub it was a few minutes ago ! " cried Agnes. " I believe it is all courage, and the next time I will use it in grand style." " I do not think you want courage in most things, Agnes," he answered ; " but the use of the sponge is not quite correct at any time, only in some cases necessity has no law. I would advise your being a little less munificent in laying on your colours at first." " That is all very fine, but I can assure you it is much easier to give good advice than to take it." " I am quite aware of that," he replied, again smil- ing ; " and I have some advice to give which I hope you will not consider too difficult to act upon." " Only you don't look in a very sermonizing mood, or I should be afraid of a lecture." " I am half afraid 3^ou will call it one. Are you not seventeen ? " She raised her eyes to his in a sort of mock terror, which was, in truth, much more real than she would have wished him to imagine, and exclaimed, — " It is very cruel to remind me of my misfoiiunes ; I really was seventeen last week." He looked grave, and said, — " I think it is anything but a misfortune. You half WOMAN S AMBITION. 23 promised me that at that age you would take a class in our Sunday-school. Will you do so now ? " He bent down and gazed at her most earnestly as he waited for her answer. There was evidently more in his mind than the wish to obtain another teacher in his school. She blushed very deeply, and after a moment's consideration, she raised her large dark eyes to his, with an unusually soft expression, and said, — " Mr. Percival, I am not good enough to teach, I want to be taught myself." The subdued expression, so foreign to Agnes's general character, quite took Mr. Percival by surprise ; and he contemplated her with a total forgetfulness of the sub- ject which a few minutes before had occupied his whole mind. It was only again recalled, by seeing Agnes's eyes fall before his look of very evident admiration. Absorbing as his love for her was, he had very seldom allowed any decided token of it to appear; not desiring to create — or at least to awaken — in her, while yet so young, the feeling of love. This was the argument he had used to himself How much it was unconsciously mixed with the fear of frighten- ing her into a mental rejection of a man so much older and graver than herself, before he had gradually won her regard, I leave those to determine who may have o^one throuo^h the same loorical deductions on their own parts. Now, with a strong exertion of will, he brought his reason to bear on the matter, and he said, though to Agnes's ear not quite in his usual tone of voice, — " I am afraid you are encouraging a false humility ; with such a mother as you have, you could not fail, not only to have been taught, but to be better able to teach than most girls of your age. Your sister is one of the best teachers I ever met with." 3 34 WOMAN S AMBITION. " Oh ! but Grace was born good, and I was not." In spite of the grave nature of the subject, he could not forbear a smile at the pretty pettishness with which she said this ; but it was instantly checked by the recollection that if she could really believe in any one being born good she would indeed be an unfit teacher, and he said, — " Now do tell me seriously, do you not think you could teach a few little children the way to heaven ? " Agnes was just on the point of saying that she did not think she could lead any one on a road which she was not herself upon, when she stopped suddenly and blushed. He saw the blush and the hesitation, and again forgetting himself, he continued, — " Will you try, Agnes, for my sake ? " He hung on her reply with the most intense interest, although his conscience rebuked him the next moment for holding out such a motive for right action to her, over whom he ought so sedulously to have watched. Her answer came at last, and in the softest tone of voice she said, — " I wiU try." A deep sigh escaped from both at the same moment, although arising from very different sources. Agnes from the feeling that she could not breathe without it, and Mr. Percival from a heart-felt pang of self- reproach. He rose restlessly from his chair, and walked to the window. He was lighting a hard battle with himself; but he was not a man to be easily overcome. A long pause ensued, but it was unheeded by both. Agnes was sitting where he had left her, with her hands clasped on her lap, her head drooping, whilst in thought she recalled the last half hour, drinking into her very heart the looks and tones which, WOMAN S AMBITION. 35 "Like snow on the sea, Melt in the heart as instantly." The battle over himself was gained; and, with a pale and almost stern expression of countenance, he returned to the table and stood opposite to Agnes. She was leaning back in her chair, her eyes cast down, but with an irresistible desire to see that look once more, on which she was dwellinor in thoucrht, she raised them, and encountered one so very different that she sprang from her seat in terror, exclaiming, — " What is the matter with you ? What has happened ? " Instead of answering her questions, he said, in a cold, hard tone, as if he distrusted himself, — " I am afraid you will be annoyed, Agnes, when I tell you that I was wrong in asking you to become a teacher in the school for my sake. It was a wrong motive to place before you, and I cannot allow you to act upon it; though I feel your kindness in having yielded to my request." His voice had become quite husky when he had concluded; but Agnes was too angry to remark it. She said, with a heightened colour, — " It is not of the least consequence. I am not fit, as I said before, and I do not wish to have anything to do with it, or to please you either," she continued, with a glance of childish anger at him. *' Agnes, you will do me justice when you think over it. But I must go now, or " He stopped suddenly, and took her hand to wish her good-bye ; but she snatched it from him, and shrugged her shoulders like a naughty child. He rushed from the room, actually fearful lest the delay of another s'^^cond micrht have betraved him. 36 woman's ambitiox. Agnes stood in the attitude in which he had left her, until she heard the hall-door shut, when she threw herself into the chair from which she had risen, and, burying her face in the cushions, sobbed convul- sively, without remembering that he v/ould have to pass the window. He passed and saw her ; and the wish to return — implore her forgiveness and sooth her into calmness — became almost uncontrolable. The idea of that lovely, sunny countenance bathed in those tears, brought forth by his cold sternness — even though that stern- ness was the result of a hard- won battle over his own heart — was almost too much for human endurance. The struggle was fierce, though again the right con- quered, leaving him dreadfully exhausted by the violence of his feelings — all the more violent now, from his habitual self-command and external calmness. When he reached the Eectory, around which there hung a still, mellowed, silent beauty, as if nothing passionate could enter there, he felt as if all of earth that he had loved had slipped from his grasp. The very stillness of all around irritated him, and, much to the surprise of his old nurse, who acted in the capacity of his housekeeper, he rushed past her on the stairs and clapped the door of his room with such vehemence as to make the old dame wonder what had come to Mr. Alfred to put him in such a pet. He knew nothing of the sensation he had created, for he had not even seen any one as he darted up the stairs. His mental vision rested on the shattered remains of his airy castle, on whose erection he had spent the day-dreams of the last two years, annihilated by his own hand. As he reviewed his words and actions during his intercourse with Agnes, he per- WOMAN S AMBITION. 37 ceived that he had brought on the evil he so much dreaded, by allowing her to see his love, and at the same time showin-^ her the strenorth of his will in resisting its power, Avhen it came between him and his duty. The consequences were, as he conceived, that she would for the future regard him as a stern Mentor, at the best but to be propitiated. Far different was the effect in reality, on Agnes, Mr. Percival was just the man to draw out all that was loving in her nature. She had ever admired him^ and the idea that she possessed the power of exciting him so deeply was very flattering to hsr vanity ; moreover, she began to fear lest his will should be strong enough to break his chains, in the event of her pro\dng unworthy of his love. Agnes scarcely reasoned on all this, but she felt it, and she longed-, with an intensity that was absolutely painful, to see Mr. Percival again, and, if possible, to remove the im^ pression which she believed her last passionate words must have left on his mind. But day after day passed, and he came not. Even on Sunday, by a powerful effort, he forgot his own misery, and gave himself up, heart and soul, to his cono^recration. Agnes thought he had never in her remembrance looked so handsome ; but he did not look at her, and she left the church with the conviction that all pros- pect of regaining her ascendancy over him had fled. For the first few daj^s, while hope and fear alternated in her mind, her excited manner had aroused Grace's curiosity ; but there was no opening for anything like an explanation, as she never mentioned Mr. Percival's name ; but when lier bright colour showed signs of fading, and her buoyant step of becoming languid, her 38 woman's ambition. sister was really alarmed, and not liking to frighten her motlier needlessly, she took Ethel Gordon into her confidence. They were very great friends, and Grace had the most perfect reliance on Ethel's judgment. In the present instance her advice was, that Grace should ask Mrs. Egerton to take Agnes to the seaside for change of air, and amusement ; " but," continued Ethel, " if your mama cannot do that, I will stir up Lady Augusta to put some life into the old Abbey. We are just like a set of old monks and nuns there, indeed, I think we are worse, for they had some merry doings at odd times." " Merry doings," answered Grace, " never have the effect of making me merry ; I am a gi'eat deal happier driving or walking with you and Agnes ; but I know she is not like me in that respect." " Neither Agnes nor I are as good as you are, Grace, and I am sure a little variety is just what she requires." Grace laughed at the idea of her own goodness; but she agreed with Ethel that, if Agnes were not quite well, change might be of. use to her, " Did I tell you that Gerald was expected home this week ? " asked Ethel ; '" that will help me to carry my point with Lady Augusta, in case we are driven to extremities." " Dear Ethel," said Grace, blushing, " would it not be better to tell Lady Augusta what you wish plainly ? I am sure she will do anything you desire." " My dear piece of sincerity, that is just what I always do ; but you are a darling for telling me. I would not give anything for a friend who would not scold me when I am wrong. Thiat is the only thing that ever makes me angry with Agnes. No matter what I say, she always agrees with me." WOMAN S AMBITION. 39 " Yes," said Grace, the happy smile with which she had been listening to Ethel giving place to a serious expression, " Agnes is easily led by any one she likes." '' But, Grace, I don't think she likes me half so well as you do ; and I have very great doubts as to the facility of her disposition. I should not care to be responsible for any of her sayings or doings, if I were the person she loved best in the world." Grace passed over the latter part of this speech without remark, and merely answered, — "I do not know ; she always talks a great deal of you." " I wish," exclaimed Ethel, " that she was married to Gerald ; she is just the queenly creature his wife ought to be." Grace started, and turned pale; but after a moment's silence she said, — "I cannot wish it, Ethel. Agnes will require a better guide than he would be to her ; and I do not think she could ever love him." " Guide ! nonsense ; she ought to be able to guide herself; but if that is all she wants, I am sure Gerald would make at least a constant one ; for he will con- sider his wife ought never to have a thought different from his ovm, ard he will always be at her side lest she should make herself agreeable to some one else." " Your picture does not promise much felicity," returned Grace, " so I am glad the distaste appears to be mutual. I like his brother much better." A quick penetrating look from Ethel, followed by a vivid blush, told Grace that she took more interest in him than in Gerald. Intimate as the two girls were, Grace had too much delicacy to make any further observation on Monmouth ; but she wished — if her suspicion were correctr— that the feeling might prove 40 woman's ambition. mutual, as, with Ethel's fortune, she imagined that there would not be any drawback to the attachment, and her opinion of Monmouth was so high that she thought him even worthy of being Ethel's husband. Full of these thoughts, she walked on in silence, uninterrupted b}^ Ethel ; indeed, they both appeared to have forgotten that they were not alone. They were startled by Monmouth's springing over the })aling close to them. After he had greeted Grace most cordially, he said, — " You both looked, as I came up to you, as if you were dreaming of another world. What w^ere you thinking of ? " They both laughed ; and while Grace was thinking how she should escape telling what she was thinking of, Ethel replied, — " It is you w^ho are dreaming, to imai^ine we are going to make you our father-confessor." He laughed, and said, — " I am afraid I should make but a sorry one ; except that I would guard your secrets very closely, if you were to trust them to my keeping." " When we have them perhaps we may commit them to your charge ; at present I feel more inclined to receive intelligence than to give it. Had the post come in w^hen you left home ? " " No," said he, quickly, " why do you ask ? " " Only," replied Ethel, looking a little confused from the change in his manner, and turning from the deep penetrating look that he was bending on her, " that Gerald was expected next week, and I thought you might have heard what day he intended coming." Monmouth made no reply to this; but in a few minutes he took off his cap, saying, — WOMAN S AMBITION. 4 I "This weather is iiisufterably hot, I think I must he off somewhere for a cruise. The sea is the only tolerable place at this time of year." " When did you find that out, Monmouth ? " said Ethel, laughing. " I expect you will change your mind by to-morrow, for I cannot bring all my grand doings to a happy consummation without you." " And w^hat are all your grand things to be, Ethel ? " asked he. " You shan't hear a single thing until you promise to stay and help me," she replied. He answered, — "It is all the same thing where I am, so you may do what you please wdth me." " Now that is what I call beinor a true and faithful o knight. Do you remember, when I was some three or four years old, you dubbed yourself my knight ? And very terrible you looked to my childish imagination, with a bulrush for a spear, and calling yourself Sir Monmouth de Longueville." " I am afraid it is a very unmanly wish, Ethel; but I would gladly exchange my present feelings for those." " That is all nonsense, Monmouth," said Ethel. " The present is always the happiest time with me ;. as old Mr. AV^hitby, my drawing master, was so fond of quot- ing to me, — when I used to insist on placing m}^ sea on the top of m}- rocks, and my mountains as a crown, — ' that distance lends enchantment to the view/ so I think it is only that those days have changed them- selves into a myth, that you think them so fasci- nating." Monmouth onl}" smiled as he looked at her animated countenance, and then turned away with a sigh. 42 woman's ambition. '' I must leave you here, it is time for me to return Jiome," said Grace. They parted, and Ethel and Monmouth continued their way in silence ; though, in general, when walk- ing with him was the time in which she was most at her ease ; but there appeared to be a cloud coming down upon their happiness. Monmouth's manner was con- strained, and chilled Ethel's natural frankness. WOMAN S AMBITION. 43 CHAPTER VL Gerald appeared as anxious to prolong his absence as Ethel and Monmouth could be to have it prolonged, had they allowed themselves to wish on the subject. He had written to say that he could not return for some weeks. And it was probably in consequence of this letter that Monmouth had quite given up the cruise ; the excuse for which apparent fickleness, when Ethel rallied him upon it, was, that the weather had become too cold — it being the month of April ; but in his own mind he was always resolving to go somewhere, or do something, that should separate him from Ethel. He knew that she was intended by his mother for Gerald. But that knowledge would not have influenced him, had he been rich enough to prevent the possibility of Ethel's supposing that he wished to possess her fortune, when professing to seek only herself But resolutions of this kind, when not openly ex- pressed to some one, are seldom acted upon. He still ling^ered on, wantincr the firmness to leave her while she was so completely thrown upon him for the in- terests and amusements of every-day existence. The weeks were quickly passing, the termination of which was to brea.k in on the calm of all their lives. These weeks were passing with Agnes in increasing anxiety. She was completely changed, even to resist- ing Mrs. Egerton's wish to take her to the seaside, 44 WOMAN'S AMBinOX. which, at a former period, she would have welcomed as the acme of happiness. Mr. Percival had called several times, but Agnes Iiad lacked both the opportunity and the courage to speak to him : the former especially, for she could not have spoken as she had resolved to do, while Mrs. Egerton and Grace were in the room, as they did not know anything of, what she termed, the quarrel that had taken place between her and Mr. Percival. She could not, however, avoid observino: that the moment he heard her voice he stopped in liis conversation to listen to her ; but as she had never once found him looking in the direction in which she sat, she had not been able to address him. Even when they met and parted, she never for a moment felt his eyes rest upon her face. He conversed almost exclusively with Mrs. Egerton, for whom he had a very great friendjship ; but his manner was so grave as to make Agnes almost fear him. Had he been trying to fix her thoughts upon him, he could no-t have shown a better way to do so ; but in reality he was trying to tear his own away from her, believing that one so young and lovely could not be won by him. With all his attractions, he had too little vanity to be aware of them, or to think himself worthy of a woman whom his vivid imagination had decked with all the charms of heart and mind that certainly had no existence but in his own imagination. One day, while things were in this state, Mr. Perci- val came to pay one of his accustomed visits. Grace was not in the room, and Agnes was sitting in one of the windows workinor. The conversation was inter- rupted by the entrance of a servant, who informed her mistress that a poor woman was waiting to speak to WOMAN S AMBITION. 45 her. Mrs. Egerton went, as a matter of course, think- ing that her place would be supplied to their visitor by Agnes. The instant the door closed, Mr. Percival rose and walked to the opposite window from the one occupied by Agnes. She was essentially impulsive ; fear for the future never cast even the shadow of a cloud over her brio^ht horizon ; and now that the moment had arrived for which she had been wishing, she did not hesitate to cross the room and stand beside Mr. Percival. He felt that she was there, but though every pulse was throbbing, he remained motionless as a statue. Moments appeared ages to Agnes's impatient spirit, and she laid her hand on his arm to attract his attention. Even then he had the self-command not to start, though every nerve trembled. He turned round, — she was not looking at him, but she said, in a low, unsteady voice, — " Mr. Percival, I am very sorry for my rudeness to you the other day, will you forget it, and allow me to assist in the teaching of your school ? " "Dear Agnes," replied he, "it is I who should ask to be forgiven." And while he spoke he took her hand, which she was just withdrawing from his arm, in no small confusion ; for the grave unbending Mr. Percival she had looked on a moment before was a totally different being from the Alfred Percival who now bent over her, with beaming eyes looking into hers, and although she felt a happiness too exquisite for thought, she did not regret her mother's return. He still held her hand as Mrs. Egerton advanced towards them, notwithstanding Agnes's attempts to withdraw it, and addressing the former, he said, — "Agnes and I have just been making up a quarrel 46 woman's ambition. of rather long standing, and she has promised to take a class in the Sunday School." Mrs. Eorerton answered, smilino^, — " I am glad you have made up your quarrel ; but I hope Agnes's going to the school is not by way of a peace-offering. I should like her to have a better motive for doing what I confess I have long wished her to do of her own free will." " We certainly quarrelled about her going to tlie school," continued he ; " but it was my faalt, and her promise just now to go there was not a necessary consequence of our making up our dispute." Agnes escaped from the window in the gTcatest embarrassment, and resumed her seat and her work, in the hope that her mother might not observe it, well knowinor that her real reason for offeringr to o o attend the Sunday school would not bear Mrs. Eger- ton's scrutinizing inspection. Mr. Percival soon took his leave, and Agones thouofht the happiness she now experienced was cheaply pur- chased by the weeks of misery she had endured. She was awakened from the day-dream in which she was indulging by the entrance of Ethel and Grrace, who had met in their walks. Ethel was the bearer of a note from Lady Augusta to Mrs. Egerton, the delivery of which she would not trust to any one but herself, as she fancied it would require all her eloquence to persuade Mrs. Egerton to comply with the request it contained. It was an invitation for herself, Grace, and Agnes, to pass a week at the Abbey. Gerald had re- turned at last ; and Ethel had succeeded in inducincr Lady Augusta to fill the house with guests in honour of his anival. " My dear Ethel, my grave face would frighten all WOMAN S AMBITION. 47 your gay young visitors ; you really must allow me t<> remain quietly at home," said Mrs. Egerton. " I have not the slightest intention of allowing you any such luxury. But indeed," she added, in a coaxing tone, *' you ought to come, dear Mrs. Egerton, if it weiv only to see all the conquests Grace and Agnes will make. I expect you will have to stand a siege at Roseneath on your return." Mrs. Egerton smiled, and replied, — • "If they have such warlike tastes as you seem to impute to them, I think I had better keep off the field of battle, as I might rather come in the way of their victories, not having any admiration for belligerent young ladies." "How I should like to see Sir Mark Eveleen staring at that speech, taking it quite au pied de la lettre, as if he expected to see us all appear next morning witlj pistols in our hands." " How I do enjoy mystifying him sometimes," said Agnes. " Indeed, Agnes," resumed Ethel, "you should have some pity on that poor man, or he will one day find out that you are turning him into ridicule; and though he is rather thick-brained, I suppose he has his feelings like other human beings." " If you are to have him at the Abbey next week, he will be quite safe from my persecutions, as I will stay and keep mama company, and wait for some quieter time to pay you a visit." Ethel had fixed her eyes on Agnes during this speech in the most complete astonishment, so evident as utterly to disconcert the speaker, whose colour, as she concluded, rose to a most painful degree. Even Mrs. Egerton looked at her steadily, as if she did not understand her. 48 woman's ameitiox. " I suppose, Grace, you will desert me next," said Ethel, turning from Agnes to Grace ; " and if so, I think I must retire to my bed, and leave the festivities to take care of themselves." '• I would not desert you, Ethel, if I could really be of use ; but indeed a visit when you are alone would be so much pleasanter, that I hope you will allow me to put it off until then." " I did not suppose you could be so ill-natured," was Ethels rejoinder; "you know very well there will not be a single person at the Abbey that I care for ; so I have been building on having you and Agnes. And now my whole enjoyment will be destroj^ed." She looked so thoroughly disappointed, and she was such a favourite with the whole family, that at last she prevailed so far as to obtain a promise that Grac ^ and Agnes should ^o, and that Mrs. Eorerton would try and do without them as well as she could. Aornes would have oriven anvthinof to have remained at Roseneath with her mother ; but as she could not bring forward her real reason for wishing to stay at home, she was obliged to yield with the best grace she could muster. The next day Mr. Percival came aorain to Roseneath. He broucrht a list of the children he had selected for Agnes's class, and of which he was anxious she should approve before he finally arranged it. When he introduced the subject, Mrs. Egerton said, — " I am afraid Agnes must postpone her undertaking until the Sunday after next, as she is going to spend a week at the Abbey." A cloud passed over Mr. Percival's expressive counte- nance as he listened, and he said, — '' I did not know that your daughters ever went to the Abbey." WOMAN S AMBITION. 49 " They never have been there ; but I could not resist Ethel's earnest entreaties/' answered ^Irs. Egerton. Mr. Percival was about to speak, but he suppressed the inclination, as he felt more than doubtful of the motive that was impelling him to enter a pastoral protest against Mrs. Egerton's allowing her daughters to go into such society', without the protection that her presence would afford them. Had he suggested the idea, she would immediately have recognized bow unsafe it was to leave Acrnes to her own oruidance amongst so many strangers ; but he had too lately expeiienced his own weakness, where she was con- cerned, to trust himself: so, after a few remarks on indifferent subjects, he took leave. Those few words from him which were trembling on his lips would, if uttered at that time, have changed the whole course of his after life ; but would it have been for his good ? Could he have seen but half way into the future, he would have declared that it must have been so ; but could he have seen to the end, he would have been of a different opinion. A quaint old author has illustrated this subject in a manner that is quite his own ; he says that " the rod of Moses did not lose the form of the serpent until he caught it by the tail, when all its venom disappeared, and it became a rod again ; so, if men were to catch events by the tail, they would find there was no evil in them : that is, wait with patience until the end, before forming an opinion." This is rather an unwarrantable digression in a tale, so we must make our way back to Roseneath as quickly as possible. The day came at last for the girls' visit to the Abbey. 4 50 WOMAN S AMBITION. A few months before ii would have been hailed by Agnes as the consummation of all her wishes ; now her newly-awakened interest in Mr. Percival, and her uncertainty as to his feelings towards her, absorbed all other thoughts ; and the quiet Grace, having once given in her adhesion to the plan, seemed to enjoy the pre- parations for it much more than Agnes. Mr. Percival called but once again before they left home. Most unfortunately he found Agnes alone, and, more unfortunately still, he met with encouragement that he had not the power to resist. Agnes confessed that she loved him, but she would not hear of his speak- ing to her mother on the subject, as she was certain Mrs. Egerton considered her too much of a child to allow of an engagement on her part. Lovely and fascinating as she looked when thus urging secrecy, he felt that he was doing wrong in yielding to her, and earnestly pleaded the immediate necessity there was for him to inform her mother of all that had passed between them. Agnes, however, was quite determined that he should not, and it ended by his promising to remain silent until her return from the Abbey. Just as the very singular discussion had reached this point, Mrs. Eger- ton entered the room. They were standing together in the window, and on her appearance they separated in some confusion. Mrs. Egerton was not, in general, a very acute ob- server of such matters, but she could not avoid noticing that it was so, and it aroused a sort of hope within her that at some future time they might perhaps be- come attached to each other. The hope gave her pleasure, for she knew Mr. Percival was just the kind of character to which she could with thankfulness resign the guidance of her younger daughter. How- WOMAN S AMBITION. 5 I ever, as i\.gnes herself had declared, she looked upon her as too much of a child for such ideas to be realized for some years ; and the thought soon passed from her mind. While it lasted, she was not sorry that Agnes was going to the Abbey, as she deemed it advisable that a girl of her impulsive temperament should see something of the world before any regular engagement were to take place, lest she should be led to imagine that she loved Mr. Percival, without having had any trials by which to test her feelings for him. Mrs. Egerton witnessed the departure of the sisters for Dunmere without any uneasiness. ^.2 woman's ambition, CHAPTER VII. They were received with unbounded deliglit at the Abbey by Ethel, but, with the exception of Mr. Longue- ville, she was the only person who appeared to bestow a thought on their arrival. The guests comprised several commonplace young ladies and gentlemen, with the requisite number of prosy old ones, to make up the party ; and Agnes, whose thoughts at least, if not her heart, had been left behind her, fancied that it would be intolerably stupid even with Ethel to en- liven it. In the course of the first evening, after all the young ladies had sung and played, until Gerald declared to Ethel that he was almost in a nervous fever, Agnes rose, at the request of Mr. Longueville, and placed her- self at the instrument. While she was removing her bracelets, Gerald, who was standing by the side of Ethel's chair, said, — " This country music is perfectly excruciating. " All affectation, Gerald," she returned ; " you must not imagine that the air of Italy is necessary to give voice or taste." "I have no such foolish imaginings, Ethel, for I like your singing, there is no pretension in it ; but I don't believe Agnes Egerton could do anything naturally." " You will change your opinion before the end of AVOMAX'S A^fBITIOX. >,^ her first song ; I would rather listen to Agnes than to almost any public singing I have ever heard." Agnes heard this conversation, though it had been carried on at some distance from her ; and she changed the Italian sonor she had been about to sinor for a simple but beautiful ballad. She felt annoyed by Gerald's poor opinion so openly expressed, and she was determined that the evening should not pass without his chanorino^ it. Gerald placed himself in an attitude of forced atten- tion ; and, to Ethel's great delight, he appeared to think that Agnes's singing would be more bearable than all that had gone before it. The careless command of the instrument that she showed in the prelude and symphony, which, from a brilliant commencement, had changed into the most exquisite softness, surprised him. JBut when the rich full tones of her voice first stole through the room, and then filled it with a melody more entrancing than any he had ever heard before, he remained perfectly motionless, and an expression came over his counten- ance that made Ethel gaze at him with astonishment. When the song was ended, compliments and entreaties for another were poured in on every side, but Gerald never moved ; with his eyes on the ground he seemed still to be drinkincr in those delicious tones. Sonor after song she sang, all simple ballads, until the end of the fifth, when she started from her seat, exclaiming, — " That is the very last note I can sing, I am quite hoarse ! " Sir Mark Eveleen, who looked as if he had been fed upon cream and water all his life, and who, perhaps distrusting his pink-and- white face, fancied he should do away with the impression it was likely to produce. 54 AVOMAN S AMBITION. by attempting to be very satirical, said, as Agnes was jjassing,— " I suppose. Miss Egerton, you are like Rosa in the ' Newcomes,' you have but five songs ? " " What a very acute observer you are. Sir Mark," she observed, with a glance at Ethel ; " but it is not very good-natured of you to expose my deficiencies." Sir Mark, quite delighted at the idea of having stumbled on an acute observation, said, with a simper and a lisp, — " I do not pretend to be a good-natured person, so you must not be surprised if my observations should sometimes be sharp." " Oh ! I am so glad you have warned me," auvswered she, with affected terror ; " I shall be quite afraid of you, particularly when I wish to show off." She passed on, and Gerald looked after her as if her words had awakened him from a trance, muttering, half to himself and half to Ethel, — " That girl is intolerable. If she were but the angel her voice would lead one to suppose her, she would be irresistible." '' I never saw any one in a fairer way to think her irresistible than you are, Gerald," said Ethel ; " I expect you will be sighing and dying at her feet before the week is at an end." " Not unless some one should trip me up as she is passing by," he returned, with one of his cold smiles. That night Agnes's mind dwelt almost as much on Gerald as on Mr. Percival, and though she drew a comparison between them much in favour of the latter, yet she fully resolved to use every means to attract Gerald, and make him change his opinion of her. His insolence, as she somewhat justlj^ termed WOMAN S AMBITION. 55 his conduct towards her, inclined her to shut her eyes to the probable consequences, so far as they might regard him. The next evening she resisted every entreaty to sing, declaring that she should only croak if she made the attempt. Gerald had all day been haunted by the tones of her voice, and had been longing for the hour when he^ might hope to hear them again. His disappointment, therefore, was extreme when he found that the fair songstress was obdurate; and he had recourse to Ethel, in the hope that she might induce Agnes to alter her determination. Ethel de- clared she would not interfere ; and advised him to try his own powers of persuasion. "I cannot bear to give her the option of refusing my request," he said, quite seriously. A merry burst of laughter from Ethei rather dis- concerted him, and he added, — " Do you think I should have any chance of success if I were to try ? " " If a ref jsal should be likely to have a fatal effect, I would not advise you to make the attempt," she said, with apparent gravity ; " but if there were any hope of your surviving, I think you might venture." He rose without answering, and crossed the room to where Agnes was sitting, leaning back in a deep arm- chair. He made his request with some slight hesita- tion, arising from Ethel's raillery, and Agnes replied, — " If you have any fancy to hear a few raven's notes by way of variety, I am quite ready to gratify you." He said, with some eagerness, — " I am sure there is no variety in your voice that would not be sv/eet." Compliment number one, thought Agnes; that is 50 WOMAN S AMBITIOxV. making some progress. But while this passed through her mind, she remained perfectly passive, and as if she had quite forgotten his petition. He was puzzled, and impatient, for though she had consented to sincj, she showed not the slightest inten- tion of doing so. He stood for a moment irresolute by her side, and then a&ked, — " Do you not mean to fulfil your promise ? " "I am quite ready," replied she, without, however, attempting to rise. It suddenly occurred to him that she expected him to attend her to the piano ; and, much against his in- clination, he offered her his arm. Before they reached the instrument she withdrew her's, and having chosen a song, she was just turning to Gerald, when Sir Mark Eveleen, who had believed himself to have caught a bright idea on the previous evening, and was deter- mined to make much of it, addi-essed her, — " I think. Miss Egerton, you had better begin with the last of your songs this evening, and go back to the first ; it will be a novelty." '' Most judicious advice. Sir Mark," Agnes replied ; " I should certainly take it, only that I am not in an Enorlish mood to-nicrht." His large blue eyes opened with an expression of fear, as if he were discovering that he had fallen into a mistake. A cloud crossed Ethel's sweet face, as she listened. Agnes's love of ridicule, and of making others ridiculous, had often annoyed Ethel, and that day, during their drive together, she had reasoned with her on the subject, particularly with reference to Agnes's retort on Sir Mark the evening before ; for, as Ethel observed, she could more easily forgive Agnes, ^VOMAX S A\rBITIOX. 57 if he could meet her with her own weapons. Agnes laughed and promised to be very good, if Sir Mark did not tempt her beyond human endurance ; and now Ethel was sorry to discover that she had failed in shielding poor Sir Mark from the effects of his folly. Agnes, quite heedless of the pain she might inflict on either, turned to Gerald, and said, — "As you have drawn me into an exhibition of my croaking powers, I expect you will help me with your very best second." As she spoke she placed on the desk an Italian duet, which, she had discovered from Monmouth, was an especial favourite of Gerald's ; and running her fingers lightly over the piano, she commenced singing, before he had made up his mind whether he would join her or not. His voice was a very fine one, and he was an ex- cellent musician ; and though he had not been left any choice in the matter, it was with a feeling almost amounting to raj>ture that he found his voice blend- ing with hers. Agnes was always natural where there was good music, and now, in the enjoyment of Gerald's singing, she quite forgot her intention of conquering him, and in so doing she gained her point more efiectually than she could have achieved it by the most consummate art. Every look and tone reached his heart, and they continued singing song after song, at his earnest re- quest, until Mr. Longueville good-naturedly said he would not allow Agnes to sing another note, for he was sure a sore throat would be the consequence of her doing so. It so happened that she was really tired, and therefore not inclined to give way to any satire, which might have awakened Gerald from his 5S woman's ambition. dream of ecstasy. He remained near her for the rest of the evening ; and when he had retired for the night, it was utterly impossible for him to think of anything but Agnes, her voice and her beauty. They were present in his dreams, strengthening the impression that had engravened itself so deeply, yet so suddenly, on his whole being. It was in vain that he struggled against his rising passion. He had never been accus- tomed to put any restriction on himself; and now that he would have taken the reins into his power, he found his passion stronger than his will. He could and did reason with himself. He recalled the slight opinion he had ever entertained of Agnes's character, which he saw no reason to alter; he could still discern all her faults ; and yet he felt himself absolutely her slave, all the more that she, being quite alive to the fact, took no further trouble to attract him, although she had not the moral courage to repel his attentions. But even had she done so, though it might have eased her own conscience, it would not have answered the purpose of discouraging Gerald, who had inlierited too large a share of his mother's disposition to allow any- thing short of an unhesitating rejection to convince him that any woman whom he might honour with his preference could refuse him. And thus it came to pass that Agnes allowed matters to take their own course, her inclination vacillating between love and ambition, and, meanwhile, she was always ready to ride or walk with Gerald, in the afternoon; he, on his part, rarely quitting her side, or ceasing to talk, or sing with her, all the evening, somewhat regardless of the number of other guests, or of the claims they might be supposed to have on a portion of his time and his attention. Still Agnes WOMAN S AMBITION. 59 remained more than indifferent to him. At times, indeed, her dislike arose to such a height as to sur- prise herself; but notwithstanding this, the dreams of ambition floated before her imagination; and if it had not been partially repressed by her love, such as it was, for Mr. Percival, and her hastily-formed en- gagement to him, she would not have hesitated to sacrifice the prospect of domestic happiness to the triumph of gratified vanity, in becoming the bride of the heir of Dunmere Abbey. Thus she went on, heedless of the future, though she full well knew that, decide which way she might, the happiness of either Gerald or Mr. Percival must be sacrificed. The week had drawn to a close, and Grace had said that they could not remain longer, as their mother was alone. Even Lady Augusta condescended to ask — nay, to press — Agnes to stay, as she found her musical powers so useful in the entertainment of her company. As Grace was quite determined on not staying any longer awav from home, it was at last decided that she should return without her sister. When this arrangement was made known to Mrs. Eo-erton, on Grace's reappearance at Roseneath, she was both annoyed and alarmed, particularly when, on question- ing Grace, she heard of the constant intercourse between Gerald and ^ornes. Mrs. Eo^erton was not one of those mothers whose sole aim and object with regard to their daughters is to see them what is called well settled. She did not like Gerald's cha- racter, and she did not think that his wife, if gifted with anything like feeling, could be a happy woman ; she therefore wrote the next day to tell Agnes to return immediately, without, of course, alluding to her reasons for wishing her to do so. 6o woman's ambition. Agnes was standing in one of the deeply-recessed windows of the drawing-room, just after she had received this note, in which the casual mention of Mr. Percival's name had brought back to her im- pulsive mind much of that strong but wayward feeling for him_ which she had for the last few days been trying to persuade herself did not exist. She was deep in thought, looking out on the park, with the note in her hand, and was just at that moment mentally contrasting the characters of her two lovers, quite to the advantage of Mr. Percival, when Gerald entered, and had reached her side before she was aware of his approach. A bright blush rose to her cheek when he asked her what had so eno-aored her. She answered, — "I have just had a note from mama, recalling me to Roseneath, and I was thinking of it when you spoke to me.".' Gerald was perhaps not vainer than the generality of his sex ; yet he could not but fancy this was suffi- ciently encouraging. He had resolved that Agnes should become his wife, so that the prospect of her leaving so soon only hastened the declaration that he had determined should be made — and accepted. His was not that deep refined love that causes some men almost to dread the declaration of it ; so he at once said, — " Oh ! you must not think of goi^ng ; we cannot live without you at Dunmere." There was not much in these words, but the look and tone which accompanied them paled the colour in Agnes's cheek, partly from anger at what she felt to be disrespect in Gerald's manner, and partly from an undefined apprehension of what might follow. woman's ambition. 6 1 He watched her while her colour returned, and deepened, and then said, — " At least I cannot let you go without asking you to become mine — my own Agnes." He paused for a second. Agnes remained immov- able, and almost breathless. She could not bring her- self to give up all that her highest ambition had ventured to hope for, nor could she cast from her, by -accepting Gerald, those feelings that she had been indulorino: but a few minutes before. Gerald read somethinor of hesitation in her countenance, but he could not understand it ; and, impatient for the answer which he expected to prove the confirmation of all his wishes, he put his arm round her, and added, in a low voice, — " Rest your head but for a moment on my shoulder, dearest, and say ' yes.' " With a pang akin to desperation, Agnes covered her face with her hands, rested them for a moment on his shoulder, and pronounced the fatal word that sealed her destiny for life. Then, as he clasped her more closely to him, as if to claim her for his own, she freed herself from his grasp with an irresistible violence, and rushed from the room by a door that was close to the window at which they were standing. She sped on as if she feared pursuit, and reaching her own room, she locked the door, and, scarcely able to repress the rising screams of agony, she buried her face in the cushions of the sofa. She would have given all she possessed to be able to recall the last quarter of an hour. She sobbed convulsively, until she had in some degree expended the intensity of the suffering, and though she had not shed a tear, she began to regain the power of self-command. It 62 woman's ambition. suddenly occurred to her that perhaps Gerald might send Ethel to her, and that idea inspiring her with energy to act, she rose from the sofa, and walked to the glass to arrange her hair. For the first time the beauty of all around struck her; and the consciousness that this magnificence would one day be her own, came like a veil between her and all her better feel- ingrs. Althouo^h her hands trembled, she succeeded in arranging her hair, and then going to the window, she leaned out to catch the breeze, and wondered that she had never before so fully appreciated and admired the beauty of the park. She was startled by the large clock striking one, and ringing the bell, she desired the servant to tell Miss Gordon that she wished to speak to her. When Ethel appeared, Agnes informed her that she was obliged to return to Rose- neath immediately, and asked her to drive her there in her pony phaeton. Although Agnes had endea- voured to recover her composure as far as possible, she could not do it so effectually as to prevent Ethel from suspecting that some agitating event had oc- curred ; and much she marvelled when Agnes, with some confusion, said that she would remain in her room till the phaeton was at the door. Ethel, with the ready tact of her nature, merely replied that she would order it directly, and left the room for the purpose, without offering any remark on the sudden- ness of Agnes's resolution to leave before lunch, even without taking leave of Lady Augusta, whose very existence, in her excitement, had been forgotten by Agnes. The drive was a rapid one, and passed almost in silence. Agnes was thankful for having escaped another meeting with Gerald ; and she felt that every Y/OMAN S AMBITION. 63 step towards Roseneath was bringing her nearer to a place of refuge. She became so very much agitated when she came within sight of the house, that she begged of Ethel to let her walk the rest of the way. Ethel drew up the ponies, and, throwing her arms round Agnes, said, — " Anything you like, dear Agnes ; but you must let me see you soon. When may I drive over ? " " Any time you like, Ethel, dearest ; but do not ask me to stay now." She stepped out, and Ethel drove slowly back, thinking of the wild look of terror in Agnes's eyes a? she silently pressed her hand. In the meantime, Agnes pursued her way as fast a.i if she feared that her courao^e miorht fail before the approaching interview with her mother. She entered the house by a side-door, and went gently into the room in which Mrs. Eo^erton was sittinof alone. She laid her hand quietly on her mother's shoulder. Mrs. Egerton looked up and started, more from the expres- sion in Agnes's face than from her unexpected appear- ance. She exclaimed, — "Agnes, what is the matter ? " Agnes replied, in a low tone, — " I am engaged to Gerald Longueville." " My child ! " was all that Mrs. Egerton could utter for a few moments, during which Agnes had become as pale as marble, and pressing her hand to her eyes, added, — " Oh ! mother dear, do not look at me so ! I could not help it. " But I can help it for you, Agnes," said Mrs. Eger- ton. " You do not love him, and I will not allow you to sacrifice yourself. I will not give my consent." 64- woman's ambition. " I have promised mama, and I will not and cannot draw back. I suppose I shall be as happy as any one else." Both remained silent for a few minutes. A cold shudder appeared to pass through Agnes, and she ex- claimed wildly, as she rushed towards the door, — " He is coming ! Oh ! tell him all, mama ! " Mrs. Egerton looked after her with astonishment at the sudden change which these words implied ; and prepared herself for the very unpleasant task of telling Gerald that she could not allow her daughter to marry him. The door opened quickly, and Mr. Percival walked in unannounced. Mrs. Egerton's surprise increased, for Agnes had been standing too close to the window to make a mistake as to the identity of the person who passed it. Her emotion was so great that she did not attempt to receive Mr, Percival as a visitor. He perceived it at once, and catching some of it him- self, advanced quickly to her, and asked what had occurred to distress her. The quiet, gentle Mrs. Eger- ton, whom he had never seen excited before, burst into tears, and sobbed, — " Oh ! Mr. Percival, I don't know what to do, and you will be as sorry as I am. Agnes is engaged to Gerald Longueville. Of all his family he is the proudest, and the most disagreeable. And the worst of all is, that I am convinced Agnes has no real reo^ard for him." Mr. Percival pressed his hand to his forehead, as if trying to comprehend and to realize the force and significance of those few words, whereby at one blow were annihilated the hopes which had for years formed the basis of his worldl}^ happiness, both present and woman's ambitiox. 65 future ; and which had, from the time of his last con- versation with Agnes, been regarded by him as a certainty. The effect on him was strange ; he became ligid as marble. Mrs. Egerton's tears continued to flow silently ; but wishing to find some consolation in Mr. Percival's sympathy, which had never been withheld from her in the course of their long friendship, she glanced upwards at him as he stood. The colourless stony face that met her view added to her ^larm, while it effectually dried her tears. Tliough a highly intel- lectual person, and clear-sighted in most things, she failed to observe in her daughters their transition from childhood to womanhood, or the impression pro- duced on them by the e very-day occurrences of life. The slight suspicion which had been roused in her mind with respect to Agnes and Mr. Percival had left no lasting traces on it. She had given up the world herself, and she had quite forgotten that her children were only just entering it. But notwithstanding her obtuseness, she could not but remember Agnes's last words to her as she left the room, and joining them to the effect her announcement had had upon Mr. Perci- val, the true state of the crisis burst upon her. She stood the image of despair, for she could not acquit herself of blame in all this evil that had fallen upon those she loved so dearly, though she was not aware of its full extent, for she never could have imagined Agnes's perfidy in breaking her engagement with Mr. Percival. Every endeavour to which Mrs. Egerton resorted to rouse him was unheeded by him, till at last she tried the same restoratives that she would have had recourse to had he fainted. The power of action gradually returned, and at length, without being 5 66 woman's ambition. at all conscious of the surprise he had excited in Mrs. Egerton's mind, he rose wearily, and said he must go home. All his movements appeared mechanical, yet still he preserved a calm dignity throughout, that would have prevented Mrs. Egerton from intruding into his confidence, even had she been a person of less delicacy and feeling. woman's ambition. 67 CHAPTER VIII. We must leave Mrs. Egerton trying, though in vain, all her reasoning, and even her persuasive powers, on Agnes, and return to the Abbey. As soon as Gerald had recovered his astonishment and vexation at Agnes's sudden flight, he repaired to the library, where he was sure of finding his father at that hour in the morning. Mr. Longueville, though a careless parent, had always been a kind one; and Gerald had more respect for him than any one in the world. It was, therefore, with no small degree of trepidation that he now entered the room in which his father was seated writing at a long library table, which nearly filled the recess in a very large bay window. Gerald advanced and stood at the opposite side of the table from his father, rather at a loss for words with which to open the colloquy. He remained standing, until Mr. Longueville raised his head, and said, — " Well, Gerald ! you look as if you wanted me. What have you got to say ? " Gerald stammered out, — "Nothing particular — that is I — perhaps you are busy just now ? " " That is as much as to say, 'I have something very particular to say to you ; ' so I will lay aside my busi- ness, my dear boy, and listen as long as you like." 68 woman's AMBinON. " Thank you, sir, but " A good-humoured expression of amusement spread itself over Mr. Longueville's face, as he remarked Gerald's hesitation, and he added, — "I might imagine you were going to be married, Gerald, if I could make out a wife for you amongst any of the 5'oung ladies in the house ; though I con- fess you looked more like a fellow going to be hanged." "You are quite right in your conjecture, sir; I am oroinor to be married." IVIr. Longueville instantly became serious and said, — " Going to be married, Gerald ! I hope — but who is the young lady ? " " Agnes Egerton," replied Gerald. "My dear boy," returned Mr. Longueville, spring- ing from his seat, " I congratulate you ; she is just the girl I should have chosen for you. But are you sure she will have you ? " " She says so, sir," said Gerald, with a proud curl of his lip. " You are a fortunate fellow," was Mr. Longueville's rejoinder. " Are you aware that she has no fortune ? " asked Gerald. " I am fully aware that you have enough for both," answered his father ; " and I hope no son of mine will ever disgrace himself by marrying pounds, shillings, and pence. I married for love myself, Gerald, and I desii'e to see you do the same. I am glad your choice has fallen on the daughter of my old friend, whose family in every respect is as good as your own ; and most sincerely do I wish you all happiness with your lovely bride." The father took his son's hand and shook woman's ambition. 69 it warmly. He added, " It is rather soon to talk of business, Gerald, but I will take care that you shall have enough to prevent your ever regretting the want of fortune in your wife." " My dear father," said Gerald, " your kindness makes me really regret Agnes's want of money. I cannot bear that you should have to make any sacrifice for me. Agnes has not been accustomed to live expen- sively, and I think I shall go abroad for a few years, so that I shall not require any increase of my allowance." " I think you are talking a great deal of nonsense^ Gerald," answered his father. " Like all young fellows, you imagine your wife, as well as yourself, is to live on love ; but though of course Agnes is an angel, she is not quite a goddess, and I dare say she will like pretty things as well as the most ordinary mortal. But we must adjourn the debate for the present, and tell 3^our mother the good news." Lady Augusta conceived it anything but good news, and if Gerald had not been so fortunate as to enjoy the protection of his father's presence when the com- munication was made to her, his mother would have allowed him to see and hear more of her real senti- ments on the subject. But the moment Mr. Longue- ville told her, calling upon her, at the same time, to rejoice with him, she understood the impossibility of inducing him to look at the engagement through the medium of her eyes ; and making a virtue of necessity, gracefully conceded a consent that had not even been asked for. The outward seeming was so utterly with- out any support from within, that she was very glad when she heard of Agnes's precipitate retreat. Gerald felt both annoyed, and awkward, when his father said, laughingly, — 70 woman's ambition. " Take care, Gerald, that you have not made a mis- take ; perhaps she said no, instead of yes." Gerald thought he could give proof positive that he was not mistaken ; but he remained silent, for even to himself he could not account for her leaving the house -so suddenly. At this instant Ethel entered on her return from her drive with Agnes. She was very anxious to have her suspicions confirmed, but when she was fully satisfied on that point, she found, what it is the fate of most people to discover, that the realisation of her wishes was not all which she had expected it to be. Agnes's parting look of anguish had been sufiicient to throw down the fairy castle she had been building for the last week ; she could not reconcile it with her acceptance of Gerald. Ethel's mind was too pure to allow her to enter into Agnes's ambitious views ; and she could scarcely have believed Agnes herself, had she assured her, that at the time she accepted Gerald's offer, both her hand and her heart had been plighted to aaiother, and that the only feeling she. entertained towards Gerald was actual dislike. Ethel had had one selfish reason for wishing Agnes to attract Gerald, for she well knew that Monmouth, whatever his real feelings towards her might be, would never show more than a brother's love to her, so long as Gerald remained unmanned. It was most provoking to her to see that the whole family, even Monmouth himself, appeared to believe that she be- longed by right to Gerald; and it was the more annoying to her because there was nothing said or done with which she could find fault. Even Gerald's attentions, though he had been constantly at her side, until Agnes had appeared on the scene, were so un- woman's ambition. 71 obtrusive, and in their nature so friendly, that she never could check them, without drawing on herself the imputation of vanit}^. She was in the room when Mr. Longueville communicated to Monmouth the occurrences of the morning. One flash of intense delight crossed his face, but it was almost immediately clouded by some counter recollection that cast its shadow between him and happiness. 72 woman's ambition. CHAPTER IX. On the following Sunday Agnes's agitation was so great that it was no mere excuse to plead illness for her not going to church. Mrs. Egerton did not press her to go : indeed, she was very glad that there was any plausible reason for her remaining at home. Mr. Percival was not in church, but his place was supplied by a very young man, his brother, who had arrived at the rectory that morning just in time to take the duty. After the service, the inquiries at the rectory were general. The answer to most of them was, that Mr. Percival was not well ; but to those whom the old housekeeper treated more confidentially, she declared that she did not know what had come to master ; she was afraid he was very ill, for he had not eaten any- thing, at least, not enough to keep a bird alive, and that, she believed, was only to get rid of her ; and he had not been in bed for three nights, and, worse than all, he would not see the doctor, and it w^as only the day before that he had allowed her to send for Mr. George; and now that he had come, she knew the doctor would be sent for immediately. The old woman was right ; Mr. Percival 's brother sent instantly for his medical attendant. The younger Mr. Percival might well be alarmed at the appearance of his brother, who looked as if he had had a long illness. Dr. Price was woman's ambition 73 a sensible man, who believed that the ills of the body were frequently to be traced to the mind, and as he had lived many years in the parish, and, like most of the fraternity, was rather prone to paying attention to his neighbours affairs — no doubt a very necessary part of their profession — he gave a pretty close guess at the origin of the complaint that had so suddenly struck his patient down. His advice, therefore, was, that Mr. Percival should at once remove to another climate. Either Switzerland or Germany : the latter, perhaps, would be better, as Mr. Percival knew but little of the language ; and Dr. Price recommended the study of it to him, it being quite as necessary to procure a change for the mind as for the body. Moreover, he ordered him to start as early in the next week as possible. Mr. Percival appeared quite passive, which was more than either his brother or Dr. Price had expected ; and everything was prepared for their departure on the following Thursday. On Wednesday evening, a little before dark, Mr. Percival left the house, and turned his steps towards Roseneath. He was determined to see Agnes once more before he left England; but why he wished to do so he did not attempt to ask himself. A few minutes before he came within sight of the house, Gerald had quitted, it. He had brought Agnes a present of a very beautiful pair of bracelets, and though he had been gone some time before she felt any inclination to reopen the case, yet, when she did so, she experienced a girlish wish to see the effect of them upon her arms ; and she had just clasped one of them on, and was holding up her beautiful arm, gazing at it with admiration, when she felt,, rather than heard, that she was no longer alone ; she looked round, and perceived 74 WOMAN S AMBITION. Mr. Percival standing as far from her as the size of the room would permit. The sudden start she gave threw down the case with the other bracelet, unheeded by her, as she re- mained motionless. He advanced, and, mechanically, she put out her hand to him, which lay in his for a moment unclasped, and then they dropped asunder as if nothing could ever reunite them. Perhaps the jewelled bracelet that lay at their feet between them might have raised a barrier against any warmer expression of feeling on his part ; be this as it may, he now said, in a tone of the most concentrated coldness, — " I was unwilling to leave England without seeing you, and that is the only apology I have to offer for intruding at this unseasonable hour." Had Agnes followed the impulse of her impassioned nature, she would have burst into tears, and entreated him to forgive her ; but the remembrance of all that he had to forgive restrained her, and, afraid to trust her voice, she only said, in a suppressed tone, — " You are very kind." He was too completely engrossed in the effort to subdue his own emotion to be at all conscious that she was suffering almost as himself. He therefore took her commonplace words as they met the ear, and, stung to the quick by their indifference, he ex- claimed, — *' Agnes ! Agnes ! it is no wonder you can trample on your own heart's affections, when you can treat those of others with such contempt." Agnes's conscience told her that at least the first part of this speech was truth ; but it only roused her to greater anger, and she said, with heiofhtened colour and flashing eyes, — WOMAN S AMBITION. 75 " Mr. Percival, you forget you have no right to use such lancruagje to me." " No, Agnes, I do not forget that less than one short month ago you gave me the right to speak the truth to you, which you liave since transferred to another, for baubles such as these," pointing to the fallen brace- let ; " but I know you better than you know yourself — you never will, you never can be happy with Gerald Longueville, a man whom you despise." Agnes was goaded to a state of the wildest passion by his reproaches ; but she restrained herself, and in a tone of contempt, every word of which struck home to his heart, as if it were a dao^orer, she said, — " This is, I presume, your wish — your pastoral bless- ing — for which I thank you ; but I have no fear of its being realized. The happiness of life does not depend on sentimentality, though you may think so." " Agnes," he retorted, and his voice changed so as to awe her into silence, " you believe you have the power to break my heart, but you shall not do so. I shall yet live to thank God that he has not cursed me by granting me my heart's sole earthly wish. I never knew you till now." When he had ceased speaking, he stood gazing at her for a few moments, during which she felt as if his eyes were crushing her, and then, slowly turning, he quitted the room. Agnes commanded herself until he had left the house, and then burst into an agony of tears, gradually rising into the wildest hysterics, in which state her mother found her, surrounded by the servants, on her return with Grace to the house, to which she had hastened on seeing from a distance that Mr. Percival was entering it ; but notwithstanding her intense wish 76 woman's ambition. to prevent the meeting she so much dreaded, she was too late, and only arrived in time to witness its effects on Agnes, and to have her carried to bed, from which she did not rise for many days after Mr. Percival's departure from England, carrying ^vith him the most effectual cure for his long-cherished passion — a thorough contempt for its object. Agnes remained in the seclusion of her own room very much longer than it was necessary she should. Her chief reason for doing so was the wretched state of indecision into which her mind had been thrown by her interview w4th Mr. Percival, and the constant debating with herself whether she ought, or ought not, to break her engagement with Gerald ; for she well kn^w that when she should go to the altar with him, she could not swear with truth that she loved him. Mr. Percival was right when he told her she despised him. She had too long known, and in some measure estimated, the nobleness of character in her first choice not to feel the want of it in her second. She had discussed the different sides of the question within herself so often, that, like the blindfolded l^erson sipping claret and milk alternately, she had lost all power of discriminating between them. At last, wearied by the contest within herself, she thought of bringing the judgment of the world to bear on the subject. It was not difficult to know to which side that would incline, and she experienced even a certain sense of gladness that, with the fear of that tribunal before her eyes, she should be obliged to keep her enaaaement with Gerald : for the sacrifice of all that she loved had already been made on the altar of her ambition, and by renouncing Gerald, she could not recall the past. Indeed, so decided had been the false woman's ambition. 77 step she had made, that it would have puzzled a much sounder judgment than hers to discover any way in which she could retrieve it. Agnes had great strength of will, and once she had decided, she neither looked back nor forward ; and made no opposition to Gerald's wish that the marriage should take place as soon as possible. 78 woman's ambition, CHAPTER X. The eventful day at last arrived on which Agnes Egerton became Mrs. Gerald Lonofueville. She had reached the height of her ambition. And what had it done for her ? She was just in that state of mind, that, had she possessed the power, she would have thrown herself at once into all the dissipation of a London season, to drown, if possible, the loud accusa- tions of her conscience, and to prevent her looking back on all she had thrown away, to gain baubles that now appeared to her of no more intrinsic value than the bracelets which she had never opened since the unfortunate evening that they had been instrumental in causing her such misery. It was nearly the end of the season, and Gerald's jealous disposition determined him to take his bride on a lonely tour through Switzerland. This was just the reverse of what she wished. Had she loved her husband she would most Kkely have exerted her will on the occasion, and have carried the day; but her conviction that she had done Gerald an injustice in marrying him without feeling even a common regard for him, and a latent idea that he suspected the truth, prevented her from making any objection to his plans, and to Switzerland accordingly they went. Gerald's love for his wife was too selfish in its nature to allow of his consulting her inclination on the occasion. He ^VOMAN S AMBITION. 79 thouoflit he oucrht to be all the world to her, and he was resolved to make himself so. To effect his pur- pose, he ought to have married a woman who loved him. Agnes was no hypocrite, and she never tried to put on the appearance of love, or even playfulness, in her intercourse with her husband. He felt the want of it most painfully, particularly as he had heard some- thing of the reports current in the neighbourhood re- specling Agnes and Mr. Percival, from his mother, who, with all her desire to be considered aristocratic and exclusive, was not above listening to any gossip that it suited her purpose to hear. Although neither this nor any other underhand means which Lady Augusta could use had been sufficient to cause a falter- ing in Gerald's intentions, yet it rankled in his mind, and often induced him to impute motives of action to his wife that she never even dreamt of, for, from the moment in which she had given herself to another, she never allowed her thoughts to dwell on Mr. Percival ; though the more she knew of Gerald, the more im- possible it was to her to love him ; and the free, frank, joyous Agnes found herself gradually becoming afraid of her husband, for whom — or rather for whose posses- sions — she had sacrificed all she loved best on earth. A barrier of ice appeared to be rising up between them, although it concealed a volcano in Gerald's bosom. They passed hastily through Paris, where Agnes would fain have lingered, at least long enough to have become acquainted with a few of those enchant- ing scenes she had so often dreamed of in her castle- buildinor. She could not brino^ herself to ask a favour of Gerald, though, had she done so, it would have tended most materially to lessen the distance between Bo woman's ambition. them, which every day was increasing, and becoming more painful. He hoped that the lovely mountain scenery might have had some softening influence on her, and make her more like her former self. Aorain, with his habitual selfishness, he never thouorht of consulting her tastes, but taking it for granted, be- cause he was tired of Paris, and lonored to be in Switzerland, that she, a young girl who had never been away from Roseneath, should feel the same, he hurried on. They reached Geneva on one of those glorious sum- mer evenings, when the rich sunset threw a deep crimson mantle over the snowy Alps, and Mont Blanc himself deigned to appear in all his regal splendour to the view of the travellers. The wonderful beauty of the scene awoke in Agnes all the poetry of her nature ; but it did not enable her to open her heart to Gerald, who sat by her side in an agony of impatience, expecting to hear the rapturous expressions of delight which he well knew Agnes was so capable of feeling, but which he was determined not to elicit by any remarks of his own. Agnes almost forgot his existence as she gazed on the strange fascination of that changing scene, while the bright colouring died away into the cold grey ; and then she fancied it an emblem of her own life, from which all the rosy tints of youth had faded as rapidly, and conscience, as usual, when she gave way to regi'et, whispered that she could not expect it to be otherwise ; so she bent her head to shut out both the scene and, if possible, the ideas it had given birth to. When she raised her eyes again, she could not refrain from an exclamation of astonishment. " Oh ! Gerald," said she, with the thouorhtlessness of a child, " the sun has risen again." woman's ambition. 8 1 While she had been looking down, immersed in bitter thoughts, that deep, warm radiant pink had spread itself over Mont Blanc, and the snowy peaks surrounding it, which at times so inexplicably chases away the cold, grey twilight, and then again dies off into deeper shadow. Gerald had been so vexed by her long-continued silence, that instead of meeting her remark with i^ good-humoured reply, he answered, rather impa- tiently, — " I am sure, Agnes, you cannot think anything so childish." The tears started to her eyes at the unkindness of his tone, and instead of looking at him, she turned to the opposite window, and waited until she could trust her voice to answer, and then in a tone which she in- tended should be one of indifterence, but which was cold and dry, she said, — " I never was very matter-of-fact, or very scientific either, so it is not surprising that I can only account for it like a child." " I believe," replied he, " that science has never ac- counted for it, and I have never seen it but once before. It was just such an evening as this," he added, with a deep sigh. Agnes, with the inconsistency of human nature, was not at all pleased at his looking back on other days with apparent regret, but could she have known that the sigh had been caused by herself — by her not having responded to his hopes, that such a scene would have brouo-ht her back to her natural manner — she o would at least have endeavoured to be what a wife ought to be. There would be far less misunderstand- ing, and consequently far less unhappiness in the world, 6 82 woman's ambition. if, in our intercourse with each other, we could lay aside acting in every form, and allow nature to speak for herself Agnes was, and had been, acting a most unnatural part, ever since her man^iage. Had she thrown aside the mantle of reserve which she was wrapping more closely about her from day to day, though it might not have helped her to love her husband, it would most probably have gained her his confidence, and in some'degree restored her self-respect. But instead of this, she gave way to the feeling of annoyance caused by the sigh of a man whom she had never even wished to love, and determined to show him that she was completely careless on the subject — for the sigh had been such as to court remark from any bride. She threw herself into the corner of the carriage, resolved not to speak again, unless invited to do so by a change in Gerald. They continued their route in silence, and soon after reached Geneva, where Agnes, chilled in mind and body, took refuge in her ovm room, and ordered — a fire. woman's ambition. 83 CHAPTER XI. We must return to England, where we left most of the other members of our tale. From the period of Agnes's wedding, Grace and Ethel had both drooped. The ill-natured world conjectured that Miss Gordon had been disappointed by Gerald's choice of another instead of herself, and at times even Monmouth felt inclined to cavil at her evident unhappiness, little supposing that he was himself the cause of her failing spirits. Ethel had hoped, when Gerald was so effectually out of the way, that Monmouth would have devoted himself to her as he used to do ; but his brother's absence appeared to have quite the opposite effect, for he avoided her as far as was possible. Since Gerald's marriage, he was afraid of putting himself in the way of temptation, by being constantly alone with her in her walks, and rides, and, above all, in the garden, where they had been in the habit of tending her favouiite flowers together ; for he dared not trust himself, lest he should betray his deep impassioned love for her. He was continually resolving that he would, that he must leave Dunmere, and devote him- self to some profession, or at least go abroad ; yet still he lingered, fancying he was injuring only himself. Some weeks after Agnes had left Rosen eath, Grace and Ethel were walking together, as was their custom 84 almost daily. They both looked grave, and occupied with their own thoughts. At last Grace said, — '' I have heard from Agnes this morning." " Oh, I am so glad 1 " replied Ethel. Does she write in great delight ? I suppose she is in ecstasies with the glories of Switzerland ? " " No," answered Grace ; " I wish I could think she was delighted with anything. She gives a beautiful description of the sunset on Mont Blanc; but her letter mio^ht have been written for a mao^azine, it is so utterly devoid of self, so unlike the letter of a sister." " You cannot expect that she should ^^1•ite from Switzerland, and merely say that it was beautiful; and then begin to ask after Tommy Jones, and Mary Brown, and all the other Tommies and Maries of the parish," Grace's eyes filled with tears, and without speaking she looked at Ethel, whose heart instantly smote her, and she said, — " Dear Grace, forgive me ; I have been talking just as Agnes herself would have done, which I should have been the first to condemn. There is a whole sea of sorrow in your^eyes, I wish you would let me share it with you. Will you show me Agnes's letter ? Perhaps I may be able to di'aw some comfort from it for you." Grace gave her the letter, and Ethel found it just as Grace had said, all very beautiful, but there was no comfort to be drawn from it, for the only token of feeling in it was an under-current of the deepest dejection. Ethel was silent, and Grace said, — "You see there is nothing cheering in it; she speaks of the sunset as if she thouoht her sun of life had o gone down into darkness." woman's ambition. 85 To Grace's great surprise and concern, Ethel burst into tears, exclaiming, — " Oh, Grace ! I wish I had never interfered. It was all selfishness on my part," she added, almost with vehemence. Grace looked at her with perfect amazement, and said, — " You must not think that, Ethel ; there never was any one in the world less selfish than you are." " Oh, Grace ! " she answered, "you never can know how selfishly I have acted; but it has — like ail that is wrong — brought its own punishment with it : and I am further from my object than I was before, though," she continued in a lower tone of voice, " most un- accountably so." Grace waited in vain for an explanation, that she could not, or Avould not ask for ; but she still retained her former opinion, that Ethel was accusing herself unjustly. " Does ^Ir. Percival ever write to your mother, Grace ? " asked Ethel, after a pause. " Yes," answered Grace ; " a letter came by the same post as Agnes's. I wish mama would show it to you. He has been in Switzerland also, and he writes so beautifully, not in the least like Agnes ; he mixes his own feelings with every description. His thoughts appear to me as grand as the mountains he has been traversing, and sweet as the wild flowers." " Does he say anything of returning home. I am sure I wish he would." " Yes," replied Grace ; "he says he feels that his duty lies in his parish, and that he shall never be happy until he is again engaged in active employ- ment." 86 woman's ambition. " I wonder much a man with such a mind could give himself up to the duties of a parish, as he did," remarked Ethel. " Ethel, how can you wonder ? To be usefully em- ployed, and beloved as he is, I should think would be the highest ambition of such a mind as his." " It ought to be sufficient, but it is not natural to a man to go through the same round of duties every day contentedly." " That may be so with the generality of men, but not with Mr. Percival, whose actions are so unlike those of most others whom I have met. Besides, he has a higher motive, and you know none of us act rightly by nature, and he has been taught by the same Spirit that every Christian must receive, before duty can become a pleasure." " You are certainly right in that ; but I think Mr. Percival acted very much like other people when he fell in love with Agnes. I am sure she never could have borne the life she would have been condemned to, had she married him." " I think she must have been happy," said Grace, in a low voice ; " but it is too late to talk of that now." " I am glad, however," resumed Ethel, " that losinor her has not frightened him out of the place, for I am sure we should never have such another clergyman." " I must leave you, Ethel, unless you are coming to the school," said Grace, and as Ethel would not ac- company her, they separated. It was with a feeling almost of annoyance that Ethel saw Monmouth approaching her soon after she had parted from Grace. He always passed on after a few minutes' conversation, and that often of the most constrained nature. This day, however, he turned woman's ambition. 87 immediately and walked with her ; but Ethel thought it would have been more agreeable if he had not broken through, what appeared to have grown into a rule with him, not joining her when they met in the grounds. She attempted to introduce many different subjects of conversation ; but he showed not the slightest inclination to enter into any of them. At last she thought of Agnes's letter, and she said, — " Grace has had a letter from Agnes. They are at Geneva." " I have had one also from Gerald. It was to speak of it that I joined you just now," he answered. " You might have spared yourself the trouble," re- torted Ethel, who was so annoyed that she did not care in the least for the rudeness of her speech. The blood rushed to Monmouth's brow, and he said, — " Ethel, those are the first unkind words I ever heard you speak, and I am selfish enough to wish they had not been spoken to me." "I might retort on you, Monmouth, and say you are the only person I have ever met who has provoked me ; but it does not matter." Some moments passed before Monmouth coul'd com- mand himself sufficiently to reply, and then he said, — " You know, Ethel, or at least you ought to know, that nothing that the world could bestow would tempt me to annoy you ; but you would forgive me m}^ un- intentional provocation if you knew the weight of wretchedness that has overpowered me for the last year." All Ethel's anger vanished in an instant, and she' exclaimed, — " Oh ! Monmouth ! how could you be unhappy and 88 woman's ambition. not tell me ! even if I did not — even if I were not to you as a sister, I might be able to help you. Will you tell me, Monmouth ? " She turned to him, clasping her hands and looking in the most beseeching manner. Poor Monmouth could scarcely retain resolution enough not to tell her what she so beseechingly entreated of him. His troubles would soon have melted into thin air, could he have realised how deeply he was loved, and how often he had inadvertently betrayed to her what he was now taking such pains to conceal. He an- swered, with a struggle that made his lip tremble, — " I am sure I should have your sympathy, dear Ethel; but indeed you could not help me to bear the burden — no human creature could do so." There was something in the tone of his voice, and the expression of his countenance, that eifectually prevented Ethel from renewing her efforts to gain his confidence, but it did not displease her, and after a pause, she said, — " You were going to talk to me about Gerald's letter. Will you forget that I have been naughty enough to quarrel with my first friend, and let me hear all about it ? " Her fascinating smile, which always penetrated to the very centre of Monmouth's heart, now shone upon him in all its radiance, almost taking from him the power of answering her. It was with difficulty that he recalled what had so occupied his thoughts when he had first met her. He sighed, as if to throw off that oppression that weighed him down, and said, — " I had almost forgotten that I wanted to speak to you of poor Gerald. You are fond of Agnes, and as you know she never was a particular favourite of woman's ambition. 89 mine, I do not wish to speak of her personally, as I might not be unprejudiced in doing so. But I was going to tell you how very miserable poor Gerald is, and to ask you to write to Agnes on the subject. You must know as well as every one else, that she did not care for my brother when she married him ; and as a friend you might perhaps be of some use between them. It is rather too soon to quarrel before the end of the first month." " But, Monmouth, what could I say ? I am sure it would never do to tell her that Gerald has been com- plaining ; and, you know, if I were to attempt to interfere in the matter, the whole truth would come out. I never yet could go round anything, and if I could, a letter on such a subject would be sure to be misunderstood. I am quite convinced that the modern mania for letter- writing has created and fostered more dissension than any other mania with which the world has ever been afflicted." Monmouth could not avoid smiling at this novel critique on letter- writing, but the tone of their con- versation soon brought back his gravity, and he answered to the point in question, — " 1 thought you might have devised something. I am so sorry for poor Gerald." " But what does he say, Monmouth ? I cannot imagine Gerald complaining." " That is the reason I lay such great stress on what he says, for you know his haughty spirit must be very much bowed down, to allow of his complaining, even to me. He says her coldness is not endurable. And he speaks of the agony, amounting almost to madness, of loving a wife as he loves Agnes, with the full conviction that he never can gain her affections." 90 woman's ambition. " That is just like Gerald's usual injustice, and I do not half believe in Agnes's coldness; for I always thought Gerald would make a most exacting husband. I am quite sure he expects too much from Agnes ; she is not a person to pretend anything she does not feel. After all, I am afraid they were not very well suited to each other." " Then why were you so anxious that the marriage should take place ? " inquired Monmouth. The question came so abruptly that Ethel was quite startled, and for a moment it struck her that she must speak the truth. She crimsoned to the roots of her hair, and after a slight hesitation, she said, — "Monmouth, you have your secret, and you must let me have mine. I did wish to see Gerald manied, but I am now sorry that he should have chosen Agnes Egerton." Monmouth turned very pale, and snatching her hand, grasped it wdth a violence that actually gave her pain, and exclaimed, — " Oh, Ethel ! Ethel ! it is killing me to live thus ! I muse leave you." Then dropping her hand as suddenly as he had snatched it, he rushed into the w^ood on the outskirts of which they were walking. Poor Ethel stood looking after him as long as he was visible, and then, like a snow-wreath in the sun, she sank down into the lono- o-rass and sobbed as if she could ha,ve wept her heart away. Time passed unheeded, and she was only roused by the bell at the Abbey summoning the stragglers home to dress for dinner. She rose w^earily, well-nigh exhausted by the violence of her emotions, and reached the house only in time to send Lady Augusta woman's usual WOMAN S AMBITION. 9 I excuse — a headache — for her non-appearance at dinner. Her head really did ache ; but even without that plea she could not have appeared, for, independently of the awkwardness of meeting Monmouth again, she dreaded doinor so until she had reo^ained. her self-command, lest Monmouth should discover his power over her. But she need not have been uneasy on this point ; for he was just as anxious to avoid seeing her, after the scene that had passed betw-een them. He wan- dered about till night fall, and then returned to the house with the full resolution of accepting the post of attache to the Turkish ambassador, which had been offered to him a few days before, and which he had hitherto delayed accepting from the extreme pain he experienced at the idea of being thus separated from Ethel. He had so lost all self-control in his late inter- view with her, that he was determined not again to put himself in the way of temptation, until he had shaped out a career and made a position for himself, that might prevent her regarding him as a fortune- hunter. When he entered the drawing-room, late in the evening, he expected, yet dreaded, to meet Ethel ; but when he found that she had returned to the house too ill to leave her room, all his good intentions would have taken flight, had he not already arranged every- thing respecting his future prospects with his father in the dining-room, and it would have puzzled him to account for so sudden a change of mind in any way but by telling the true state of the case, which was not to be thought of In his impatience to be off, he had directed his valet to prepare for leaving Dunmere the following morning ; and now he would have given anything to stay. He asked his mother where Ethel was. 92 woman's ambition. " She has a headache," replied Lady Augusta, " a very unusual thing with Ethel. It is so severe that she said she could not see even me in her room. She will not let me send for the doctor, as she declares she will be quite well in the morning. It is altogether so unlike herself, that I pressed your father to call in Dr. Price, whether she consented or not ; but lie says he will not have her crossed. I am sure it is a fortunate thing that he never had a daughter, or she would have been utterly spoiled." " I hope you will be able to induce her to see Dr. Price to-morrow," said Monmouth, " unless she should have quite recovered." " You must try and persuade her yourself, Mon- mouth ; I think she would yield to you sooner than to any one. By the way, now that Gerald has been such a fool as to throw away his chance, I fancy you mi^ht succeed." " I do not believe Gerald had any chance to throw away," Monmouth replied, "and I am not fortune- hunter enough to try mine. My wife shall never have to upbraid me with having married her for money." " What romantic nonsense ! I suppose you think it would be more honourable to leave her to be caught up by some real fortune-hunter than to offer yourself to her acceptance ? " Monmouth rose impatiently, and paced the room ; goaded to wretchedness, but still believing himself to be in the right, and determined to act upon his convic- tion. After some time Lady Augusta continued, — " I hope, Monmouth, you are beginning to repent of your romantic folly. Ethel is not a silly girl, ready to fall in love ; but I think she likes you better than any ' ^VOMAX'S AMBITION. 93 one, and as her own inheritance is so large, she can afford to marry a man of family without fortune. As to yourself, I do not see where you could find a better match." Thouofh Monmouth knew full well the value of such assertions from his mother, when she had an object in view, yet he could scarcely forbear turning fiercely upon her, when he heard her coolly state her belief that Ethel liked him better than any one in the world, knowing, as he did, that she had done all in her power to brino- about a marriao^e between her and Gerald, His habitual self-control, however, came to his assist- ance, and he merely said, — " Ethel is at perfect liberty to act as she pleases. I am not likely ever to have the power of putting her regard to the test. If I were to do so now I should deserve to be rejected." ^Ir. Longueville came into the room just at this juncture, and Lady Augusta said no more, being aware that Mr. Longueville was not a man to enter into such schemes, and that he would highly dis- approve of any speculation with regard to Ethel, for he was very tenacious of her rights as a ward, and would certainly confirm Monmouth in what she termed his romantic folly. 94 woman's ambitiox. CHAPTER XII. Ethel and Monmouth met the next morning, with an external calmness that is often assumed to cover deep emotion. Ethel had been indescribably hurt by Mon- mouth's unaccountable manner to her, for he had virtually declared by his conduct, if not in so many words, that he loved her, but that he was determined not to offer that love to her acceptance. This was not a kind of thing to be resented by a change of manner on her part, for, as she reasoned with herself, there must be some hidden cause for it, and, like a true woman as she was, she believed if she could be made acquainted with that cause, it would be sufficient to exculpate Monmouth in her eyes, therefore she deter- mined to meet him in such a way as to preclude his having any idea of her understanding the real state of his feeling towards her. This resolution was much more easily formed than acted upon; for when she heard at breakfast of his approaching journey to town, and his subsequent residence at Constantinople, quietly discussed between Mr. Longueville and Lady Augusta and found that he was to leave home in a few hours, though she neither fainted nor even started, yet she turned so deadly pale, that if Monmouth had had the good fortune to have glanced upwards at that moment, all his fine resolutions would have vanished, and his friend, the ambassador, might have gone to Constan- WOMAN S AMBITIOX. 95 tinople without him. But he was looking down on the table-cloth as fixedly as if he were reading his fortune in the pattern, afraid to trust himself even to join in the conversation. Neither he nor Ethel could utter a syllable ; and yet when breakfast was over she lingered in the room, lest, finding herself alone, she should break down, and be unable to take leave of him with composure. The moment arrived, and they parted in silence, which might well have appeared unnatural to Monmouth, had his own feelings left him the power of reflection ; for from childhood they had been fast friends, and Ethel had always been most eloquent in her regret at each previous separation; and now he was gone without one passing word, or one wish expressed that they might soon meet again. It was like a dreadful dream to her, and the first hours of real misery in her young life were passed that day in her own room. They swept like a blight across her heart, and all seemed dark around her ; as it was her first sorrow, so it was her greatest, for the first stroke is always the most painful. In one respect it was fortunate for her that the blow was so stunning, as, her grief being too deep for tears, it quite escaped Lady Augusta's observation. Her extreme paleness was attributed to the illness of the day before; and not the least part of her sufiering arose from the necessity for maintaining appearances, which, to a disposition like Ethel's, was little short of torture. Time passed on, but brought no alleviation to the feeling of desolation that had crept over her. She was resolved not to give way to the grief that was becoming daily more oppressive ; yet, though she struggled to keep her resolution, and succeeded in betraying no outward token of her mental suffering. 96 woman's ambition. her health was fast giving way, from the continual strain on her nerves. One day she was sitting listlessly in the w^indow of the morning-room, looking intently on a book, which she was trying to read, when Lady Augusta, who was looking over the newspaper, exclaimed, — " Ah ! here is Sir Mark Eveleen's approaching mar- riage with the great heiress, Miss Leigh, who only came out last year. It is pretty plain he is not such a fool as Monmouth, who says he will never marry a woman of fortune until he shall have one of his own sufficiently large to prevent his wife from feeling or fancying that he had married her for money. Do you not think he is a great fool, Ethel ? " " I think," said Ethel, starting up with more of ani- mation in her countenance than had visited it for some weeks, " that it is just like Monmouth's noble nature to say it, and to act upon it too." " I very nearly quarrelled with him before he left about it. The young people of the present day do not appear to me to have common sense. I expect he will make a fool of himself, like Gerald, or remain in sinofle blessedness all his life ; for where he is to acquire a fortune sufficient to support a wife, as his wife ought to be supported, passes my comprehension." " And if he should remain unmarried," asked Ethel, '' what does it matter ? " And unable longer to bear Lady Augusta's platitudes she escaped from the room, and no sooner found herself in her own apartment, safely screened from observation, than she burst into tears, a mingled flood of joy and sorrow. Those tears had been for weeks the yearning of her nature, and now that they had come at last, they seemed to restore her to the outer world, from which AVOMAx s a:mbition. 97 since the period of Monmouth's leaving Dunmere she had been as effectually separated as if she had never belonged to it. She now appreciated all the motives of action that had so often puzzled and gi'ieved her in Mon- mouth. It was an actual feast of thought, to look back and to find the same touchstone threw light on every- thing that had mortified and annoyed her in her inter- course with him during the last year. After indulging in the luxury of these retrospections for some time, she came to the resolution of writing to him. Old Mrs. Penrose complained that she never could make her comprehend the conventionalities of life, or to act in any way like other young ladies. The old lady would have been shocked, and perhaps not alto- gether without reason, if she could have taken a peep over Ethel's shoulder as she placed herself at her writ- ing table and commenced. ''My dear Kxight,— " " Oh ! that will never do," she said to herself; " after that beginning he would expect to see me sign myself his lady-love ; and besides, it is not natural." She took another sheet of paper, and tried again. " My dear Monmouth, — " It is pretty plain that you never had a real sister, or you would not have had the heart to leave your adopted one dying of curiosity, for the last six weeks, to know aU about Stamboul — and yourself. If you do not send me a little of the sunshine in which you are disporting, to awaken the Abbey from the state of somnambulism into which it has fallen since you dis- appeared, I think we shall have to vacate in favour of the bats and the owls. I actually met one in the corridor 7 98 woman's ambition. last night, — at least it was either a bat or a ghost, and you know both denote a great want of life. I was maofnanimous enouorh not to scream, knowing^ there would not have been any one to come to the rescue. A very bad account has been received of dear Agnes. She has been seriously ill at the Great St. Bernard, and was moved to D'Aoste. Poor dear Agnes, I cannot bear to think of her future life ! Mr. Percival has returned, looking more like an angel than anything human : I expect to see him fly off some of these fine days. Rosa Leigh is going to be married to Sir Mark Eveleen. Could you imagine such a thing ? She appeared such a nice girl, and he is such a silly speci- men of poor humanity. Lady Augusta is so immersed in her various correspondences, that I am in danger of losing the use of my tongue, particularly as Grace has lost the use of hers. We often walk for an hour toofether without exchanojinor three ideas. After this description of the locale you ^ may fancy I should turn into a statue, if it were not for your father. He is the only spark of real life in the place. He bewails your absence very much, which affronts my presence very much ; but I mean to become a better girl for the future, and cheer up the dear old guardian — if he will let me. How I should like to read this tissue of nonsense to Mrs. Penrose, and sit listening demurely to the scolding I should receive. Do you know, there are some cases in which a good scolding is a most satisfactory afiair ! It shows that people take some interest in one, for I rather fancy scolding is not a very pleasant employment. My sayings and doings used so to horrify the dear old lady, that she gave me scoldings enough to last for my life. Having told you all the news, and much more than you deserve, I must say WOMAN S AMBITION. 99 good-bye, wishing you all sorts of Eastern adventures, " Your affectionate friend, " Ethel Gordox." After Ethel had finished this epistle, she appeared to have become her own joyous self again. The sun- shine of her mind was cast on all around, and every- thing wore a smiling aspect. The task which she had imposed on herself of becoming companionable to Mr. Longueville was an easy one now that the weight that had so oppressed and changed her had been completely removed, as if by magic. Again the old Abbey was enlivened by her joyous step and her sweet voice. Her guardian wondered at the transformation, but he came at last to the conclusion that her tem- porary inertness must have arisen from ill health. lOO WOMAN S AMBITION, o -- ' CHAPTER XIII. The first morning in which Agnes savr the sun re- flected on Lake Leman was to her anything but a joyous one. Had she been told twelve months before, that she should have been there as Gerald Longueville's bride, she would have thoufrht that nothintr could have been wanting to her happiness. Now that unlooked- for, that visionary state of things, had actually come to pass, and had brought her such misery as she could not have conceived it possible to experience with such sources of ]:)leasure within her reach. Unhappily for Agnes, she had not learned to feel before the last few months, and she did not know the strength of those feelings which liad lain dormant in her breast until it was too late. Her present wretchedness did not arise so much from her love for Mr. Percival as from her dislike to Gerald, and from the nervous excitement broucjht on by the continual struecde ac^ainst the in- dulofence in anv thouo-ht unbecomino^ his wdfe. She O «/ CD O longed to lay her head on her mother's shoulder, and tell her all her difficulties. But even if she had been at home, she could not have done so ; for she had married against the express wish — nay, even against the entreaties of Mrs. Egerton, and her personal spiiit was still too unbroken to allow of her confessing to any one save herself that she was so soon reaping the fruits of her evil-doing. Gerald had left her undis- WOMAN S AMBITION. lOI turbed to her own reflections the evening before, while he was pouring forth his complaints to Mon- mouth ; and though at first she felt disposed to give herself to despair ; yet after a while her natural good sense came to her assistance, and led her to the mental acknowledgment, that if she had done Avrong in marrying Gerald, she would do still worse in making him miserable, as she was herself ; and therefore, if she could not love him, she would at least endeavour to enact the part of a good wife. This last resolution was an effort to silence her conscience, w4iich always called out most loudly in her despairing moments. The impression had not worn off by the next morning, so, notwithstanding a severe throbbing headache, she would not indulge herself by remaining in bed, but made her appearance at the usual hour, with such a determination, if possible, to please her husband, that Gerald forgot all the lamentations with which he had filled his letter the previous evening, in the sunlight of Agnes's smiles. While they were at breakfas-^ the mist came sweeping across the lake, swallowing uj vale and mountain. Agnes looked at it with dismay, believing that she never could keep up the resolution of playing the agreeable wife if they were deprived of an excursion of some kind, she cared not what. While these thoughts were passing through her mind, the guide who had been engaged to attend them called to say that it was just the weather for ascending the mountains, where all w^ould be bright and clear, although only fog was to be seen in the valley. If the lady could drive four miles, to the foot of the Grand Saline, and then walk up the mountain out of the mist, they might spend the day in unclouded sunshine, and see one of the most beautiful effects of mountain scener}^. ]02 woman's ambition. This was just what Agnes wished. There was something to be done, which, from the excitement and fatigue attending it, would take her out of herself, and prevent her thinking, which was anything but an agreeable employment to her. It was certainly fatiguing enough as they toiled up the rocks, scarcely seeing' more of the ground than where they placed their feet. When on passing the last village they were still wrapped in obscurity, Gerald became so much afraid that Agones miorht overtire her- self that he proposed returning, but she would not hear of doing so. She took a gloomy pleasure in looking upon the mist that lowered around her, falling in large drops from her dress and hanging heavily upon her hair, like pearls upon ebony. They had abandoned all idea of being able to reach the sunlight, which appeared to them as if it had receded heavenward as they ascended, when suddenly" there heads emerged from the cloud of mist. The deep blue sky spread around them like a curtain, and the sun flashed back from Mount Blanc, and from all the sunny peaks of the glaciers, with a brilliancy almost too glorious to be gazed at, if the eye had not been relieved by the wooded tops of the Jura range, which lay in the mist like verdant islands in a tideless ocean. " What are you thinking of, Agnes," asked Gerald. " Is the glory too great for utterance ? " Agnes raised her lovely dark eyes, which looked more exquisitely beautiful than they had ever appeared before, as if they had drank in some of the pure light spread around them, and answered, — " I was thinking, if happiness ever came to the heart as suddenly as this brilliant scene just now broke upon our view, would it give the same feeling of oppression. woman's ambitiox. 103 This answer, most unintentionally on Agnes's part struck a chill to Gerald's heart ; he felt that his idol was unhappy, and that he had not the power of re- movinof one sorrow from her heart, one cloud from her brow. With deep disappointment in his voice, he said, — " Then you do not like this radiant scene ? " " Perhaps it is too bright for me, I would rather stand on the verge of this crag, and listen to the sounds of human life rising up out of the mist. It is not so fearfully grand." She drew nearer him as she spoke, and when he took her hand, and found it cold and trembling in his his annoyance — his wounded feelings passed away in a moment, and sorely he accused himself of Avant of care and consideration in having allowed her to under- go such excitement and fatigue. He took off his cloak, and spreading it on a rock, placed her on it, in a posi- tion in which she could see as little of the glorious scenery that surrounded her as jDossible. He tried to think that it must be the magnitude of all that met her gaze which liad overcome her, and that by degrees she might become accustomed to it, even sufficiently to enjoy it. But Agnes would rather have shut her eyes on all the wondrous creation that lay before her, if she could at the same time have shut out recollec- tion. Little as she liked Gerald's attentions, she could not but feel grateful to him for. his present gentle kindness, as he chaffed her hands in his, and lamented his seltish carelessness of his treasure, in suffering her to come so far. He blamed himself so immeasurably, that Agnes, much to her own surprise, found herself defending him, and would on no account hear of their descending the mountain before sunset, as 'he would 104 woman's ambition. have done in his terror lest a longer stay in that highly rarified air might injure her. But she was determined not to allow him to lose the pleasure of witnessing the sunset on the mist. He could not make her confess how gladly she would have returned to their hotel, nor ^aeld to his entreaties to do so. The wind rose towards the evening, and as the deep red light played upon the surging billows of the mist, they rolled like waves of livingf fire. Even Asnes was awak- ened to something like enthusiasm, as she gazed upon the richness and novelty of the strange scene. It was with regret that she again felt herself enveloped in the dark clouds, and descended the mountain. With all its drawbacks, it had been to Gerald the happiest day of his married life. Agnes had permitted his attentions, she had even smiled upon them, instead of turning away with scarcely concealed abhorence, as she had so often done before, almost driving him to distraction. It was with a kind of superstitious feel- ing that he entered that thick mist, as if the cold grey atmosphere vv^ould bring back to Agnes the iciness of nianner that had so often chilled him. Fortunately for both, the path was sufficiently dangerous to banish the contemplation of any but external objects, and Agnes was glad to accept the assistance that Gerald was but too ready to offer. It was late when they reached their hotel, and it was their last evening in Geneva. They left the next morning for Chamouni, to form a nearer acquaintance with Mount Blanc. Agnes hoped that Gerald might meet some of his friends there, or any one, or anything that could lessen the continual strain imposed upon her by the long solitary daj^s with him. She was, however, doomed to disappointment, for there were but few English WOMAN S AMBITION. IO5 there, and not any of them on the list of Gerald's acquaintance ; so she had to bear the tete-d-tete ex- cursions to the Mer de Glace, the Cascade des Pelerines, etc., etc., unvaried and unrelieved by any other com- panionship than that of the newly-married husband of her choice. When all the excursions were ex- hausted, Gerald asked her if she thought she was equal to the tour of Mount Blanc. " Oh ! Gerald," she cried, " I never could go to the top of Mont Blanc." He laughed, and said, — " I do not want you to turn into a heroine, Agnes ; I only wish to take you across the grand St. Bernard, up the Yal d'Aoste, and round through a world of beauty." Agnes had little natural taste for the sublime, and for the beautiful only when it was exhibited in the human face. Gerald's proposal sent a cold chill through her frame ; but, according to her resolution of being a good wife, she would not offer any objection; and she declared herself strong enough for anything. The journey proved a most fatiguing one. They left their carriages at St. Pierre, and mounted mules. Agnes was sadly exhausted ; however, she thought it better to press on to the Hospice of St. Bernard. Gerald wished her to rest at the Auherge, which was about two hours beyond St. Pierre; but she had become so feverish and excited by the highly rarified air that she could not be persuaded to stop, even for half an hour. Before they reached the Hospice, Gerald was obliged to walk beside her mule, to support her, and just as they arrived — as if the necessity for exertion had given her strength until then — she fell fainting into his arms. Bitterly he repented of his efforts to instil into her his love of the mas^nificent io6 woman's ambition. scenery they had been passing through; and he blamed himself, as he hung over her senseless form, for his want of consideration and selfish thoughtless- ness. Fortunatety there was an English physician in the Hospice, who remained three days for the purpose of attending upon Agnes. At the end of that time he told Gerald that the severe air of the mountains did not agree with her, and that he ought to take her down into the valley again as soon as she could travel ; and if he wished her to recover her tone of mind, it would be expedient for her to visit Paris, and enter into society there, or perhaps London would be as good ; but in some way change, constant change, was necessary for her. All this was very distasteful to Gerald ; but he was too much alarmed at Agnes's illness to demur, and he resolved to return as soon as she could bear the journey. He was so very kind and tender in his manner, and so attentive to all her w^ishes, that she felt it less difficult to perform her self-imposed task. The first da}^ that she was able to rise and sit by the fire, warmly wrapped in furs, Gerald brouglit her the visitors' book, in the hope that she might find some source of amusement in the observations it contained. She opened it listlessly, not expecting, from her limited circle of friends, to see any name with which she Avas acquainted. She was beginning to be interested in odd remarks, when, on turning a leaf, she was confronted by a handwriting with which she was only too familiar, to be able to bear its sudden appearance, with all its associations of happiness and misery. It was Mr. Percival's. He had transcribed a part of Coleridge's " Hymn before Sunrise, in the Vale of Chamouni." 1 woman's ambition. 107 The colour rose to her temples, and she turned the page without reading what he had written. Gerald remarked her change of countenance, and his quick eye marked the page for future inspection. Quickly as the writincr banished from her sicjht, the colour faded from her cheek. She became colder, and paler, until, feeling that she w^as about to faint, she stretched out her arms to Gerald ; but before he could start forward to support her, she had fallen from her chair to the ground. The doctor, who was instantly sum- moned, was sorely puzzled to account for this unex- pected seizure, as he had pronounced her so very much better an hour before; and he now advised Gerald to have her removed from the Hospice as soon as possible, even if it ^vere necessary to use a litter for the purpose. Gerald told him that he thought her faintness proceeded from something she had seen in the visitors' book. His dark look, as he said this, did not escape the observant eye of the doctor, and he said, — " Ha ! that is strange, and shows a great debility. Do you happen to know what it was ? perhaps you are mistaken ? " " I am almost sure I am not mistaken," answ^ered Gerald, "though I did not happen to be near Mrs. Longue\nlle at the moment." " I will take care," thought the doctor, " that you shall never make yourself quite sure on the subject." Agnes \s youth and extreme beauty, joined to her fascinating manner, had quite interested him in her welfare ; whilst, on the other hand, Gerald's haughty demeanour and dark unprepossessing countenance had repelled him. He was a cool, quiet, observing man, and having no romance of his ow^n on hand — persons of that kind are not supposed to know" what romance io8 woman's ambition. is — he had constructed a very pretty little one on their account, in which Gerald and Agnes figured as hero and heroine, and in his wandering fancies had approached the truth rather too closely not to ima- gine that Agnes's happiness would be materially endanojered if Gerald were to become coornizant of the name, or the handwritino^, that had wrouofht such unpleasant effects on his wife. Therefore he had no sooner left Agnes's apartment than he repaired to the general sitting-room, and quietly took the visitors' book into his own, determined that Gerald should not have the opportunity of gratifying his jealous curiosity. Now, we do not say that this was quite right of the doctor, for there must be something ^vrong when married ladies faint on seeing the handwriting of an old lover. But doctors take a great interest in the welfare of their patients, and Dr. Green might have thought Agnes was not strong enough to bear a scene with an infuriated husband. It was fortunate for her that she had awakened so much interest in her phy- sician; for though Gerald's jealous fears were excited, the precautionary measures adopted by Dr. Green precluded the possibility of his more than guessing the exciting cause, and thus the power was still left to Agnes to work her way- — so far as the lot she had chosen would permit — to happiness. She was now quite as anxious to leave the Hospice as the doctor could desire, and she longed with an increasing yearn- ing to leave Switzerland, with all its bitter associations, behind her, vainly hoping to silence her conscience and bury her deep regret in the busy haunts of men. Very ungracefully did Gerald yield to the recommendation of Dr. Green to take her to Paris. But he did yield — and so ended their bridal tour in Switzerland. WOMAN S AMBITIOX. 1 09 CHAPTER XIV. Ethel did not overestimate the amount of happiness that her letter would confer upon Monmouth. But he had overestimated his strength when he had resolved to separate himself so completely from her, and placed it out of his power even to hear of her. Had Lady Augusta been of a different nature, or had she possessed any real affection for either himself or Ethel, he might have hoped that she would have been the medium of communication between them; but her letters consisted chiefly of the political and fashionable news of the day, and of complaints of the number and exigency of her correspondents. Ethel's name was never mentioned ; and it was always with a sense of desolation that he finished Lady Augusta's elaborate compositions. But we must let his answer to Ethel's letter speak for him. " My Dearest Ethel — " The day on which your letter reached this, I had left the house early in the morning, quite uncon- scious of the blessing which I was about to deprive my- self of for so many hours. That day was one of the gloomiest of my life. Wearied with sight-seeing, in which I took no interest, I determined to pass over to the Asiatic side of the sea of Marmora, and visit Scutari. It was one of those oppressively fine days, that appeared to give joy to all but myself, and I no ^\'oman's ambitiox thought that when I reached the grove of cypress which waves far and wide over the tombs of the dead I should find rest from the outward world ; but I for- got I was in Turkey, where the gayest of all gay scenes are the cemeteries, and where the people seem to me to resort for the purpose of forgetting the in- visible world, and all its inhabitants, instead of mourn- ing over the loss of those who have passed away. " On first landing, I had a glorious \dew of Mount Olympus. I longed for wings to fly to it and bathe my burning brow in its cooling snows. But if I go on much longer in this strain you will think I have had a coup-de-soleil. If, however, I even could have made myself wings, not all tlie snows of Olympus could have refreshed me as your letter did. And when I discovered how long it had rested on my table in my absence unread, I regretted the hours of lost happiness that my ramble had stolen from me • and I could not but feel that if I had had such a talisman with me I should have been in better humour with the people, as well as with the scenery. I am afraid I shall not have any Eastern adventures to relate. They are only to be found by those who seek them, and who have not such a home-sick ima- gination as I am most unfortunately possessed of. I do not admire the Turkish ladies. They have fine eyes, but they make too much use of them ; and there is nothing refreshing in their expression. Their yash- rudcs are but slight veils, and I suspect, where there is a pretty face, its possessor contrives to let it be seen; indeed, some of the yashmacs are quite trans- parent. I am sorry I cannot tell you anything more of the ladies, as I only meet them in the streets. If you wish to make their acquaintance you must come woman's AI^IBITIOX. Ill out, as I cannot do it for you. Your account of Agnes is not very cheering. I am afraid poor Gerald has but a small chance of happiness. His letters have been rather more cheerful lately. He evidently loves his wife as much as ever; but though I sometimes think there is a dawning of happiness rising on his spirit, the next letter destroys the illusion, and shows that he is as wretched as ever. I had a letter from Lord Comdon yesterday, asking me to go with him to Paris as attache, when I become tired of this place. I am quite tired of it ali'eady, so I will accept his offer. Paris is so near home, that it will not be such banish- ment from all that I love. I hope you do not feel any inclination to wing your way to heaven with the angel you describe in such glowing colours. What has happened to Grace ? I am afraid you will be quite shocked at my expressing such an idea, but I should not be much surprised if she were to clip your angel's wings, and chain him down to earth again. Agnes is not a woman for whom a man would die. And now what am I to say to gain your forgiveness after this assertion? I must only throw myself on the mercy of my sweet sister, and beg of her not to show her displeasure by silence. Your letter has given me more happiness than I can dare to express, and I should be miserable were I to lose the hope of another. I do not think that even old Mrs. Penrose would object to your writing to me, for you mav remember she gave you over into my charo-e on all occasions. I long for home more than I ever did in my school days, but, present or absent, '•' Believe me always your devoted friend, " M. LONGUEVILLE." 112 woman's ambition. Monmouth fancied he might write anything when he had, with a great deal of difficulty, brought him- self to call Ethel his sister. Before writing the word he had held his pen suspended, then dashing it on the table, he snatched up her letter and, pressing it to his lips and to his burning forehead, leaned his face on his hands in deep thought. His conscience told him that he ought to rejoice, if she did indeed regard him as a brother ; and that if he could not offer her a home in his heart, he ought to leave her fancy free, and even accustom himself to the idea that she would one day belong to another. This was all much easier to say than to feel, or to act upon, and pushing back his chair, he rose and paced the room for half an hour, at the end of which time he found himself just in the position in which so many men discover themselves to be, standing on the edge of a precipice from which they do not wish to draw back. He sat down again to his letter, determined to let things take their course; and, in the meanwhile the only chance he had of maintaining a regular correspondence with her was to accept the relationship she had assigned him in her letter, and call her his sister. Ethel had counted the days she would have to wait for Monmouth's reply : nor was she disappointed in her reckoning, for he answered it without the delay of a single post. Neither did the letter itself dis- appoint her. She smiled for a moment at the little jealous fear that peeped out about Mr. Percival, and the next she was angry with herself for the smile. " Dear Monmouth," she thought, " I would not make him jealous of anything. He has enough to annoy him without that. If he would only stay at home, we should be as happy as the summer day is loDg. WOMAN S AMBITION. II 3 It is not necessaiy that he should many any one, and if Lady Augusta had let him alone, he never would have dreamed of doing so." But here she paused in her meditations, and recalled all the strange things he had said and done for the last year; and then ended by wondering why he could not be as happy with her as she could be with him, if he would only come back. She rose to shake oft' these reflection-^, that puzzled her so much, and said aloud, — " I would not look into the future, even if I could, for I know it will all come right in the end," She went to Roseneath to ask Grace to come for a walk, as she fancied her pale cheeks were owing to her remaining so much indoors with Mrs. Egerton, and Ethel feared she had been selfish in her sorrow, and had in a great measure neglected Grace while her mind had been so preoccupied. As she was on her way it occurred to her, how easy it is to be unselfish when one is happy. " I am afraid poor Grace has some secret grief. Being shut in from fresh air might make her palid, but could not produce that air of deep dejection, and make her look sometimes as if she longed to throw herself into my arms and cry. I wish she would ; I am sure I have never had that wretched feeling since I had a good cry." Altogether Ethel was puzzled ; but she knew she could not question Grace, as she Avould not like to be questioned herself, so she was obliged to trust to chance for the power of comforting her friend w^hom she loved so dearly. When she reached Roseneath she found Mr. Percival there, and though paler and thinner, he was otherwise much the same as she had ever seen him. There was no mention of Agnes, and Ethel was afraid to inquire 8 114 WOMAN S AMBITION. in Mr. Percival's presence if there had been letters received from her, or from Gerald. When Mr. Percival went away, Ethel asked Grace to walk with her. It was a lovely day, and the two friends were more inclined to enjoy it and each other's society than they had been for a long time. Ethel said, — "I like these grey soft days, though I am so happy just now I think I could bear a little more sunshine without shutting my eyes." Grace lauo-hed her clear low lauojh, which reminded Ethel of the happy days when they first became friends. She laughed too, in the joyousness of her heart, and said, — " I presume, Grace, you are laughing at me, and though I do not understand the jest, I think I am privileged to join in your merriment." " I ought to beg your pardon for laughing, Ethel, but indeed, I could not help it just now ; you so often exclaim against romance, and yet you say such romantic things." "I believe, Grace, yovi are right, and I ought to exclaim against sentimentality rather than romance ; I always fancy sentimental young ladies are the essence of affectation, and romance may be perfectly natural. For instance, I think you are romantic, and I am sure you are not affected." " I wish," answered Grace, " that I was more matter- of-fact. Matter-of-fact people go through the world miich more quietly than those who have quicker per- ceptions of the beautiful and sorrowful in everything." " Of all my acquaintances I should have supposed, Grace, that you would pass through the world the most quietly ; except Gerald's carrj^ng off Agnes from us, I do not know of any excitement you have had to WOMAN S AMBITION. I I 5 break the extreme quietude of your life since T have known you." Grace blushed deeply, as she said, — "I think, Ethel, the mind may become disquieted without much to affect it from without. That is the reason I fancy matter-of-fact people have such an ad- vantage, because they are never moved but by out- ward circumstances, and tangible ones, too." "Well, my dear, I must say your reasoning is not very tangible to my mind just at present. I think you have left out a few links in the chain, which might enlighten me rather more on the subject, if you would put them in, — that glance tells me that you have no idea of doing any such thing, and that I must remain in my ignorance. Is it not so ? " " I am afraid it must be so, Ethel, for I do not know myself well enough to make up the links, even if I had the wish to inflict my inner life upon you." " You do not know how gladly I would enter into it, dear Grace. I always thought there was something in Agnes's mind, or character, that I could not under- stand ; but until lately I have believed you to be a crystallization, a regular transparency." " And I have had pretty much the same opinion of you until lately, so I suppose the best thing we can do is to put up with each other as we are, without trying to discover what lies too deep to be seen." Ethel thought Grace in a very strange mood, and that this was not at all like the lano^uaere of fiiend- ship. Still, she could not help acknowledging to her- self that the feeling was a mutual one, though she would not like to put the acknowledgment into words, and the idea occurred to her that Grace must have a secret of the same kind. But though these 1 1 6 woman' s ambition. thoughts rushed through her mind, she only said, gaily,— " If that be the case, I suppose we must talk about our neighbours, and not ourselves. So, to begin with the last of them whom I have seen. Do you not think Mr. Percival is very unromantic to have forgotten Ao^nes so soon ? " " Why should you think he has forgotten ? " " Because he was just now seated in exactly the same place beside your mama at Roseneath which he occupied the last day I saw him, in company with Agnes, and talking just in the same tone, and looking as unconcerned as if the past had all been a dream." " He has been so often at Roseneath since his return, that any feeling of that sort must be blunted by this time."' ''If the feeling were there," answered Ethel, "he would not have been so ready to go to Roseneath, where it might be blunted, for I believe, with all his goodness, he is human still." " You would not have been so ready to find fault with him, Ethel, had you been with us the first day he came to see mama after his return ; he looked wretched enough to please even you." "I wish 3^ou would give me your recipe for making people happy. He looked most remarkably comfort- able to-day, and very much as if he wished me at the Antipodes. I had a great wish to say, 'I beg your pardon,' and be off." " Ethel, how can you talk so ? " remonstrated Grace, as she turned her head away to hide the unbidden tears that had rushed to her eyes. " Dear Grace, I did not mean to distress you, but indeed it is quite provoking to see him forget Agnes so completely in a few months." WOMAN S AMBITION. I I 7 " I should be very glad to think he had forgotten her," said Grace, with a sigh; and then she added, quickly, " for his own sake, for I heard him tell mama that there was not anything worth living for but to be of use to others, and that the only interest he had in life was his parish." " Well ! well ! I see plainly we have fallen on. an unfortunate subject; so we had better change it, as we cannot agree ; for if I were to give my real opinion I should shock you beyond forgiveness." Grace smiled sadly, as she said, — " That would indeed overtax your powers, Ethel." "I will not dispute the matter with you," Ethel laughingly responded, "but, as I said, change the subject. Have you heard lately from Agnes ? " " Yes ; I have had several letters since she has been in Paris. It appears to have given her new life, and I really think she is enjoying herself very much." "What does she say of Gerald's enjoyment of the matter ? For I suspect it is not much to his taste." Grace coloured. " Oh, she does not mention Gerald." " It is not worth a blush, Grace, my dear ; Agnes 's happiness will never depend upon her husband, she never intended it should. She is not in the least like you in any respect. But there is the dressing-bell at the Abbey, and if I do not make my appearance in due time Lady Augusta will look swords and daggers at me." " Ethel, dear ! " " I require sadly to be kept in order to-day, and 1 believe it was my good star that brought me to you for the purpose." And then, as she was turning away, she added, " Monmouth is coming home ; at least he is going to Paris." ii8 woman's ambition. And she turned quickly into a path in the planta- tion which led to the Abbey, and reached it in due time, to avoid the swords and daggers, which, how- ever, existed only in her own imagination, as Lady Augusta was far too politic to annoy Ethel even by a look. In some degree Ethel was right in her opinion of Mr. Percival. He had returned in a state of the most complete wretchedness, for he was alone. He had not felt the misery of tearing Agnes's image from his heart, but he had felt what was far worse, that it had dropped away from it without his being able to retain it. The idol had fallen defaced from its pedestal. The mist that surrounded her, which had been tui'ned into a purely golden one by his sunny imagination, had dispersed, and Agnes Egerton stood forth in her true character — of the earth, earthy. He felt convinced that he could have borne all — anything — had she not fallen so very low in his estimation. Could he only have kept up the ideal he had formed of her, the very foundation of which he could not now trace. But it was in reality far better for him that her image had been defaced. Had it been other- wise, his was a nature that would have preserved its recollection for ever; and all the after happiness of his life would have been sacrificed. He felt on his return as if the sacrifice had been consummated. Agnes had been almost from her childhood mingled in his every thought, entwined round every fibre of his being ; it was not surprising, therefore, that he should feel as if his very individuality were lost to him, when she had passed from his future. Gradually, however, he awakened from this trance-like state, and awakened so completely as to be able to discern the faults of her \VO^[AN S AMBITION. II9 character, and to thank God that He had taken her from him. The prostration of his mind was not such as would keep him from seeking Mrs. Egerton's society; indeed, his visits to Roseneath appeared the only interest still left to him; and in contrasting Grace's character with that of her sister — ^which he unconsciously did — he felt as if he had found a truth — that there was something to rest upon ; and as she was in every respect unlike Agnes, it was natural that he should trust the one in proportion as he had learned to distrust the other. This transition came on so gradually that he was not himself aware of the fact of his orrowino[ attachment to Grace, an attach- ment veiy unlike his passionate love for Agnes, but quite as deep, and much more inextinguishable. Grace, on her part, though from her knowledge of his devotion to Agnes she had never allowed herself to give it the name of love, had long given up to him every feeling of her earnest though gentle nature; nor was she in the least aware of this, until just l)efore Aomes's enoracrement to Gerald. It was the shock of the discovery, and the subsequent struggle with herself, that paled her cheek and gave a deeper tinge of gi-avity to her manner, which appeared so un- accountable to Ethel. But we must leave both Mr. Percival and Grace to enjoy the new source of happi- ness that was opening to them, and follow Agnes to Paris. I20 avoman's ambition. CHAPTER XV. The novelty of everything in Paris was at first quite sufficient to detach the volatile and excitable mind of Agnes from brooding over the misery she had brought upon herself; and as the roses returned to her cheeks, and the brilliant smiles to those coral lips, Gerald felt that, so long as he could prevent her from mixing with, and being contaminated by, the Parisian world — in fact, so long as he could keep her entirely to himself, he might be happy. This could not last. Unfortu- nately, Gerald had no confidence in Agnes's love for him, or, to speak more truly, he was quite convinced that she had not even common regard for him. He knew it when he proposed for her, and he felt it most acutely when he married her ; and as time passed on. month succeeding month, and still the ice was un- broken between them, he looked forward with actual terror to the period at which he must bring her into society, and must in a great measure leave her to her- self The dreaded period was nearer than he imagined it to be. Agnes Vv-as beo-innino- to tire of sioiit-seeingr, and Avished to know some of the many people who bowed to Gerald, and gazed at her with such evident admiration. A few of these acquaintances he had pre- sented to her; but they were not the young or the gay ; and she pined for that excitement without which she could not crush the thoiio-hts which ao-ain beo-an WOMAN S AMBITION. 12 1 to assail her, of happiness thrown wilfully away, and un- happiness self-inflicted by her ambition and her vanity. One day, as she was driving with Gerald in an open carriage on the Boulevards, she saw an English phgeton approaching, most beautifully-appointed, though very plain. It was driven by a very handsome woman, who might have been declared pctssee had she made any j^retensions to youth; but it was very evident that, though accustomed to admiration, she received it in her own character. She looked earnestly at Gerald, and seemed almost inclined to draw up her prancing horses. He, however, looked sedulously the other way, as if he were lost in admiration of a pretty little grisette who was passing by at the moment. " Who is that ? " exclaimed Agnes. "Some pretty little milliner, I suppose," he answered, carelessly. "Some pretty little nonsense," retorted Agnes. "I mean the lady who was driving the phaeton, and who passed you quite closely." " I was looking on the pathway," he replied, a shade of displeasure darkening his countenance, as he uttered the implied falsehood. Agnes had none of that discre- tion which would have induced her to appear satisfied with any explanation he might be pleased to offer her; and she turned such a scrutinizino- gaze on his face, that the colour mounted to his temples, and, to escape her observation, he whipped the horses, who reared, and then started forward, as if they w^ere about to run away. But Agnes was not nervous, and instead of frightening her thoughts into another channel by this little manoeuvre, it only served to fix them more closely on the lady in the phaeton ; so, as soon as the horses had regained their firmer pace, she said, — 122 WOMAN S AMBITION, " I hope we shall meet that lady again ; I am sure, Gerald, she knew you. She was evidently disposed to draw up when her eye fell upon you." " You will have enough to employ your imagination, Agnes/' Gerald replied, '' if you take a fancy to all the English you meet." " It is going too far to say I have taken a fancy to her, but I really am very curious about her, and I should like to meet her aorain." o " It is not probable that your desire will be gratified, my love," said Gerald, in a gentle tone of voice, as if he were afraid of further rousing his wife's curiosity. '* Paris is a large place, and just at present there are many English in it." " I wish, Gerald, if you intend remaining here, you would take an appartement, and receive your friends ; we might as well have stayed in Switzerland as come to Paris and live in an hotel, where we never see any one." Gerald felt very much inclined to wreak his annoy- ance on the horses, but a little consideration told him that he must answer, so he said, — " As soon as you are tired of Paris, Agnes, I shall be ready to go ! " " Go where ? " asked she, in alarm, as a vision of Dunmere and Lady Augusta rose to her view. ''Anywhere you like, dearest," said he, turning on her a look of fondness, that smote on her conscience, and even to bringing the tears into her eyes ; but instead of answering, she began to reflect on the injustice she had done her husband, and then swiftly back flew her thoughts to the efibrts she had made to gain the heart that she now would give anything never to have won ; until, oppressed by a feeling of actual remorse, she sunk WOMAN S AMBITION. I 23 her head on her hand, with her usual selfish yielding to the impulse of the moment, totally forgetting the un- happiness she might be inflicting on her husband. After waiting in vain for some reply, he turned away with a deep sigh, and the remainder of the drive was passed in silence. 124 woman's ambition. CHAPTER XYI. Ix a boudoir, furnished with all the luxuries that Paris could produce, sat the lady who had attracted so much of Agnes's attention. She, too, had returned from her drive, and, as she half reclined on the sofa, her per- sonal appearance and all her surroundings as much declared her the woman of fashion as her plain hut perfectly-appointed carriage had done when she was driving^. The subdued liorht of the room had softened the brilliancy of her beauty ; and the extreme ele- gance of her dress, in perfect keeping with herself, left nothing for the eye to desire. While she was thus enjoying the luxury of a quiet rest, and a book, which any one looking on her calm noble brow would know she could well appreciate, the Marquis de Viliere was announced. The lady seemed particularly glad at this announce- ment. She was not a person to be easily pleased, and therefore the marquis must have had some greater attraction than his face and figure, which' were both such as any woman might admire. He was a perfect French gentleman, a man of great natural talent, which, from the nature of his country's government, had no legitimate object on which to ex- pend itself, and had therefore all been frittered away on the art of pleasing. He was not very young, but this was rather in his favour, as his experience gave woman's ambition. 125 him the power of going deeper into the characters of those to whom he devoted himself for the time being. He had, however, met his match in the lady into whose presence he was now ushered. He had been but a few minutes in the room before she said, — " By the way, I am sure I have seen the angel whose description you painted in such glowing colours last evening. If I am right in my conjecture, I know her husband." " Indeed," replied her visitor. " I hope you will be so compassionate as to present me to her." ''A most Quixotic proceeding," said the lady, shak- ing her head. " I am afraid any attempt of the kind would make Mr. Longueville put an iron mask on his lovely wife." " Is she married to Gerald Longueville ? " replied the marquis. " He was one of my greatest friends last year ; but I was not aware of his being in Paris now, as I have not met him anywhere." " Because he has shut himself up in Meurice's," responded the lady. " Oh ! if that is all, I will soon hunt him out of his defences. But the lovely girl who so enchanted me was going into the Louvre with a solemn-looking old lady in black, and two dismal-looking young ones in '^ray. A beautiful woman is like a fine diamond, the effect of which is considerably enhanced by being set with other diamonds of equal value. But this radiant creature of whom I speak was an exception even to this rule ; she did not stand in need of any adventitious circumstances to enhance her loveliness ; she was one of the most perfect beings I ever saw." " I feel very much inclined to call on Mrs. Longue- ville, at Meurice's, and as you are a friend of Mr. 126 woman's ambition. Longueville's, you might meet me there just as I am about to pay my visit." Of course the invitation was accepted with pleasure, and the lady continued, — " Even if Mrs. Longueville should not be the beauti- ful unknown you are so anxious to become acquainted with, I think you will acknowledge that our country is rich in beauty, for I never beheld a lovelier face than hers." " I am quite ready to acknowledge that already," said he, with a glance of admiration at his hostess- The compliment was accepted, though not acknow- ledged, by the lady. Bat it is time that we should introduce this fair lady by name to our readers. She was the Duchess of Tyne, at whose house Gerald had alwa^^s been a welcome visitor when in London. But although he had admired her, and always considered her society as a sure resource against ennui, yet she was not a person he would have chosen as a friend for Agnes, though perhaps it was rather more with her set than with herself that he would have disliked any intimacy for his young wife. The duchess held the Marquis de Viliere's opinion that beauty ought to be well set ; and she collected around her all that was lovely and fascinating in woman — all that was clever and attractive in man ; so that if not quite resplen- dent herself, she shone more resplendently by reflection. Her house, wherever she happened to be placed, was always looked upon by the world as the very temple of fashion and pleasure. Her husband was immersed in politics, and scarcely found time to remain with her on the continent for more than a few weeks together. He was proud of his wife, aid had the greatest con- I WOMAN S AMBITION. I 27 fidence in her integrity. He disliked the society she assembled around her, and occasionally entered a pro- test against one or two, of whom he saw reason parti- cularly to disapprove ; and as the duchess always dropped the acquaintance of the interdicted ones without a demur, he felt obliged to yield to her the rest, all the more that he did not know how to change it, and that she did not give him any assistance in doing so. At the appointed houi' M. de Viliere handed the duchess from her carriage at Meurice's. Agnes had been trying to glean something like amusement from Galignani, and had just thrown it aside with an impatient sigh, that betrayed perhaps more of sorrow than a deeper one might have done, when she was startled by the door being thrown open. She expected to see Gerald enter, for he had gone to his bankers ; and was to return to take her for their usual drive, which Agnes looked upon as but one degree less wearisome than the newspaper and her sofa. It was therefore with a sensation of natural delight that she beheld before her the lady she had so much wished to meet again, attended by the Marquis de Viliere. Agnes, in her ignorance of society, would have thought the acquaintance of any duchess a safe and sufficient introduction to the highest circles, and consequently would have received with pleasure the visit of the Duchess of Tyne, even if she had been as unprepossessing as most of the few whose acquaintance Gerald had allowed her to make. But nothing of this appeared in her manner, as she rose to receive her husband's friends ; and all parties being determined to be pleased, the visitors prolonged their stay, and before the duchess left, she had appointed to call on 128 woman's ambition. Agnes the next day to take her to Versailles, to see a chateau in the neighbourhood, which she was about renting for a short time. " I have not a seat to offer Mr. Lonorueville," she said ; " but I hope you will consent to part with him for one day." Agnes blushed very deeply at the idea of the great difference there was between her feelings in the pro- spect of absenting herself for a few hours from her husband andthose which even the fashionable duchess seemed actually to expect in the young bride, while the duchess, on her part, fancied that Mrs. Longueville was about to sacrifice herself to please her new ac- quaintance, for which act of courtesy she accordingly thanked her ; and, on her departure, Agnes remained in such an ecstasy of delight that she actually longed for Gerald's return, in order to have some one to talk to of her happiness, not doubting that he would be as pleased as herself at recognizing an old friend — for such she conceived the duchess to be — in the unknown whom she had so much admired. When Gerald did return at last, she recounted to him, in a rapture of delight, all that had been said and done during the visit, and even gave him a glowing description of the marquis ; while darker fell the shadow on Gerald's countenance, unheeded by Agnes, till she reached the invitation for the next day, when he started, and exclaimed, — " You have not accepted it, Agnes ! " " Of course I have," replied she ; " why should I not ? " " Because," he answered, '" you are too young and inexperienced to form intimacies for yourself This is one of the reasons I have wished you to enter society by degrees." WOMAN S AMBITION. I 29 "Then I suppose I am not to go?" she inquired, looking up at him. He hesitated as to what he ought to do, or rather as to what he could ; and Agnes, concluding that her doom was sealed, like a spoiled child disappointed of a new plaything, burst into a passionate flood of tears. Gerald had often fancied that she had been weeping in secret, but he had never seen her tears before, and notwithstanding the frivolity of the occasion which had now called them forth, he was completely subdued, and fondly caressing her, he murmured, — " My dearest love, you shall do as you like ; I only think it is rather unkind of the duchess to take you away from me for so long." The kindness of his manner, when she might have expected reproof for her extreme childishness, made Agnes thoroughly ashamed of herself, and with her eyes still overflowing, she turned to him and said, softly, — ^'Dear Gerald, I will not go if it gives you pain." The epithet of endearment, the first she had ever used to him, caused Gerald's heart to bound ; he could not have denied her anything at the moment, and he replied, — " No, my love, you shall do as you like now, and always, — only love me, my own darling." Agnes hid her face on his shoulder, and as he pressed her to his heart, she could scarcely restrain another burst of grief. There were moments when she longed to love him; and perhaps had her heart been free at the period of her marriage, she might have succeeded, notwithstanding her deeply- rooted dislike to him from her childhood. All day she was trying to summon up courage enough to write an excuse to 9 I30 VrOMAN S AMBITION. the duchess, but she was too selfishly delighted at the anticipation of so much unrestrained enjoyment to forego it, although she was fiilly aware of the pleasure she would confer on her husband by so doing. She prepared the next morning for her excursion, with anything but an easy conscience ; for she knew Gerald did not approve of the duchess as a friend for her, though he had not exactly said so. When the time came, however, she forgot all, in the amusement of the passing hour. The Duchess of Tyne was a person who could always fascinate where she chose to do so. She suspected Gerald's wish that his wife should avoid her set ; but it suited her to court the young and lovely Mrs. Longue\dlle, as another ornament and attraction to her house ; she therefore brought into play all her charm of manner and intellectual superiority, to gain a place in Agnes's fancy. That she succeeded with one so young and inexperienced, is saying little for her powers, which had often been triumphantly exerted on those who were predetermined to resist her influence, and more capable of doing so than Agnes. Gerald was greatly relieved in the evening, when, amidst all Agnes's raptures, he drew from her the admission, without betraying his anxiety on the sub- ject, that she had spent the day alone with the duchess. Independently of the natural jealousy of his dis- position, the Marquis de Viliere was almost the last man of his acquaintance whom he could endure as an attendant on his wife, and it was his intimacy with the Duke and Duchess of Tyne which in a great measure excited in Gerald so strong a desire to prevent WOMAN S AMBTTIOX. I3I any intercourse between this lady and his wife, during their stay in Paris. But he did not really know the duchess, though she thoroughly understood him, and was quite aware that if Agnes were to be to her anything more than a mere casual acquaintance, she must not lose sight of the peculiarity of his tempera- ment. But independently of this, she knew full well that the marquis would be an unsafe companion for one whose character contained so much of levity, and at the same time so much of innocent confidence in the world, of which it was plain that she knew no more than a child ; so the duchess silently resolved to take Agnes under her especial guardianship. The Longuevilles did not see much of her for the next fortnight ; but little as it was, Agnes appeared to live upon it, and a slight hint from Gerald that it was time to leave Paris was met by such irresistible entreaties to remain, that he could not but yield to them. Indeed, could he have felt the same confidence in Aomes which the Duke of Tyne reposed in his wife, Gerald might have been happier than he had ever been before ; for since a prospect of amusement had opened upon Agnes, her manner towards him had quite changed. As the weeks passed on, the intimacy strengthened, entailing upon Gerald, as he had foreseen, the necessity for introducing his wife into general society ; and as the sweetness of her manner increased, so did her independence of action. In this she not only fol- lowed her own inclination, but imitated her new friend, totally unmindful, and even unconscious, of the difference between a perfect woman of the world and herself, so young and so thoroughly ignorant of even the forms of the vortex into which she wad blindly rushing. WOMAN S AMBITION. CHAPTER XYII. After the receipt of Ethel's letter, Monmouth felt that he could remain in the East without that wretched- ness which he had imagined had been home-sickness, but which in reality arose from the gulf he had placed between himself and Ethel. Her letter was the bridge that spanned that gulf, and, from the frank- ness of her nature, he knew that if he could persuade her to continue to write to him, he should by means of her letters become intimate with all that concerned or interested her, and that under such circumstances separation was not separation in reality. He had, however, accepted the appointment of attache to his friend, who was about to leave for Paris, and he did not wish to draw back, particularly as he had been requested to meet the ambassador immediately. Gerald being there was another inducement held out to liim, and one which he fully appreciated, for the brothers were warmly attached to each other. Sunshine had returned to the Abbey, and to Kose- neath, for Monmouth had succeeded in keeping up the correspondence so happily begun by Ethel. His letters to her were long and frequent ; but their tone was always a fraternal one ; and thus he contrived to delude himself into the idea that he was injuring none but himself, — than which there never was a greater fallacy. No human being can retain evil with himself. If it be evil, it must perform its office, and injure all WOMAN'S AMBITION. 1 33 it touches. Agnes's letters to Grace were written ia such a happy strain that the latter fondly hoped that all cause for anxiety was removed, and that Agnes had at last found happiness ; but, greatly to Grace's sur- prise, it appeared to be happiness entirely independent of her husband ; for if Gerald had never existed, his name could not have been more completely excluded from his wife's correspondence. Agnes altogether was a cause of astonishment to Grace ; but not a greater enigma than Mr. Percival. One day that he was at Roseneath he picked up one of Agnes's letters that had fallen from Grace's workbox. She took it from him with a heightened colour, not daring to raise her eyes to his face, well knowincr that he must have recoo-nized the handwriting, which was remarkably beautiful. Scarcely was the letter replaced in her box, and the cover quickly shut to hide from him what she so much feared might agitate him, than she was surprised by his asking, in a perfectly indifferent tone, — ■ " Where is Agnes now ? " Grace's startled glance and deep blush did not escape his observation as she answered, — " In Paris." With that singular frankness which very reserved people sometimes display, he said, — " Agnes is no more to me now than any other woman. What she was to me, you know, perhaps better than she knew herself." Grace turned very pale — she tried to look up — she tried to speak, but both appeared utterly impossible. He sat looking at her for a few minutes, and then added, — " You do not think me right in changing my mind so quickly ? " 134 WOMAN S AMBITION. Poor Grace absolutely gasped as she stammered — " I do not know." This was not at all what she would have said if she could have collected her scattered ideas, and it was no sooner uttered than she felt that it was the very last thing she wished to say. His brow flushed as he answered, — " I wish I dared prove to you that it could not have been otherwise ; but Agnes is your sister, and " He stopped abi-uptly. Grace was saved the embarrassment of beinof agfain obliged to speak, by the apparition of Ethel at the w^indow, who, not seeing Mr. Percival, exclaimed, — " Wliat in the world is the matter with you, Grace i You look like a ghost. Has your pastor been giving you a lecture on the impropriety of young ladies wearing roses ? " " No, indeed. Miss Gordon," said Mr. Percival, bending forward as he spoke ; "I so much approve of young ladies wearing roses, that I should be very glad if you could prevail on Grace to go out this lovely day in search of them." "Oh, Mr. Percival," exclaimed Ethel, "I did not think you were so ill-natured." " I have never before been accused of that heinous offence," replied he, with one of his radiant smiles, " and I am quite at a loss to know how I have incurred the accusation from you ? " '• I will constitute you your own judge," she an- swered. " Do you not acknowledge that it was ver}- ill-natured of you not to show yourself when I spoke of you just now ? There is no knowing," she added, laucfhino^, '' what I mio:ht have said — enouo-h to maki^ us enemies for life." WOMAN S AMBITION. 1 35 "You gave me very little time/' he replied, "and even if you had, I could never have been afraid of Miss Gordon saying anything unkind." " Grace ! Grace I " Ethel exclaimed, " is not that too bad ! to hear Mr. Percival paying compliments I What lias become of your boast that there was one man at least in the world who was never guilty of such a thing ? " Grace, though the gentlest of human beings, actually sprang from her seat at this unexpected speech, and ran out of the room, leaving Ethel gazing after her in amazement, and Mr. Percival with the softest expres- sion lighting up his whole face. " Well, well ! " said Ethel, '•' I believe the whole world is bewitched. I never could have imagined that Grace would fly off like a rocket. But I must go and look after her." So saying, she entered by the window, and followed her friend. She found her in her own room, where Ethel was in the habit of se3king her, when she was not in her usual^ place in the morning room. It was an unwillincj voice that granted her admittance on the present occasion. No one could accuse Grace of want of roses when Ethel opened her door. She was standincr like a frio^htened fawn in the middle of the room, as if she would have flown had there been an}^ mode of egress. " Grace," Ethel began, "I do not know whether to ask to be forgiven, or to scold you for flying off" at a tangent. But, do you know, Mr. Percival puzzled me quite as much as you did, he looked so particularly pleased. Do you think he was glad to get rid of you, or happy that you defended the absent ? " Oh, Ethel, you don't know what you have done. I shall never be able to face Mr. Percival a^gain ! " exclaimed Grace, almost passionately. 136 WOMAN S AMBITION. " That would be a dreadful loss, my dear," answered Ethel, smiling, "for I think he becomes handsomer every time I see him. I never saw him look so well as he does to-day, particularly after you ran away; you should have stayed to see, but then perhaps the exciting cause would not have been there. But what is the matter with you, Grace, dear," she exclaimed, as she saw her turn very pale and sink on the sofa. The whole appeared to strike Ethel in an instant, and sitting dow^n beside Grace, she threw her arm round her, and whispered. '' Do not mind, dearest ; he will never know, and even if he did, I could not be sorry^ for believe me, Grace, he loves you." Grace returned her embrace, and, in a broken voice, said, — " Oh ! Ethel, it is so humiliating that others should learn, through my own folly, what I have never dared to acknowledge even to myself." Ethel felt all the misery that Grace must be experi- encing, and, to comfort her, she said, — " There is nothincr humiliatinor dearest Grace, in returning such affection as 1 am convinced, and have for some time been convinced, that he feels for you ; and y^ou know, after all, he is not vain, and therefore, so far as he is concerned, your secret is safe." Poor Grace .' This was too much, tearing even the shred of a veil from what she had flattered herself she should have power to conceal from every eye. She ofazed at Ethel, as if she doubted whether she could mean what her words implied ; and then turning from her in silence, she hid her face in the cushion, and burst into an uncontrollable fit of sobbing. Ethel allowed her to sob Avithout interruption, feeling, from her own experience, what relief it would afford. 137 Grace did not weep long, for she was not a girl to give way for any length of time to feelings that she had always been in the habit of controlling. In a few minutes, therefore, she raised her head, and said, — " Will you make me one promise, Ethel ? " " Any promise you like, my own darling Grace, if it will only restore you to yourself" " Thank you, dear. The promise I wish you to make me is, that you will never allude to this subject again. You cannot tell how unutterably painfully it would be to me." " Most willingly," Ethel answered ; " and in keeping my word I shall only do as I would be done by." She sighed deeply as she finished speaking ; and they both rose, as if afraid to trust themselves in the mutu- ally confidential attitude in wdiich the}^ were sitting on the sofa. Ethel asked Grace to walk with her, under the impression that the open air would enable her to regain her usually good spirits sooner than anything else. She saw that Grace hesitated, and she longed to tell her that their was no danger of their meeting Mr. Percival, as she had heard him leave the house ; but she was afraid she should be encroaching on the interdicted subject, so she suddenly checked herself Grace answered her thoughts by putting out her hand, and saying, — " Thank you, dearest ; I knew I could trust you." And the two friends went out for a walk almost as silent as their rambles had been a few weeks before. Mr. Percival had indeed left the house almost imme- diately, for though in a dream of pleasure, or rather of newly-born happiness, he did not expect that Grace would return to the room while he remained there. For the first time since the day he had heard of 138 ^voman's ambition. Agnes's engagement to Gerald Longueville, he looked forward with something like hope to the future. The hope, however, was but slight ; for, as Ethel had said, he was not naturally a vain man, and the disappoint- ment of his first love ha*d made him even more dis- trustful of his own powers of pleasing ; so, though he could not think that Grace in any way resembled her sister, yet he was obliged to acknowledge to himself that she had never given him the least reason to hope before that day, whereas Agnes had promised to be his, and bad cast him off for another apparently with- out a pang. Might he not therefore be mistaken in the one as well as in the other ? Now that he really loved Grace, he felt much more inclined to doubt her. This tendency to suspicion was caused, not by his love, for real love leads to trust, but by the deception so heartlessly practised upon him by Agnes. A woman who betrays the affections of a man who loves her, even without going to so great an extent as breaking an actual engagement, almost alwa3"s injures others besides. So it was with Mr. Percival. Agnes had so deceived him that he was almost disposed to doubt the whole race of womankind. This evening, as if to torment him, the image of Agnes rose before him, surrounded by the halo which the first conviction, on her part, of his love for her had cast around her, and her rare beauty intensified by the varying expression of her countenance, which had shown him that his afiection had been returned. Again she was before him as he had seen her just before she had paid her first visit to the Abbey, which was des- tined to prove fatal to her happiness. He could trust then, for he had never been betrayed. WOMAN S AMEITIOX. 139 It was with wonder, rather than regret, that he recalled it all, for beside her image arose another, so calm, so pure, so full of feeling, yet so totally different from that of his former idol, that he was feeling, if indeed he could win her, she would be won for ever; and ao-ain his thoufjhts reverted wdth pleasure to the little spark of hope held out to him by Ethel's un- guarded repetition of Grace's speech about him. Days glided into weeks, and yet still Grace contrived to elude every effort of his to meet her. To another man this evident wish to avoid him might have appeared an additional reason for hoping, as it showed that she had reason to dread his discovering some- thing she wished to conceal; but to him it only brouo'ht the fear that she shunned him lest he migrht presume on her uncontrollable agitation. But whether with or without encouragement, his was not a disposi- tion to remain inactive, while watching the course of events. He longed to see Grace, in the hope that if she really cared for him, he could not but see some sign of it in her manner after what had passed. At first Grace shut herself up in her room, but fear- inor that Mrs. Eo-erton might send there for her, she Avould leave the house by a side-door as soon as she knew that Mr. Percival was safely engaged with her mother. Her favourite resort was a grotto, built over the source of a small river, which, as if rejoicing at its escape from the darkness, danced sparkling over the broken rocks, and pursued its wa}^ noisily, until it reached the sunshine in the open glade, where, as if subdued by its bright rays, it murmured gently on- wards to its quiet rest in the lake. She chose this place of retreat, secure that, as the pathway stopped at the grotto, behind which rose a great rock covered .140 ^VOMAX S AMBITION. with brushwood and wild climbing plants, Mr. Perci- val was not likely to invade her solitude. But she was mistaken. Young ladies who wish to hide themselves amongst green leaves should not wear light-coloured dresses, at least not when lovers' eyes are on the watch for them. Mr. Percival more than suspected that Grace's re- peated absence could not be altogether the result of accident; and when he once caught a distant glimpse of her by the river, after an unusually brief visit to Roseneath, — if the truth must be told, made inten- tionally so, for the purpose of acting the spy, — he at once determined to follow her. What motive led him to this determination he could not exactly explain, even to himself But as he walked along the wild pathway, he disentangled his ideas on the subject sufficiently to come to the conclusion that his abrupt appearance would at least enable him to penetrate somewhat into the real state of Grace's heart, by observing the effect it produced upon her ; so that he micrht ascertain whether she was avoidino^ him from the wish to convince him of her indifference, or fi-om the fear of betraying the feeling with which he was so anxious to inspire her. Grace, as was her wont, had taken a book with her, and though but little inclined to read, she made most laudable endeavours to do so. She was sitting on a rock just at the entrance of the grotto, but quite hidden by the thick ivy that hung from the archway from the view of any one approaching. On her lap la}^ her book, and her eyes were fixed with an earnest gaze on the noisy waters, that rushed foaming past her, her mind tormenting her by the oft-repeated wish that she could muster courage sufficient to meet Mr. woman's ambition. 141 Percival as if nothing had occurred. How much posi- tive enjoyment she had ah'eady lost by absenting her- self from his society, which had for years formed the centre of her happiness, round which all her thoughts unconsciously grouped themselves ! How difficult would it be for her ever again to meet him as a friend ! Such reflections were crowding upon her, when, on turn- ing, she saw, through an opening in the ivy, that Mr. Percival was drawing near. She started and trem- blingly watched him for a few minutes, until a bend in the path concealed him from her sight, then, spring- ing up, and dropping her book unheeded in her fright, the idea struck her of hiding; behind the o^rotto, under the rock, before he should again appear. She acted upon the impulse of the moment. But a very short con- cealment made her regret having done so, for her terror almost amounted to agony, as she heard his step approaching, lest she should be discovered. He came, and at the first glance at her book lying on the ground his heart bounded \Yith. joy, though it might have puzzled him to tell what this had to say to the reception he was likely to receive from its owner. He stopped to pick it up, anc. then pushing aside into its curtain, entered the ^c^^otto. But it was with a sensation of blank dismay that he gazed around and found it empty. ''Passing strange ! " he ejaculated. ''Can she have fled from me even here ? Fool that I am, perhaps she does not think of me at all," he added, after a brief pause. Then sinking on one of the seats, he covered his face with his hands, and remained for some time absorbed in thought, till, with a heavy sigh, he rose and left the grotto, without even turning to look for Grace amono^st the rocks whither she miorht have climbed in 142 WOMAN S AMBITION. search of wild flowers, botany being a favourite pur- suit of hers, — a fact which he well knew, as he had often assisted her in the study of it. But, to quote his own words, "passing strange" was the change a few minutes' suffering under the sting of disappointment had effected in him. Like all real lovers, he believed the object of his affections too perfect for him to gain her affections, and what a few days before had given him such hope now seemed to imbue him with a sort of despair. He deemed it proof positive that she only regarded him in the light of a friend, and that her agitatiou had arisen from the high tone of her mind. In reverting to his feelings for Agnes, he could trace much reason for blame in himself with respect to his dealings with her. He could now perceive how he had wilfully blinded himself, not only to her faults, but to the whole tenor of her character, which was essentially 'worldly, and he almost trembled at the idea of what might have been her influence on his spiritual life had he married her wiiile thus blind to all her defects, and yet adoring her as he did ; more especially as her power over him would have been unbounded, from the affection that she would probably have shown for him. And now, when his heart turned so devotedly to Grace, he felt completely unworthy of her. Could she, — he argued with himself, — accept a heart that had not only been offered to another, but had by that other been cast ofl' with contempt. The more he pondered over it, the more convinced he was that his passion for Agnes did not deserve the name of love ; that it was mere idolatry of beauty, which he now felt as sinful, even, to a degree of remorse. His character was much like a volcanic mountain, grand and unapproachable, but full of fire, ready to burst forth yet it was only in soli- WOMAN S AMBITION. 1 43 tude that the storm broke over him, and that he gave himself up to the real force of those feelings which were reduced to subjection when he came into contact with his fellow men. On leaving the grotto, those feelings completely mastered him. He cast himself on the ground, with his face pressed into the long grass, as if bowed by the blast of bitterness that rushed through heart and brain. It was well that the same cause, though moderated by the gentleness of her womanly nature, kept Grace within the grotto, for she could not have returned by any path but the one beside which he had thrown himself, in the sudden revulsion of spirit that had overpowered him. While he stayed in the grotto, Grace remained im- movable in her place of concealment. Her very heart appeared to stand still, for she liad heard every word he had uttered in his despair. At first these words of his sent a thrill of happiness through her that she had never before experienced ; but soon came the bliorhtino^ thous^ht, " If Aojnes had not married, he never would have loved me. It cannot be really love that he feels for me. I will no longer let him suppose I am avoiding him, nor shall he have the opportunity of seeing me alone. He will soon change again — per- haps to Ethel next." It is rather strange that this last suggestion of her evil genius gave her a sting that might have told her that, at least, she did not wish him to change. However, notwithstanding the warning she might have taken from it, she resolved to meet him with ap- parent calmness and treat him as if he were a friend, and a friend only, She carried out her resolution shortly after, and met him with as much composure 144 WOMAN S AMBITION. of manner as if nothing had occurred to break the uniformity of their lives. He also had been schooling himself to appear only as her friend, sadly convinced that he had mistaken lier the day she had left the room so suddenly. And again commenced the play that is so often acted in real life, and which so often ends fatally to the happi- ness of those who engage in it. WOMAN S AMBITION. 145 CHAPTER XVIII. Again we must meet our party in Paris, to which Momnouth had added his presence, and where all the world of fashion were bemnnincr to cono-reofate. Amongst others. Sir Mark Eveleen, whose pretty wife had not succeeded in making him either wiser or more amiable. Monmouth's anxiety was in part relieved by re- marking that Gerald was more satisfied with Agnes than he had ventured to hope would be the case ; and indeed, to a less interested observer, all would have appeared right between them ; but Monmouth knew Gerald's jealous disposition too well not to feel assured that he must feel something not far removed from misery in seeing Agnes the centre of a circle of scarcely unde- clared admirers. Neither of the brothers really knew Agnes's character, for, — notwithstanding her decided love of admiration, and a manner that miolit be said to arise from either levity, or imiocence, according to the charity or want of charity of the interpreter of it, — she looked with thorough contempt on all the triflers who surrounded her, and she rather disliked the Marquis de Yiliere than otherwise ; but as the Duchess of Tyne's friend, she allowed him always to flutter round her. Had she loved her husband she must have perceived the constant care this caused him; and probably, had he been assured of her affection, he might not have 10 146 woman's a:mbitiox. taken such pains to conceal from her his dislike of the marquis, which was considerably greater than her own. But Gerald was still in love with his wife, and to win her smiles, which she never accorded him on any other conditions, he sfladly yielded to all lier wishes, or rather to her caprices. One of her caprices, — for it did not deserve a more exalted appellation, — was her devotion to the Duchess of Tyne, who had gained complete ascendancy over her. It annoyed Gerald, who could be jealous even of a female friend; but he was well aware of the meanness of his ruling passion, and employed the utmost caution not only to hide it from his wife, but from all the world, knowing the ridicule it would elicit from the young men of his own set, and how much more it would expose Agnes to their attentions. The duchess was about to give a splendid entertain- ment at her Chateau near Versailles, which the rail- road had now brou