Shirley..................................................................................................................................................................1

Chapter XVIII. Which the Genteel Reader is Recommended to Skip, Low Persons being here Introduced

Chapter XXXIV. Case of Domestic Persecution Remarkable Instance of Pious Perseverance in the

Of late years an abundant shower of curates has fallen upon the north of England: they lie very thick on the

hills; every parish has one or more of them; they are young enough to be very active, and ought to be doing a

great deal of good. But not of late years are we about to speak; we are going back to the beginning of this

century: late years present years are dusty, sunburnt, hot, arid; we will evade the noon, forget it in siesta,

If you think, from this prelude, that anything like a romance is preparing for you, reader, you never were

more mistaken. Do you anticipate sentiment, and poetry, and reverie? Do you expect passion, and stimulus,

and melodrama? Calm your expectations; reduce them to a lowly standard. Something real, cool and solid

lies before you; something unromantic as Monday morning, when all who have work wake with the

consciousness that they must rise and betake themselves thereto. It is not positively affirmed that you shall

not have a taste of the exciting, perhaps towards the middle and close of the meal, but it is resolved that the

first dish set upon the table shall be one that a Catholic ay, even an AngloCatholic might eat on Good

Friday in Passion Week: it shall be cold lentils and vinegar without oil; it shall be unleavened bread with

Of late years, I say, an abundant shower of curates has fallen upon the north of England, but in

eighteenhundredeleventwelve that affluent rain had not descended. Curates were scarce then: there was

no Pastoral Aid no Additional Curates' Society to stretch a helping hand to wornout old rectors and

incumbents, and give them the wherewithal to pay a vigorous young colleague from Oxford or Cambridge.

The present successors of the apostles, disciples of Dr. Pusey and tools of the Propaganda, were at that time

being hatched under cradleblankets, or undergoing regeneration by nurserybaptism in washhand basins.

You could not have guessed by looking at any one of them that the Italianironed double frills of its netcap

surrounded the brows of a preordained, speciallysanctified successor of St. Paul, St. Peter, or St. John; nor

could you have foreseen in the folds of its long nightgown the white surplice in which it was hereafter cruelly

to exercise the souls of its parishioners, and strangely to nonplus its oldfashioned vicar by flourishing aloft

in a pulpit the shirtlike raiment which had never before waved higher than the readingdesk.

Yet even in those days of scarcity there were curates: the precious plant was rare, but it might be found. A

certain favoured district in the West Riding of Yorkshire could boast three rods of Aaron blossoming within a

circuit of twenty miles. You shall see them, reader. Step into this neat gardenhouse on the skirts of

Whinbury, walk forward into the little parlour. There they are at dinner. Allow me to introduce them to you:

Mr. Donne, curate of Whinbury; Mr. Malone, curate of Briarfield; Mr. Sweeting, curate of Nunnely. These

are Mr. Donne's lodgings, being the habitation of one John Gale, a small clothier. Mr. Donne has kindly

invited his brethren to regale with him. You and I will join the party, see what is to be seen, and hear what is

to be heard. At present, however, they are only eating; and while they eat we will talk aside.

These gentlemen are in the bloom of youth; they possess all the activity of that interesting age an activity

which their moping old vicars would fain turn into the channel of their pastoral duties, often expressing a

wish to see it expended in a diligent superintendence of the schools, and in frequent visits to the sick of their

respective parishes. But the youthful Levites feel this to be dull work; they prefer lavishing their energies on a

course of proceeding which, though to other eyes it appear more heavy with ennui, more cursed with

monotony, than the toil of the weaver at his loom, seems to yield them an unfailing supply of enjoyment and

I allude to a rushing backwards and forwards, amongst themselves, to and from their respective lodgings

not a round, but a triangle of visits, which they keep up all the year through, in winter, spring, summer, and

autumn. Season and weather make no difference; with unintelligible zeal they dare snow and hail, wind and

rain, mire and dust, to go and dine, or drink tea, or sup with each other. What attracts them it would be

difficult to say. It is not friendship, for whenever they meet they quarrel. It is not religion the thing is never

named amongst them; theology they may discuss occasionally, but piety never. It is not the love of eating

and drinking: each might have as good a joint and pudding, tea as potent, and toast as succulent, at his own

lodgings, as is served to him at his brother's. Mrs. Gale, Mrs. Hogg, and Mrs. Whipp their respective

landladies affirm that 'it is just for naught else but to give folk trouble.' By 'folk' the good ladies of course

mean themselves, for indeed they are kept in a continual 'fry' by this system of mutual invasion.

Mr. Donne and his guests, as I have said, are at dinner; Mrs. Gale waits on them, but a spark of the hot

kitchen fire is in her eye. She considers that the privilege of inviting a friend to a meal occasionally, without

additional charge (a privilege included in the terms on which she lets her lodgings), has been quite

sufficiently exercised of late. The present week is yet but at Thursday, and on Monday Mr. Malone, the

curate of Briarfield, came to breakfast and stayed dinner; on Tuesday Mr. Malone and Mr. Sweeting of

Nunnely came to tea, remained to supper, occupied the spare bed, and favoured her with their company to

breakfast on Wednesday morning; now, on Thursday, they are both here at dinner, and she is almost certain

they will stay all night. 'C'en est trop,' she would say, if she could speak French.

Mr. Sweeting is mincing the slice of roast beef on his plate, and complaining that it is very tough; Mr. Donne

says the beer is flat. Ay, that is the worst of it: if they would only be civil Mrs. Gale wouldn't mind it so

much, if they would only seem satisfied with what they get she wouldn't care; but 'these young parsons is so

high and so scornful, they set everybody beneath their "fit." They treat her with less than civility, just because

she doesn't keep a servant, but does the work of the house herself; as her mother did afore her; then they are

always speaking against Yorkshire ways and Yorkshire folk,' and by that very token Mrs. Gale does not

believe one of them to be a real gentleman, or come of gentle kin. 'The old parsons is worth the whole lump

of college lads; they know what belongs to good manners, and is kind to high and low.'

'More bread!' cries Mr. Malone, in a tone which, though prolonged but to utter two syllables, proclaims him

at once a native of the land of shamrocks and potatoes. Mrs. Gale hates Mr. Malone more than either of the

other two; but she fears him also, for he is a tall stronglybuilt personage, with real Irish legs and arms, and a

face as genuinely national not the Milesian face, not Daniel O'Connell's style, but the high featured,

NorthAmericanIndian sort of visage, which belongs to a certain class of the Irish gentry, and has a

petrified and proud look, better suited to the owner of an estate of slaves than to the landlord of a free

peasantry. Mr. Malone's father termed himself a gentleman: he was poor and in debt, and besottedly arrogant;

'Cut it, woman,' said her guest; and the woman cut it accordingly. Had she followed her inclinations, she

would have cut the parson also; her Yorkshire soul revolted absolutely from his manner of command.

The curates had good appetites, and though the beef was 'tough,' they ate a great deal of it. They swallowed,

too, a tolerable allowance of the 'flat beer,' while a dish of Yorkshire pudding, and two tureens of vegetables,

disappeared like leaves before locusts. The cheese, too, received distinguished marks of their attention; and a

'spicecake,' which followed by way of dessert, vanished like a vision, and was no more found. Its elegy was

chanted in the kitchen by Abraham, Mrs. Gale's son and heir, a youth of six summers; he had reckoned upon

the reversion thereof, and when his mother brought down the empty platter, he lifted up his voice and wept

The curates, meantime, sat and sipped their wine, a liquor of unpretending vintage, moderately enjoyed. Mr.

Malone, indeed, would much rather have had whisky; but Mr. Donne, being an Englishman, did not keep the

beverage. While they sipped they argued, not on politics, nor on philosophy, nor on literature these topics

were now, as ever, totally without interest for them not even on theology, practical or doctrinal, but on

minute points of ecclesiastical discipline, frivolities which seemed empty as bubbles to all save themselves.

Mr. Malone, who contrived to secure two glasses of wine, when his brethren contented themselves with one,

waxed by degrees hilarious after his fashion; that is; he grew a little insolent, said rude things in a hectoring

Each of his companions became in turn his butt. Malone had a stock of jokes at their service, which he was

accustomed to serve out regularly on convivial occasions like the present, seldom vying his wit; for which,

indeed, there was no necessity, as he never appeared to consider himself monotonous, and did not at all care

what others thought. Mr. Donne he favoured with hints about his extreme meagreness, allusions to his

turnedup nose, cutting sarcasms on a certain threadbare chocolate surtout which that gentleman was

accustomed to sport whenever it rained or seemed likely to rain, and criticisms on a choice set of cockney

phrases and modes of pronunciation, Mr. Donne's own property, and certainly deserving of remark for the

Mr. Sweeting was bantered about his stature he was a little man, a mere boy in height and breadth

compared with the athletic Malone; rallied on his musical accomplishments he played the flute and sang

hymns like a seraph, some young ladies of his parish thought; sneered at as 'the ladies pet; teased about his

mamma and sisters, for whom poor Mr. Sweeting had some lingering regard, and of whom he was foolish

enough now and then to speak in the presence of the priestly Paddy, from whose anatomy the bowels of

The victims met these attacks each in his own way: Mr. Donne with a stilted selfcomplacency and

halfsullen phlegm, the sole props of his otherwise somewhat rickety dignity; Mr. Sweeting with the

indifference of a light, easy disposition, which never professed to have any dignity to maintain.

When Malone's raillery became rather too offensive, which it soon did, they joined in an attempt to turn the

tables on him by asking him how many boys had shouted 'Irish Peter!' after him as he came along the road

that day (Malone's name was Peter the Rev. Peter Augustus Malone); requesting to be informed whether it

was the mode in Ireland for clergymen to carry loaded pistols in their pockets, and a shillelah in their hands,

when they made pastoral visits; inquiring the signification of such words as vele, firrum, hellum, storrum (so

Mr. Malone invariably pronounced veil, firm, helm, storm), and employing such other methods of retaliation

This, of course, would not do. Malone, being neither goodnatured nor phlegmatic, was presently in a

towering passion. He vociferated, gesticulated; Donne and Sweeting laughed. He reviled them as Saxons and

snobs at the very top pitch of his high Celtic voice; they taunted him with being the native of a conquered

land. He menaced rebellion in the name of his 'counthry,' vented bitter hatred against English rule; they spoke

of rags, beggary, and pestilence. The little parlour was in an uproar; you would have thought a duel must

follow such virulent abuse; it seemed a wonder that Mr. and Mrs. Gale did not take alarm at the noise, and

send for a constable to keep the peace. But they were accustomed to such demonstrations; they well knew

that the curates never dined or took tea together without a little exercise of the sort, and were quite easy as to

consequences, knowing that these clerical quarrels were as harmless as they were noisy, that they resulted in

nothing, and that, on whatever terms the curates might part tonight, they would be sure to meet the best

As the worthy pair were sitting by their kitchen fire, listening to the repeated and sonorous contact of

Malone's fist with the mahogany plane of the parlour table, and to the consequent start and jingle of decanters

and glasses following each assault, to the mocking laughter of the allied English disputants, and the stuttering

declamation of the isolated Hibernian as they thus sat, a foot was heard on the outer doorstep, and the

'Whom have you upstairs in the parlour?' asked a voice a rather remarkable voice, nasal in tone, abrupt in

'O Mr. Helstone, is it you, sir? I could hardly see you for the darkness; it is so soon dark now. Will you walk

'I want to know first whether it is worth my while walking in. Whom have you upstairs?'

With these words a person entered a middleaged man, in black. He walked straight across the kitchen to

an inner door, opened it, inclined his head forward, and stood listening. There was something to listen to, for

'Hey!' he ejaculated to himself; then turning to Mr. Gale 'Have you often this sort of work?'

'Young! They want caning. Bad boys bad boys! And if you were a Dissenter, John Gale, instead of being a

By way of finish to this sentence, he passed through the inner door, drew it after him, and mounted the stair.

Again he listened a few minutes when he arrived at the upper room. Making entrance without warning, he

And they were silent; they were transfixed; and so was the invader. He a personage short of stature, but

straight of port, and bearing on broad shoulders a hawk's head, beak, and eye, the whole surmounted by a

Rehoboam, or shovel hat, which he did not seem to think it necessary to lift or remove before the presence in

which he then stood he folded his arms on his chest and surveyed his young friends, if friends they were,

'What!' he began, delivering his words in a voice no longer nasal, but deep more than deep a voice made

purposely hollow and cavernous 'what! has the miracle of Pentecost been renewed? Have the cloven tongues

come down again? Where are they? The sound filled the whole house just now. I heard the seventeen

languages in full action: Parthians, and Medes, and Elamites, the dwellers in Mesopotamia, and in Judea, and

Cappadocia, in Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, in Egypt and in the parts of Libya about Cyrene,

strangers of Rome, Jews and proselytes, Cretes and Arabians; every one of these must have had its

'I beg your pardon, Mr. Helstone,' began Mr. Donne; 'take a seat, pray, sir. Have a glass of wine?'

'What do I talk about the gift of tongues? Gift, indeed! I mistook the chapter, and book, and Testament

gospel for law, Acts for Genesis, the city of Jerusalem for the plain of Shinar. It was no gift but the confusion

of tongues which has gabbled me deaf as a post. You, apostles? What! you three? Certainly not; three

'I assure you, sir, we were only having a little chat together over a glass of wine after a friendly dinner

'Oh! settling the Dissenters, were you? Was Malone settling the Dissenters? It sounded to me much more like

settling his coapostles. You were quarrelling together, making almost as much noise you three alone as

Moses Barraclough, the preaching tailor, and all his hearers are making in the Methodist chapel down yonder,

where they are in the thick of a revival. I know whose fault it is. It is yours, Malone.'

'Yours, sir. Donne and Sweeting were quiet before you came, and would be quiet if you were gone. I wish,

when you crossed the Channel, you had left your Irish habits behind you. Dublin student ways won't do here,

The proceedings which might pass unnoticed in a wild bog and mountain district in Connaught will, in a

decent English parish, bring disgrace on those who indulge in them, and, what is far worse, on the sacred

There was a certain dignity in the little elderly gentleman's manner of rebuking these youths, though it was

not, perhaps, quite the dignity most appropriate to the occasion. Mr. Helstone, standing straight as a ramrod,

looking keen as a kite, presented, despite his clerical hat, black coat, and gaiters, more the air of a veteran

officer chiding his subalterns than of a venerable priest exhorting his sons in the faith. Gospel mildness,

apostolic benignity, never seemed to have breathed their influence over that keen brown visage, but firmness

'I met Supplehough,' he continued, 'plodding through the mud this wet night, going to preach at Milldean

opposition shop. As I told you, I heard Barraclough bellowing in the midst of a conventicle like a possessed

bull; and I find you, gentlemen, tarrying over your halfpint of muddy port wine, and scolding like angry old

women. No wonder Supplehough should have dipped sixteen adult converts in a day which he did a

fortnight since; no wonder Barraclough, scamp and hypocrite as he is, should attract all the weavergirls in

their flowers and ribbons, to witness how much harder are his knuckles than the wooden brim of his tub; as

little wonder that you, when you are left to yourselves, without your rectors myself, and Hall, and Boultby

to back you, should too often perform the holy service of our church to bare walls, and read your bit of a

dry discourse to the clerk, and the organist, and the beadle. But enough of the subject. I came to see Malone.

'What is it?' inquired Malone discontentedly. 'There can be no funeral to take at this time of day.'

'I have the pistols you gave me yourself. I never part with them. I lay them ready cocked on a chair by my

'Nothing as yet, nor perhaps will be; but Moore is alone there. He has sent all the workmen he can trust to

Stilbro'; there are only two women left about the place. It would be a nice opportunity for any of his

wellwishers to pay him a visit, if they knew how straight the path was made before them.'

'You know me better than that. If I really thought there was a chance of a row I would go: but Moore is a

strange, shy man, whom I never pretend to understand; and for the sake of his sweet company only I would

'But there is a chance of a row; if a positive riot does not take place of which, indeed, I see no signs yet it

is unlikely this night will pass quite tranquilly. You know Moore has resolved to have new machinery, and he

expects two wagonloads of frames and shears from Stilbro' this evening. Scott, the overlooker, and a few

'Moore says so, and affirms he wants nobody. Some one, however, he must have, if it were only to bear

evidence in case anything should happen. I call him very careless. He sits in the countinghouse with the

shutters unclosed; he goes out here and there after dark, wanders right up the hollow, down Fieldhead Lane,

among the plantations, just as if he were the darling of the neighbourhood, or being, as he is, its detestation

bore a "charmed life," as they say in talebooks. He takes no warning from the fate of Pearson, nor from

'But he should take warning, sir, and use precautions too,' interposed Mr. Sweeting; 'and I think he would if

'When Mike has been drinking for a few weeks together, he generally winds up by a visit to Nunnely

vicarage, to tell Mr. Hall a piece of his mind about his sermons, to denounce the horrible tendency of his

doctrine of works, and warn him that he and all his hearers are sitting in outer darkness.'

'I know. When he is very drunk, his mind is always running on regicide. Mike is not unacquainted with

history, and it is rich to hear him going over the list of tyrants of whom, as he says, "the revenger of blood has

obtained satisfaction." The fellow exults strangely in murder done on crowned heads or on any head for

political reasons. I have already heard it hinted that he seems to have a queer hankering after Moore. Is that

'You use the proper term, sir. Mr. Hall thinks Mike has no personal hatred of Moore. Mike says he even likes

to talk to him and run after him, but he has a hankering that Moore should be made an example of. He was

extolling him to Mr. Hall the other day as the millowner with the most brains in Yorkshire, and for that

reason he affirms Moore should be chosen as a sacrifice, an oblation of a sweet savour. Is Mike Hartley in his

'Can't tell, Davy. He may be crazed, or he may be only crafty, or perhaps a little of both.'

'Ay! He is a very Ezekiel or Daniel for visions. He came just when I was going to bed last Friday night to

describe one that had been revealed to him in Nunnely Park that very afternoon.'

'Davy, thou hast an enormous organ of wonder in thy cranium. Malone, you see, has none. Neither murders

'I thought you would not know. You may find it out It is biblical. I know nothing more of him than his name

and race; but from a boy upwards I have always attached a personality to Saph. Depend on it he was honest,

'Davy, thou shalt hear. Donne is biting his nails, and Malone yawning, so I will tell it but to thee. Mike is out

of work, like many others, unfortunately. Mr. Grame, Sir Philip Nunnely's steward, gave him a job about the

priory. According to his account, Mike was busy hedging rather late in the afternoon; but before dark, when

he heard what he thought was a band at a distance bugles, fifes, and the sound of a trumpet; it came from

the forest, and he wondered that there should be music there. He looked up. All amongst the trees he saw

moving objects, red, like poppies, or white, like may blossom. The wood was full of them; they poured out

and filled the park. He then perceived they were soldiers thousands and tens of thousands; but they made no

more noise than a swarm of midges on a summer evening. They formed in order, he affirmed, and marched,

regiment after regiment, across the park. He followed them to Nunnely Common; the music still played soft

and distant On the common be watched them go through a number of evolutions. A man clothed in scarlet

stood in the centre and directed them. They extended, he declared, over fifty acres. They were in sight half an

hour; then they marched away quite silently. The whole time he heard neither voice nor tread nothing but the

'Towards Briarfield. Mike followed them. They seemed passing Fieldhead, when a column of smoke, such as

might be vomited by a park of artillery, spread noiseless over the fields, the road, the common, and roiled, he

said, blue and dim, to his very feet. As it cleared away he looked again for the soldiers, but they were

vanished; he saw them no more. Mike, like a wise Daniel as he is, not only rehearsed the vision but gave the

interpretation thereof. It signifies, he intimated, bloodshed and civil conflict.'

'I am rather surprised, sir, you did not stay with Moore yourself. You like this kind of thing.'

'So I should have done, had I not unfortunately happened to engage Boultby to sup with me on his way home

from the Bible Society meeting at Nunnely. I promised to send you as my substitute; for which, bythebye,

he did not thank me. He would much rather have had me than you, Peter. Should there be any real need of

help I shall join you. The millbell will give warning. Meantime, go unless (turning suddenly to Messrs.

Sweeting and Donne) unless Davy Sweeting or Joseph Donne prefers going. What do you say,

gentlemen? The commission is an honourable one, not without the seasoning of a little real peril; for the

country is in a queer state, as you all know, and Moore and his mill and his machinery are held in sufficient

odium. There are chivalric sentiments, there is highbeating courage, under those waistcoats of yours, I doubt

not Perhaps I am too partial to my favourite Peter. Little David shall be the champion, or spotless Joseph.

Malone, you are but a great floundering Saul after all, good only to lend your armour. Out with your firearms;

With a significant grin Malone produced his pistols, offering one to each of his brethren. They were not

readily seized on. With graceful modesty each gentleman retired a step from the presented weapon.

'If you never touched a pistol, try the feel of it now, great satrap of Egypt As to the little minstrel, he probably

prefers encountering the Philistines with no other weapon than his flute. Get their hats, Peter. They'll both

'And I make it a rule never to get mixed up in affairs of the kind,' observed Donne.

Helstone smiled sardonically; Malone laughed a horselaugh. He then replaced his arms, took his hat and

cudgel, and saying that 'he never felt more in tune for a shindy in his life, and that he wished a score of greasy

clothdressers might beat up Moore's quarters that night,' he made his exit, clearing the stairs at a stride or

The evening was pitch dark: star and moon were quenched in gray rainclouds gray they would have been

by day; by night they looked sable. Malone was not a man given to close observation of nature; her changes

passed, for the most part, unnoticed by him. He could walk miles on the most varying April day and never see

the beautiful dallying of earth and heaven never mark when a sunbeam kissed the hilltops, making them

smile clear in green light, or when a shower wept over them, hiding their crests With the lowhanging,

dishevelled tresses of a cloud. He did not, therefore, care to contrast the sky as it now appeared a muffled,

streaming vault, all black, save where, towards the east, the furnaces of Stilbro' ironworks threw a tremulous

lurid shimmer on the horizon with the same sky on an unclouded frosty night He did not trouble himself to

ask where the constellations and the planets were gone, or to regret the 'blackblue' serenity of the airocean

which those white islets stud, and which another ocean, of heavier and denser element, now rolled below and

concealed. He just doggedly pursued his way, leaning a little forward as he walked, and wearing his hat on

the back of his head, as his Irish manner was. 'Tramp, tramp,' he went along the causeway, where the road

boasted the privilege of such an accommodation; 'splash, splash,' through the mirefilled cart ruts, where the

flags were exchanged for soft mud. He looked but for certain landmarks the spire of Briarfield Church;

farther on, the lights of Redhouse. This was an inn; and when he reached it, the glow of a fire through a

halfcurtained window, a vision of glasses on a round table, and of revellers on an oaken settle, had nearly

drawn aside the curate from his course. He thought longingly of a tumbler of whiskyandwater. In a strange

place he would instantly have realised the dream; but the company assembled in that kitchen were Mr.

The highroad was now to be quitted, as the remaining distance to Hollow's Mill might be considerably

reduced by a short cut across fields. These fields were level and monotonous. Malone took a direct course

through them, jumping hedge and wall. He passed but one building here, and that seemed large and halllike,

though irregular. You could see a high gable, then a long front, then a low gable, then a thick, lofty stack of

chimneys. There were some trees behind it. It was dark; not a candle shone from any window. It was

absolutely still; the rain running from the eaves, and the rather wild but very low whistle of the wind round

This building passed, the fields, hitherto flat, declined in a rapid descent Evidently a vale lay below, through

which you could hear the water run. One light glimmered in the depth. For that beacon Malone steered.

He came to a little white house you could see it was white even through this dense darkness and knocked

at the door. A freshfaced servant opened it. By the candle she held was revealed a narrow passage,

terminating in a narrow stair. Two doors covered with crimson baize, a strip of crimson carpet down the

steps, contrasted with lightcoloured walls and white floor, made the little interior look clean and fresh.

'Are the wagons come, Sarah?' asked a female voice, and a female head at the same time was apparent It

might not be the head of a goddess indeed a screw of curlpaper on each side the temples quite forbade that

supposition but neither was it the head of a Gorgon; yet Malone seemed to take it in the latter light. Big as

he was, he shrank bashfully back into the rain at the view thereof; and saying, 'I'll go to him,' hurried in

seeming trepidation down a short lane, across an obscure yard, towards a huge black mill.

The workhours were over; the 'hands' were gone. The machinery was at rest, the mill shut up. Malone

walked round it somewhere in its great sooty flank he found another chink of light; he knocked at another

door, using for the purpose the thick end of his shillelah, with which he beat a rousing tattoo. A key turned;

'Oh! Mr. Malone.' The voice in uttering this name had the slightest possible cadence of disappointment. After

'I beg you will come in, Mr. Malone. I regret extremely Mr. Helstone should have thought it necessary to

trouble you so far. There was no necessity I told him so and on such a night; but walk forwards.'

Through a dark apartment, of aspect undistinguishable, Malone followed the speaker into a light and bright

room within very light and bright indeed it seemed to eyes which, for the last hour, had been striving to

penetrate the double darkness of night and fog; but except for its excellent fire, and for a lamp of elegant

design and vivid lustre burning on a table, it was a very plain place. The boarded floor was carpetless; the

three or four stiffbacked, greenpainted chairs seemed once to have furnished the kitchen of some

farmhouse; a desk of strong, solid formation, the table aforesaid, and some framed sheets on the

stonecoloured walls, bearing plans for building, for gardening, designs of machinery, etc., completed the

Plain as it was, it seemed to satisfy Malone, who, when he had removed and hung up his wet surtout and hat,

drew one of the rheumaticlooking chairs to the hearth, and set his knees almost within the bars of the red

'Yes; but my sister would be glad to see you, if you would prefer stepping into the house.'

'Oh no! The ladies are best alone. I never was a lady's man. You don't mistake me for my friend Sweeting, do

'Sweeting! Which of them is that? The gentleman in the chocolate overcoat, or the little gentleman?'

'The little one he of Nunnely; the cavalier of the Misses Sykes, with the whole six of whom he is in love,

'Better be generally in love with all than especially with one, I should think, in that quarter.'

'But he is specially in love with one besides, for when I and Donne urged him to make a choice amongst the

'Because they are the tallest, the handsomest, and Dora, at least, is the stoutest; and as your friend Mr.

Sweeting is but a little slight figure, I concluded that, according to a frequent rule in such cases, he preferred

This question seemed to tickle Malone amazingly. He laughed for full three minutes before he answered it.

'What has Sweeting? Why, David has his harp, or flute, which comes to the same thing. He has a sort of

'Ha! ha! Excellent! I'll ask him that next time I see him. I'll roast him for his presumption. But no doubt he

expects old Christopher Sykes would do something handsome. He is rich, is he not? They live in a large

'Therefore he must have plenty to do with his wealth, and in these times would be about as likely to think of

drawing money from the business to give dowries to his daughters as I should be to dream of pulling down

the cottage there, and constructing on its ruins a house as large as Fieldhead.'

'No. Perhaps that I was about to effect some such change. Your Briarfield gossips are capable of saying that

'That you were going to take Fieldhead on a lease (I thought it looked a dismal place, bythebye, tonight,

as I passed it), and that it was your intention to settle a Miss Sykes there as mistress to be married, in short,

'I wonder how often it has been settled that I was to be married since I came to Briarfield. They have assigned

me every marriageable single woman by turns in the district. Now it was the two Misses Wynns first the

dark, then the light one; now the redhaired Miss Armitage, then the mature Ann Pearson. At present you

throw on my shoulders all the tribe of the Misses Sykes. On what grounds this gossip rests God knows. I visit

now here; I seek female society about as assiduously as you do, Mr. Malone. If ever I go to Whinbury, it is

only to give Sykes or Pearson a call in their countinghouse, where our discussions run on other topics than

matrimony, and our thoughts are occupied with other things than courtships, establishments, dowries. The

cloth we can't sell, the hands we can't employ, the mills we can't run, the perverse course of events generally,

which we cannot alter, fill our hearts, I take it, pretty well at present, to the tolerably complete exclusion of

'I go along with you completely, Moore. If there is one notion I hate more than another, it is that of marriage

I mean marriage in the vulgar weak sense, as a mere matter of sentiment two beggarly fools agreeing to

unite their indigence by some fantastic tie of feeling. Humbug! But an advantageous connection, such as can

be formed in consonance with dignity of views and permanency of solid interests, is not so bad eh?'

'No,' responded Moore, in an absent manner. The subject seemed to have no interest for him; he did not

pursue it. After sitting for some time gazing at the fire with a preoccupied air, he suddenly turned his head.

Rising, he went to the window, opened it, and listened. He soon closed it. 'It is only the sound of the wind

rising', he remarked, 'and the rivulet a little swollen, rushing down the hollow. I expected those wagons at six;

'Seriously, do you suppose that the putting up of this new machinery will bring you into danger?' inquired

'I only wish the machines the frames were safe here, and lodged within the walls of this mill. Once put

up, I defy the framebreakers. Let them only pay me a visit and take the consequences. My mill is my castle.'

'One despises such low scoundrels,' observed Malone, in a profound vein of reflection. 'I almost wish a party

would call upon you tonight; but the road seemed extremely quiet as I came along. I saw nothing astir.'

'There would be nothing on that road. It is in the direction of Stilbro' the risk lies.'

'What these fellows have done to others they may do to me. There is only this difference: most of the

manufacturers seem paralysed when they are attacked. Sykes, for instance, when his dressingshop was set

on fire and burned to the ground, when the cloth was torn from his tenters and left in shreds in the field, took

no steps to discover or punish the miscreants: he gave up as tamely as a rabbit under the jaws of a ferret. Now

'Helstone says these three are your gods; that the "Orders in Council" are with you another name for the seven

deadly sins; that Castlereagh is your Antichrist, and the warparty his legions.'

'Yes; I abhor all these things because they ruin me. They stand in my way. I cannot get on. I cannot execute

my plans because of them. I see myself baffled at every turn by their untoward effects.'

'I am very rich in cloth I cannot sell. You should step into my warehouse yonder, and observe how it is piled

to the roof with pieces. Roakes and Pearson are in the same condition. America used to be their market, but

Malone did not seem prepared to carry on briskly a conversation of this sort. He began to knock the heels of

'And then to think,' continued Mr. Moore, who seemed too much taken up with the current of his own

thoughts to note the symptoms of his guest's ennui to think that these ridiculous gossips of Whinbury and

Briarfield will keep pestering one about being married! As if there was nothing to be done in life but to "pay

attention," as they say to some young lady, and then to go to church with her, and then to start on a bridal tour

and then to run through a round of visits, and then, I suppose, to be "having a family." Oh, que le diable

emporte!' He broke off the aspiration into which he was launching with a certain energy, and added, more

calmly, 'I believe women talk and think only of these things, and they naturally fancy men's minds similarly

'Of course of course,' assented Malone; 'but never mind them.' And he whistled, looked impatiently round,

and seemed to feel a great want of something. This time Moore caught and, it appeared, comprehended his

'Mr. Malone,' said he, 'you must require refreshment after your wet walk. I forget hospitality.'

'Not at all,' rejoined Malone; but he looked as if the right nail was at last hit on the head, nevertheless. Moore

'It is my fancy,' said he, 'to have every convenience within myself, and not to be dependent on the femininity

in the cottage yonder for every mouthful I eat or every drop I drink. I often spend the evening and sup here

alone, and sleep with Joe Scott in the mill. Sometimes I am my own watchman. I require little sleep, and it

pleases me on a fine night to wander for an hour or two with my musket about the hollow. Mr. Malone, can

'There's a dishful, then, and there's the gridiron. Turn them quickly. You know the secret of keeping the juices

The curate turned up his coatcuffs, and applied himself to the cookery with vigour. The manufacturer placed

on the table plates, a loaf of bread, a black bottle, and two tumblers. He then produced a small copper kettle

still from the same wellstored recess, his cupboard filled it with water from a large stone jar in a corner,

set it on the fire beside the hissing gridiron, got lemons, sugar, and a small china punchbowl; but while he

'No; I shall not be in tonight; I shall sleep in the mill. So lock the doors, and tell your mistress to go to bed.'

'You have your household in proper order,' observed Malone approvingly, as, with his fine face ruddy as the

embers over which he bent, he assiduously turned the mutton chops. 'You are not under petticoat government,

like poor Sweeting, a man whew! how the fat spits! it has burnt my hand destined to be ruled by women.

Now you and I, Moore there's a fine brown one for you, and full of gravy you and I will have no gray

'I don't know; I never think about it. If the gray mare is handsome and tractable, why not?'

'There is a glassful. Taste it. When Joe Scott and his minions return they shall have a share of this, provided

Malone waxed very exultant over the supper. He laughed aloud at trifles, made bad jokes and applauded them

himself, and, in short, grew unmeaningly noisy. His host, on the contrary, remained quiet as before. It is time,

reader, that you should have some idea of the appearance of this same host I must endeavour to sketch him as

He is what you would probably call, at first view, rather a strangelooking man; for he is thin, dark, sallow,

very foreign of aspect, with shadowy hair carelessly streaking his forehead. It appears that he spends but little

time at his toilet, or he would arrange it with more taste. He seems unconscious that his features are fine, that

they have a southern symmetry, clearness, regularity in their chiselling; nor does a spectator become aware of

this advantage till he has examined him well, for an anxious countenance, and a hollow, somewhat haggard,

outline of lace disturb the idea of beauty with one of care. His eyes are large, and grave, and gray; their

expression is intent and meditative, rather searching than soft, rather thoughtful than genial. when he parts his

lips in a smile, his physiognomy is agreeable not that it is frank or cheerful even then, but you feel the

influence of a certain sedate charms, suggestive, whether truly or delusively, of a considerate, perhaps a kind

nature, of feelings that may wear well at home patient, forbearing, possibly faithful feelings. He is still

young not more than thirty; his stature is tall, his figure slender. His manner of speaking displeases. He has

an outlandish accent, which, notwithstanding a studied carelessness of pronunciation and diction, grates on a

Mr. Moore, indeed, was but half a Briton, and scarcely that. He came of a foreign ancestry by the mother's

side, and was himself born and partly reared on a foreign soil. A hybrid in nature, it is probable he had a

hybrid's feeling on many points patriotism for one; it is likely that he was unapt to attach himself to parties,

to sects, even to climes and customs; it is not impossible that he had a tendency to isolate his individual

person from any community amidst which his lot might temporarily happen to be thrown, and that he felt it to

be his best wisdom to push the interests of Robert G rard Moore, to the exclusion of philanthropic

consideration for general interests, with which he regarded the said G rard Moore as in a great measure

disconnected. Trade was Mr. Moore's hereditary calling: the G rards of Antwerp had been merchants for two

centuries back. Once they had been wealthy merchants; but the uncertainties, the involvements, of business

had come upon them; disastrous speculations had loosened by degrees the foundations of their credit. The

house had stood on a tottering base for a dozen years; and at last, in the shock of the French Revolution, it

had rushed down a total ruin. In its fall was involved the English and Yorkshire firm of Moore, closely

connected with the Antwerp house, and of which one of the partners, resident in Antwerp, Robert Moore, had

married Hortense G rard, with the prospect of his bride inheriting her father Constantine G rard's share in

the business. She inherited, as we have seen, but his share in the liabilities of the film; and these liabilities,

though duly set aside by a composition with creditors, some said her son Robert accepted, in his turn, as a

legacy, and that he aspired one day to discharge them, and to rebuild the fallen house of G rard and Moore

on a scale at least equal to its former greatness. It was even supposed that he took bypast circumstances much

to heart; and if a childhood passed at the side of a saturnine mother, under foreboding of coming evil, and a

manhood drenched and blighted by the pitiless descent of the storm, could painfully impress the mind, his

If, however, he had a great end of restoration in view it was not in his power to employ great means for its

attainment He was obliged to be content with the day of small things. When he came to Yorkshire he

whose ancestors had owned warehouses in this seaport and factories in that inland town, had possessed their

townhouse and their countryseat saw no way open to him but to rent a clothmill, in an outoftheway

nook of an outoftheway district; to take a cottage adjoining it for his residence, and to add to his

possessions, as pasture for his horse, and space for his clothtenters, a few acres of the steep, rugged land that

lined the hollow through which his millstream brawled. All this he held at a somewhat high rent (for these

war times were hard and everything was dear) of the trustees of the Fieldhead estate, then the property of a

At the time this history commences, Robert Moore had lived but two years in the district, during which

period he had at least proved himself possessed of the quality of activity. The dingy cottage was converted

into a neat; tasteful residence. Of part of the rough land he had made gardenground, which he cultivated

with singular, even with Flemish, exactness and care. As to the mill, which was an old structure, and fitted up

with old machinery, now become inefficient and out of date, he had from the first evinced the strongest

contempt for all its arrangements and appointments: his aim had been to effect a radical reform, which he had

executed as fast as his very limited capital would allow; and the narrowness of that capital, and consequent

check on his progress, was a restraint which galled his spirit sorely. Moore ever wanted to push on. 'Forward'

was the device stamped upon his soul; but poverty curbed him. Sometimes (figuratively) he foamed at the

In this state of feeling, it is not to be expected that he would deliberate much as to whether his advance was or

was not prejudicial to others. Not being a native, nor for any length of time a resident of the neighbourhood,

he did not sufficiently care when the new inventions threw the old workpeople out of employ. He never asked

himself where those to whom he no longer paid weekly wages found daily bread; and in this negligence he

only resembled thousands besides, on whom the starving poor of Yorkshire seemed to have a closer claim.

The period of which I write was an overshadowed one in British history, and especially in the history of the

northern provinces. War was then at its height. Europe was all involved therein. England, if not weary, was

worn with long resistance yes, and half her people were weary too, and cried out for peace on any terms.

National honour was become a mere empty name, of no value in the eyes of many, because their sight was

dim with famine; and for a morsel of meat they would have sold their birthright.

The 'Orders in Council,' provoked by Napoleon's Milan and Berlin decrees, and forbidding neutral powers to

trade with France, had, by offending America, cut off the principal market of the Yorkshire woollen trade,

and brought it consequently to the verge of ruin. Minor foreign markets were glutted, and would receive no

more. The Brazils, Portugal, Sicily, were all overstocked by nearly two years' consumption. At this crisis

certain inventions in machinery were introduced into the staple manufactures of the north, which, greatly

reducing the number of hands necessary to be employed, threw thousands out of work, and left them without

legitimate means of sustaining life. A bad harvest supervened. Distress reached its climax. Endurance,

overgoaded, stretched the hand of fraternity to sedition. The throes of a sort of moral earthquake were felt

heaving under the hills of the northern counties. But, as is usual in such cases, nobody took much notice.

when a foodriot broke out in a manufacturing town, when a gigmill was burnt to the ground, or a

manufacturer's house was attacked, the furniture thrown into the streets, and the family forced to flee for their

lives, some local measures were or were not taken by the local magistracy. A ringleader was detected, or

more frequently suffered to elude detection; newspaper paragraphs were written on the subject, and there the

thing stopped. As to the sufferers, whose sole inheritance was labour, and who had lost that inheritance

who could not get work, and consequently could not get wages, and consequently could not get bread they

were left to suffer on, perhaps inevitably left. It would not do to stop the progress of invention, to damage

science by discouraging its improvements; the war could not be terminated; efficient relief could not be

raised. There was no help then; so the unemployed underwent their destiny ate the bread and drank the

Misery generates hate. These sufferers hated the machines which they believed took their bread from them;

they hated the buildings which contained those machines; they hated the manufacturers who owned those

buildings. In the parish of Briarfield, with which we have at present to do, Hollow's Mill was the place held

most abominable; G rard Moore, in his double character of semiforeigner and thorough going progressist,

the man most abominated. And it perhaps rather agreed with Moore's temperament than otherwise to be

generally hated, especially when he believed the thing for which he was hated a right and an expedient thing;

and it was with a sense of warlike excitement he, on this night, sat in his countinghouse waiting the arrival

of his frameladen wagons. Malone's coming and company were, it may be, most unwelcome to him. He

would have preferred sitting alone, for he liked a silent, sombre, unsafe solitude. His watchman's musket

would have been company enough for him; the fullflowing beck in the den would have delivered

With the queerest look in the world had the manufacturer for some ten minutes been watching the Irish

curate, as the latter made free with the punch, when suddenly that steady gray eye changed, as if another

'Chut!' he said in his French fashion, as Malone made a noise with his glass. He listened a moment, then rose,

The night was still, dark, and stagnant: the water yet rushed on full and fast; its flow almost seemed a flood in

the utter silence. Moore's ear, however, caught another sound very distant but yet dissimilar, broken and

rugged in short, a sound of heavy wheels crunching a stony road. He returned to the countinghouse and lit

a lantern, with which he walked down the millyard, and proceeded to open the gates. The big wagons were

coming on; the drayhorses' huge hoofs were heard splashing in the mud and water. Moore hailed them.

Probably Joe Scott was yet at too great a distance to hear the inquiry. He did not answer it.

'Is all right, I say?' again asked Moore, when the elephantlike leader's nose almost touched his.

Some one jumped out from the foremost wagon into the road; a voice cried aloud, 'Ay, ay, divil; all's raight!

'Joe Scott!' No Joe Scott answered. 'Murgatroyd! Pighills! Sykes!' No reply. Mr. Moore lifted his lantern and

looked into the vehicles. There was neither man nor machinery; they were empty and abandoned.

Now Mr. Moore loved his machinery. He had risked the last of his capital on the purchase of these frames

and shears which tonight had been expected. Speculations most important to his interests depended on the

The words 'we've smashed 'em' rang in his ears. How did the catastrophe affect him? By the light of the

lantern he held were his features visible, relaxing to a singular smile the smile the man of determined spirit

wears when he reaches a juncture in his life where this determined spirit is to feel a demand on its strength,

when the strain is to be made, and the faculty must bear or break. Yet he remained silent, and even

motionless; for at the instant he neither knew what to say nor what to do. He placed the lantern on the ground,

An impatient trampling of one of the horses made him presently look up. His eye in the moment caught the

gleam of something white attached to a part of the harness. Examined by the light of the lantern this proved to

be a folded paper a billet. It bore no address without; within was the superscription:

We will not copy the rest of the orthography, which was very peculiar, but translate it into legible English. It

'Your hellish machinery is shivered to smash on Stilbro' Moor, and your men are lying bound hand and foot

in a ditch by the roadside. Take this as a warning from men that are starving, and have starving wives and

children to go home to when they have done this deed. If you get new machines, or if you otherwise go on as

'Hear from you again? Yes, I'll hear from you again, and you shall hear from me. I'll speak to you directly. On

Having led the wagons within the gates, he hastened towards the cottage. Opening the door, he spoke a few

words quickly but quietly to two females who ran to meet him in the passage. He calmed the seeming alarm

of one by a brief palliative account of what had taken place; to the other he said, 'Go into the mill, Sarah

there is the key and ring the millbell as loud as you can. Afterwards you will get another lantern and help

Returning to his horses, he unharnessed, fed, and stabled them with equal speed and care, pausing

occasionally, while so occupied, as if to listen for the millbell. It clanged out presently, with irregular but

loud and alarming din. The hurried, agitated peal seemed more urgent than if the summons had been steadily

given by a practised hand. On that still night, at that unusual hour, it was heard a long way round. The guests

in the kitchen of the Redhouse were startled by the clamour, and declaring that 'there must be summat more

nor common to do at Hollow'smiln,' they called for lanterns, and hurried to the spot in a body. And scarcely

had they thronged into the yard with their gleaming lights, when the tramp of horses was heard, and a little

man in a shovel hat, sitting erect on the back of a shaggy pony, 'rode lightly in,' followed by an

Mr. Moore, meantime, after stabling his drayhorses, had saddled his hackney, and with the aid of Sarah, the

servant, lit up his mill, whose wide and long front now glared one great illumination, throwing a sufficient

light on the yard to obviate all fear of confusion arising from obscurity. Already a deep hum of voices

became audible. Mr. Malone had at length issued from the countinghouse, previously taking the precaution

to dip his head and face in the stone waterjar; and this precaution, together with the sudden alarm, had

nearly restored to him the possession of those senses which the punch had partially scattered. He stood with

his hat on the back of his head, and his shillelah grasped in his dexter fist answering much at random the

questions of the newlyarrived party from the Redhouse. Mr. Moore now appeared, and was immediately

'Well, Moore, what is your business with us?' I thought you would want us tonight me and the hetman

here (patting his pony's neck), and Tom and his charger. when I heard your millbell I could sit still no

longer, so I left Boultby to finish his supper alone. But where is the enemy? I do not see a mask or a smutted

face present; and there is not a pane of glass broken in your windows. Have you had an attack, or do you

'Oh, not at all! I have neither had one nor expect one,' answered Moore coolly. 'I only ordered the bell to be

rung because I want two or three neighbours to stay here in the Hollow while I and a couple or so more go

'They came home empty; and Joe Scott and company are left on the moor, and so are the frames. Read that

Mr. Helstone received and perused the document of which the contents have before, been given.

'Hum! They've only served you as they serve others. But, however, the poor fellows in the ditch will be

expecting help with some impatience. This is a wet night for such a berth. I and Tom will go with you.

Malone may stay behind and take care of the mill: what is the matter with him? His eyes seem starting out of

'Indeed! Peter Augustus, be on your guard. Eat no more mutton chops tonight. You are left here in

'As many of the present assemblage as choose. My lads, how many of you will remain here, and how many

will go a little way with me and Mr. Moore on the Stilbro' road, to meet some men who have been waylaid

The small number of three volunteered to go; the rest preferred staying behind. As Mr. Moore mounted his

horse the rector asked him in a low voice whether he had locked up the mutton chops, so that Peter Augustus

could not get at them? The manufacturer nodded an affirmative, and the rescueparty set out.

Cheerfulness, it would appear, is a matter which depends fully as much on the state of things within as on the

state of things without and around us. I make this trite remark, because I happen to know that Messrs

Helstone and Moore trotted forth from the millyard gates at the head of their very small company, in the

best possible spirits. When a ray from a lantern (the three pedestrians of the party carried each one) fell on

Mr. Moore's face, you could see an unusual, because a lively, spark dancing in his eyes, and a newfound

vivacity mantling on his dark physiognomy; and when the rector's visage was illuminated, his hard features

were revealed all agrin and ashine with glee. Yet a drizzling night, a somewhat perilous expedition, you

would think were not circumstances calculated to enliven those exposed to the wet and engaged in the

adventure. If any member or members of the crew who had been at work on Stilbro' Moor had caught a view

of this party, they would have had great pleasure in shooting either of the leaders from behind a wall: and the

leaders knew this; and the fact is, being both men of steely nerves and steady beating hearts, were elate with

I am aware, reader, and you need not remind me, that it is a dreadful thing for a parson to be warlike; I am

aware that he should be a man of peace. I have some faint outline of an idea of what a clergyman's mission is

amongst mankind, and I remember distinctly whose servant he is, whose message he delivers, whose example

he should follow; yet, with all this, if you are a parsonhater, you need not expect me to go along with you

every step of your dismal, downwardtending, unchristian road; you need not expect me to join in your deep

anathemas, at once so narrow and so sweeping, in your poisonous rancour, so intense and so absurd, against

'the cloth;' to lift up my eyes and hands with a Supplehough, or to inflate my lungs with a Barraclough, in

He was not diabolical at all. The evil simply was he had missed his vocation. He should have been a

soldier, and circumstances had made him a priest. For the rest, he was a conscientious, hardheaded,

hardhanded, brave, stern, implacable, faithful little man; a man almost without sympathy, ungentle,

prejudiced, and rigid; but a man true to principle, honourable, sagacious, and sincere. It seems to me, reader,

that you cannot always cut out men to fit their profession, and that you ought not to curse them because their

profession sometimes hangs on them ungracefully. Nor will I curse Helstone, clerical Cossack as he was. Yet

he was cursed, and by many of his own parishioners, as by others he was adored which is the frequent fate

of men who show partiality in friendship and bitterness in enmity, who are equally attached to principles and

Helstone and Moore, being both in excellent spirits, and united for the present in one cause, you would expect

that, as they rode side by side, they would converse amicably. Oh no! These two men, of hard, bilious natures

both, rarely came into contact but they chafed each other's moods. Their frequent bone of contention was the

war. Helstone was a high Tory (there were Tories in those days), and Moore was a bitter Whig a Whig, at

least, as far as opposition to the warparty was concerned, that being the question which affected his own

interest; and only on that question did he profess any British politics at all. He liked to infuriate Helstone by

declaring his belief in the invincibility of Bonaparte; by taunting England and Europe with the impotence of

their efforts to withstand him and by coolly advancing the opinion that it was as well to yield to him soon as

Helstone could not bear these sentiments. It was only on the consideration of Moore being a sort of outcast

and alien, and having but half measure of British blood to temper the foreign gall which corroded his veins,

that he brought himself to listen to them without indulging the wish he felt to cane the speaker. Another

thing, too, somewhat allayed his disgust; namely, a fellowfeeling for the dogged tone with which these

opinions were asserted, and a respect for the consistency of Moore's crabbed contumacy.

As the party turned into the Stilbro' road, they met what little wind there was; the rain dashed in their faces.

Moore had been fretting his companion previously, and now, braced up by the raw breeze, and perhaps

'Do you still believe that this woodenfaced and pebblehearted idol of England has power to send fire down

'I believe Wellington will flog Bonaparte's marshals into the sea the day it pleases him to lift his arm.'

'But, my dear sir, you can't be serious in what you say. Bonaparte's marshals are great men, who act under the

guidance of an omnipotent masterspirit. Your Wellington is the most humdrum of commonplace martinets,

whose slow, mechanical movements are further cramped by an ignorant home government.'

'Wellington is the soul of England. Wellington is the right champion of a good cause, the fit representative of

'Your good cause, as far as I understand it, is simply the restoration of that filthy, feeble Ferdinand to a throne

which he disgraced. Your fit representative of an honest people is a dullwitted drover, acting for a

dullerwitted farmer; and against these are arrayed victorious supremacy and invincible genius.'

'Against legitimacy is arrayed usurpation; against modest, singleminded, righteous, and brave resistance to

encroachment is arrayed boastful, doubletongued, selfish, and treacherous ambition to possess. God defend

'What! I suppose the handful of Israelites standing dryshod on the Asiatic side of the Red Sea was more

powerful than the host of the Egyptians drawn up on the African side? Were they more numerous? Were they

better appointed? Were they more mighty, in a word eh? Don't speak, or you'll tell a lie, Moore; you know

you will. They were a poor, overwrought band of bondsmen. Tyrants had oppressed them through four

hundred years; a feeble mixture of women and children diluted their thin ranks; their masters, who roared to

follow them through the divided flood, were a set of pampered Ethiops, about as strong and brutal as the lions

of Libya. They were armed, horsed, and charioted; the poor Hebrew wanderers were afoot. Few of them, it is

likely, had better weapons than their shepherds' crooks or their masons' buildingtools; their meek and

mighty leader himself had only his rod. But bethink you, Robert Moore, right was with them; the God of

battles was on their side. Crime and the lost archangel generalled the ranks of Pharaoh, and which triumphed?

We know that well. "The Lord saved Israel that day out of the hand of the Egyptians, and Israel saw the

Egyptians dead upon the seashore" yea, "the depths covered them, they sank to the bottom as a stone." The

right hand of the Lord became glorious in power; the right hand of the Lord dashed in pieces the enemy!'

'You are all right; only you forget the true parallel. France is Israel, and Napoleon is Moses. Europe, with her

old overgorged empires and rotten dynasties, is corrupt Egypt; gallant France is the Twelve Tribes, and her

Moore accordingly answered himself at least, he subjoined to what he had just said an additional

'Oh, in Italy he was as great as any Moses! He was the right thing there, fit to head and organise measures for

the regeneration of nations. It puzzles me to this day how the conqueror of Lodi should have condescended to

become an emperor, a vulgar, a stupid humbug; and still more how a people who had once called. themselves

republicans should have sunk again to the grade of mere slaves. I despise France! If England had gone as far

on the march of civilisation as France did, she would hardly have retreated so shamelessly.'

'You don't mean to say that besotted imperial France is any worse than bloody republican France?' demanded

'I mean to say nothing, but I can think what I please, you know, Mr. Helstone, both about France and

England; and about revolutions, and regicides, and restorations in general; and about the divine right of kings,

which you often stickle for in your sermons, and the duty of nonresistance, and the sanity of war, and '

Mr. Moore's sentence was here cut short by the rapid rolling up of a gig, and its sudden stoppage in the

middle of the road. Both he and the rector had been too much occupied with their discourse to notice its

'Ay, ay!' returned another voice; for the gig contained two persons, as was seen by the glimmer of its lamp.

The men with the lanterns had now fallen into the rear, or rather, the equestrians of the rescueparty had

outridden the pedestrians. 'Ay, Mr. Moore, it's Joe Scott. I'm bringing him back to you in a bonny pickle. I

fand him on the top of the moor yonder, him and three others. What will you give me for restoring him to

'Why, my thanks, I believe; for I could better have afforded to lose a better man. That is you, I suppose, Mr.

'Ay, lad, it's me. I was coming home from Stilbro' market, and just as I got to the middle of the moor, and was

whipping on as swift as the wind (for these, they say, are not safe times, thanks to a bad government!), I

heard a groan. I pulled up. Some would have whipt on faster; but I've naught to fear that I know of. I don't

believe there's a lad in these parts would harm me at least, I'd give them as good as I got if they offered to

do it. I said, "Is there aught wrong anywhere?" "'Deed is there,' somebody says, speaking out of the ground,

like. "What's to do? Be sharp and tell me," I ordered. "Nobbut four on us ligging in a ditch," says Joe, as quiet

as could be. I tell'd 'em more shame to 'em, and bid them get up and move on, or I'd lend them a lick of the

gigwhip; for my notion was they were all fresh. "We'd ha' done that an hour sin', but we're teed wi' a bit o'

band," says Joe. So in a while I got down and loosed 'em wi' my penknife; and Scott would ride wi' me, to tell

me all how it happened; and t' others are coming on as fast as their feet will bring them.'

'Are you, my lad? You know you're not. However, here are the rest approaching. And here, by the Lord, is

another set with lights in their pitchers, like the army of Gideon; and as we've th' parson wi' us

Mr. Helstone returned the salutation of the individual in the gig very stiffly indeed. That individual

'We're eleven strong men, and there's both horses and chariots amang us. If we could only fall in wi' some of

these starved ragamuffins of framebreakers we could win a grand victory. We're could iv'ry one be a

Wellington that would please ye, Mr. Helstone and sich paragraphs as we could contrive for t' papers!

Briarfield suld be famous: but we'se hev a column and a half i' th' Stilbro' Courier ower this job, as it is, I dare

'And I'll promise you no less, Mr. Yorke, for I'll write the article myself,' returned the rector.

'To be sure sartainly! And mind ye recommend weel that them 'at brake t' bits o' frames, and teed Joe

Scott's legs wi' band, suld be hung without benefit o' clergy. It's a hanging matter, or suld be. No doubt o' that'

'If I judged them I'd give them short shrift!' cried Moore. 'But I mean to let them quite alone this bout, to give

'Promise! No. All I mean to say is, I shall give myself no particular trouble to catch them; but if one falls in

'You'll snap him up, of course. Only you would rather they would do something worse than merely stop a

wagon before you reckon with them. Well, we'll say no more on the subject at present Here we are at my

door, gentlemen, and I hope you and the men will step in. You will none of you be the worse of a little

Moore and Helstone opposed this proposition as unnecessary. It was, however, pressed on them so

courteously, and the night, besides, was so inclement, and the gleam from the muslincurtained windows of

the house before which they had halted looked so inviting, that at length they yielded. Mr. Yorke, after

having alighted from his gig, which he left in charge of a man who issued from an outbuilding on his arrival,

It will have been remarked that Mr. Yorke varied a little in his phraseology. Now he spoke broad Yorkshire,

and anon he expressed himself in very pure English. His manner seemed liable to equal alternations. He could

be polite and affable, and he could be blunt and rough. His station then you could not easily determine by his

The men he recommended to take the kitchen way, saying that he would 'see them served wi' summat to taste

presently.' The gentlemen were ushered in at the front entrance. They found themselves in a matted hall, lined

almost to the ceiling with pictures. Through this they were conducted to a large parlour, with a magnificent

fire in the grate; the most cheerful of rooms it appeared as a whole, and when you came to examine details,

the enlivening effect was not diminished. There was no splendour, but there was taste everywhere, unusual

taste, the taste, you would have said, of a travelled man, a scholar, and a gentleman. A series of Italian views

decked the walls. Each of these was a specimen of true art. A connoisseur had selected them; they were

genuine and valuable. Even by candlelight the bright clear skies, the soft distances, with blue air quivering

between the eye and the hills, the fresh tints and wellmassed lights and shadows, charmed the view. The

subjects were all pastoral, the scenes were all sunny. There was a guitar and some music on a sofa; there were

cameos, beautiful miniatures; a set of Grecianlooking vases on the mantelpiece; there were books well

Mr. Yorke bade his guests be seated. He then rang for wine. To the servant who brought it he gave hospitable

orders for the refreshment of the men in the kitchen. The rector remained standing; he seemed not to like his

'E'en as you will,' remarked Mr. Yorke. 'I reckon you're thinking of Eastern customs, Mr. Helstone, and you'll

not eat nor drink under my roof, feared we suld be forced to be friends; but I am not so particular or

superstitious. You might sup the contents of that decanter, and you might give me a bottle of the best in your

own cellar, and I'd hold myself free to oppose you at every turn still, in every vestrymeeting and

'Does it agree wi' ye now, Mr. Helstone, to be riding out after rioters, of a wet night, at your age?'

'It always agrees with me to be doing my duty; and in this case my duty is a thorough pleasure. To hunt down

'Fit for ye, at ony rate. But where's t' curate? He's happen gone to visit some poor body in a sick gird, or he's

'You left him a sup o' wine, I hope, Bob' (turning to Mr. Moore), 'to keep his courage up?'

He did not pause for an answer, but continued, quickly still addressing Moore, who had thrown himself into

an oldfashioned chair by the fireside 'Move it, Robert! Get up, my lad! That place is mine. Take the sofa,

or three other chairs, if you will, but not this. It belangs to me, and nob'dy else.'

'Why are you so particular to that chair, Mr. Yorke?' asked Moore, lazily vacating the place in obedience to

'My father war afore me, and that's all t' answer I sall gie thee; and it's as good a reason as Mr. Helstone can

'Nay; Robert's not ready, or rather, I'm not ready to part wi' him. He's an ill lad, and wants correcting.'

'What do I care for that? What difference does it make to me whether your Yorkshire louts hate me or like

'Ay, there it is. The lad is a mak' of an alien amang us. His father would never have talked i' that way. Go

'Mauvaise t te vousm me, je ne fais que mon devoir; quant vos lourdauds de paysans, je m'en moque!'

'En ravanche, mon gar on, nos lourdauds de paysans se moqueront de toi; sois en certain,' replied Yorke,

'C'est bon! c'est bon! Et puisque cela m'est gal, que mes amis ne s'en inqui tent pas.'

'Je fais cho, O sontils? et je suis fort aise que l' cho seul y r pond. Au diable les amis! Je me souviens

encore du moment o mon p re et mes oncles G rard appell rent autour d'eux leurs amis et Dieu sait si les

amis se sont empress s d'accourir a leur secours! Tenez, M. Yorke, ce mot, ami, m'irrite trop; ne m'en parlez

And here Mr. Yorke held his peace; and while he sits leaning back in his threecornered carved oak chair, I

will snatch my opportunity to sketch the portrait of this Frenchspeaking Yorkshire gentleman.

A Yorkshire gentleman he was, par excellence, in every point; about fiftyfive years old, but looking at first

sight still older, for his hair was silver white. His forehead was broad, not high; his face fresh and hale; the

harshness of the north was seen in his features, as it was heard in his voice; every trait was thoroughly

English not a Norman line anywhere; it was an inelegant, unclassic, unaristoctatic mould of visage. Fine

people would perhaps have called it vulgar; sensible people would have termed it characteristic; shrewd

people would have delighted in it for the pith, sagacity, intelligence, the rude yet real originality marked in

every lineament, latent in every furrow. But it was an indocile, a scornful, and a sarcastic face the face of a

man difficult to lead, and impossible to drive. His stature was rather tall, and he was well made and wiry, and

had a stately integrity of port; there was not a suspicion of the clown about him anywhere.

I did not find it easy to sketch Mr. Yorke's person, but it is more difficult to indicate his mind. If you expect

to be treated to a Perfection, reader, or even to a benevolent, philanthropic old gentleman in him, you are

mistaken. He has spoken with some sense and with some good feeling to Mr. Moore, but you are not thence

Mr. Yorke, in the first place, was without the organ of veneration a great want, and which throws a man

wrong on every point where veneration is required. Secondly, he was without the organ of Comparison a

deficiency which strips a man of sympathy; and thirdly, he had too little of the organs of Benevolence and

Ideality, which took the glory and softness from his nature, and for him diminished those divine qualities

The want of veneration made him intolerant to those above him kings and nobles and priests, dynasties and

parliaments and establishments, with all their doings, most of their enactments, their forms, their rights, their

claims, were to him an abomination, all rubbish; he found no use or pleasure in them, and believed it would

be clear gain, and no damage to the world, if its high places were razed, and their occupants crushed in the

fall. The want of veneration, too, made him dead at heart to the electric delight of admiring what is

admirable; it dried up a thousand pure sources of enjoyment; it withered a thousand vivid pleasures. He was

not irreligious, though a member of no sect; but his religion could not be that of one who knows how to

venerate. He believed in God and heaven; but his God and heaven were those of a man in whom awe,

The weakness of his powers of comparison made him inconsistent; while he professed some excellent general

doctrines of mutual toleration and forbearance, he cherished towards certain classes a bigoted antipathy. He

spoke of 'parsons' and all who belonged to parsons, of 'lords' and the appendages of lords, with a harshness,

sometimes an insolence, as unjust as it was insufferable. He could not place himself in the position of those

he vituperated; he could not compare their errors with their temptations, their defects with their

disadvantages; he could not realise the effect of such and such circumstances on himself similarly situated,

and he would often express the most ferocious and tyrannical wishes regarding those who had acted, as he

thought, ferociously and tyrannically. To judge by his threats, he would have employed arbitrary, even cruel,

means to advance the cause of freedom and equality. Equality! yes, Mr. Yorke talked about equality, but at

heart he was a proud man: very friendly to his workpeople, very good to all who were beneath him, and

submitted quietly to be beneath him, but haughty as Beelzebub to whomsoever the world deemed (for he

deemed no man) his superior. Revolt was in his blood: he could not bear control; his father, his grandfather

The want of general benevolence made him very impatient of imbecility, and of all faults which grated on his

strong, shrewd nature; it left no check to his cutting sarcasm. As he was not merciful, he would sometimes

wound and wound again, without noticing how much he hurt, or caring how deep he thrust.

As to the paucity of ideality in his mind, that can scarcely be called a fault: a fine ear for music, a correct eye

for colour and form, left him the quality of taste; and who cares for imagination? Who does not think it a

rather dangerous, senseless attribute, akin to weakness, perhaps partaking of frenzy a disease rather than a

Probably all think it so but those who possess, or fancy they possess it. To hear them speak, you would

believe that their hearts would be cold if that elixir did not flow about them, that their eyes would be dim if

that flame did not refine their vision, that they would be lonely if this strange companion abandoned them.

You would suppose that it imparted some glad hope to spring, some fine charm to summer, some tranquil joy

to autumn, some consolation to winter, which you do not feel. All illusion, of course; but the fanatics cling to

As Mr. Yorke did not possess poetic imagination himself, he considered it a most superfluous quality in

others. Painters and musicians he could tolerate, and even encourage, because he could relish the results of

their art; he could see the charm of a fine picture, and feel the pleasure of good music; but a quiet poet

whatever force struggled, whatever fire glowed in his breast if he could not have played the man in the

countinghouse, or the tradesman in the Piece Hall, might have lived despised, and died scorned, under the

And as there are' many Hiram Yorkes in the world, it is well that the true poet, quiet externally though he

may be, has often a truculent spirit under his placidity, and is full of shrewdness in his meekness, and can

measure the whole stature of those who look down on him, and correctly ascertain the weight and value of

the pursuits they disdain him for not having followed. It is happy that he can have his own bliss, his own

society with his great friend and goddess Nature, quite independent of those who find little pleasure in him,

and in whom he finds no pleasure at all. It is just that while the world and circumstances often turn a dark,

cold side to him and properly, too, because he first turns a dark, cold, careless side to them he should be

able to maintain a festal brightness and cherishing glow in his bosom, which makes all bright and genial for

him; while strangers, perhaps, deem his existence a Polar winter never gladdened by a sun. The true poet is

not one whit to be pitied, and he is apt to laugh in his sleeve when any misguided sympathiser whines over

his wrongs. Even when utilitarians sit in judgment on him, and pronounce him and his art useless, he hears

the sentence with such a hard derision, such a broad, deep, comprehensive, and merciless contempt of the

unhappy Pharisees who pronounce it, that he is rather to be chidden than condoled with. These, however, are

I have told you some of his faults, reader: as to his good points, he was one of the most honourable and

capable men in Yorkshire; even those who disliked him were forced to respect him. He was much beloved by

the poor, because he was thoroughly kind and very fatherly to them. To his workmen he was considerate and

cordial: when he dismissed them from an occupation, he would try to set them on to something else, or, if

that was impossible, help them to remove with their families to a district where work might possibly be had.

It must also be remarked that if, as sometimes chanced, any individual amongst his 'hands' showed signs of

insubordination, Yorke who, like many who abhor being controlled, knew how to control with vigour had

the secret of crushing rebellion in the germ, of eradicating it like a bad weed, so that it never spread or

developed within the sphere of his authority. Such being the happy state of his own affairs, he felt himself at

liberty to speak with the utmost severity of those who were differently situated, to ascribe whatever was

unpleasant in their position entirely to their own fault, to sever himself from the masters, and advocate freely

Mr. Yorke's family was the first and oldest in the district; and he, though not the wealthiest, was one of the

most influential men. His education had been good. In his youth, before the French Revolution, he had

travelled on the Continent He was an adept in the French and Italian languages. During a two years' sojourn

in Italy he had collected many good paintings and tasteful rarities, with which his residence was now

adorned. His manners, when he liked, were those of a finished gentleman of the old school; his conversation,

when he was disposed to please, was singularly interesting and original; and if he usually expressed himself

in the Yorkshire dialect; it was because he chose to do so, preferring his native Doric to a more refined

vocabulary. 'A Yorkshire burr,' he affirmed, 'was as much better than a cockney's lisp as a bull's bellow than a

Mr. Yorke knew every one, and was known by every one, for miles round; yet his intimate acquaintances

were very few. Himself thoroughly original, he had no taste for what was ordinary: a racy, rough character,

high or low, ever found acceptance with him; a refined, insipid personage, however exalted in station, was his

aversion. He would spend an hour any time in talking freely with a shrewd workman of his own, or with

some queer, sagacious old woman amongst his cottagers, when he would have grudged a moment to a

commonplace fine gentleman or to the most fashionable and elegant, if frivolous, lady. His preferences on

these points he carried to an extreme, forgetting that there may be amiable and even admirable characters

amongst those who cannot be original. Yet he made exceptions to his own rule. There was a certain order of

mind, plain, ingenuous, neglecting refinement, almost devoid of intellectuality, and quite incapable of

appreciating what was intellectual in him, but which, at the same time, never felt disgust at his rudeness, was

not easily wounded by his sarcasm, did not closely analyse his sayings, doings, or opinions, with which he

was peculiarly at ease, and, consequently, which he peculiarly preferred. He was lord amongst such

characters. They, while submitting implicitly to his influence, never acknowledged, because they never

reflected on, his superiority; they were quite tractable therefore without running the smallest danger of being

servile; and their unthinking, easy, artless insensibility was as acceptable, because as convenient, to Mr.

It will have been observed that he was not quite uncordial with Mr. Moore. He had two or three reasons for

entertaining a faint partiality to that gentleman. It may sound odd, but the first of these was that Moore spoke

English with a foreign, and French with a perfectly pure, accent and that his dark, thin face, with its fine

though rather wasted lines, had a most antiBritish and antiYorkshire look These points seem frivolous,

unlikely to influence a character like Yorke's; but the fact is they recalled old, perhaps pleasurable

associations they brought back his travelling, his youthful days. He had seen, amidst Italian cities and scenes,

faces like Moore's; he had heard, in Parisian cafes and theatres, voices like his. He was young then, and when

Secondly, he had known Moore's father, and had had dealings with him. That was a more substantial, though

by no means a more agreeable tie; for as his firm had been connected with Moore's in business, it had also, in

some measure, been implicated in its losses. Thirdly, he had found Robert himself a sharp man of business.

He saw reason to anticipate that he would, in the end, by one means or another, make money; and he

respected both his resolution and acuteness perhaps also, his hardness. A fourth circumstance which drew

them together was that of Mr. Yorke being one of the guardians of the minor on whose estate Hollow's Mill

was situated; consequently Moore, in the course of his alterations and improvements, had frequent occasion

As to the other guest now present in Mr. Yorke's parlour, Mr. Helstone, between him and his host there

existed a double antipathy the antipathy of nature and that of circumstances. The freethinker hated the

formalist, the lover of liberty detested the disciplinarian. Besides, it was said that in former years they had

Mr. Yorke, as a general rule, was, when young, noted for his preference of sprightly and dashing women: a

showy shape and air, a lively wit, a ready tongue, chiefly seemed to attract him. He never, however, proposed

to any of these brilliant belles whose society he sought; and all at once he seriously fell in love with and

eagerly wooed a girl who presented a complete contrast to those he had hitherto noticed a girl with the face

of a Madonna; a girl of living marble stillness personified. No matter that, when he spoke to her, she only

answered him in monosyllables; no matter that his sighs seemed unheard, that his glances were unreturned,

that she never responded to his opinions, rarely smiled at his jests, paid him no respect and no attention; no

matter that she seemed the opposite of everything feminine he had ever in his whole life been known to

admire. For him Mary Cave was perfect, because somehow, for some reason no doubt he had a reason he

Mr. Helstone, at that time curate of Briarfield, loved Mary too or, at any rate, he fancied her. Several others

admired her, for she was beautiful as a monumental angel; but the clergyman was preferred for his office's

sake that office probably investing him with some of the illusion necessary to allure to the commission of

matrimony, and which Miss Cave did not find in any of the young woolstaplers, her other adorers. Mr.

Helstone neither had, nor professed to have, Mr. Yorke's absorbing passion for her. He had none of the

humble reverence which seemed to subdue most of her suitors; he saw her more as she really was than the

rest did. He was, consequently, more master of her and himself. She accepted him at the first offer, and they

Nature never intended Mr. Helstone to make a very good husband, especially to a quiet wife. He thought so

long as a woman was silent nothing ailed her, and she wanted nothing. If she did not complain of solitude,

solitude, however continued, could not be irksome to her. If she did not talk and put herself forward, express

a partiality for this, an aversion to that, she had no partialities or aversions, and it was useless to consult her

tastes. He made no pretence of comprehending women, or comparing them with men. They were a different,

probably a very inferior, order of existence. A wife could not be her husband's companion, much less his

confidante, much less his stay. His wife, after a year or two, was of no great importance to him in any shape;

and when she one day, as he thought, suddenly for he had scarcely noticed her decline but, as others

thought, gradually, took her leave of him and of life, and there was only a still; beautifulfeatured mould of

clay left, cold and white, in the conjugal couch, he felt his bereavement who shall say how little? Yet,

perhaps, more than he seemed to feel it; for he was not a man from whom grief easily wrung tears.

His dryeyed and sober mourning scandalised an old housekeeper, and likewise a female attendant, who had

waited upon Mrs. Helstone in her sickness, and who, perhaps, had had opportunities of learning more of the

deceased lady's nature, of her capacity for feeling and loving, than her husband knew. They gossiped together

over the corpse, related anecdotes, with embellishments of her lingering decline, and its real or supposed

cause. In short, they worked each other up to some indignation against the austere little man, who sat

examining papers in an adjoining room, unconscious of what opprobrium he was the object.

Mrs. Helstone was hardly under the sod, when rumours began to be rife in the neighbourhood that she had

died of a broken heart. These magnified quickly into reports of hard usage, and, finally, details of harsh

treatment on the part of her husband reports grossly untrue, but not the less eagerly received on that

account. Mr. Yorke heard them, partly believed them. Already, of course, he had no friendly feeling to his

successful rival. Though himself a married man now, and united to a woman who seemed a complete contrast

to Mary Gave in all respects, he could not forget the great disappointment of his life; and when he heard that

what would have been so precious to him had been neglected, perhaps abused, by another, he conceived for

that other a rooted and bitter animosity. Of the nature and strength of this animosity Mr. Helstone was but

half aware. He neither knew how much Yorke had loved Mary Gave, what he had felt on losing her, nor was

he conscious of the calumnies concerning his treatment of her, familiar to every ear in the neighbourhood but

his own. He believed political and religious differences alone separated him and Mr. Yorke. Had he known

how the case really stood, he would hardly have been induced by any persuasion to cross his former rival's

Mr. Yorke did not resume his lecture of Robert Moore. The conversation ere long recommenced in a more

general form, though still in a somewhat disputative tone. The unquiet state of the country, the various

depredations lately committed on millproperty in the district, supplied abundant matter for disagreement,

especially as each of the three gentlemen present differed more or less in his views on these subjects. Mr.

Helstone thought the masters aggrieved, the workpeople unreasonable; he condemned sweepingly the

widespread spirit of disaffection against constituted authorities, the growing indisposition to bear with

patience evils he regarded as inevitable. The cures he prescribed were vigorous government interference,

Mr. Yorke wished to know whether this interference, vigilance, and coercion would feed those who were

hungry, give work to those who wanted work, and whom no man would hire. He scouted the idea of

inevitable evils. He said public patience was a camel, on whose back the last atom that could be borne had

already been laid, and that resistance was now a duty; the widespread spirit of disaffection against constituted

authorities he regarded as the most promising sign of the times; the masters, he allowed, were truly

aggrieved, but their main grievance had been heaped upon them by a 'corrupt, base and bloody' government

(these were Mr. Yorke's epithets). Madmen like Pitt, demons like Castlereagh, mischievous idiots like

Perceval, were the tyrants, the curses of the country, the destroyers of her trade. It was their infatuated

perseverance in an unjustifiable, a hopeless, a ruinous war, which had brought the nation to its present pass. It

was their monstrously oppressive taxation, it was the infamous 'Orders in Council' the originators of which

deserved impeachment and the scaffold, if ever public men did that hung a millstone about England's neck.

'But where was the use of talking?' he demanded. 'what chance was there of reason being heard in a land that

was kingridden, priestridden, peerridden; where a lunatic was the nominal monarch, an unprincipled

debauchee the real ruler; where such an insult to common sense as hereditary legislators was tolerated; where

such a humbug as a bench of bishops, such an arrogant abuse as a pampered, persecuting established church

was endured and venerated; where a standing army was maintained, and a host of lazy parsons, and the

Mr. Helstone, rising up and putting on his shovelhat, observed in reply, 'that in the course of his life he had

met with two or three instances where sentiments of this sort had been very bravely maintained so long as

health, strength, and worldly prosperity had been the allies of him who professed them; but there came a

time,' he said, 'to all men, "when the keepers of the house should tremble; when they should be afraid of that

which is high, and fear should be in the way," and that time was the test of the advocate of anarchy and

rebellion, the enemy of religion and order. Ere now,' he affirmed, 'he had been called upon to read those

prayers our church has provided for the sick by the miserable dyingbed of one of her most rancorous foes;

he had seen such a one stricken with remorse, solicitous to discover a place for repentance, and unable to find

any, though he sought it carefully with tears. He must forewarn Mr. Yorke that blasphemy against God and

the king was a deadly sin, and that there was such a thing as "judgment to come."'

Mr. Yorke 'believed fully that there was such a thing as judgment to come. If it were otherwise, it would be

difficult to imagine how all the scoundrels who seemed triumphant in this world, who broke innocent hearts

with impunity, abused unmerited privileges, were a scandal to honourable callings, took the bread out of the

mouths of the poor, browbeat the humble, and truckled meanly to the rich and proud, were to be properly

paid off, in such coin as they had earned. But,' he added, 'whenever he got lowspirited about suchlike

goingson, and their seeming success in this mucky lump of a planet, he just reached down t' owd book'

(pointing to a great Bible in the bookcase), 'opened it like at a chance, and he was sure to light of a verse

blazing wi' a blue brimstone low that set all straight. He knew,' he said, 'where some folk war bound for, just

as weel as if an angel wi' great white wings had come in ower t' doorstone and told him.'

'Sir,' said Mr. Helstone, collecting all his dignity 'sir, the great knowledge of man is to know himself, and

'Ay, ay. You'll recollect, Mr. Helstone, that Ignorance was carried away from the very gates of heaven, borne

through the air, and thrust in at a door in the side of the hill which led down to hell.'

'Nor have I forgotten, Mr. Yorke, that VainConfidence, not seeing the way before him, fell into a deep pit,

which was on purpose there made by the prince of the grounds, to catch vainglorious fools withal, and was

'Now,' interposed Mr. Moore, who had hitherto sat a silent but amused spectator of this wordy combat, and

whose indifference to the party politics of the day, as well as to the gossip of the neighbourhood, made him

an impartial, if apathetic, judge of the merits of such an encounter, 'you have both sufficiently blackballed

each other, and proved how cordially you detest each other, and how wicked you think each other. For my

part my hate is still running in such a strong current against the fellows who have broken my frames that I

have none to spare for my private acquaintance, and still less for such a vague thing as a sect or a

government. But really, gentlemen, you both seem very bad by your own showing worse than ever I

suspected you to be I dare not stay all night with a rebel and blasphemer like you, Yorke; and I hardly dare

'I am going, however, Mr. Moore,' said the rector sternly. 'Come with me or not, as you please.'

'Nay, he shall not have the choice, he shall go with you,' responded Yorke. 'It's midnight, and past; and I'll

'Deb,' said he to the servant who answered it, 'clear them folk out o' t' kitchen, and lock t' doors, and be off to

bed. Here is your way, gentlemen,' he continued to his guests; and, lighting them through the passage, he

They met their party hurrying out pellmell by the back way. Their horses stood at the gate; they mounted

and rode off, Moore laughing at their abrupt dismissal, Helstone deeply indignant thereat.

Moore's good spirits were still with him when he rose next morning. He and Joe Scott had both spent the

night in the mill, availing themselves of certain sleeping accommodations producible from recesses in the

front and back countinghouses. The master, always an early riser, was up somewhat sooner even than usual.

'Not a stiver, mon gar on which means, my lad: get up, and we'll take a turn through the mill before the

hands come in, and I'll explain my future plans. We'll have the machinery yet, Joseph. You never heard of

'And th' arrand (spider)? Yes, but I hev. I've read th' history o' Scotland, and happen knaw as mich on't as ye;

'Is there mony o' your mak' i' your country?' inquired Joe, as he folded up his temporary bed, and put it away.

'Not it, indeed! The circumstance of the French having seized Antwerp, where I was born, does not make me

'I scorn the insinuation Joe! I a Flemish! Have I a Flemish face! Have I a Flemish face the clumsy nose

standing out, the mean forehead falling back, the pale blue eyes " fleur de t te"? Am I all body and no legs,

like a Flamand? But you don't know what they are like, those Netherlanders. Joe, I'm an Anversois. My

mother was an Anversoise, though she came of French lineage, which is the reason I speak French.'

'But your father war Yorkshire, which maks ye a bit Yorkshire too; and onybody may see ye're akin to us,

'Joe, you're an impudent dog; but I've always been accustomed to a boorish sort of insolence from my youth

up. The "classe ouvri re"; that is, the working people in Belgium bear themselves brutally towards their

employers; and by brutally, Joe, I mean brutalement which, perhaps, when properly translated, should be

'We allus speak our minds i' this country; and them young parsons and grand folk fro' London is shocked at

wer "incivility;" and we like weel enough to gi'e 'em summat to be shocked at, 'cause it's sport to us to watch

'em turn up the whites o' their een, and spreed out their bits o' hands, like as they're flayed wi' bogards, and

then to hear 'em say, nipping off their words short like, "Dear! dear! Whet seveges! How very corse!"'

'Middling, middling, maister. I reckon 'at us manufacturing lads i' th' north is a deal more intelligent, and

knaws a deal more nor th' farming folk i' th' south. Trade sharpens wer wits; and them that's mechanics like

me is forced to think. Ye know, what wi' looking after machinery and sich like, I've getten into that way that

when I see an effect, I look straight out for a cause, and I oft lig hold on't to purpose; and then I like reading,

and I'm curious to knaw what them that reckons to govern us aims to do for us and wi' us. And there's many

'cuter nor me; there's many a one amang them greasy chaps 'at smells o' oil, and amang them dyers wi' blue

and black skins that has a long head, and that can tell what a fooil of a law is, as well as ye or old Yorke and a

deal better nor soft uns like Christopher Sykes o' Whinbury, and greet hectoring nowts like yond' Irish Peter,

'Ay! I'm fairish. I can tell cheese fro' chalk, and I'm varry weel aware that I've improved sich opportunities as

I have had, a deal better nor some 'at reckons to be aboon me; but there's thousands i' Yorkshire that's as good

'You're a great man you're a sublime fellow; but you're a prig, a conceited noodle with it all, Joe! You need

not to think that because you've picked up a little knowledge of practical mathematics, and because you have

found some scantling of the elements of chemistry at the bottom of a dyeing vat, that therefore you're a

neglected man of science; and you need not to suppose that because the course of trade does not always run

smooth, and you, and such as you, are sometimes short of work and of bread, that therefore your class are

martyrs, and that the whole form of government under which you live is wrong. And, moreover, you need not

for a moment to insinuate that the virtues have taken refuge in cottages and wholly abandoned slated houses.

Let me tell you, I particularly abominate that sort of trash, because I know so well that human nature is

human nature everywhere, whether under tile or thatch, and that in every specimen of human nature that

breathes, vice and virtue are ever found blended, in smaller or greater proportions, and that the proportion is

not determined by station. I have seen villains who were rich, and I have seen villains who were poor, and I

have seen villains who were neither rich nor poor, but who had realised Agar's wish, and lived in fair and

modest competency. The clock is going to strike six. Away with you, Joe, and ring the mill bell.'

It was now the middle of the month of February; by six o'clock therefore dawn was just beginning to steal on

night, to penetrate with a pale ray its brown obscurity, and give a demitranslucence to its opaque shadows.

Pale enough that ray was on this particular morning: no colour tinged the east, no flush warmed it. To see

what a heavy lid day slowly lifted, what a wan glance she flung along the hills, you would have thought the

sun's fire quenched in last night's floods. The breath of this morning was chill as its aspect; a raw wind stirred

the mass of nightcloud, and showed, as it slowly rose, leaving a colourless, silvergleaming ring all round

the horizon, not blue sky, but a stratum of paler vapour beyond. It had ceased to rain, but the earth was

The millwindows were alight, the bell still rung loud, and now the little children came running in, in too

great a hurry, let us hope, to feel very much nipped by the inclement air; and indeed, by contrast, perhaps the

morning appeared rather favourable to them than otherwise, for they had often come to their work that winter

Mr. Moore stood at the entrance to watch them pass. He counted them as they went by. To those who came

rather late he said a word of reprimand, which was a little more sharply repeated by Joe Scott when the

lingerers reached the workrooms. Neither master nor overlooker spoke savagely. They were not savage men

either of them, though it appeared both were rigid, for they fined a delinquent who came considerably too

late. Mr. Moore made him pay his penny down ere he entered, and informed him that the next repetition of

Rules, no doubt, are necessary in such cases, and coarse and cruel masters will make coarse and cruel rules,

which, at the time we treat of at least, they used sometimes to enforce tyrannically; but though I describe

imperfect characters (every character in this book will be found to be more or less imperfect, my pen refusing

to draw anything in the model line), I have not undertaken to handle degraded or utterly infamous ones.

Childtorturers, slave masters and drivers, I consign to the hands of jailers. The novelist may be excused

Instead, then, of harrowing up my reader's soul and delighting his organ of wonder with effective descriptions

of stripes and scourgings, I am happy to be able to inform him that neither Mr. Moore nor his overlooker ever

struck a child in their mill. Joe had, indeed, once very severely flogged a son of his own for telling a lie and

persisting in it; but, like his employer, he was too phlegmatic, too calm, as well as too reasonable a man, to

make corporal chastisement other than the exception to his treatment of the young.

Mr. Moore haunted his mill, his millyard, his dyehouse, and his warehouse till the sickly dawn strengthened

into day. The sun even rose, at least a white disc, clear, tintless, and almost chilllooking as ice, peeped over

the dark crest of a hill, changed to silver the livid edge of the cloud above it, and looked solemnly down the

whole length of the den, or narrow dale, to whose strait bounds we are at present limited. It was eight o'clock;

the mill lights were all extinguished; the signal was given for breakfast; the children, released for half an hour

from toil, betook themselves to the little tin cans which held their coffee, and to the small baskets which

contained their allowance of bread. Let us hope they have enough to eat; it would be a pity were it otherwise.

And now at last Mr. Moore quitted the millyard, and bent his steps to his dwellinghouse. It was only a

short distance from the factory, but the hedge and high bank on each side of the lane which conducted to it

seemed to give it something of the appearance and feeling of seclusion. It was a small, whitewashed place,

with a green porch over the door; scanty brown stalks showed in the garden soil near this porch, and likewise

beneath the windows stalks budless and flowerless now, but giving dim prediction of trained and blooming

creepers for summer days. A grass plat and borders fronted the cottage. The borders presented only black

mould yet, except where, in sheltered nooks, the first shoots of snowdrop or crocus peeped, green as emerald,

from the earth. The spring was late; it had been a severe and prolonged winter; the last deep snow had but just

disappeared before yesterday's rains; on the hills, indeed, white remnants of it yet gleamed, flecking the

hollows and crowning the peaks; the lawn was not verdant, but bleached, as was the grass on the bank, and

under the hedge in the lane. Three trees, gracefully grouped, rose beside the cottage. They were not lofty, but

having no rivals near, they looked well and imposing where they grew. Such was Mr. Moore's home a snug

nest for content and contemplation, but one within which the wings of action and ambition could not long lie

Its air of modest comfort seemed to possess no particular attraction for its owner. Instead of entering the

house at once, he fetched a spade from a little shed and began to work in the garden. For about a quarter of an

hour he dug on uninterrupted. At length, however, a window opened, and a female voice called to him,

The answer, and the rest of the conversation, was in French; but as this is an English book, I shall translate it

He threw down his spade, and entered the house. The narrow passage conducted him to a small parlour,

where a breakfast of coffee and bread and butter, with the somewhat unEnglish accompaniment of stewed

pears, was spread on the table. Over these viands presided the lady who had spoken from the window. I must

She seemed a little older than Mr. Moore perhaps she was thirtyfive, tall, and proportionately stout; she

had very black hair, for the present twisted up in curlpapers, a high colour in her cheeks, a small nose, a pair

of little black eyes. The lower part of her face was large in proportion to the upper; her forehead was small

and rather corrugated; she had a fretful though not an illnatured expression of countenance; there was

something in her whole appearance one felt inclined to be half provoked with and half amused at. The

strangest point was her dress a stuff petticoat and a striped cotton camisole. The petticoat was short,

displaying well a pair of feet and ankles which left much to be desired in the article of symmetry.

You will think I have depicted a remarkable slattern, reader; not at all. Hortense Moore (she was Mr. Moore's

sister) was a very orderly, economical person. The petticoat, camisole, and curlpapers were her morning

costume, in which, of forenoons, she had always been accustomed to 'go her household ways' in her own

country. She did not choose to adopt English fashions because she was obliged to live in England; she

adhered to her old Belgian modes, quite satisfied that there was a merit in so doing.

Mademoiselle had an excellent opinion of herself an opinion not wholly undeserved, for she possessed

some good and sterling qualities; but she rather overestimated the kind and degree of these qualities; and

quite left out of the account sundry little defects which accompanied them. You could never have persuaded

her that she was a prejudiced and narrowminded person; that she was too susceptible on the subject of her

own dignity and importance, and too apt to take offence about trifles; yet all this was true. However, where

her claims to distinction were not opposed, and where her prejudices were not offended, she could be kind

and friendly enough. To her two brothers (for there was another G rard Moore besides Robert) she was very

much attached. As the sole remaining representatives of their decayed family, the persons of both were

almost sacred in her eyes. Of Louis, however, she knew less than of Robert. He had been sent to England

when a mere boy, and had received his education at an English school. His education not being such as to

adapt him for trade, perhaps, too, his natural bent not inclining him to mercantile pursuits, he had, when the

blight of hereditary prospects rendered it necessary for him to push his own fortune, adopted the very arduous

and very modest career of a teacher. He had been usher in a school, and was said now to be tutor in a private

family. Hortense, when she mentioned Louis, described him as having what she called 'des moyens,' but as

being too backward and quiet. Her praise of Robert was in a different strain, less qualified: she was very

proud of him; she regarded him as the greatest man in Europe; all he said and did was remarkable in her eyes,

and she expected others to behold him from the same point of view; nothing could be more irrational,

monstrous and infamous than opposition from any quarter to Robert, unless it were opposition to herself.

Accordingly, as soon as the said Robert was seated at the breakfasttable, and she had helped him to a

portion of stewed pears, and cut him a goodsized Belgian tartine, she began to pour out a flood of

amazement and horror at the transaction of last night, the destruction of the frames.

'Quelle ide ! to destroy them. Quelle action honteuse! On voyait bien que les ouvriers de ce pays taient la

fois b tes et m chants. C' tait absolument comme les domestiques anglais, les servantes surtout: rien

'Looks! I don't know how she looks, and I do not say that she is altogether dirty or idle, mais elle est d'une

insolence! She disputed with me a quarter of an hour yesterday about the cooking of the beef; she said I

boiled it to rags, that English people would never be able to eat such a dish as our bouilli, that the bouillon

was no better than greasy warm water, and as to the choucroute, she affirms she cannot touch it! That barrel

we have in the cellar delightfully prepared by my own hands she termed a tub of hogwash, which means

food for pigs. I am harassed with the girl, and yet I cannot part with her lest I should get a worse. You are in

'It is my duty to be happy where you are, brother; but otherwise there are certainly a thousand things which

make me regret our native town. All the world here appears to me illbred (mal lev ). I find my habits

considered ridiculous. If a girl out of your mill chances to come into the kitchen and find me in my jupon and

camisole preparing dinner (for you know I cannot trust Sarah to cook a single dish), she sneers. If I accept an

invitation out to tea, which I have done once or twice, I perceive I am put quite into the background; I have

not that attention paid me which decidedly is my due. Of what an excellent family are the G rards, as we

know, and the Moores also! They have a right to claim a certain respect, and to feel wounded when it is

withheld from them. In Antwerp I was always treated with distinction; here, one would think that when I

open my lips in company I speak English with a ridiculous accent, whereas I am quite assured that I

'Hortense, in Antwerp we were known rich; in England we were never known but poor.'

'Precisely, and thus mercenary are mankind. Again, dear brother, last Sunday, if you recollect, was very wet;

accordingly I went to church in my neat black sabots, objects one would not indeed wear in a fashionable city

but which in the country I have ever been accustomed to use for walking in dirty roads. Believe me, as I

paced up the aisle, composed and tranquil, as I am always, four ladies, and as many gentlemen, laughed and

'Well, well I don't put on the sabots again. I told you before I thought they were not quite the thing for this

'But, brother, they are not common sabots, such as the peasantry wear. I tell you, they are sabots noirs, tr s

propres, tr s convenables. At Mons and Leuze cities not very far removed from the elegant capital of

Brussels it is very seldom that the respectable people wear anything else for walking in winter. Let any one

try to wade the mud of the Flemish chauss es in a pair of Paris brodequins, on m'en dirait des nouvelles!'

'Never mind Mons and Leuze and the Flemish chauss es; do at Rome as the Romans do. And as to the

camisole and jupon, I am not quite sure about them either. I never see an English lady dressed in such

'Caroline! I ask Caroline? I consult her about my dress? It is she who on all points should consult me. She is a

'She is eighteen, or at least seventeen old enough to know all about gowns, petticoats, and chaussures.'

'Do not spoil Caroline, I entreat you, brother. Do not make her of more consequence than she ought to be. At

'She does not. She appreciates me better than any one else here; but then she has more intimate opportunities

of knowing me. She sees that I have education, intelligence, manner, principles all, in short, which belongs

'For fond I cannot say. I am not one who is prone to take violent fancies, and, consequently, my friendship is

the more to be depended on. I have a regard for her as my relative; her position also inspires interest, and her

conduct as my pupil has hitherto been such as rather to enhance than diminish the attachment that springs

'To me she behaves very well; but you are conscious, brother, that I have a manner calculated to repel

overfamiliarity, to win esteem, and to command respect. Yet, possessed of penetration, I perceive dearly

'Give me a last cup of coffee, and while I am drinking it amuse me with an account of her faults.'

'Dear brother, I am happy to see you eat your breakfast with relish, after the fatiguing night you have passed.

Caroline, then, is defective; but with my forming hand and almost motherly care she may improve. There is

about her an occasional something a reserve, I think which I do not quite like, because it is not

sufficiently girlish and submissive; and there are glimpses of an unsettled hurry in her nature, which put me

out. Yet she is usually most tranquil, too dejected and thoughtful indeed sometimes. In time, I doubt not, I

shall make her uniformly sedate and decorous, without being unaccountably pensive. I ever disapprove what

'I don't understand your account in the least. What do you mean by "unsettled hurries," for instance?'

'An example will, perhaps, be the most satisfactory explanation. I sometimes, you are aware, make her read

French poetry by way of practice in pronunciation. She has in the course of her lessons gone through much of

Corneille and Racine, in a very steady, sober spirit, such as I approve. Occasionally she showed, indeed, a

degree of languor in the perusal of those esteemed authors, partaking rather of apathy than sobriety; and

apathy is what I cannot tolerate in those who have the benefit of my instructions; besides, one should not be

apathetic in studying standard works. The other day I put into her hands a volume of short fugitive pieces. I

sent her to the window to learn one by heart, and when I looked up I saw her turning the leaves over

impatiently, and curling her lip, absolutely with scorn, as she surveyed the little poems cursorily. I chid her.

"Ma cousine," said she, "tout cela m'ennuie la mort." I told her this was improper language. "Dieu!" she

exclaimed, "Il n'y a donc pas deux lignes de po'sie dans toute la litt rature fran aise?" I inquired what she

meant. She begged my pardon with proper submission. Ere long she was still. I saw her smiling to herself

over the book. She began to learn assiduously. In half an hour she came and stood before me, presented the

volume, folded her hands, as I always require her to do, and commenced the repetition of that short thing by

Ch nier, "La Jeune Captive." If you had heard the manner in which she went through this, and in which she

uttered a few incoherent comments when she had done, you would have known what I meant by the phrase

"unsettled hurry." One would have thought Ch nier was more moving than all Racine and all Corneille. You,

brother, who have so much sagacity, will discern that this disproportionate preference argues an illregulated

mind; but she is fortunate in her preceptress. I will give her a system, a method of thought, a set of opinions; I

'Be sure you do, Hortense. Here she comes. That was her shadow passed the window, I believe.'

'Ah! truly. She is too early half an hour before her time. My child, what brings you here before I have

This question was addressed to an individual who now entered the room, a young girl, wrapped in a winter

mantle, the folds of which were gathered with some grace round an apparently slender figure.

'I came in haste to see how you were, Hortense, and how Robert was too. I was sure you would be both

grieved by what happened last night. I did not hear till this morning: my uncle told me at breakfast'

'Ah! it is unspeakable. You sympathise with us? Your uncle sympathises with us?'

'My uncle is very angry; but he was with Robert, I believe, was he not? Did he not go with you to Stilbro'

'Yes, we set out in very martial style, Caroline; but the prisoners we went to rescue met us halfway.'

'Why, no; only Joe Scott's wrists were a little galled with being pinioned too tightly behind his back.'

'No. One seldom has the fortune to be present at occurrences at which one would particularly wish to assist.'

'Where are you going this morning? I saw Murgatroyd saddling your horse in the yard.'

'Two are better than one, and nobody dislikes Mr. Yorke; at least, poor people do not dislike him.'

'Who are misunderstood. That, probably, is the word. Shall you be late? Will he be late, Cousin Hortense?'

'It is too probable: he has often much business to transact at Whinbury. Have you brought your

'Try rather to be back by six. It is not absolutely dark at six now, but by seven daylight is quite gone.'

'And what danger is to be apprehended, Caroline, when daylight is gone? What peril do you conceive comes

'I am not sure that I can define my fears, but we all have a certain anxiety at present about our friends. My

uncle calls these times dangerous. He says, too, that millowners are unpopular.'

'And I one of the most unpopular? Is not that the fact? You are reluctant to speak out plainly, but at heart you

think me liable to Pearson's fate, who was shot at not, indeed, from behind a hedge, but in his own house,

'Anne Pearson showed me the bullet in the chamberdoor,' remarked Caroline gravely, as she folded her

mantle and arranged it and her muff on a sidetable. 'You know,' she continued, 'there is a hedge all the way

along the road from here to Whinbury, and there are the Fieldhead plantations to pass; but you will be back

'Certainly he will,' affirmed Hortense. 'And now, my child, prepare your lessons for repetition, while I put the

'You suspect I have many enemies, then, Caroline,' said Mr. Moore, 'and doubtless you know me to be

'Not destitute, Robert. There is your sister, your brother Louis, whom I have never seen; there is Mr. Yorke,

Robert smiled. 'You would he puzzled to name your "many more,"' said he. 'But show me your

exercisebook. What extreme pains you take with the writing! My sister, I suppose, exacts this care. She

wants to form you in all things after the model of a Flemish schoolgirl. What life are you destined for,

Caroline? What will you do with your French, drawing, and other accomplishments, when they are acquired?'

'You may well say, when they are acquired; for, as you are aware, till Hortense began to teach me, I knew

precious little. As to the life I am destined for, I cannot tell. I suppose to keep my uncle's house till ' she

'No. How harsh to say that! I never think of his dying. He is only fiftyfive. But till in short, till events

'I used to be, formerly. Children, you know, have little reflection, or rather their reflections run on ideal

'I do. I should like an occupation; and if I were a boy, it would not be so difficult to find one. I see such an

'I could be apprenticed to your trade the cloth trade. I could learn it of you, as we are distant relations. I

would do the countinghouse work, keep the books, and write the letters, while you went to market. I know

you greatly desire to be rich, in order to pay your father's debts; perhaps I could help you to get rich.'

'Of whom else do I think? Of whom else dare I think? The poor ought to have no large sympathies; it is their

'Yes, Caroline. Poverty is necessarily selfish, contracted, grovelling, anxious. Now and then a poor man's

heart, when certain beams and dews visit it, may swell like the budding vegetation in yonder garden on this

spring day, may feel ripe to evolve in foliage, perhaps blossom; but he must not encourage the pleasant

impulse; he must invoke Prudence to check it, with that frosty breath of hers, which is as nipping as any north

'When I speak of poverty, I do not so much mean the natural, habitual poverty of the workingman, as the

embarrassed penury of the man in debt; my grubworm is always a straitened, struggling, careworn

'Cherish hope, not anxiety. Certain ideas have become too fixed in your mind. It may be presumptuous to say

it, but I have the impression that there is something wrong in your notions of the best means of attaining

'In (courage let me speak the truth) in your manner mind, I say only manner to these Yorkshire

'The faults of my manner are, I think, only negative. I am not proud. What has a man in my position to be

'As if your living clothdressers were all machines like your frames and shears. In your own house you seem

'To those of my own house I am no alien, which I am to these English clowns. I might act the benevolent with

them, but acting is not my forte. I find them irrational, perverse; they hinder me when I long to hurry forward.

'Ah!' said the monitress, shaking her head and heaving a deep sigh. With this ejaculation, indicative that she

perceived a screw to be loose somewhere, but that it was out of her reach to set it right, she bent over her

'I suppose I am not an affectionate man, Caroline; the attachment of a very few suffices me.'

'First let me rule your book, for you always contrive to draw the lines aslant. There now. And now for the

'If I were of Louis's calling I might stay at home and dedicate this morning to you and your studies, whereas I

As he finished mending the pens, a horse, saddled and bridled, was brought up to the gardengate.

'There, Fred is ready for me; I must go. I'll take one look to see what the spring has done in the south border,

He quitted the room, and went out into the garden ground behind the mill. A sweet fringe of young verdure

and opening flowers snowdrop, crocus, even primrose bloomed in the sunshine under the hot wall of the

factory. Moore plucked here and there a blossom and leaf, till he had collected a little bouquet. He returned to

the parlour, pilfered a thread of silk from his sister's workbasket, tied the flowers, and laid them on

'Thank you, Robert. It is pretty; it looks, as it lies there, like sparkles of sunshine and blue sky.

He went to the door, stopped, opened his lips as if to speak, said nothing, and moved on. He passed through

the wicket, and mounted his horse. In a second he had flung himself from the saddle again, transferred the

'I forgot my gloves,' he said, appearing to take something from the sidetable then, as an impromptu thought,

'I never have. Some children's socks, which Mrs. Ramsden has ordered, to knit for the Jew's basket; but they

'Jew's basket be sold! Never was utensil better named. Anything more Jewish than it its contents and their

prices cannot be conceived. But I see something, a very tiny curl, at the corners of your lip, which tells me

that you know its merits as well as I do. Forget the Jew's basket, then, and spend the day here as a change.

'The old Cossack! I dare say not,' muttered Moore. Then stay and dine with Hortense; she will be glad of your

company. I shall return in good time. We will have a little reading in the evening. The moon rises at halfpast

Moore lingered yet two minutes. He bent over Caroline's desk and glanced at her grammar, he fingered her

pen, he lifted her bouquet and played with it; his horse stamped impatient; Fred Murgatroyd hemmed and

coughed at the gate, as if he wondered what in the world his master was doing. 'Goodmorning,' again said

Hortense, coming in ten minutes after, found, to her surprise, that Caroline had not yet commenced her

Mademoiselle Moore had that morning a somewhat absent minded pupil. Caroline forgot, again and again,

the explanations which were given to her. However, she still bore with unclouded mood the chidings her

inattention brought upon her. Sitting in the sunshine near the window, she seemed to receive with its warmth

a kind influence, which made her both happy and good. Thus disposed, she looked her best, and her best was

To her had not been denied the gift of beauty. It was not absolutely necessary to know her in order to like her;

she was fair enough to please, even at the first view. Her shape suited her age: it was girlish, light, and pliant;

every curve was neat, every limb proportionate; her face was expressive and gentle; her eyes were handsome,

and gifted at times with a winning beam that stole into the heart, with a language that spoke softly to the

affections. Her mouth was very pretty; she had a delicate skin, and a fine flow of brown hair, which she knew

how to arrange with taste; curls became her, and she possessed them in picturesque profusion. Her style of

dress announced taste in the wearer very unobtrusive in fashion, far from costly in material, but suitable in

colour to the fair complexion with which it contrasted, and in make to the slight form which it draped. Her

present winter garb was of merino the same soft shade of brown as her hair; the little collar round her neck

lay over a pink ribbon, and was fastened with a pink knot She wore no other decoration.

So much for Caroline Helstone's appearance. As to her character or intellect, if she had any, they must speak

Her connections are soon explained. She was the child of parents separated soon after her birth, in

consequence of disagreement of disposition. Her mother was the halfsister of Mr. Moore's father; thus,

though there was no mixture of blood, she was, in a distant sense, the cousin of Robert, Louis, and Hortense.

Her father was the brother of Mr. Helstone a man of the character friends desire not to recall, after death

has once settled all earthly accounts. He had rendered his wife unhappy. The reports which were known to be

true concerning him had given an air of probability to those which were falsely circulated respecting his

better principled brother. Caroline had never known her mother, as she was taken from her in infancy, and

had not since seen her; her father died comparatively young, and her uncle, the rector, had for some years

been her sole guardian. He was not, as we are aware, much adapted, either by nature or habits, to have the

charge of a young girl He had taken little trouble about her education; probably he would have taken none if

she, finding herself neglected, had not grown anxious on her own account, and asked, every now and then, for

a little attention, and for the means of acquiring such amount of knowledge as could not be dispensed with.

Still, she had a depressing feeling that she was inferior, that her attainments were fewer than were usually

possessed by girls of her age and station; and very glad was she to avail herself of the kind offer made by her

cousin Hortense, soon after the arrival of the latter at Hollow's Mill, to teach her French and fine needlework.

Mlle. Moore, for her part, delighted in the task, because it gave her importance; she liked to lord it a little

over a docile yet quick pupil. She took Caroline precisely at her own estimate, as an irregularlytaught, even

ignorant girl; and when she found that she made rapid and eager progress, it was to no talent, no application,

in the scholar she ascribed the improvement, but entirely to her own superior method of teaching. When she

found that Caroline, unskilled in routine, had a knowledge of her own, desultory but varied, the discovery

caused her no surprise, for she still imagined that from her conversation had the girl unawares gleaned these

treasures. She thought it even when forced to feel that her pupil knew much on subjects whereof she knew

Mademoiselle, who prided herself on possessing 'un esprit positif,' and on entertaining a decided preference

for dry studies, kept her young cousin to the same as closely as she could. She worked her unrelentingly at

the grammar of the French language, assigning her, as the most improving exercise she could devise,

interminable 'analyses logiques.' These 'analyses' were by no means a source of particular pleasure to

Caroline; she thought she could have learned French just as well without them, and grudged excessively the

time spent in pondering over 'propositions, principales, et incidents;' in deciding the 'incidente d terminative,'

and the 'incidente applicative;' in examining whether the proposition was 'pleine' 'elliptique,' or 'implicite.'

Sometimes she lost herself in the maze, and when so lost she would, now and then (while Hortense was

rummaging her drawers upstairs an unaccountable occupation in which she spent a large portion of each

day, arranging, disarranging, rearranging, and counterarranging), carry her book to Robert in the

countinghouse and get the rough place made smooth by his aid. Mr. Moore possessed a clear, tranquil brain

of his own. Almost as soon as he looked at Caroline's little difficulties they seemed to dissolve beneath his

eye. In two minutes he would explain all, in two words give the key to the puzzle. She thought if Hortense

could only teach like him, how much faster she might learn. Repaying him by an admiring and grateful smile,

rather shed at his feet than lifted to his face; she would leave the mill reluctantly to go back to the cottage,

and then, while she completed the exercise, or worked out the sum (for Mlle. Moore taught her arithmetic

too) she would wish nature had made her a boy instead of a girl, that she might ask Robert to let her be his

clerk, and sit with him in the countinghouse, instead of sitting with Hortense in the parlour.

Occasionally but this happened very rarely she spent the evening at Hollow's Cottage. Sometimes during

these visits Moore was away attending a market; sometimes he was gone to Mr. Yorke's; often he was

engaged with a male visitor in another room; but sometimes, too, he was at home; disengaged, free to talk

with Caroline. When this was the case, the evening hours passed on wings of light; they were gone before

they were counted. There was no room in England so pleasant as that small parlour when the three cousins

occupied it. Hortense, when she was not teaching, or scolding, or cooking, was far from illhumoured; it was

her custom to relax towards evening, and to be kind to her young English kinswoman. There was a means,

too, of rendering her delightful, by inducing her to take her guitar and sing and play. She then became quite

goodnatured. And as she played with skill, and had a welltoned voice, it was not disagreeable to listen to

her. It would have been absolutely agreeable, except that her formal and selfimportant character modulated

Mr. Moore, released from the business yoke, was, if not lively himself, a willing spectator of Caroline's

liveliness, a complacent listener to her talk, a ready respondent to her questions. He was something agreeable

to sit near, to hover round, to address and look at. Sometimes he was better than this almost animated, quite

The drawback was that by the next morning he was sure to be frozen up again; and however much he seemed,

in his quiet way, to enjoy these social evenings, he rarely contrived their recurrence. This circumstance

puzzled the inexperienced head of his cousin. 'If I had a means of happiness at my command,' she thought, 'I

would employ that means often. I would keep it bright with use, and not let it lie for weeks aside; till it gets

Yet she was careful not to put in practice her own theory. Much as she liked an evening visit to the cottage,

she never paid one unasked. Often, indeed, when pressed by Hortense to come, she would refuse, because

Robert did not second, or but slightly seconded the request. This morning was the first time he had ever, of

his own unprompted will, given her an invitation; and then he had spoken so kindly that in hearing him she

had received a sense of happiness sufficient to keep her glad for the whole day.

The morning passed as usual. Mademoiselle, ever breathlessly busy, spent it in bustling from kitchen to

parlour, now scolding Sarah, now looking over Caroline's exercise or hearing her repetitionlesson. However

faultlessly these tasks were achieved, she never commended: it was a maxim with her that praise is

inconsistent with a teacher's dignity, and that blame, in more or less unqualified measure, is indispensable to

it. She thought incessant reprimand, severe or slight, quite necessary to the maintenance of her authority; and

if no possible error was to be found in the lesson, it was the pupil's carriage, or air, or dress, or mien, which

The usual affray took place about the dinner, which meal, when Sarah at last brought it into the room, she

almost flung upon the table, with a look that expressed quite plainly, 'I never dished such stuff i' my life

afore; it's not fit for dogs.' Notwithstanding Sarah's scorn, it was a savoury repast enough. The soup was a

sort of puree of dried peas, which mademoiselle had prepared amidst bitter lamentations that in this desolate

country of England no haricot beans were to be had. Then came a dish of meat nature unknown, but

supposed to be miscellaneous singularly chopped up with crumbs of bread, seasoned uniquely though not

unpleasantly, and baked in a mould a queer but by no means unpalatable dish. Greens, oddly bruised,

formed the accompanying vegetable; and a p t of fruit, conserved after a recipe devised by Madame G rard

Moore's 'grand'm re,' and from the taste of which it appeared probable that 'm lasse' had been substituted for

Caroline had no objection to this Belgian cookery indeed she rather liked it for a change; and it was well

she did so, for had she evinced any disrelish thereof, such manifestation would have injured her in

mademoiselle's good graces for ever; a positive crime might have been more easily pardoned than a symptom

Soon after dinner Caroline coaxed her governesscousin upstairs to dress. This manoeuvre required

management. To have hinted that the jupon, camisole, and curlpapers were odious objects, or indeed other

than quite meritorious points, would have been a felony. Any premature attempt to urge their disappearance

was therefore unwise, and would be likely to issue in the persevering wear of them during the whole day.

Carefully avoiding rocks and quicksands, however, the pupil, on pretence of requiring a change of scene,

contrived to get the teacher aloft; and, once in the bedroom, she persuaded her that it was not worth while

returning thither, and that she might as well make her toilet now; and while Mademoiselle delivered a solemn

homily on her own surpassing merit in disregarding all frivolities of fashion, Caroline denuded her of the

camisole, invested her with a decent gown, arranged her collar, hair, etc., and made her quite presentable. But

Hortense would put the finishing touches herself, and these finishing touches consisted in a thick

handkerchief tied round the throat, and a large, servantlike black apron, which spoiled everything. On no

account would mademoiselle have appeared in her own house without the thick handkerchief and the

voluminous apron. The first was a positive matter of morality it was quite improper not to wear a fichu; the

second was the ensign of a good housewife she appeared to think that by means of it she somehow effected

a large saving in her brother's income. She had, with her own hands, made and presented to Caroline similar

equipments; and the only serious quarrel they had ever had, and which still left a soreness in the elder

cousin's soul, had arisen from the refusal of the younger one to accept of and profit by these elegant presents.

'I wear a high dress and a collar,' said Caroline, 'and I should feel suffocated with a handkerchief in addition;

and my short aprons do quite as well as that very long one. I would rather make no change.'

Yet Hortense, by dint of perseverance, would probably have compelled her to make a change, had not Mr.

Moore chanced to overhear a dispute on the subject, and decided that Caroline's little aprons would suffice,

and that, in his opinion, as she was still but a child, she might for the present dispense with the fichu,

There was no appeal against Robert's opinion, therefore his sister was compelled to yield; but she

disapproved entirely of the piquant neatness of Caroline's costume, and the ladylike grace of her appearance.

Something more solid and homely she would have considered 'beaucoup plus convenable.'

The afternoon was devoted to sewing. Mademoiselle, like most Belgian ladies, was specially skilful with her

needle. She by no means thought it waste of time to devote unnumbered hours to fine embroidery,

sightdestroying lacework, marvellous netting and knitting, and, above all, to most elaborate

stockingmending. She would give a day to the mending of two holes in a stocking any time, and think her

'mission' nobly fulfilled when she had accomplished it. It was another of Caroline's troubles to be condemned

to learn this foreign style of darning, which was done stitch by stitch, so as exactly to imitate the fabric of the

stocking itself a weariful process, but considered by Hortense G rard, and by her ancestresses before her

for long generations back, as one of the first 'duties of woman.' She herself had had a needle, cotton, and a

fearfully torn stocking put into her hand while she yet wore a child's coif on her little black head; her 'hauts

faits' in the darning line had been exhibited to company ere she was six years old; and when she first

discovered that Caroline was profoundly ignorant of this most essential of attainments, she could have wept

No time did she lose in seeking up a hopeless pair of hose, of which the heels were entirely gone, and in

setting the ignorant English girl to repair the deficiency. This task had been commenced two years ago, and

Caroline had the stockings in her workbag yet. She did a few rows everyday, by way of penance for the

expiation of her sins. They were a grievous burden to her; she would much have liked to put them in the fire;

and once Mr. Moore, who had observed her sitting and sighing over them, had proposed a private

incremation in the countinghouse; but to this proposal Caroline knew it would have been impolitic to accede

the result could only be a fresh pair of hose, probably in worse condition. She adhered, therefore, to the ills

All the afternoon the two ladies sat and sewed, till the eyes and fingers, and even the spirits of one of them,

were weary. The sky since dinner had darkened; it had begun to rain again, to pour fast secret fears began to

steal on Caroline that Robert would be persuaded by Mr. Sykes or Mr. Yorke to remain at Whinbury till it

cleared, and of that there appeared no present chance. Five o'clock struck, and time stole on; still the clouds

streamed. A sighing wind whispered in the rooftrees of the cottage; day seemed already closing; the parlour

'It will not be fair till the moon rises,' pronounced Mademoiselle Moore, 'consequently I feel assured that my

brother will not return till then. Indeed I should be sorry if he did. We will have coffee. It would be vain to

'You may, since it grows too dark to see to do it well. Fold it up; put it carefully in your bag; then step into

'He will not, I tell you. I can calculate his movements. I understand my brother.'

Suspense is irksome, disappointment bitter. All the world has, some time or other, felt that Caroline, obedient

to orders, passed into the kitchen. Sarah was making a dress for herself at the table.

'You are to bring in coffee,' said the young lady in a spiritless tone; and then she leaned her arm and head

'How low you seem, miss! But it's all because your cousin keeps you so close to work. It's a shame!'

'Oh! but I know it is. You're fit to cry just this minute, for nothing else but because you've sat still the whole

'He is come. I am certain I saw Murgatroyd lead his horse into the yard by the backway, when I went to get

some water at the pump five minutes since. He was in the countinghouse with Joe Scott, I believe.'

'I heard him speak, though. He was saying something to Joe Scott about having settled all concerning ways

and means, and that there would be a new set of frames in the mill before another week passed, and that this

'Beautiful! Get the coffee ready. I'll finish cutting out that sleeve for you, and I'll give you some trimming for

'Be quick; there's a good girl. But first put your master's shoes on the hearth: he will take his boots off when

The kitchen door opened; Mr. Moore entered, very wet and cold. Caroline half turned from her dressmaking

occupation, but renewed it for a moment, as if to gain a minute's tune for some purpose. Bent over the dress,

her face was hidden; there was an attempt to settle her features and veil their expression, which failed. When

'No, Robert; I dared not when it rained so fast. And you are wet and chilled. Change everything. If you took

'I am not wet through: my ridingcoat is waterproof. Dry shoes are all I require. There the fire is pleasant

He stood on the kitchen hearth; Caroline stood beside him. Mr. Moore, while enjoying the genial glow, kept

his eyes directed towards the glittering brasses on the shelf above. Chancing for an instant to look down, his

glance rested on an uplifted face flushed, smiling, happy, shaded with silky curls, lit with fine eyes. Sarah

was gone into the parlour with the tray; a lecture from her mistress detained her there. Moore placed his hand

a moment on his young cousin's shoulder, stooped, and left a kiss on her forehead.

'Oh!' said she, as if the action had unsealed her lips, 'I was miserable when I thought you would not come. I

'Are you certain you are not fretting about your frames, and your business, and the war?'

'Are you positive you don't feel Hollow's Cottage too small for you, and narrow, and dismal?'

'Can you affirm that you are not bitter at heart because rich and great people forget you?'

'No more questions. You are mistaken if you think I am anxious to curry favour with rich and great people. I

'Which your own talent and goodness shall win you. You were made to be great; you shall be great.'

'I wonder now, if you spoke honestly out of your heart, what recipe you would give me for acquiring this

same greatness; but I know it better than you know it yourself. Would it be efficacious? Would it work?

'I do; and then I am quite proud of you. Robert, you cannot tell all my thoughts about you.'

Mr. Moore's dark face mustered colour; his lips smiled, and yet were compressed; his eyes laughed, and yet

'Think meanly of me, Lina,' said he. 'Men, in general, are a sort of scum, very different to anything of which

'If you did, I should not esteem you so much. It is because you are modest that I have such confidence merit'

'Are you flattering me?' he demanded, turning sharply upon her, and searching her face with an eye of acute

'No,' she said softly, laughing at his sudden quickness. She seemed to think it unnecessary to proffer any

'Only to ease my mind by expressing for once part of what I think, and then to make you better satisfied with

The answer was cut short by Sarah and her mistress entering the kitchen together in some commotion. They

had been improving the time which Mr. Moore and Miss Helstone had spent in dialogue by a short dispute on

the subject of 'caf au lait,' which Sarah said was the queerest mess she ever saw, and a waste of God's good

gifts, as it was 'the nature of coffee to be boiled in water,' and which mademoiselle affirmed to be 'un

breuvage royal,' a thousand times too good for the mean person who objected to it.

The former occupants of the kitchen now withdrew into the parlour. Before Hortense followed them thither,

Caroline had only time again to question, 'Not my enemy, Robert?' And Moore, Quakerlike, had replied

with another query, 'Could I be?' and then, seating himself at the table, had settled Caroline at his side.

Caroline scarcely heard Mademoiselle's explosion of wrath when she rejoined them; the long declamation

about the 'conduite indigne de cette m chante cr ature' sounded in her ear as confusedly as the agitated

rattling of the china. Robert laughed a little at it, in very subdued sort, and then, politely and calmly

entreating his sister to be tranquil, assured her that if it would yield her any satisfaction, she should have her

choice of an attendant amongst all the girls in his mill. Only he feared they would scarcely suit her, as they

were most of them, he was informed, completely ignorant of household work; and pert and selfwilled as

Sarah was, she was, perhaps, no worse than the majority of the women of her class.

Mademoiselle admitted the truth of this conjecture: according to her, 'ces paysannes anglaises taient tout

insupportables.' What would she not give for some 'bonne cuisini re anversoise,' with the high cap, short

petticoat, and decent sabots proper to her class something better, indeed, 'thin an insolent coquette in a

flounced gown, and absolutely without cap! (For Sarah, it appears, did not partake the opinion of St. Paul that

'it is a shame for a woman to go with her head uncovered;' but, holding rather a contrary doctrine, resolutely

refused to imprison in linen or muslin the plentiful tresses of her yellow hair, which it was her wont to fasten

'Shall I try and get you an Antwerp girl?' asked Mr. Moore, who, stern in public, was on the whole very kind

'Merci du cadeau!' was the answer. 'An Antwerp girl would not stay here ten days, sneered at as she would be

by all the young coquines in your factory;' then softening, You are very good, dear brother excuse my

petulance but truly my domestic trials are severe, yet they are probably my destiny; for I recollect that our

revered mother experienced similar sufferings, though she had the choice of all the best servants in Antwerp.

Mr. Moore had also certain reminiscences about the trials of his revered mother. A good mother she had been

to him, and he honoured her memory; but he recollected that she kept a hot kitchen of it in Antwerp, just as

his faithful sister did here in England. Thus, therefore, he let the subject drop, and when the coffeeservice

was removed, proceeded to console Hortense by fetching her musicbook and guitar; and having arranged

the ribbon of the instrument round her neck with a quiet fraternal kindness he knew to be allpowerful in

soothing her most ruffled moods, he asked her to give him some of their mother's favourite songs.

Nothing refines like affection. Family jarring vulgarises; family union elevates. Hortense, pleased with her

brother, and grateful to him, looked, as she touched her guitar, almost graceful, almost handsome; her

everyday fretful look was gone for a moment, and was replaced by a 'sourire plein de bont .' She sang the

songs he asked for, with feeling; they reminded her of a parent to whom she had been truly attached; they

reminded her of her young days. She observed, too, that Caroline listened with naove interest; this augmented

her goodhumour; and the exclamation at the close of the song, 'I wish I could sing and play like Hortense!'

It is true a little lecture to Caroline followed, on the vanity of wishing and the duty of trying. 'As Rome,' it

was suggested, 'had not been built in a day, so neither had Mademoiselle G rard Moore's education been

completed in a week, or by merely wishing to be clever. It was effort that had accomplished that great work.

She was ever remarkable for her perseverance, for her industry. Her masters had remarked that it was as

delightful as it was uncommon to find so much talent united with so much solidity,' and so on. Once on the

Cradled at last in blissful selfcomplacency, she took her knitting, and sat down tranquil. Drawn curtains, a

clear fire, a softlyshining lamp, gave now to the little parlour its best, its evening charm. It is probable that

'What shall we do now, Caroline?' asked Mr. Moore, returning to his seat beside his cousin.

'No, no; we both hate silent games that only keep one's hands employed, don't we?'

'About whom? Are we sufficiently interested in anybody to take a pleasure in pulling their character to

'A question that comes to the point. For my part, unamiable as it sounds, I must say no.'

'And I too. But it is strange, though we want no third fourth, I mean (she hastily and with contrition glanced

at Hortense), living person among us so selfish we are in our happiness though we don't want to think of

the present existing world, it would be pleasant to go back to the past, to hear people that have slept for

generations in graves that are perhaps no longer graves now, but gardens and fields, speak to us and tell us

'Your French forefathers don't speak so sweetly, nor so solemnly nor so impressively as your English

ancestors, Robert. Tonight you shall be entirely English. You shall read an English book.'

'Yes, an old English book one that you like; and I'll choose a part of it that is toned quite in harmony with

something in you. It shall waken your nature, fill your mind with music, it shall pass like a skilful hand over

your heart, and make its strings sound. Your heart is a lyre, Robert; but the lot of your life has not been a

minstrel to sweep it, and it is often silent. Let glorious William come near and touch it. You will see how he

'You must have his spirit before you; you must hear his voice with your mind's ear; you must take some of his

'It is to stir you, to give you new sensations. It is to make you feel your life strongly not only your virtues,

'Dieu! que ditelle?' cried Hortense, who hitherto had been counting stitches in her knitting, and had not

much attended to what was said, but whose ear these two strong words caught with a tweak.

'Never mind her, sister; let her talk. Now just let her say anything she pleases tonight. She likes to come

Caroline, who, mounted on a chair, had been rummaging the bookcase, returned with a book.

'Here's Shakespeare,' she said, 'and there's "Coriolanus." Now, read, and discover by the feelings the reading

'And you are not going to be French, and sceptical, and sneering? You are not going to think it a sign of

'If you do, Robert, I'll take Shakespeare away; and I'll shrivel up within myself, and put on my bonnet and go

'One minute if you please, brother,' interrupted Mademoiselle. 'When the gentleman of a family reads, the

ladies should always sew. Caroline, dear child; take your embroidery. You may get three sprigs done

Caroline looked dismayed. 'I can't see by lamplight; my eyes are tired, and I can't do two things well at once.

'Fi, donc! Quel enfantillage!' began Hortense. Mr. Moore, as usual, suavely interposed.

'Permit her to neglect the embroidery for this evening. I wish her whole attention to be fixed on my accent,

and to ensure this, she must follow the reading with her eyes she must look at the book.'

He placed it between them, reposed his arm on the back of Caroline's chair, and thus began to read.

The very first scene in 'Coriolanus' came with smart relish to his intellectual palate, and still as he read he

warmed. He delivered the haughty speech of Caius Marcius to the starving citizens with unction; he did not

say he thought his irrational pride right, but he seemed to feel it so. Caroline looked up at him with a singular

'There's a vicious point hit already,' she said. 'You sympathise with that proud patrician who does not

sympathise with his famished fellowmen, and insults them. There, go on.' He proceeded. The warlike

portions did not rouse him much; he said all that was out of date, or should be; the spirit displayed was

barbarous; yet the encounter singlehanded between Marcius and Tullus Aufidius he delighted in. As he

advanced, he forgot to criticise; it was evident he appreciated the power, the truth of each portion; and,

stepping out of the narrow line of private prejudices, began to revel in the large picture of human nature, to

feel the reality stamped upon the characters who were speaking from that page before him.

He did not read the comic scenes well; and Caroline, taking the book out of his hand, read these parts for him.

From her he seemed to enjoy them, and indeed she gave them with a spirit no one could have expected of her,

with a pithy expression with which she seemed gifted on the spot, and for that brief moment only. It may be

remarked, in passing, that the general character of her conversation that evening, whether serious or sprightly,

grave or gay, was as of something untaught, unstudied, intuitive, fitful when once gone, no more to be

reproduced as it had been than the glancing ray of the meteor, than the tints of the dewgem, than the colour

or form of the sunset cloud, than the fleeting and glittering ripple varying the flow of a rivulet.

Coriolanus in glory, Coriolanus in disaster, Coriolanus banished, followed like giant shades one after the

other. Before the vision of the banished man Moore's spirit seemed to pause. He stood on the hearth of

Aufidius's hall, facing the image of greatness fallen, but greater than ever in that low estate. He saw 'the grim

appearance,' the dark face 'bearing command in it,' 'the noble vessel with its tackle torn.' With the revenge of

Caius Marcius, Moore perfectly sympathised; he was not scandalised by it; and again Caroline whispered,

The march on Rome, the mother's supplication, the long resistance, the final yielding of bad passions to good,

which ever must be the case in a nature worthy the epithet of noble, the rage of Aufidius at what he

considered his ally's weakness, the death of Coriolanus, the final sorrow of his great enemy all scenes made

of condensed truth and strength came on in succession and carried with them in their deep, fast flow the

'Now, have you felt Shakespeare?' asked Caroline, some ten minutes after her cousin had closed the book.

'And what was his fault? What made him hated by the citizens? What caused him to be banished by his

'I ask again "Whether was it pride, Which out of daily fortune ever taints The happy man? whether defect

of judgment, To fail in the disposing of those chances Which he was lord of? or whether nature, Not to be

other than one thing, not moving From the casque to the cushion, but commanding peace Even with the same

'It was a spice of all; and you must not be proud to your workpeople; you must not neglect chances of

soothing them; and you must not be of an inflexible nature, uttering a request as austerely as if it were a

'That is the moral you tack to the play. What puts such notions into your head?'

'A wish for your good, a care for your safety, dear Robert, and a fear, caused by many things which I have

'I hear my uncle talk about you. He praises your hard spirit, your determined cast of mind, your scorn of low

'No, not for the world. I never wish you to lower yourself; but somehow I cannot help thinking it unjust to

include all poor workingpeople under the general and insulting name of "the mob," and continually to think

'I rarely talk to my uncle, as you know, and never about such things. He thinks everything but sewing and

'As far as they concern you, I comprehend them. I know it would be better for you to be loved by your

workpeople than to be hated by them, and I am sure that kindness is more likely to win their regard than

pride. If you were proud and cold to me and Hortense, should we love you? When you are cold to me, as you

'Now, Lina, I've had my lesson both in languages and ethics, with a touch on politics; it is your turn. Hortense

tells me you were much taken by a little piece of poetry you learned the other day, a piece by poor Andr

'Repeat it, then. Take your time and mind your accent; especially let us have no English u's.'

Caroline, beginning in a low, rather tremulous voice, but gaining courage as she proceeded, repeated the

sweet verses of Ch nier. The last three stanzas she rehearsed well. 'Mon beau voyage encore est si loin de sa

fin! Je pars, et des ormeaux qui bordent le chemin J'ai pass les premiers peine. Au banquet de la vie

peine commenc Un instant seulement mes l vres ont press ' La coupe en mes mams encore pleine. 'Je ne

suis qu'au printemps je veux voir la moisson; Comme le soleil, de saison en saison, Je veux achever mon

ann e. Brillante sur ma tige, et l'honneur du jardin Je n'ai vu luire encore que les feux du matin, Je veux

Moore listened at first with his eyes cast down, but soon he furtively raised them. Leaning back in his chair

he could watch Caroline without her perceiving where his gaze was fixed. Her cheek had a colour, her eyes a

light, her countenance an expression this evening which would have made even plain features striking; but

there was not the grievous defect of plainness to pardon in her case. The sunshine was not shed on rough

barrenness; it fell on soft bloom. Each lineament was turned with grace; the whole aspect was pleasing. At

the present moment animated, interested, touched she might be called beautiful. Such a face was

calculated to awaken not only the calm sentiment of esteem, the distant one of admiration, but some feeling

more tender, genial, intimate friendship, perhaps, affection, interest. When she had finished, she turned to

'Is that pretty well repeated?' she inquired, smiling like any happy, docile child.

'When I meet with real poetry, I cannot rest till I have learned it by heart, and so made partly mine.'

Mr. Moore now sat silent for several minutes. It struck nine o'clock. Sarah entered, and said that Mr.

'Then the evening is gone already,' she observed, 'and it will be long, I suppose, before I pass another here.'

Hortense had been for some time nodding over her knitting; fallen into a doze now, she made no response to

'You would have no objection to come here oftener of an evening?' inquired Robert, as he took her folded

mantle from the sidetable, where it still lay, and carefully wrapped it round her.

'I like to come here, but I have no desire to be intrusive. I am not hinting to be asked; you must understand

'Oh! I understand thee, child. You sometimes lecture me for wishing to be rich, Lina; but if I were rich, you

should live here always at any rate, you should live with me wherever my habitation might be.'

'That would be pleasant; and if you were poor ever so poor it would still be pleasant. Goodnight,

'I know you did, but I thought you had forgotten, and I hardly knew how to remind you, though I wished to

do it. But would you like to go? It is a cold night, and as Fanny is come, there is no necessity '

The halfmile to the rectory was soon traversed. They parted in the garden without kiss, scarcely with a

pressure of hands; yet Robert sent his cousin in excited and joyously troubled. He had been singularly kind to

her that day not in phrase, compliment, profession, but in manner, in look, and in soft and friendly tones.

For himself, he came home grave, almost morose. As he stood leaning on his own yardgate, musing in the

watery moonlight all alone, the hushed, dark mill before him, the hillenvironed hollow round, he exclaimed,

'This won't do! There's weakness there's downright ruin in all this. However,' he added, dropping his voice,

'the frenzy is quite temporary. I know it very well; I have had it before. It will be gone tomorrow.

Caroline Helstone was just eighteen years old, and at eighteen the true narrative of life is yet to be

commenced. Before that time we sit listening to a tale, a marvellous fiction, delightful sometimes and sad

sometimes, almost always unreal. Before that time our world is heroic, its inhabitants halfdivine or

semidemon; its scenes are dreamscenes; darker woods and stranger hills, brighter skies, more dangerous

waters, sweeter flowers, more tempting fruits, wider plains, drearier deserts, sunnier fields than are found in

nature, overspread our enchanted globe. What a moon we gaze on before that time! How the trembling of

our hearts at her aspect bears witness to its unutterable beauty! As to our sun, it is a burning heaven the

At that time, at eighteen, drawing near the confines of illusive, void dreams, Elfland lies behind us, the

shores of Reality rise in front. These shores are yet distant; they look so blue, soft, gentle, we long to reach

them. In sunshine we see a greenness beneath the azure, as of spring meadows; we catch glimpses of silver

lines, and imagine the roll of living waters. Could we but reach this land, we think to hunger and thirst no

more; whereas many a wilderness, and often the flood of death, or some stream of sorrow as cold and almost

as black as death, is to be crossed ere true bliss can be tasted. Every joy that life gives must be earned ere it is

secured; and how hardly earned, those only know who have wrestled for great prizes. The heart's blood must

gem with red beads the brow of the combatant, before the wreath of victory rustles over it.

At eighteen we are not aware of this. Hope, when she smiles on us, and promises happiness tomorrow, is

implicitly believed; Love, when he comes wandering like a lost angel to our door, is at once admitted,

welcomed, embraced. His quiver is not seen; if his arrows penetrate, their wound is like a thrill of new life.

There are no fears of poison, none of the barb which no leech's hand can extract That perilous passion an

agony ever in some of its phases; with many, an agony throughout is believed to be an unqualified good. In

short, at eighteen the school of experience is to be entered, and her humbling, crushing, grinding, but yet

Alas, Experience! No other mentor has so wasted and frozen a face as yours, none wears a robe so black,

none bears a rod so heavy, none with hand so inexorable draws the novice so sternly to his task, and forces

him with authority so resistless to its acquirement. It is by your instructions alone that man or woman can

ever find a safe track through life's wilds; without it, how they stumble, how they stray! On what forbidden

Caroline, having been conveyed home by Robert, had no wish to pass what remained of the evening with her

uncle. The room in which he sat was very sacred ground to her; she seldom intruded on it; and tonight she

kept aloof till the bell rang for prayers. Part of the evening church service was the form of worship observed

in Mr. Helstone's household. He read it in his usual nasal voice, clear, loud, and monotonous. The rite over,

'Well, that will do. Stick to the needle, learn shirtmaking and gownmaking and piecrustmaking, and you'll

Presently the niece was enclosed in her small bedroom, the door bolted, her white dressinggown assumed,

her long hair loosened and falling thick, soft, and wavy to her waist; and as, resting from the task of combing

it out, she leaned her cheek on her hand and fixed her eyes on the carpet, before her rose, and close around

Her thoughts were speaking with her, speaking pleasantly, as it seemed, for she smiled as she listened. She

looked pretty meditating thus; but a brighter thing than she was in that apartment the spirit of youthful

Hope. According to this flattering prophet, she was to know disappointment, to feel chill no more; she had

entered on the dawn of a summer day no false dawn, but the true spring of morning and her sun would

quickly rise. Impossible for her now to suspect that she was the sport of delusion; her expectations seemed

'When people love, the next step is they marry,' was her argument. 'Now, I love Robert, and I feel sure that

Robert loves me. I have thought so many a time before; today I felt it. When I looked up at him after

repeating Ch nier's poem, his eyes (what handsome eyes he has!) sent the truth through my heart. Sometimes

I am afraid to speak to him, lest I should be too frank, lest I should seem forward for I have more than once

regretted bitterly overflowing, superfluous words, and feared I had said more than he expected me to say, and

that he would disapprove what he might deem my indiscretion; now, tonight I could have ventured to

express any thought, he was so indulgent. How kind he was as we walked up the lane! He does not flatter or

say foolish things; his lovemaking (friendship, I mean; of course I don't yet account him my lover, but I

hope he will be so some day) is not like what we read of in books, it is far better original, quiet, manly,

sincere. I do like him, I would be an excellent wife to him if he did marry me; I would tell him of his faults

(for he has a few faults), but I would study his comfort, and cherish him, and do my best to make him happy.

Now, I am sure he will not be cold tomorrow. I feel almost certain that tomorrow evening he will either

She recommenced combing her hair, long as a mermaid's. Turning her head as she arranged it she saw her

own face and form in the glass. Such reflections are soberising to plain people: their own eyes are not

enchanted with the image; they are confident then that the eyes of others can see in it no fascination. But the

fair must naturally draw other conclusions: the picture is charming, and must charm. Caroline saw a shape, a

head, that, daguerreotyped in that attitude and with that expression, would have been lovely. She could not

choose but derive from the spectacle confirmation to her hopes. It was then in undiminished gladness she

And in undiminished gladness she rose the next day. As she entered her uncle's breakfastroom, and with soft

cheerfulness wished him goodmorning, even that little man of bronze himself thought, for an instant, his

niece was growing 'a fine girl.' Generally she was quiet and timid with him very docile, but not

communicative; this morning, however, she found many things to say. Slight topics alone might be discussed

between them; for with a woman a girl Mr. Helstone would touch on no other. She had taken an early

walk in the garden, and she told him what flowers were beginning to spring there; she inquired when the

gardener was to come and trim the borders; she informed him that certain starlings were beginning to build

their nests in the churchtower (Briarfield church was close to Briarfield rectory); she wondered the tolling of

Mr. Helstone opined that 'they were like other fools who had just paired insensible to inconvenience just for

the moment.' Caroline, made perhaps a little too courageous by her temporary good spirits, here hazarded a

remark of a kind she had never before ventured to make on observations dropped by her revered relative.

'Uncle,' said she, 'whenever you speak of marriage, you speak of it scornfully. Do you think people shouldn't

'Millions of marriages are unhappy. If everybody confessed the truth, perhaps all are more or less so.'

'Because one does not like to act as accessory to the commission of a piece of pure folly.'

Mr. Helstone spoke so readily, he seemed rather glad of the opportunity to give his niece a piece of his mind

on this point. Emboldened by the impunity which had hitherto attended her questions, she went a little

'But why,' said she, 'should it be pure folly? If two people like each other, why shouldn't they consent to live

'They tire of each other they tire of each other in a month. A yokefellow is not a companion; he or she is a

It was by no means naive simplicity which inspired Caroline's next remark; it was a sense of antipathy to

'One would think you had never been married, uncle. One would think you were an old bachelor.'

'Mr. Helstone pushed out his cynical lip, wrinkled his brown forehead, and gave an inarticulate grunt.

'Did she not suit you? Was she not goodtempered? Did you not get used to her? Were you not sorry when

'Caroline,' said Mr. Helstone, bringing his hand slowly down to within an inch or two of the table, and then

smiting it suddenly on the mahogany, 'understand this: it is vulgar and puerile to confound generals with

particulars. In every case there is the rule and there are the exceptions. Your questions are stupid and babyish.

The breakfast was taken away, and that meal over, it was the general custom of uncle and niece to separate,

and not to meet again till dinner; but today the niece, instead of quitting the room, went to the windowseat

and sat down there. Mr. Helstone looked round uneasily once or twice, as if he wished her away; but she was

gazing from the window, and did not seem to mind him: so he continued the perusal of his morning paper a

particularly interesting one it chanced to be, as new movements had just taken place in the Peninsula, and

certain columns of the journal were rich in long dispatches from General Lord Wellington. He little knew,

meantime, what thoughts were busy in his niece's mind thoughts the conversation of the past halfhour had

revived but not generated; tumultuous were they now, as disturbed bees in a hive, but it was years since they

She was reviewing his character, his disposition, repeating his sentiments on marriage. Many a time had she

reviewed them before, and sounded the gulf between her own mind and his; and then, on the other side of the

wide and deep chasm, she had seen, and she now saw another figure standing beside her uncle's a strange

shape, dim, sinister, scarcely early the halfremembered image of her own father, James Helstone,

Rumours had reached her ear of what that father's character was; old servants had dropped hints; she knew,

too, that he was not a good man, and that he was never kind to her. She recollected a dark recollection it

was some weeks that she had spent with him in a great town somewhere, when she had had no maid to

dress her or take care of her; when she had been shut up, day and night, in a high garretroom, without a

carpet, with a bare uncurtained bed, and scarcely any other furniture; when he went out early every morning,

and often forgot to return and give her her dinner during the day, and at night, when he came back, was like a

madman, furious, terrible, or still more painful like an idiot, imbecile, senseless. She knew she had fallen

ill in this place, and that one night when she was very sick he had come roving into the room, and said he

would kill her, for she was a burden to him. Her screams had brought aid; and from the moment she was then

That was her father. Also she had a mother, though Mr. Helstone never spoke to her of that mother, though

she could not remember having seen her; but that she was alive she knew. This mother was then the

drunkard's wife. What had their marriage been? Caroline, turning from the lattice, whence she had been

watching the starlings (though without seeing them), in a low voice, and with a sad, bitter tone, thus broke the

'You term marriage miserable, I suppose, from what you saw of my father and mother's. If my mother

suffered what I suffered when I was with papa, she must have had a dreadful life'

Mr. Helstone, thus addressed, wheeled about in his chair, and looked over his spectacles at his niece. He was

Her father and mother! What had put it into her head to mention her father and mother, of whom he had

never, during the twelve years she had lived with him, spoken to her? That the thoughts were selfmatured,

that she had any recollections or speculations about her parents, he could not fancy.

'Nobody; but I remember something of what papa was, and I pity mamma. Where is she?'

This 'Where is she?' had been on Caroline's lips hundreds of times before, but till now she had never uttered

'I hardly know,' returned Mr. Helstone; 'I was little acquainted with her. I have not heard from her for years:

but wherever she is, she thinks nothing of you; she never inquires about you. I have reason to believe she

does not wish to see you. Come, it is schooltime. You go to your cousin at ten, don't you? The clock has

Perhaps Caroline would have said more; but Fanny, coming in, informed her master that the churchwardens

wanted to speak to him in the vestry. He hastened to join them, and his niece presently set out for the cottage.

The road from the rectory to Hollow's Mill inclined downwards; she ran, therefore, almost all the way.

Exercise, the fresh air, the thought of seeing Robert, at least of being on his premises, in his vicinage, revived

her somewhat depressed spirits quickly. Arriving in sight of the white house, and within hearing of the

thundering mill and its rushing watercourse, the first thing she saw was Moore at his garden gate. There he

stood, in his belted Holland blouse, a light cap covering his head, which undress costume suited him. He was

looking down the lane, not in the direction of his cousin's approach. She stopped, withdrawing a little behind

'He has not his peer,' she thought. 'He is as handsome as he is intelligent. What a keen eye he has! What

clearlycut, spirited features thin and serious, but graceful! I do like his face, I do like his aspect, I do like

him so much better than any of those shuffling curates, for instance better than anybody; bonnie Robert!'

She sought 'bonny Robert's' presence speedily. For his part, when she challenged his sight, I believe he would

have passed from before her eyes like a phantom, if he could; but being a tall fact, and no fiction, he was

obliged to stand the greeting. He made it brief. It was cousinlike, brotherlike, friendlike, anything but

loverlike. The nameless charm of last night had left his manner: he was no longer the same man; or, at any

rate, the same heart did not beat in his breast. Rude disappointment, sharp cross! At first the eager girl would

not believe in the change, though she saw and felt it. It was difficult to withdraw her hand from his, till he had

bestowed at least something like a kind pressure; it was difficult to turn her eyes from his eyes, till his looks

A lover masculine so disappointed can speak and urge explanation, a lover feminine can say nothing; if she

did, the result would be shame and anguish, inward remorse for selftreachery. Nature would brand such

demonstration as a rebellion against her instincts, and would vindictively repay it afterwards by the

thunderbolt of selfcontempt smiting suddenly in secret. Take the matter as you find it ask no questions, utter

no remonstrances; it is your best wisdom. You expected bread and you have got a stone: break your teeth on

it, and don't shriek because the nerves are martyrised; do not doubt that your mental stomach if you have

such a thing is strong as an ostrich's; the stone will digest. You held out your hand for an egg, and fate put

into it a scorpion. Show no consternation; close your fingers firmly upon the gift; let it sting through your

palm. Never mind; in time, after your hand and arm have swelled and quivered long with torture, the

squeezed scorpion will die, and you will have learned the great lesson how to endure without a sob. For the

whole remnant of your life, if you survive the test some, it is said, die under it you will be stronger, wiser,

less sensitive. This you are not aware of, perhaps, at the time, and so cannot borrow courage of that hope.

Nature, however, as has been intimated, is an excellent friend in such cases, sealing the lips, interdicting

utterance, commanding a placid dissimulation a dissimulation often wearing an easy and gay mien at first,

settling down to sorrow and paleness in time, then passing away, and leaving a convenient stoicism, not the

Halfbitter! Is that wrong? No; it should be bitter: bitterness is strength it is a tonic. Sweet, mild force

following acute suffering you find nowhere; to talk of it is delusion. There may be apathetic exhaustion after

the rack. If energy remains, it will be rather a dangerous energy deadly when confronted with injustice.

Who has read the ballad of 'Puir Mary Lee' that old Scotch ballad, written I know not in what generation

nor by what hand? Mary had been illused probably in being made to believe that truth which was

falsehood. She is not complaining, but she is sitting alone in the snowstorm, and you hear her thoughts. They

are not the thoughts of a model heroine under her circumstances, but they are those of a deeplyfeeling,

stronglyresentful peasantgirl. Anguish has driven her from the inglenook of home to the whiteshrouded

and icy hills. Crouched under the 'cauld drift,' she recalls every image of horror 'the yellowwymed ask,'

'the hairy adder,' 'the auld moonbowing tyke,' 'the ghaist at e'en,' 'the sour bullister,' 'the milk on the taed's

back.' She hates these, but 'waur she hates RobinaRee.' Oh! ance I lived happily by yon bonny burn The

warld was in love wi' me; But now I maun sit 'neath the cauld drift and mourn, And curse black

RobinaRee! Then whudder awa', thou bitter biting blast, And sough through the scrunty tree, And smoor

me up in the snaw fu' fast, And ne'er let the sun me see! Oh, never melt awa', thou wreath o' snaw, That's sae

kind in graving me; But hide me frae the scorn and guffaw O' villains like RobinaRee!

But what has been said in the last page or two not germane to Caroline Helstone's feelings, or to the state of

things between her and Robert Moore. Robert had done her no wrong; he had told her no lie; it was she that

was to blame, if any one was. What bitterness her mind distilled should and would be poured on her own

head. She had loved without being asked to love a natural, sometimes an inevitable chance, but big with

Robert, indeed, had sometimes seemed to be fond of her; but why? Because she had made herself so pleasing

to him, he could not, in spite of all his efforts, help testifying a state of feeling his judgment did not approve

nor his will sanction. He was about to withdraw decidedly from intimate communication with her, because he

did not choose to have his affections inextricably entangled, nor to be drawn, despite his reason, into a

marriage he believed imprudent. Now, what was she to do? To give way to her feelings, or to vanquish them?

To pursue him, or to turn upon herself? If she is weak, she will try the first expedient will lose his esteem

and win his aversion; if she has sense, she will be her own governor, and resolve to subdue and bring under

guidance the disturbed realm of her emotions. She will determine to look on life steadily, as it is; to begin to

learn its severe truths seriously, and to study its knotty problems closely, conscientiously.

It appeared she had a little sense, for she quitted Robert quietly, without complaint or question, without the

alteration of a muscle or the shedding of a tear, betook herself to her studies under Hortense as usual, and at

When she had dined, and found herself in the rectory drawingroom alone, having left her uncle over his

temperate glass of port wine, the difficulty that occurred to and embarrassed her was, 'How am I to get

Last night she had hoped it would be spent as yesterday was, that the evening would be again passed with

happiness and Robert. She had learned her mistake this morning; and yet she could not settle down,

convinced that no chance would occur to recall her to Hollow's Cottage, or to bring Moore again into her

He had walked up after tea more than once to pass an hour with her uncle. The doorbell had rung, his voice

had been heard in the passage just at twilight, when she little expected such a pleasure; and this had happened

twice after he had treated her with peculiar reserve; and though he rarely talked to her in her uncle's presence,

he had looked at her relentingly as he sat opposite her worktable during his stay. The few words he had

spoken to her were comforting; his manner on bidding her goodnight was genial. Now, he might come this

evening, said False Hope. She almost knew it was False Hope which breathed the whisper, and yet she

She tried to read her thoughts wandered; she tried to sew every stitch she put in was an ennui, the

occupation was insufferably tedious; she opened her desk and attempted to write a French composition she

Suddenly the doorbell sharply rang; her heart leaped; she sprang to the drawingroom door, opened it

softly, peeped through the aperture. Fanny was admitting a visitor a gentleman a tall man just the height

of Robert. For one second she thought it was Robert for one second she exulted; but the voice asking for Mr.

Helstone undeceived her. That voice was an Irish voice, consequently not Moore's, but the curate's

Malone's, He was ushered into the diningroom, where, doubtless he speedily helped his rector to empty the

It was a fact to be noted, that at whatever house in Briarfield, Whinbury, or Nunnely one curate dropped in to

a meal dinner or tea, as the case might be another presently followed, often two more. Not that they gave

each other the rendezvous, but they were usually all on the run at the same time, and when Donne, for

instance, sought Malone at his lodgings and found him not, he inquired whither he had posted, and having

learned of the landlady his destination, hastened with all speed after him. The same causes operated in the

same way with Sweeting. Thus it chanced on that afternoon that Caroline's ears were three times tortured

with the ringing of the bell and the advent of undesired guests; for Donne followed Malone, and Sweeting

followed Donne; and more wine was ordered up from the cellar into the diningroom (for though old

Helstone chid the inferior priesthood when he found them 'carousing,' as he called it, in their own tents, yet at

his hierarchical table he ever liked to treat them to a glass of his best), and through the closed doors Caroline

heard their boyish laughter, and the vacant cackle of their voices. Her fear was lest they should stay to tea, for

she had no pleasure in making tea for that particular trio. What distinctions people draw! These three were

men young men educated men, like Moore; yet, for her, how great the difference! Their society was a

Not only was she destined to be favoured with their clerical company, but Fortune was at this moment

bringing her four other guests lady guests, all packed in a ponyphaeton now rolling somewhat heavily

along the road from Whinbury: an elderly lady and three of her buxom daughters were coming to see her 'in a

friendly way,' as the custom of that neighbourhood was. Yes, a fourth time the bell clanged. Fanny brought

When Caroline was going to receive company, her habit was to wring her hands very nervously, to flush a

little, and come forward hurriedly yet hesitatingly, wishing herself meantime at Jericho. She was, at such

crises sadly deficient in finished manner, though she had once been at school a year. Accordingly, on this

occasion her small white hands sadly maltreated each other while she stood up, waiting the entrance of Mrs.

In stalked that lady, a tall, bilious gentlewoman, who made an ample and not altogether insincere profession

of piety, and was greatly given to hospitality towards the clergy. In sailed her three daughters, a showy trio,

In English country ladies there is this point to be remarked. Whether young or old, pretty or plain, dull or

sprightly, they all (or almost all) have a certain expression stamped on their features, which seems to say, 'I

know I do not boast of it, but I know that I am the standard of what is proper; let every one therefore whom

I approach, or who approaches me, keep a sharp lookout, for wherein they differ from me be the same in

Mrs. and Misses Sykes, far from being exceptions to this observation were pointed illustrations of its truth;

Miss Mary a welllooked, wellmeant, and, on the whole, welldispositioned girl wore her complacency

with some state, though without harshness. Miss Harriet a beauty carried it more overbearingly; she

looked high and cold. Miss Hannah, who was conceited, dashing, pushing, flourished hers consciously and

openly. The mother evinced it with the gravity proper to her age and religious fame.

The reception was got through somehow. Caroline 'was glad to see them' (an unmitigated fib), hoped they

were well, hoped Mrs. Sykes's cough was better (Mrs. Sykes had had a cough for the last twenty years),

hoped the Misses Sykes had left their sisters at home well; to which inquiry the Misses Sykes, sitting on three

chairs opposite the musicstool, whereon Caroline had undesignedly come to anchor, after wavering for

some seconds between it and a large armchair, into which she at length recollected she ought to induct Mrs.

Sykes and indeed that lady saved her the trouble by depositing herself therein the Misses Sykes replied to

Caroline by one simultaneous bow, very majestic and mighty awful. A pause followed. This bow was of a

character to ensure silence for the next five minutes, and it did. Mrs. Sykes then inquired after Mr. Helstone,

and whether he had had any return of rheumatism, and whether preaching twice on a Sunday fatigued him,

and if he was capable of taking a full service now; and on being assured he was, she and all her daughters,

combining in chorus, expressed their opinion that he was 'a wonderful man of his years.'

Miss Mary, getting up the steam in her turn, asked whether Caroline had attended the Bible Society meeting

which had been held at Nunnely last Thursday night. The negative answer which truth compelled Caroline to

utter for last Thursday evening she had been sitting at home, reading a novel which Robert had lent her

elicited a simultaneous expression of surprise from the lips of the four ladies.

'We were all there,' said Miss Mary 'mamma and all of us. We even persuaded papa to go. Hannah would

insist upon it. But he fell asleep while Mr. Langweilig, the German Moravian minister, was speaking. I felt

'And there was Dr. Broadbent,' cried Hannah 'such a beautiful speaker. You couldn't expect it of him, for he

'Only like a butcher in appearance,' interposed the fair, proud Harriet. 'I couldn't bear to look at him. I listened

Miss Helstone felt her ignorance and incompetency. Not having seen Dr. Broadbent, she could not give her

opinion. Pause third came on. During its continuance, Caroline was feeling at her heart's core what a

dreaming fool she was, what an unpractical life she led, how little fitness there was in her for ordinary

intercourse with the ordinary world. She was feeling how exclusively she had attached herself to the white

cottage in the Hollow, how in the existence of one inmate of that cottage she had pent all her universe. She

was sensible that this would not do, and that some day she would be forced to make an alteration. It could not

be said that she exactly wished to resemble the ladies before her, but she wished to become superior to her

The sole means she found of reviving the flagging discourse was by asking them if they would all stay to tea;

and a cruel struggle it cost her to perform this piece of civility. Mrs. Sykes had begun, 'We are much obliged

'The gentlemen will stay the evening, ma'am,' was the message she brought from Mr. Helstone.

'What gentlemen have you?' now inquired Mrs. Sykes. Their names were specified; she and her daughters

interchanged glances. The curates were not to them what they were to Caroline. Mr. Sweeting was quite a

favourite with them; even Mr. Malone rather so, because he was a clergyman, 'Really, since you have

company already, I think we shall stay,' remarked Mrs. Sykes. 'We shall be quite a pleasant little party. I

And now Caroline had to usher them upstairs, to help them to unshawl, smooth their hair, and make

themselves smart; to reconduct them to the drawingroom, to distribute amongst them books of engravings,

or odd things purchased from the Jewbasket. She was obliged to be a purchaser, though she was a slack

contributor; and if she had possessed plenty of money, she would rather, when it was brought to the rectory

an awful incubus! have purchased the whole stock than contributed a single pincushion.

It ought to be explained in passing, for the benefit of those who are not au fait to the mysteries of the

'Jewbasket' and 'missionary basket,' that these meubles are willow repositories, of the capacity of a

goodsized family clothes basket, dedicated to the purpose of conveying from house to house a monster

collection of pincushions, needlebooks, cardracks, workbags, articles of infant wear, etc., etc., etc., made by

the willing or reluctant hands of the Christian ladies of a parish, and sold perforce to the heathenish

gentlemen thereof, at prices unblushingly exorbitant. The proceeds of such compulsory sales are applied to

the conversion of the Jews, the seeking out of the ten missing tribes, or to the regeneration of the interesting

coloured population of the globe. Each lady contributor takes it in her turn to keep the basket a month, to sew

for it, and to foist its contents on a shrinking male public. An exciting time it is when that turn comes round.

Some activeminded women, with a good trading spirit, like it, and enjoy exceedingly the fun of making

hardhanded worstedspinners cash up, to the tune of four or five hundred per cent above the cost price, for

articles quite useless to them; other feebler souls object to it, and would rather see the prince of darkness

himself at their door any morning than that phantom basket, brought with 'Mrs. Rouse's compliments; and

Miss Helstone's duties of hostess performed, more anxiously than cheerily, she betook herself to the kitchen,

'What a lot on 'em!' cried Eliza, who was cook. 'And I put off the baking today because I thought there

'Only three and a loaf. I wish these fine folk would stay at home till they're asked; and I want to finish

'Then,' suggested Caroline, to whom the importance of the emergency gave a certain energy, 'Fanny must run

down to Briarfield and buy some muffins and crumpets and some biscuits. And don't be cross, Eliza; we can't

'Oh, the best, I suppose. I'll get out the silver service.' And she ran upstairs to the platecloset, and presently

'Yes; and now get it ready as quickly as you can, for the sooner we have tea over the sooner they will go at

least, I hope so. Heighho! I wish they were gone,' she sighed, as she returned to the drawingroom. 'Still,'

she thought, as she paused at the door ere opening it, 'if Robert would but come even now, how bright all

would be! How comparatively easy the task of amusing these people if he were present! There would be an

interest in hearing him talk (though he never says much in company), and in talking in his presence. There

can be no interest in hearing any of them, or in speaking to them. How they will gabble when the curates

come in, and how weary I shall grow with listening to them! But I suppose I am a selfish fool. These are very

respectable gentlefolks. I ought, no doubt, to be proud of their countenance. I don't say they are not as good

Yorkshire people in those days took their tea round the table, sitting well into it, with their knees duly

introduced under the mahogany. It was essential to have a multitude of plates of bread and butter, varied in

sorts and plentiful in quantity. It was thought proper, too, that on the centre plate should stand a glass dish of

marmalade. Among the viands was expected to be found a small assortment of cheesecakes and tarts. If there

was also a plate of thin slices of pink ham garnished with green parsley, so much the better.

Eliza, the rector's cook, fortunately knew her business as provider. She had been put out of humour a little at

first, when the invaders came so unexpectedly in such strength; but it appeared that she regained her

cheerfulness with action, for in due time the tea was spread forth in handsome style, and neither ham, tarts,

The curates, summoned to this bounteous repast, entered joyous; but at once, on seeing the ladies, of whose

presence they had not been forewarned, they came to a stand in the doorway. Malone headed the party; he

stopped short and fell back, almost capsizing Donne, who was behind him. Donne, staggering three paces in

retreat, sent little Sweeting into the arms of old Helstone, who brought up the rear. There was some

expostulation, some tittering. Malone was desired to mind what he was about, and urged to push forward,

which at last he did, though colouring to the top of his peaked forehead a bluish purple. Helstone, advancing,

set the shy curates aside, welcomed all his fair guests, shook hands and passed a jest with each, and seated

himself snugly between the lovely Harriet and the dashing Hannah. Miss Mary he requested to move to the

seat opposite to him, that he might see her if he couldn't be near her. Perfectly easy and gallant, in his way,

were his manners always to young ladies, and most popular was he amongst them; yet at heart he neither

respected nor liked the sex, and such of them as circumstances had brought into intimate relation with him

The curates were left to shift for themselves. Sweeting, who was the least embarrassed of the three, took

refuge beside Mrs. Sykes, who, he knew, was almost as fond of him as if he had been her son. Donne, after

making his general bow with a grace all his own, and saying in a high pragmatical voice, 'How d'ye do, Miss

Helstone?' dropped into a seat at Caroline's elbow, to her unmitigated annoyance, for she had a peculiar

antipathy to Donne, on account of his stultified and immovable selfconceit and his incurable narrowness of

mind. Malone, grinning most unmeaningly, inducted himself into the corresponding seat on the other side.

She was thus blessed in a pair of supporters, neither of whom, she knew, would be of any mortal use, whether

for keeping up the conversation, handing cups, circulating the muffins, or even lifting the plate from the slop

basin. Little Sweeting, small and boyish as he was, would have been worth twenty of them. Malone, though a

ceaseless talker when there were only men present, was usually tonguetied in the presence of ladies. Three

These three questions being put and responded to, between Caroline and Malone reigned silence.

With Donne it was otherwise; he was troublesome, exasperating. He had a stock of smalltalk on hand, at

once the most trite and perverse that can well be imagined abuse of the people of Briarfield; of the natives

of Yorkshire generally; complaints of the want of high society; of the backward state of civilisation in these

districts; murmurings against the disrespectful conduct of the lower orders in the north toward their betters;

silly ridicule of the manner of living in these parts the want of style, the absence of elegance, as if he,

Donne, had been accustomed to very great doings indeed, an insinuation which his somewhat underbred

manner and aspect failed to bear out. These strictures, he seemed to think, must raise him in the estimation of

Miss Helstone or of any other lady who heard him; whereas with her, at least, they brought him to a level

below contempt, though sometimes, indeed, they incensed her; for, a Yorkshire girl herself, she hated to hear

Yorkshire abused by such a pitiful prater; and when wrought up to a certain pitch, she would turn and say

something of which neither the matter nor the manner recommended her to Mr. Donne's goodwill. She

would tell him it was no proof of refinement to be ever scolding others for vulgarity, and no sign of a good

pastor to be eternally censuring his flock. She would ask him what he had entered the church for, since he

complained there were only cottages to visit, and poor people to preach to whether he had been ordained to

the ministry merely to wear soft clothing and sit in king's houses. These questions were considered by all the

Tea was a long time in progress; all the guests gabbled as their hostess had expected they would. Mr.

Helstone, being in excellent spirits when, indeed, was he ever otherwise in society, attractive female

society? it being only with the one lady of his own family that he maintained a grim taciturnity kept up a

brilliant flow of easy prattle with his righthand and lefthand neighbours, and even with his vis vis, Miss

Mary; though, as Mary was the most sensible, the least coquettish, of the three, to her the elderly widower

was the least attentive. At heart he could not abide sense in women. He liked to see them as silly, as

lightheaded, as vain, as open to ridicule as possible, because they were then in reality what he held them to

be, and wished them to be inferior, toys to play with, to amuse a vacant hour, and to be thrown away.

Hannah was his favourite. Harriet, though beautiful, egotistical, and selfsatisfied, was not quite weak

enough for him. She had some genuine selfrespect amidst much false pride, and if she did not talk like an

oracle, neither would she babble like one crazy; she would not permit herself to be treated quite as a doll, a

Hannah, on the contrary, demanded no respect, only flattery. If her admirers only told her that she was an

angel, she would let them treat her like an idiot. So very credulous and frivolous was she, so very silly did she

become when besieged with attention, flattered and admired to the proper degree, that there were moments

when Helstone actually felt tempted to commit matrimony a second time, and to try the experiment of taking

her for his second helpmeet; but fortunately the salutary recollection of the ennuis of his first marriage, the

impression still left on him of the weight of the millstone he had once worn round his neck, the fixity of his

feelings respecting the insufferable evils of conjugal existence, operated as a check to his tenderness,

suppressed the sigh heaving his old iron lungs, and restrained him from whispering to Hannah proposals it

It is probable she would have married him if he had asked her; her parents would have quite approved the

match. To them his fiftyfive years, his bendleather heart, could have presented no obstacles; and as he was

a rector, held an excellent living, occupied a good house, and was supposed even to have private property

(though in that the world was mistaken; every penny of the �5,000 inherited by him from his father had been

devoted to the building and endowing of a new church at his native village in Lancashire for he could show

a lordly munificence when he pleased, and if the end was to his liking, never hesitated about making a grand

sacrifice to attain it) her parents, I say, would have delivered Hannah over to his loving kindness and his

tender mercies without one scruple; and the second Mrs. Helstone, inverting the natural order of insect

existence, would have fluttered through the honeymoon a bright, admired butterfly, and crawled the rest of

Little Mr. Sweeting, seated between Mrs. Sykes and Miss Mary, both of whom were very kind to him, and

having a dish of tarts before him, and marmalade and crumpet upon his plate, looked and felt more content

than any monarch. He was fond of all the Misses Sykes; they were all fond of him. He thought them

magnificent girls, quite proper to mate with one of his inches. If he had a cause of regret at this blissful

moment, it was that Miss Dora happened to be absent Dora being the one whom he secretly hoped one day

to call Mrs. David Sweeting, with whom he dreamt of taking stately walks, leading her like an empress

through the village of Nunnely; and an empress she would have been, if size could make an empress. She was

vast, ponderous. Seen from behind, she had the air of a very stout lady of forty, but withal she possessed a

The meal at last drew to a close. It would have been over long ago if Mr. Donne had not persisted in sitting

with his cup half full of cold tea before him, long after the rest had finished and after he himself had

discussed such allowance of viands as he felt competent to swallow long, indeed, after signs of impatience

had been manifested all round the board, till chairs were pushed back, till the talk flagged, till silence fell.

Vainly did Caroline inquire repeatedly if he would have another cup, if he would take a little hot tea, as that

must be cold, etc.; he would neither drink it nor leave it. He seemed to think. that this isolated position of his

gave him somehow a certain importance, that it was dignified and stately to be the last, that it was grand to

keep all the others waiting. So long did he linger, that the very urn died; it ceased to hiss. At length, however,

the old rector himself, who had hitherto been too pleasantly engaged with Hannah to care for the delay, got

'For me, I believe,' returned Donne complacently, appearing to think it much to his credit that a party should

'Tut!' cried Helstone. Then standing up, 'Let us return thanks,' said he; which he did forthwith, and all quitted

the table. Donne, nothing abashed, still sat ten minutes quite alone, whereupon Mr. Helstone rang the bell for

the things to be removed. The curate at length saw himself forced to empty his cup, and to relinquish the r le

which, he thought, had given him such a felicitous distinction, drawn upon him such flattering general notice.

And now, in the natural course of events (Caroline, knowing how it would be, had opened the piano, and

produced musicbooks in readiness), music was asked for. This was Mr. Sweeting's chance for showing off.

He was eager to commence. He undertook, therefore, the arduous task of persuading the young ladies to

favour the company with an air a song. Con amore he went through the whole business of begging, praying,

resisting excuses, explaining away difficulties, and at last succeeded in persuading Miss Harriet to allow

herself to be led to the instrument. Then out came the pieces of his flute (he always carried them in his

pocket, as unfailingly as he carried his handkerchief). They were screwed and arranged; Malone and Donne

meanwhile herding together and sneering at him, which the little man, glancing over his shoulder, saw, but

did not heed at all. He was persuaded their sarcasm all arose from envy. They could not accompany the ladies

The triumph began. Malone, much chagrined at hearing him pipe up in most superior style, determined to

earn distinction too, if possible, and all at once assuming the character of a swain (which character he had

endeavoured to enact once or twice before, but in which he had not hitherto met with the success he doubtless

opined his merits deserved), approached a sofa on which Miss Helstone was seated, and depositing his great

Irish frame near her, tried his hand (or rather tongue) at a fine speech or two, accompanied by grins the most

extraordinary and incomprehensible. In the course of his efforts to render himself agreeable, he contrived to

possess himself of the two long sofa cushions and a square one; with which, after rolling them about for some

time with strange gestures, he managed to erect a sort of barrier between himself and the object of his

attentions. Caroline, quite willing that they should be sundered, soon devised an excuse for stepping over to

the opposite side of the room, and taking up a position beside Mrs. Sykes, of which good lady she entreated

some instruction in a new stitch in ornamental knitting, a favour readily granted; and thus Peter Augustus was

Very sullenly did his countenance lower when he saw himself abandoned left entirely to his own resources

on a large sofa, with the charge of three small cushions on his hands. The fact was, he felt disposed seriously

to cultivate acquaintance with Miss Helstone, because he thought, in common with others, that her uncle

possessed money, and concluded that, since he had no children, he would probably leave it to his niece.

G rard Moore was better instructed on this point: he had seen the neat church that owed its origin to the

rector's zeal and cash, and more than once, in his inmost soul, had cursed an expensive caprice which crossed

The evening seemed long to one person in that room. Caroline at intervals dropped her knitting on her lap,

and gave herself up to a sort of brainlethargy closing her eyes and depressing her head caused by what

seemed to her the unmeaning hum around her, the inharmonious tasteless rattle of the piano keys, the

squeaking and gasping notes of the flute, the laughter and mirth of her uncle, and Hannah, and Mary, she

could not tell whence originating for she heard nothing comic or gleeful in their discourse; and more than all,

by the interminable gossip of Mrs. Sykes murmured dose at her ear, gossip which rang the changes on four

subjects her own health and that of the various members of her family; the missionary and Jew baskets and

their contents; the late meeting at Nunnely, and one which was expected to come off next week at Whinbury.

Tired at length to exhaustion, she embraced the opportunity of Mr. Sweeting coming up to speak to Mrs.

Sykes to slip quietly out of the apartment, and seek a moment's respite in solitude. She repaired to the

diningroom where the dear but now low remnant of a fire still burned in the grate. The place was empty and

quiet, glasses and decanters were cleared from the table, the chairs were put back in their places, all was

orderly. Caroline sank into her uncle's large easychair, half shut her eyes, and rested herself rested at least

her limits, her senses, her hearing, her vision weary with listening to nothing, and gazing on vacancy. As to

her mind, that flew directly to the Hollow. It stood on the threshold of the parlour there, then it passed to the

countinghouse, and wondered which spot was blessed by the presence of Robert. It so happened that neither

locality had that honour; for Robert was half a mile away from both and much nearer to Caroline than her

deadened spirit suspected. He was at this moment crossing the churchyard, approaching the rectory

gardengate not, however, corning to see his cousin, but intent solely on communicating a brief piece of

Yes, Caroline; you hear the wire of the bell vibrate; it rings again for the fifth time this afternoon. You start,

and you are certain now that this must be he of whom you dream. Why you are so certain you cannot explain

to yourself, but you know it. You lean forward, listening eagerly as Fanny opens the door. Right! That is the

voice low, with the slight foreign accent, but so sweet, as you fancy. You half rise. 'Fanny will tell him Mr.

Helstone is with company, and then he will go away.' Oh! she cannot let him go. In spite of herself, in spite of

her reason, she walks half across the room; she stands ready to dart out in case the step should retreat; but he

enters the passage. 'Since your master is engaged,' he says, 'just show me into the diningroom. Bring me pen

Now, having caught these words, and hearing him advance, Caroline, if there was a door within the

diningroom, would glide through it and disappear. She feels caught, hemmed in; she dreads her unexpected

presence may annoy him. A second since she would have flown to him; that second past, she would flee from

him. She cannot. There is no way of escape. The diningroom has but one door, through which now enters

her cousin. The look of troubled surprise she expected to see in his face has appeared there, has shocked her,

There was something so diffident and downcast in the air and tone with which she said this, any one might

perceive that some saddening change had lately passed over her prospects, and that the faculty of cheerful

selfpossession had left her. Mr. Moore, probably, remembered how she had formerly been accustomed to

meet him with gentle ardour and hopeful confidence. He must have seen how the check of this morning had

operated. Here was an opportunity for carrying out his new system with effect, if he chose to improve it.

Perhaps he found it easier to practise that system in broad daylight, in his millyard, amidst busy

occupations, than in a quiet parlour, disengaged, at the hour of eventide. Fanny lit the candles, which before

had stood unlit on the table, brought writing materials, and left the room. Caroline was about to follow her.

Moore; to act consistently, should have let her go; whereas he stood in the doorway, and, holding out his

hand, gently kept her back. He did not ask her to stay, but he would not let her go.

'Shall I tell my uncle you are here?' asked she, still in the same subdued voice.

'Then you may just inform him that I have got a clue to the identity of one, at least, of the men who broke my

frames; that he belongs to the same gang who attacked Sykes and Pearson's dressingshop, and that I hope to

'Oh yes!' These two monosyllables were uttered in a sadder tone than ever; and as she said them she shook

'That is no reason why I should not do my duty, and defend my property. This fellow is a great scoundrel, and

'But his accomplices will take revenge on you. You do not know how the people of this country bear malice.

It is the boast of some of them that they can keep a stone in their pocket seven years, turn it at the end of that

'A most pithy vaunt,' said he 'one that redounds vastly to the credit of your dear Yorkshire friends. But don't

fear for me, Lina. I am on my guard against these lamblike compatriots of yours. Don't make yourself

'Nothing will happen, Lina. To speak in your own language, there is a Providence above all is there not?'

'And if prayers have efficacy, yours will benefit me. You pray for me sometimes?'

'So I have often imagined. It has occurred to me when, weary and vexed, I have myself gone to bed like a

heathen, that another had asked forgiveness for my day, and safety for my night I don't suppose such vicarial

piety will avail much, but the petitions come out of a sincere breast from innocent lips. They should be

acceptable as Abel's offering; and doubtless would be, if the object deserved them.'

'When a man has been brought up only to make money, and lives to make it, and for nothing else, and

scarcely breathes any other air than that of mills and markets, it seems odd to utter his name in a prayer, or to

mix his idea with anything divine; and very strange it seems that a good, pure heart should take him in and

harbour him, as if he had any claim to that sort of nest. If I could guide that benignant heart, I believe I should

counsel it to exclude one who does not profess to have any higher aim in life than that of patching up his

broken fortune, and wiping clean from his bourgeois scutcheon the foul stain of bankruptcy.'

The hint, though conveyed thus tenderly and modestly (as Caroline thought), was felt keenly and

'Indeed, I only think or I will only think of you as my cousin,' was the quick answer. 'I am beginning to

understand things better than I did, Robert, when you first came to England better than I did a week, a day

ago. I know it is your duty to try to get on, and that it won't do for you to be romantic; but in future you must

not misunderstand me if I seem friendly. You misunderstood me this morning, did you not?'

'Yet I am the same, except that I have left the tradesman behind me in the Hollow. Your kinsman alone stands

Here the company was heard rising in the other room. The door was opened; the ponycarriage was ordered;

'Yes, you must go, or they will come in and find us here; and I, rather than meet all that host in the passage,

will take my departure through the window. Luckily it opens like a door. One minute only put down the

candle an instant goodnight. I kiss you because we are cousins, and, being cousins, one two three

The next day Moore had risen before the sun, and had taken a ride to Whinbury and back ere his sister had

made the caf au lait or cut the tartines for his breakfast What business he transacted there he kept to himself.

Hortense asked no questions: it was not her wont to comment on his movements, nor his to render an account

of them. The secrets of business complicated and often dismal mysteries were buried in his breast and

never came out of their sepulchre save now and then to scare Joe Scott, or give a start to some foreign

correspondent. Indeed, a general habit of reserve on whatever was important seemed bred in his mercantile

Breakfast over, he went to his countinghouse. Henry, Joe Scott's boy, brought in the letters and the daily

papers; Moore seated himself at his desk, broke the seals of the documents, and glanced them over. They

were all short, but not it seemed, sweet probably rather sour, on the contrary, for as Moore laid down the

last, his nostrils emitted a derisive and defiant snuff, and though he burst into no soliloquy, there was a glance

in his eye which seemed to invoke the devil, and lay charges on him to sweep the whole concern to Gehenna.

However, having chosen a pen and stripped away the feathered top in a brief spasm of fingerfury (only

fingerfury his face was placid), he dashed off a batch of answers, sealed them, and then went out and

The contents seemed not absorbingly interesting; he more than once laid it across his knee, folded his arms

and gazed into the fire; he occasionally turned his head towards the window; he looked at intervals at his

watch; in short, his mind appeared preoccupied. Perhaps he was thinking of the beauty of the weather for it

was a fine and mild morning for the season and wishing to be out in the fields enjoying it. The door of his

countinghouse stood wide open. The breeze and sunshine entered freely; but the first visitant brought no

spring perfume on its wings, only an occasional sulphurpuff from the sootthick column of smoke rushing

A darkblue apparition (that of Joe Scott, fresh from a dyeing vat) appeared momentarily at the open door,

Mr. Moore raised not his eyes from the paper. A large man, broadshouldered and massivelimbed, clad in

fustian garments and gray worsted stockings, entered, who was received with a nod, and desired to take a

seat, which he did, making the remark, as he removed his hat (a very bad one), stowed it away under his

chair, and wiped his forehead with a spotted cotton handkerchief extracted from the hatcrown, that it was

'raight dahn warm for Febewerry.' Mr. Moore assented at least he uttered some slight sound, which, though

inarticulate, might pass for an assent. The visitor now carefully deposited in the corner beside him an

officiallooking staff which he bore in his hand; this done, he whistled, probably by way of appearing at his

He renewed his whistling, Mr. Moore his reading. The paper apparently had become more interesting.

Presently, however, he turned to his cupboard, which was within reach of his long arm, opened it without

rising, took out a black bottle the same he had produced for Malone's benefit a tumbler, and a jug, placed

'I dunnut knaw that there's mich need, for all a body is dry' (thirsty) 'in a morning,' said the fustian gentleman,

'Will you tak naught yourseln, Mr. Moore?' he inquired, as with skilled hand he mixed a portion, and having

tested it by a deep draught, sank back satisfied and bland in his seat. Moore, chary of words, replied by a

'Yah'd as good,' continued his visitor; 'it 'uld set ye up wald a sup o' this stuff. Uncommon good Hollands. Ye

'Tak my advice and try a glass on't. Them lads 'at's coming'll keep ye talking, nob'dy knows how long. Ye'll

'I seed him a hauf an hour nay, happen a quarter of an hour sin', just afore I set off. He said he aimed to

come here, and I sudn't wonder but ye'll have old Helstone too. I seed 'em saddling his little nag as I passed at

The speaker was a true prophet, for the trot of a little nag's hoofs was, five minutes after, heard in the yard; it

stopped, and a wellknown nasal voice cried aloud, 'Boy' (probably addressing Harry Scott, who usually

hung about the premises from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m.), 'take my horse and lead him into the stable.'

Helstone came in marching nimbly and erect, looking browner, keener, and livelier than usual.

'Beautiful morning, Moore. How do, my boy? Ha! whom have we here?' (turning to the personage with the

staff). 'Sugden! What! You're going to work directly? On my word, you lose no time. But I come to ask

explanations. Your message was delivered to me. Are you sure you are on the right scent? How do you mean

'You will be spared that trouble, sir; he is coming to seek me. I'm just now sitting instate waiting his arrival.'

Joe Scott had entered unobserved. He now stood, a most sinister phantom, half his person being dyed of the

deepest tint of indigo, leaning on the desk. His master's answer to the rector's question was a smile. Joe took

'Only the Revd. Moses Barraclough; t' tub orator you call him sometimes, I think.'

'Ah!' said the rector, taking out his snuffbox, and administering to himself a very long pinch 'Ah! couldn't

have supposed it. Why, the pious man never was a workman of yours, Moore. He's a tailor by trade.'

'And so much the worse grudge I owe him, for interfering and setting my discarded men against me.'

'And Moses was actually present at the battle of Stilbro' Moor? He went there, wooden leg and all?'

'Ay, sir,' said Joe, 'he went there on horseback, that his leg mightn't be noticed. He was the captain, and wore

'I'll tell you, sir,' said Joe 't' maister's not so fond of talking. I've no objections. He courted Sarah, Mr. Moore's

sarvant lass, and so it seems she would have nothing to say to him; she either didn't like his wooden leg or

she'd some notion about his being a hypocrite. Happen (for women is queer hands; we may say that amang

werseln when there's none of 'em nigh) she'd have encouraged him, in spite of his leg and his deceit, just to

pass time like. I've known some on 'em do as mich, and some o' t' bonniest and mimmestlooking, too ay,

I've seen clean, trim young things, that looked as denty and pure as daisies, and wi' time a body fun' 'em out

'Howsiver, Sarah had another string to her bow. Fred Murgatroyd, one of our lads, is for her, and as women

judge men by their faces and Fred has a middling face, while Moses is none so handsome, as we all knaw

the lass took on wi' Fred. A twothree months sin', Murgatroyd and Moses chanced to meet one Sunday

night; they'd both come lurking about these premises wi' the notion of counselling Sarah to tak a bit of a walk

wi' them. They fell out, had a tussle, and Fred was worsted, for he's young and small, and Barraclough for all

he has only one leg, is almost as strong as Sugden there indeed, anybody that hears him roaring at a revival

'Joe, you're insupportable,' here broke in Mr. Moore. 'You spin out your explanation as Moses spins out his

sermons. The long and short of it is, Murgatroyd was jealous of Barraclough; and last night, as he and a

friend took shelter in a barn from a shower, they heard and saw Moses conferring with some associates

within. From their discourse it was plain he had been the leader not only at Stilbro' Moor, but in the attack on

Sykes's property. Moreover they planned a deputation to wait on me this morning, which the tailor is to head,

and which, in the most religious and peaceful spirit, is to entreat me to put the accursed thing out of my tent. I

rode over to Whinbury this morning, got a constable and a warrant, and I am now waiting to give my friend

the reception he deserves. Here, meantime, comes Sykes. Mr. Helstone, you must spirit him up. He feels

A gig was heard to roll into the yard. Mr. Sykes entered a tall stout man of about fifty, comely of feature,

'They'll not come; it's near noon. Better give it up. It will excite bad feeling make a stir cause perhaps

'You need not appear,' said Moore. 'I shall meet them in the yard when they come; you can stay here.'

'But my name must be seen in the law proceedings. A wife and family, Mr. Moore a wife and family make

Moore looked disgusted. 'Give way, if you please,' said he, 'leave me to myself. I have no objection to act

alone; only be assured you will not find safety in submission. Your partner Pearson gave way, and conceded,

and forbore. Well, that did not prevent them from attempting to shoot him in his own house.'

'My dear sir; take a little wine and water,' recommended Mr. Helstone. The wine and water was Hollands and

water, as Mr. Sykes discovered when he had compounded and swallowed a brimming tumbler thereof. It

transfigured him in two minutes, brought the colour back to his face, and madetoday wordvaliant. He now

announced that he hoped he was above being trampled on by the common people; he was determined to

endure the insolence of the working classes no longer; he had considered of it, and made up his mind to go all

lengths; if money and spirit could put down these rioters, they should be put down; Mr. Moore might do as he

liked, but he Christopher Sykes would spend his last penny in law before he would be beaten; he'd settle

Mr. Sykes didn't mind if he did. This was a cold morning (Sugden had found it a warm one); it was necessary

to be careful at this time of year it was proper to take something to keep the damp out; he had a little cough

already (here he coughed in attestation of the fact); something of this sort (lifting the black bottle) was

excellent, taken medicinally (he poured the physic into his tumbler); he didn't make a practice of drinking

spirits in the morning, but occasionally it really was prudent to take precautions.

Mr. Sykes now addressed Mr. Helstone, who stood on the hearth, his shovelhat on his head,. watching him

'You, sir, as a clergyman,' said he, 'may feel it disagreeable to be present amid scenes of hurry and flurry, and,

I may say, peril. I dare say your nerves won't stand it. You're a man of peace, sir; but we manufacturers,

living in the world, and always in turmoil, get quite belligerent. Really, there's an ardour excited by the

thoughts of danger that makes my heart pant. When Mrs. Sykes is afraid of the house being attacked and

broke open as she is every night I get quite excited. I couldn't describe to you, sir, my feelings. Really, if

anybody was to come thieves or anything I believe I should enjoy it, such is my spirit.'

The hardest of laughs, though brief and low, and by no means insulting, was the response of the rector.

Moore would have pressed upon the heroic millowner a third tumbler; but the clergyman, who never

transgressed, nor would suffer others in his presence to transgress, the bounds of decorum, checked him.

'Enough is as good as a feast, is it not, Mr. Sykes?' he said; and Mr. Sykes assented, and then sat and watched

Joe Scott remove the bottle at a sign from Helstone, with a selfsatisfied simper on his lips and a regretful

glisten in his eye. Moore looked as if he should have liked to fool him to the top of his bent. What would a

certain young kinswoman of his have said could she have seen her dear, good, great Robert her Coriolanus

just now? Would she have acknowledged in that mischievous, sardonic visage the same face to which she

had looked up with such love, which had bent over her with such gentleness last night? Was that the man who

had spent so quiet an evening with his sister and his cousin so suave to one, so tender to the other reading

Yes, it was the same man, only seen on a different side a side Caroline had not yet fairly beheld, though

perhaps she had enough sagacity faintly to suspect its existence. Well, Caroline had, doubtless, her defective

side too. She was human. She must, then, have been very imperfect, and had she seen Moore on his very

worst side she would probably have said this to herself and excused him. Love can excuse anything except

Meanness; but Meanness kills Love, cripples even Natural Affection; without Esteem True Love cannot exist.

Moore, with all his faults, might be esteemed; for he had no moral scrofula in his mind, no hopeless polluting

taint such, for instance, as that of falsehood; neither was he the slave of his appetites. The active life to

which he had been born and bred had given him something else to do than to join the futile chase of the

pleasurehunter. He was a man integrated, the disciple of reason, not the votary of sense. The same might be

said of old Helstone: neither of these two would look, think, or speak a lie; for neither of them had the

wretched black bottle, which had just been put away, any charms; both might boast a valid claim to the proud

title of 'lord of the creation,' for no animal vice was lord of them; they looked and were superior beings to

A sort of gathering and trampling sound was heard in the yard, and then a pause. Moore walked to the

window; Helstone followed. Both stood on one side, the tall junior behind the undersized senior, looking

forth carefully, so that they might not be visible from without. Their sole comment on what they saw was a

A flourishing oratorical cough was now heard, followed by the interjection 'Whisht!' designed, as it seemed,

to still the hum of several voices. Moore opened his casement an inch or two to admit sound more freely.

'Joseph Scott,' began a snuffling voice Scott was standing sentinel at the countinghouse door 'might we

'Would you then, if you please' (emphasis on 'you'), 'have the goodness to tell him that twelve gentlemen

'He'd happen ax what for,' suggested Joe. 'I mught as wed tell him that at t' same time.'

Moore went out, chuckling dryly. He advanced into the yard, one hand in his pocket, the other in his

waistcoat, his cap brim over his eyes, shading in some measure their deep dancing ray of scorn. Twelve men

waited in the yard, some in their shirtsleeves, some in blue aprons. Two figured conspicuously in the van of

the party. One, a little dapper strutting man with a turnedup nose; the other a broadshouldered fellow,

distinguished no less by his demure face and catlike, trustless eyes than by a wooden leg and stout crutch.

There was a kind of leer about his lips; he seemed laughing in his sleeve at some person or thing; his whole

'Peace be unto you!' was the answer, Mr. Barraclough entirely closing his naturally halfshut eyes as he

'I'm obliged to you. Peace is an excellent thing; there's nothing I more wish for myself. But that is not all you

'As to our purpose,' began Barraclough, 'it's one that may sound strange and perhaps foolish to ears like yours,

for the childer of this world is wiser in their generation than the childer of light.'

'Ye'se hear, sir. If I cannot get it off, there's eleven behint can help me. It is a grand purpose; and' (changing

his voice from a halfsneer to a whine) 'it's the Looard's own purpose, and that's better.'

'Do you want a subscription to a new Ranter's chapel, Mr. Barraclough? Unless your errand be something of

'I hadn't that duty on my mind, sir; but as Providence has led ye to mention the subject, I'll make it i' my way

to tak ony trifle ye may have to spare, the smallest contribution will be acceptable.'

With that he doffed his hat, and held it out as a beggingbox, a brazen grin at the same time crossing his

Barraclough uplifted the palms of his hands and the whites of his eyes, evincing in the gesture a mere

'You seem a fine fellow,' said Moore, quite coolly and dryly; 'you don't care for showing me that you are a

doubledyed hypocrite, that your trade is fraud. You expect indeed to make me laugh at the cleverness with

which you play your coarsely farcical part, while at the same time you think you are deceiving the men

Moses' countenance lowered. He saw he had gone too far. He was going to answer, when the second leader,

impatient of being hitherto kept in the background, stepped forward. This man did not look like a traitor,

'Mr. Moore,' commenced he, speaking also in his throat and nose, and enunciating each word very slowly, as

if with a view to giving his audience time to appreciate fully the uncommon elegance of the phraseology, 'it

might, perhaps, justly be said that reason rather than peace is our purpose. We come, in the first place, to

request you to hear reason, and should you refuse, it is my duty to warn you, in very decided terms, that

measures will be had resort to' (he meant recourse) which will probably terminate in in bringing you to a

sense of the unwisdom, of the the foolishness which seems to guide and guard your proceedings as a

tradesman in this manufacturing part of the country. Hem! Sir, I would beg to allude that as a furriner,

coming from a distant coast, another quarter and hemisphere of this globe, thrown, as I may say, a perfect

outcast on these shores the cliffs of Albion you have not that understanding of huz and wer ways which

might conduce to the benefit of the workingclasses. If, to come at once to partic'lars, you'd consider to give

up this here mill, and go without further protractions straight home to where you belong, it 'ud happen be as

well. I can see naught ageean such a plan. What hev ye to say tull't, lads?' turning round to the other

'Brayvo, Noah o' Tim's!' murmured Joe Scott, who stood behind Mr. Moore; 'Moses'll niver beat that. Cliffs o'

Albion, and t' other hemisphere! My certy! Did ye come fro' th' Antarctic Zone, maister? Moses is dished.'

Moses, however, refused to be dished. He thought he would try again. Casting a somewhat ireful glance at

'Noah o' Tim's,' he launched out in his turn; and now he spoke in a serious tone, relinquishing the sarcasm

'Or iver you set up the pole o' your tent amang us, Mr. Moore, we lived i' peace and quietness yea, I may

say, in all lovingkindness. I am not myself an aged person as yet, but I can remember as far back as maybe

some twenty year, when handlabour were encouraged and respected, and no mischiefmaker had ventured

to introduce these here machines which is so pernicious. Now, I'm not a clothdresser myself, but by trade a

tailor. Howsiver, my heart is of a softish nature. I'm a very feeling man, and when I see my brethren

oppressed, like my great namesake of old, I stand up for 'em; for which intent I this day speak with you face

to face, and advises you to part wi' your infernal machinery, and tak on more hands.'

'Which in no respect prevents you from being at the same time a drunkard and a swindler. I saw you one

night a week ago laid deaddrunk by the roadside, as I returned from Stilbro' market; and while you preach

peace, you make it the business of your life to stir up dissension. You no more sympathise with the poor who

are in distress than you sympathise with me. You incite them to outrage for bad purposes of your own; so

does the individual called Noah of Tim's. You two are restless, meddling, impudent scoundrels, whose chief

motiveprinciple is a selfish ambition, as dangerous as it is puerile. The persons behind you are some of them

'Silence! You have had your say, and now I will have mine. As to being dictated to by you, or any Jack, Jem,

or Jonathan on earth, I shall not suffer it for a moment. You desire me to quit the country; you request me to

part with my machinery. In case I refuse, you threaten me. I do refuse pointblank! Here I stay, and by this

mill I stand, and into it will I convey the best machinery inventors can furnish. What will you do? The utmost

you can do and this you will never dare to do is to burn down my mill, destroy its contents, and shoot me.

What then? Suppose that building was a ruin and I was a corpse what then, you lads behind these two

scamps? Would that stop invention or exhaust science? Not for the fraction of a second of time! Another and

better gigmill would rise on the ruins of this, and perhaps a more enterprising owner come in my place.

Hear me! I'll make my cloth as I please, and according to the best lights I have. In its manufacture I will

employ what means I choose. Whoever after hearing this, shall dare to interfere with me may just take the

Moore turned sharply to Barraclough. 'You were at Stilbro',' said he; 'I have proof of that. You were on the

moor, you wore a mask, you knocked down one of my men with your own hand you! a preacher of the

Moses was captured. There was a cry and a rush to rescue, but the right hand which all this while had lain

Stepping backwards facing the foe as he went, he guarded his prey to the countinghouse. He ordered Joe

Scott to pass in with Sugden and the prisoner, and to bolt the door inside. For himself, he walked backwards

and forwards along the front of the mill, looking meditatively on the ground, his hand hanging carelessly by

his side, but still holding the pistol. The eleven remaining deputies watched him some time, talking under

their breath to each other. At length one of them approached. This man looked very different from either of

the two who had previously spoken; he was hardfavoured, but modest and manlylooking.

'I've not much faith i' Moses Barraclough,' said he, 'and I would speak a word to you myseln, Mr. Moore. It's

out o' no illwill that I'm here, for my part; it's just to mak a effort to get things straightened, for they're

sorely acrooked. Ye see we're ill off varry ill off; wer families is poor and pined. We're thrown out o' work

wi' these frames; we can get nought to do; we can earn nought. What is to be done? Mun we say, wisht! and

lig us down and dee? Nay; I've no grand words at my tongue's end, Mr. Moore, but I feel that it wad be a low

principle for a reasonable man to starve to death like a dumb cratur. I willn't do't. I'm not for shedding blood:

I'd neither kill a man nor hurt a man; and I'm not for pulling down mills and breaking machines for, as ye

say, that way o' going on'll niver stop invention; but I'll talk I'll mak as big a din as ever I can. Invention

may be all right, but I know it isn't right for poor folks to starve. Them that governs mun find a way to help

us, they mun make fresh orderations. Ye'll say that's hard to do. So mich louder mun we shout out then, for so

'Worry the Parliamentmen as much as you please,' said Moore; 'but to worry the millowners is absurd, and

'Ye're a raight hard un!' returned the workman; 'Willn't ye gie us a bit o' time? Willn't ye consent to mak your

'And only myself. And if I stopped by the way an instant, while others are rushing on, I should be trodden

down. If I did as you wish me to do, I should be bankrupt in a month; and would my bankruptcy put bread

into your hungry children's mouths? William Farren, neither to your dictation nor to that of any other will I

submit. Talk to me no more about machinery. I will have my own way. I shall get new frames in tomorrow.

Here the millbell rang twelve o'clock. It was the dinnerhour. Moore abruptly turned from the deputation

His last words had left a bad, harsh impression; he at least, had 'failed in the disposing of a chance he was

lord of.' By speaking kindly to William Farren who was a very honest man, without envy or hatred of those

more happily circumstanced than himself, thinking it no hardship and no injustice to be forced to live by

labour, disposed to be honourably content if he could but get work to do Moore might have made a friend.

It seemed wonderful how he could turn from such a man without a conciliatory or a sympathising expression.

The poor fellow's face looked haggard with want; he had the aspect of a man who had not known what it was

to live in comfort and plenty for weeks, perhaps months, past, and yet there was no ferocity, no malignity in

his countenance; it was worn, dejected, austere, but still patient. How could Moore leave him thus, with the

Farren, as he went home to his cottage once, in better times, a decent, clean, pleasant place, but now,

though still clean, very dreary, because so poor asked himself this question. He concluded that the foreign

millowner was a selfish, an unfeeling, and, he thought, too, a foolish man. It appeared to him that

emigration, had he only the means to emigrate, would be preferable to service under such a master. He felt

On his entrance his wife served out, in orderly sort, such dinner as she had to give him and the bairns. It was

only porridge, and too little of that. Some of the younger children asked for more when they had done their

portion an application which disturbed William much. While his wife quieted them as well as she could, he

left his seat and went to the door. He whistled a cheery stave, which did not, however, prevent a broad drop

or two (much more like the 'first of a thundershower' than those which oozed from the wound of the

gladiator) from gathering on the lids of his gray eyes, and plashing thence to the threshold. He cleared his

He still stood brooding in silence, when a gentleman in black came up a clergyman, it might be seen at

once, but neither Helstone, nor Malone, nor Donne, nor Sweeting. He might be forty years old; he was

plainlooking, darkcomplexioned, and already rather grayhaired. He stooped a little in walking. His

countenance, as he came on, wore an abstracted and somewhat doleful air; but in approaching Farren he

looked up, and then a hearty expression illuminated the preoccupied, serious face.

Mr. Hall; whose name the reader has seen mentioned before (and who, indeed, was vicar of Nunnely, of

which parish Farren was a native, and from whence he had removed but three years ago to reside in

Briarfield, for the convenience of being near Hollow's Mill, where he had obtained work), entered the

cottage, and having greeted the goodwife and the children, sat down. He proceeded to talk very cheerfully

about the length of time that had elapsed since the family quitted his parish, the changes which had occurred

since; he answered questions touching his sister Margaret, who was inquired after with much interest; he

asked questions in his turn, and at last, glancing hastily and anxiously round through his spectacles (he wore

spectacles, for he was shortsighted) at the bare room, and at the meagre and wan faces of the circle about

him for the children had come round his knee, and the father and mother stood before him he said

Mr. Hall, be it remarked, though an accomplished scholar, not only spoke with a strong northern accent, but,

'We get on poorly,' said William; 'we're all out of work. I've selled most o' t' household stuff, as ye may see;

'He has turned us off, and I've sich an opinion of him now that I think if he'd tak me on again tomorrow I

'I know it isn't; but I'm getting different to mysel'; I feel I am changing. I wadn't heed if t' bairns and t' wife

'Well, my lad, and so are you; I see you are. These are grievous times; I see suffering wherever I turn.

And in order the better to talk it over, Mr. Hall lifted the least of the children on to his knee, and placed his

hand on the head of the next least; but when the small things began to chatter to him he bade them 'Whisht!'

and fixing his eyes on the grate, he regarded the handful of embers which burned there very gravely.

'Sad times,' he said, 'and they last long. It is the will of God. His will be done. But He tries us to the utmost.'

Again he reflected. 'You've no money, William, and you've nothing you could sell to raise a small sum?'

'No. I've selled t' chest o' drawers, and t' clock, and t' bit of a mahogany stand, and t' wife's bonny teatray

'And if somebody lent you a pound or two, could you make any good use of it? Could you get into a new way

of doing something?' Farren did not answer, but his wife said quickly, 'Ay, I'm sure he could, sir. He's a very

contriving chap is our William. If he'd two or three pounds he could begin selling stuff'

'Please God,' returned William deliberately, 'I could buy groceries, and bits o' tapes, and thread, and what I

'And you know, sir,' interposed Grace, 'you're sure William would neither drink, nor idle, nor waste, in any

way. He's my husband, and I shouldn't praise him; but I will say there's not a soberer, honester man i' England

'Well, I'll speak to one or two friends, and I think I can promise to let him have �5 in a day or two as a loan,

'Meantime, there's a few shillings for you, Grace, just to keep the pot boiling till custom comes. Now,

bairns, stand up in a row and say your catechism, while your mother goes and buys some dinner; for you've

Mr. Hall stayed till Grace came back; then he hastily took his leave, shaking hands with both Farren and his

wife. Just at the door he said to them a few brief but very earnest words of religious consolation and

exhortation. With a mutual 'God bless you, sir!' 'God bless you, my friends!' they separated.

Messrs Helstone and Sykes began to be extremely jocose and congratulatory with Mr. Moore when he

returned to them after dismissing the deputation. He was so quiet, however, under their compliments upon his

firmness etc., and wore a countenance so like a still, dark day, equally beamless and breezeless, that the

rector, after glancing shrewdly into his eyes, buttoned up his felicitations with his coat, and said to Sykes,

whose senses were not acute enough to enable him to discover unassisted where his presence and

conversation were a nuisance, 'Come, sir; your road and mine lie partly together. Had we not better bear each

other company? We'll bid Moore "goodmorning" and leave him to the happy fancies he seems disposed to

'And where is Sugden?' demanded Moore, looking up. 'Ah, ha!' cried Helstone. 'I've not been quite idle while

you were busy. I've been helping you a little; I flatter myself not injudiciously. I thought it better not to lose

time; so, while you were parleying with that downlooking gentleman Farren I think his name is I opened

this back window, shouted to Murgatroyd, who was in the stable, to bring Mr. Sykes's gig round; then I

smuggled Sugden and brother Moses wooden leg and all through the aperture, and saw them mount the

gig (always with our good friend Sykes's permission, of course). Sugden took the reins he drives like Jehu

'Very good; thank you,' said Moore; 'and goodmorning, gentlemen,' he added, and so politely conducted

He was a taciturn, serious man the rest of the day. He did not even bandy a repartee with Joe Scott, who, for

his part, said to his master only just what was absolutely necessary to the progress of business, but looked at

him a good deal out of the corners of his eyes, frequently came to poke the countinghouse fire for him, and

once, as he was locking up for the day (the mill was then working short time, owing to the slackness of

trade), observed that it was a grand evening, and he 'could wish Mr. Moore to take a bit of a walk up th'

At this recommendation Mr. Moore burst into a short laugh, and after demanding of Joe what all this

solicitude meant, and whether he took him for a woman or a child, seized the keys from his hand, and shoved

him by the shoulders out of his presence. He called him back, however, ere he had reached the yardgate.

'They cannot be well off, sir, when they've not had work as a three month. Ye'd see yoursel' 'at William's

'Niver dacenter. Th' wife's a raight cant body, and as clean ye mught eat your porridge off th' house floor.

They're sorely comed down. I wish William could get a job as gardener or summat i' that way; he understands

gardening weel. He once lived wi' a Scotchman that tached him the mysteries o' that craft, as they say.'

'None, but for you to take yourself off.' Which Joe did accordingly. Spring evenings are often cold and raw,

and though this had been a fine day, warm even in the morning and meridian sunshine, the air chilled at

sunset, the ground crisped, and ere dusk a hoar frost was insidiously stealing over growing grass and

unfolding bud. It whitened the pavement in front of Briarmains (Mr. Yorke's residence), and made silent

havoc among the tender plants in his garden, and on the mossy level of his lawn. As to that great tree,

strongtrunked and broadarmed, which guarded the gable nearest the road, it seemed to defy a springnight

frost to harm its still bare boughs; and so did the leafless grove of walnuttrees rising tall behind the house.

In the dusk of the moonless if starry night, lights from window's shone vividly. This was no dark or lonely

scene, nor even a silent one. Briarmains stood near the highway. It was rather an old place, and had been built

ere that highway was cut, and when a lane winding up through fields was the only path conducting to it.

Briarfield lay scarce a mile off; its hum was heard, its glare distinctly seen. Briar Chapel, a large, new, raw

Wesleyan place of worship, rose but a hundred yards distant; and as there was even now a prayermeeting

being held within its walls, the illumination of its windows cast a bright reflection on the road, while a hymn

of a most extraordinary description, such as a very Quaker might feel himself moved by the Spirit to dance to,

roused cheerily all the echoes of the vicinage. The words were distinctly audible by snatches. Here is a

quotation or two from different strains; for the singers passed jauntily from hymn to hymn and from tune to

tune, with an ease and buoyancy all their own: 'Oh! who can explain This struggle for life, This travail and

pain, This trembling, and strife? 'Plague, earthquake, and famine, And tumult and war, The wonderful

coming Of Jesus declare! 'For every fight Is dreadful and loud: The warrior's delight Is slaughter and blood,

'His foes overturning, Till all shall expire, And this is with burning, And fuel, and fire!'

Here followed an interval of clamorous prayer, accompanied by fearful groans. A shout of 'I've found liberty!'

'Doad o' Bill's has fun' liberty!' rang from the chapel, and out all the assembly broke again. 'What a mercy is

this! What a heaven of bliss! How unspeakably happy am I! Gathered into the fold, With Thy people enrolled

With Thy people to live and to die! 'Oh, the goodness of God In employing a clod His tribute of glory to

raise; His standard to bear, And with Triumph declare His unspeakable riches of grace! 'Oh, the fathomless

love That has deigned to approve And prosper the work in my hands. With my pastoral crook I went over the

brook, And behold I am spread into bands! 'Who, I ask in amaze, Hath begotten me these? And inquire from

what quarter they came. My full heart it replies, They are born from the skies, And gives glory to God and the

The stanza which followed this, after another and longer interregnum of shouts, yells, ejaculations, frantic

cries, agonised groans, seemed to cap the climax of noise and zeal. 'Sleeping on the brink of sin, Tophet

gaped to take us in; Mercy to our rescue flew, Broke the snare, and brought us through. 'Here, as in a lion's

den, Undevoured we still remain, Pass secure the watery flood, Hanging on the arm of God. Here '

(Terrible, most distracting to the ear, was the strained shout in which the last stanza was given.) 'Here we

raise our voices higher, Shout in the refiner's fire Clap our hands amidst the flame, Glory give to Jesus'

The roof of the chapel did not fly off, which speaks volumes in praise of its solid slating.

But if Briar Chapel seemed alive, so also did Briarmains, though certainly the mansion appeared to enjoy a

quieter phase of existence than the temple. Some of its windows too were aglow; the lower casements opened

upon the lawn; curtains concealed the interior, and partly obscured the ray of the candles which lit it, but they

did not entirely muffle the sound of voice and laughter. We are privileged to enter that front door, and to

It is not the presence of company which makes Mr. Yorke's habitation lively, for there is none within it save

his own family, and they are assembled in that farthest room to the right, the back parlour.

This is the usual sittingroom of an evening. Those windows would be seen by daylight to be of

brilliantlystained glass, purple and amber the predominant hues, glittering round a gravelytinted medallion

in the centre of each, representing the suave head of William Shakespeare, and the serene one of John Milton.

Some Canadian views hung on the walls green forest and blue water scenery and in the midst of them

blazes a night eruption of Vesuvius; very ardently it glows, contrasted with the cool foam and azure of

The fire illuminating this room, reader, is such as, if you be a southern, you do not often see burning on the

hearth of a private apartment It is a clear, hot coal fire, heaped high in the ample chimney. Mr. Yorke will

have such fires even in warm summer weather. He sits beside it with a book in his hand, a little round stand at

his elbow supporting a candle; but he is not reading he is watching his children. Opposite to him sits his

lady a personage whom I might describe minutely, but I feel no vocation to the task. I see her, though, very

plainly before me a large woman of the gravest aspect, care on her front and on her shoulders, but not

overwhelming, inevitable care, rather the sort of voluntary, exemplary cloud and burden people ever carry

who deem it their duty to be gloomy. Ah, welladay! Mrs. Yorke had that notion, and grave as Saturn she

was, morning, noon, and night; and hard things she thought of any unhappy wight especially of the female

sex who dared in her presence to show the light of a gay heart on a sunny countenance. In her estimation, to

be mirthful was to be profane, to be cheerful was to be frivolous. She drew no distinctions. Yet she was a

very good wife, a very careful mother, looked after her children unceasingly, was sincerely attached to her

husband; only the worst of it was, if she could have had her will, she would not have permitted him to have

any friend in the world beside herself. All his relations were insupportable to her, and she kept them at arm's

Mr. Yorke and she agreed perfectly well, yet he was naturally a social, hospitable man, in advocate for family

unity, and in his youth, as has been said, he liked none but lively, cheerful women. Why he chose her, how

they contrived to suit each other, is a problem puzzling enough, but which might soon be solved if one had

time to go into the analysis of the case. Suffice it here to say that Yorke had a shadowy side as well as a

sunny side to his character, and that his shadowy side found sympathy and affinity in the whole of his wife's

uniformly overcast nature. For the rest, she was a strongminded woman; never said a weak or a trite thing;

took stern, democratic views of society, and rather cynical ones of human nature; considered herself perfect

and safe, and the rest of the world all wrong. Her main fault was a brooding, eternal, immitigable suspicion of

all men, things, creeds, and parties; this suspicion was a mist before her eyes, a false guide in her path,

It may be supposed that the children of such a pair were not likely to turn out quite ordinary, commonplace

beings; and they were not. You see six of them, reader. The youngest is a baby on the mother's knee. It is all

her own yet, and that one she has not yet begun to doubt, suspect, condemn; it derives its sustenance from

her, it hangs on her, it clings to her, it loves her above everything else in the world. She is sure of that,

The two next are girls, Rose and Jessy; they are both now at their father's knee; they seldom go near their

mother, except when obliged to do so. Rose, the elder, is twelve years old she is like her father the most

like him of the whole group but it is a granite head copied in ivory; all is softened in colour and line. Yorke

himself has a harsh face his daughter's is not harsh, neither is it quite pretty; it is simple, childlike in feature;

the round cheeks bloom: as to the gray eyes, they are otherwise than childlike a serious soul lights them a

young soul yet, but it will mature, if the body lives; and neither father nor mother have a spirit to compare

with it. Partaking of the essence of each, it will one day be better than either stronger, much purer, more

aspiring. Rose is a still, sometimes a stubborn, girl now. Her mother wants to make of her such a woman as

she is herself a woman of dark and dreary duties; and Rose has a mind fullset, thicksown with the germs

of ideas her mother never knew. It is agony to her often to have these ideas trampled on and repressed. She

has never rebelled yet, but if hard driven she will rebel one day, and then it will be once for all. Rose loves

her father: her father does not rule her with a rod of iron; he is good to her. He sometimes fears she will not

live, so bright are the sparks of intelligence which, at moments, flash from her glance and gleam in her

He has no idea that little Jessy will die young, she is so gay and chattering, arch, original even now;

passionate when provoked, but most affectionate if caressed; by turns gentle and rattling; exacting, yet

generous; fearless of her mother, for instance, whose irrationally hard and strict rule she has often defied

yet reliant on any who will help her. Jessy, with her little piquant face, engaging prattle, and winning ways, is

made to be a pet, and her father's pet she accordingly is. It is odd that the doll should resemble her mother

feature by feature, as Rose resembles her father, and yet the physiognomy how different!

Mr. Yorke, if a magic mirror were now held before you, and if therein were shown you your two daughters as

they will be twenty years from this night, what would you think? The magic mirror is here: you shall learn

Do you know this place? No, you never saw it; but you recognise the nature of these trees, this foliage the

cypress, the willow, the yew. Stone crosses like these are not unfamiliar to you, nor are these dim garlands of

everlasting flowers. Here is the place green sod and a gray marble headstone. Jessy sleeps below. She lived

through an April day; much loved was she, much loving. She often, in her brief life, shed tears, she had

frequent sorrows; she smiled between, gladdening whatever saw her. Her death was tranquil and happy in

Rose's guardian arms, for Rose had been her stay and defence through many trials. The dying and the

watching English girls were at that hour alone in a foreign country, and the soil of that country gave Jessy a

Now, behold Rose two years later. The crosses and garlands looked strange, but the hills and woods of this

landscape look still stranger. This, indeed, is far from England: remote must be the shores which wear that

wild, luxuriant aspect. This is some virgin solitude. Unknown birds flutter round the skirts of that forest; no

European river this, on whose banks Rose sits thinking. The little quiet Yorkshire girl is a lonely emigrant in

some region of the southern hemisphere. Will she ever come back? The three eldest of the family are all boys

Matthew, Mark, and Martin. They are seated together in that corner, engaged in some game. Observe their

three heads: much alike at a first glance, at a second, different; at a third, contrasted. Darkhaired, darkeyed,

redcheeked are the whole trio; small, English features they all possess; all own a blended resemblance to

sire and mother; and yet a distinctive physiognomy, mark of a separate character, belongs to each.

I shall not say much about Matthew, the firstborn of the house, though it is impossible to avoid gazing at

him long, and conjecturing what qualities that visage hides or indicates. He is no plainlooking boy: that

jetblack hair, white brow, highcoloured cheek, those quick, dark eyes, are good points in their way. How is

it that, look as long as you will, there is but one object in the room, and that the most sinister, to which

Matthew's face seems to bear an affinity, and of which, ever and anon, it reminds you strangely the eruption

of Vesuvius? Flame and shadow seem the component parts of that lad's soul no daylight in it, and no

sunshine, and no pure, cool moonbeam ever shone there. He has an English frame, but, apparently, not an

English mind you would say, an Italian stiletto in a sheath of British workmanship. He is crossed in the

game look at his scowl. Mr. Yorke sees it, and what does he say? In a low voice he pleads, 'Mark and

Martin, don't anger your brother.' And this is ever the tone adopted by both parents. Theoretically, they decry

partiality no rights of primogeniture are to be allowed in that house; but Matthew is never to be vexed,

never to be opposed; they avert provocation from him as assiduously as they would avert fire from a barrel of

gunpowder. 'Concede, conciliate,' is their motto wherever he is concerned. The republicans are fast making a

tyrant of their own flesh and blood. This the younger scions know and feel, and at heart they all rebel against

the injustice. They cannot read their parents' motives; they only see the difference of treatment. The dragon's

teeth are already sown amongst Mr. Yorke's young olivebranches; discord will one day be the harvest.

Mark is a bonnylooking boy, the most regularfeatured of the family. He is exceedingly calm; his smile is

shrewd; he can say the driest, most cutting things in the quietest of tones. Despite his tranquillity, a somewhat

heavy brow speaks temper, and reminds you that the smoothest waters are not always the safest. Besides, he

is too still, unmoved, phlegmatic, to be happy. Life will never have much joy in it for Mark: by the time he is

fiveandtwenty he will wonder why people ever laugh, and think all fools who seem merry. Poetry will not

exist for Mark, either in literature or in life; its best effusions will sound to him mere rant and jargon.

Enthusiasm will be his aversion and contempt. Mark will have no youth; while he looks juvenile and

blooming, he will be already middleaged in mind. His body is now fourteen years of age, but his soul is

Martin, the youngest of the three, owns another nature. Life may, or may not; be brief for him, but it will

certainly be brilliant. He will pass through all its illusions, half believe in them, wholly enjoy them, then

outlive them. That boy is not handsome not so handsome as either of his brothers. He is plain; there is a

husk upon him, a dry shell, and he will wear it till he is near twenty, then he will put it off. About that period

he'll make himself handsome. He will wear uncouth manners till that age, perhaps homely garments; but the

chrysalis will retain the power of transfiguring itself into the butterfly, and such transfiguration will, in due

season, take place. For a space he will be vain, probably a downright puppy, eager for pleasure and desirous

of admiration, athirst, too, for knowledge. He will want all that the world can give him, both of enjoyment

and lore he will perhaps, take deep draughts at each fount. That thirst satisfied, what next? I know not.

Martin might be a remarkable man. Whether he will or not, the seer is powerless to predict: on that subject

Take Mr. Yorke's family in the aggregate: there is as much mental power in those six young heads, as much

originality as much activity and vigour of brain, as divided amongst half a dozen commonplace broods

would give to each rather more than an average amount of sense and capacity. Mr. Yorke knows this, and is

proud of his race. Yorkshire has such families here and there amongst her hills and wolds peculiar, racy,

vigorous; of good blood and strong brain; turbulent somewhat in the pride of their strength and intractable in

the force of their native powers; wanting polish, wanting consideration, wanting docility, but sound, spirited,

A low tap is heard at the parlour door; the boys have been making such a noise over their game, and little

Jessy, besides, has been singing so sweet a Scotch song to her father who delights in Scotch and Italian

songs, and has taught his musical little daughter some of the best that the ring at the outer door was not

'Come in,' says Mrs. Yorke, in that conscientiously constrained and solemnised voice of hers, which ever

modulates itself to a funereal dreariness of tone, though the subject it is exercised upon be but to give orders

for the making of a pudding in the kitchen, to bid the boys hang up their caps in the hall, or to call the girls to

Moore's habitual gravity, as well as his abstemiousness (for the case of spirit decanters is never ordered up

when he pays an evening visit), has so far recommended him to Mrs. Yorke that she has not yet made him the

subject of private animadversions with her husband; she has not yet found out that he is hampered by a secret

intrigue which prevents him from marrying, or that he is a wolf in sheep's clothing discoveries which she

made at an early date after marriage concerning most of her husband's bachelor friends, and excluded them

from her board accordingly; which part of her conduct, indeed, might be said to have its just and sensible as

'Well, is it you?' she says to Mr. Moore, as he comes up to her and gives his hand. 'What are you roving about

'Pooh!' says Mrs. Yorke, who despises conventional smoothness quite as much as her husband does, and

practises it as little, and whose plain speaking on all occasions is carried to a point calculated, sometimes, to

awaken admiration, but oftener alarm 'pooh! you need not talk nonsense to me; a single man can have a

'Not she,' joined in Mr. Yorke. 'Hortense is an honest lass. But when I was Robert's age I had five or six

sisters, all as decent and proper as she is; but you see, Hesther, for all that it did not hinder me from looking

'And sorely he has repented marrying me,' added Mrs. Yorke, who liked occasionally to crack a dry jest

against matrimony, even though it should be at her own expense. 'He has repented it in sackcloth and ashes,

Robert Moore, as you may well believe when you see his punishment' (here she pointed to her children).

'Who would burden themselves with such a set of great, rough lads as those, if they could help it? It is not

only bringing them into the world, though that is bad enough, but they are all to feed, to clothe, to rear, to

settle in life. Young sir, when you feel tempted to marry, think of our four sons and two daughters, and look

'I am not tempted now, at any rate. I think these are not times for marrying or giving in marriage.'

A lugubrious sentiment of this sort was sure to obtain Mrs. Yorke's approbation. She nodded and groaned

acquiescence; but in a minute she said, 'I make little account of the wisdom of a Solomon of your age; it will

be upset by the first fancy that crosses you. Meantime, Sit down, sir. You can talk, I suppose, as well sitting

This was her way of inviting her guest to take a chair. He had no sooner obeyed her than little Jessy jumped

from her father's knee and ran into Mr. Moore's arms, which were very promptly held out to receive her.

'You talk of marrying him,' said she to her mother, quite indignantly, as she was lifted lightly to his knee, 'and

he is married now, or as good. He promised that I should be his wife last summer, the first time he saw me in

my new white frock and blue sash. Didn't he, father?' (These children were not accustomed to say papa and

'Ay, my little lassie, he promised; I'll bear witness. But make him say it over again now, Jessy. Such as he are

'He is not false. He is too bonny to be false,' said Jessy, looking up to her tall sweetheart with the fullest

'Bonny!' cried Mr. Yorke. 'That's the reason that he should be, and proof that he is, a scoundrel'

'But he looks too sorrowful to be false,' here interposed a quiet voice from behind the father's chair. 'If he

were always laughing, I should think he forgot promises soon; but Mr. Moore never laughs.'

'Voil , qui devient int ressant!' exclaimed Mr. Yorke, hitching his chair nearer the fire. 'A lady! That has

quite a romantic twang. We must guess who it is . . . Rosy, whisper the name low to your father. after him

'Rose, don't be too forward to talk,' here interrupted Mrs. Yorke, in her usual killjoy fashion, 'nor Jessy

either. It becomes all children, especially girls, to be silent in the presence of their elders.'

'Why have we tongues, then?' asked Jessy pertly; while Rose only looked at her mother with an expression

that seemed to say she should take that maxim in and think it over at her leisure. After two minutes' grave

'Firstly, because I say so; and secondly, because discretion and reserve are a girl's best wisdom.'

'My dear madam,' observed Moore, 'what you say is excellent it reminds me, indeed, of my dear sister's

observations; but really it is not applicable to these little ones. Let Rose and Jessy talk to me freely, or my

'Does it not?' asked Jessy. 'More good than if the rough lads came round you. You call them rough, mother,

'Yes, mignonne, a thousand times more good. I have rough lads enough about me all day long, poulet.'

'There are plenty of people,' continued she, 'who take notice of the boys. All my uncles and aunts seem to

think their nephews better than their nieces, and when gentlemen come here to dine, it is always Matthew,

and Mark, and Martin that are talked to, and never Rose and me. Mr. Moore is our friend, and we'll keep him:

but mind, Rose, he's not so much your friend as he is mine. He is my particular acquaintance, remember that!'

Rose was quite accustomed to be admonished by that small hand. Her will daily bent itself to that of the

impetuous little Jessy. She was guided, overruled by Jessy in a thousand things. On all occasions of show and

pleasure Jessy took the lead, and Rose fell quietly into the background, whereas, when the disagreeables of

life its work and privations were in question, Rose instinctively took upon her, in addition to her own share,

what she could of her sister's. Jessy had already settled it in her mind that she, when she was old enough, was

to be married, Rose, she decided, must be an old maid, to live with her, look after her children, keep her

house. This state of things is not uncommon between two sisters, where one is plain and the other pretty; but

in this case, if there was a difference in external appearance, Rose had the advantage: her face was more

regular featured than that of the piquant little Jessy. Jessy, however, was destined to possess, along with

sprightly intelligence and vivacious feeling, the gift of fascination, the power to charm when, where, and

whom she would. Rose was to have a fine, generous soul, a noble intellect profoundly cultivated, a heart as

'Now, Rose, tell me the name of this lady who denied that I was sentimental,' urged Mr. Moore.

Rose had no idea of tantalisation, or she would have held him a while in doubt. She answered briefly, 'I can't.

'When Jessy and I went to spend the day at Whinbury with Kate and Susan Pearson, who were just come

home from school, there was a party at Mrs. Pearson's, and some grownup ladies were sitting in a corner of

'Some of them were. They called you a misanthrope. I remember the word. I looked for it in the dictionary

'Better!' cried Mr. Yorke, laughing. 'Oh, excellent! Hannah! that's the one with the red hair a fine girl, but

'She has wit enough for me, it appears,' said Moore: 'A solemn puppy, indeed! Well, Rose, go on.'

'Miss Pearson said she believed there was a good deal of affectation about you, and that with your dark hair

Again Mr. Yorke laughed. Mrs. Yorke even joined in this time. 'You see in what esteem you are held behind

your back,' said she; 'yet I believe that after to catch you. She set her cap at you when you first came into the

'A lady whom I don't know, because she never visits here, though I see her every Sunday at church. She sits

in the pew near the pulpit. I generally look at her instead of looking at my prayerbook, for she is like a

picture in our diningroom, that woman with the dove in her hand at least she has eyes like it, and a nose

too, a straight nose, that makes all her face look, somehow, what I call clear.'

'And you don't know her!' exclaimed Jessy, in a tone of exceeding surprise. 'That's so like Rose. Mr. Moore, I

often wonder in what sort of a world my sister lives. I am sure she does not live all her time in this. One is

continually finding out that she is quite ignorant of some little matter which everybody else knows. To think

of her going solemnly to church every Sunday, and looking all servicetime at one particular person, and

never so much as asking that person's name. She means Caroline Helstone, the rector's niece. I remember all

about it Miss Helstone was quite angry with Anne Pearson. She said, "Robert Moore is neither affected nor

sentimental; you mistake his character utterly, or rather not one of you here knows anything about it." Now,

shall I tell you what she is like? I can tell what people are like, and how they are dressed, better than Rose

'She is nice; she is fair; she has a pretty white slender throat; she has long curls, not stiff ones they hang

loose and soft, their colour is brown but not dark; she speaks quietly, with a dear tone; she never makes a

bustle in moving; she often wears a gray silk dress she is neat all over her gowns, and her shoes, and her

gloves always fit her. She is what I call a lady, and when I am as tall as she is, I mean to be like her. Shall I

Moore stroked Jessy's hair. For a minute he seemed as if he would draw her nearer to him, but instead he put

'Why, Jessy, you care nothing about me. You never come to see me now at the Hollow.'

Hereupon Mr. Moore gave both the little girls an invitation to pay him a visit next day, promising that, as he

was going to Stilbro' in the morning, he would buy them each a present, of what nature he would not then

declare, but they must come and see. Jessy was about to reply, when one of the boys unexpectedly broke in,

'I know that Miss Helstone you have all been palavering about. She's an ugly girl. I hate her. I hate all

'Martin!' said his father, for Martin it was. The lad only answered by turning his cynical young face,

halfarch, halftruculent towards the paternal chair. 'Martin, my lad, thou'rt a swaggering whelp now; thou

wilt some day be an outrageous puppy. But stick to those sentiments of thine. See, I'll write down the words

now i' my pocketbook.' (The senior took out a moroccocovered book, and deliberately wrote therein.) 'Ten

years hence, Martin, if thou and I be both alive at that day, I'll remind thee of that speech.'

'I'll say the same then. I mean always to hate women. They're such dolls; they do nothing but dress

themselves finely, and go swimming about to be admired. I'll never marry. I'll be a bachelor.'

'Stick to it! stick to it! Hesther' (addressing his wife), 'I was like him when I was his age a regular

misogamist; and, behold! by the time I was threeand twenty being then a tourist in France and Italy, and

the Lord knows where I curled my hair every night before I went to bed, and wore a ring i' my ear, and

would have worn one i' my nose if it had been the fashion, and all that I might make myself pleasing and

'Will I? Never! I've more sense. What a guy you were father! As to dressing, I make this vow: I'll never dress

more finely than as you see me at present. Mr. Moore, I'm clad in blue cloth from top to toe, and they laugh

at me, and call me sailor at the grammarschool. I laugh louder at them, and say they are all magpies and

parrots, with their coats one colour, and their waistcoats another, and their trousers a third. I'll always wear

blue cloth, and nothing but blue cloth. It is beneath a human being's dignity to dress himself in particoloured

'Ten years hence, Martin, no tailor's shop will have choice of colours varied enough for thy exacting taste; no

Martin looked disdain, but vouchsafed no further reply. Meantime Mark, who for some minutes had been

rummaging amongst a pile of books on a sidetable took the word. He spoke in a peculiarly slow, quiet

'Mr. Moore,' said he, 'you think perhaps it was a compliment on Miss Caroline Helstone's part to say you

were not sentimental. I thought you appeared confused when my sisters told you the words, as if you felt

flattered. You turned red, just like a certain vain little lad at our school, who always thinks proper to blush

when he gets a rise in the class. For your benefit, Mr. Moore, I've been looking up the word "sentimental" in

the dictionary, and I find it to mean "tinctured with sentiment." On examining further, "sentiment" is

explained to be thought, idea, notion. A sentimental man, then, is one who has thoughts, ideas, notions; an

And Mark stopped. He did not smile, he did not look round for admiration. He had said his say, and was

'Ma foi! mon ami,' observed Mr. Moore to Yorke, 'ce sont vraiment des enfants terribles, que les v tres!'

Rose, who had been listening attentively to Mark's speech, replied to him, 'There are different kinds of

thoughts, ideas, and notions,' said she, 'good and bad: sentimental must refer to the bad, or Miss Helstone

must have taken it in that sense, for she was not blaming Mr. Moore; she was defending him.'

'She was defending him,' repeated Rose, 'as I should have done had I been in her place, for the other ladies

'Ladies always do speak spitefully,' observed Martin. 'It is the nature of womenites to be spiteful.'

Matthew now, for the first time, opened his lips. 'What a fool Martin is, to be always gabbling about what he

'It is my privilege, as a freeman, to gabble on whatever subject I like,' responded Martin.

'You use it, or rather abuse it, to such an extent,' rejoined the elder brother, 'that you prove you ought to have

'A slave! a slave! That to a Yorke, and from a Yorke! This fellow,' he added, standing up at the table, and

pointing across it to Matthew 'this fellow forgets, what every cottier in Briarfield knows, that all born of our

house have that arched instep under which water can flow proof that there has not been a slave of the blood

'Lads, be silent!' exclaimed Mr. Yorke. 'Martin, you are a mischiefmaker. There would have been no

'Indeed! Is that correct? Did I begin, or did Matthew? Had I spoken to him when he accused me of gabbling

Here Mrs. Yorke commenced rocking herself rather a portentous movement with her, as it was occasionally

followed, especially when Matthew was worsted in a conflict, by a fit of hysterics.

'I don't see why I should bear insolence from Matthew Yorke, or what right he has to use bad language to me,'

'He has no right, my lad; but forgive your brother until seventyandseven times,' said Mr. Yorke soothingly.

'Always alike, and theory and practice always adverse!' murmured Martin as he turned to leave the room.

'Where art thou going, my son?' asked the father. 'Somewhere where I shall be safe from insult, if in this

Matthew laughed very insolently. Martin threw a strange look at him, and trembled through all his slight lad's

Martin went, and Matthew sent another insolent laugh after him. Rose, lifting her fair head from Moore's

shoulder against which, for a moment, it had been resting, said, as she directed a steady gaze to Matthew,

'Martin is grieved, and you are glad; but I would rather be Martin than you. I dislike your nature.'

Here Mr. Moore, by way of averting, or at least escaping, a scene which a sob from Mrs. Yorke warned

him was likely to come on rose, and putting Jessy off his knee, he kissed her and Rose, reminding them, at

the same time, to be sure and come to the Hollow in good time tomorrow afternoon; then, having taken

leave of his hostess, he said to Mr. Yorke, 'May I speak a word with you?' and was followed by him from the

'A nonsense question in these times, when you know that every master has many good workmen to whom he

'He has been out of work three months. He has a large family. We are sure they cannot live without wages.

He was one of a deputation of clothdressers who came to me this morning to complain and threaten.

William did not threaten. He only asked me to give them rather more time to make my changes more

slowly. You know I cannot do that: straitened on all sides as I am, I have nothing for it but to push on. I

thought it would be idle to palaver long with them. I sent them away, after arresting a rascal amongst them,

'Ah! you've arrested him? Good! Then out of a scoundrel you're going to make a martyr. You've done a wise

'I've done a right thing. Well, the short and the long of it is, I'm determined to get Farren a place, and I reckon

'This is cool, however!' exclaimed Mr. Yorke. 'What right have you to reckon on me to provide for your

dismissed workmen? What do I know about your Farrens and your Williams? I've heard he's an honest man,

but am I to support all the honest men in Yorkshire? You may say that would be no great charge to undertake;

'I find! You afterguage I'm not accustomed to use. I wish you would go home. Here is the door; set off.'

'You can't give him work in your mill good; but you have land. Find him some occupation on your land,

'Bob, I thought you cared nothing about our lourdauds de paysans. I don't understand this change.'

'I do. The fellow spoke to me nothing but truth and sense. I answered him just as roughly as I did the rest,

who jabbered mere gibberish. I couldn't make distinctions there and then. His appearance told what he had

gone through lately clearer than his words; but where is the use of explaining? Let him have work.'

'If there was a point left in my affairs to strain, I would strain it till it cracked again; but I received letters this

morning which show me pretty clearly where I stand, and it is not far off the end of the plank. My foreign

market, at any rate, is gorged. If there is no change if there dawns no prospect of peace if the Orders in

Council are not, at least, suspended, so as to open our way in the West I do not know where I an' to turn. I

see no more light than if I were sealed in a rock, so that for me to pretend to offer a man a livelihood would

'Come, let us take a turn on the front. It is a starlight night,' said Mr. Yorke.

They passed out, closing the front door after them, and side by side paced the frostwhite pavement to and

'Settle about Farren at once,' urged Mr. Moore. 'You have large fruitgardens at Yorke Mills. He is a good

'Well, so be it. I'll send for him tomorrow, and we'll see. And now, my lad, you're concerned about the

'Yes, a second failure which I may delay, but which, at this moment, I see no way finally to avert would

blight the name of Moore completely; and you are aware I had fine intentions of paying off every debt and

'I know I know capital is not to be had for the asking; and if you were a married man, and had a family, like

me, I should think your case pretty nigh desperate; but the young and unencumbered have chances peculiar to

themselves. I hear gossip now and then about your being on the eve of marriage with this miss and that; but I

'You may well suppose that. I think I am not in a position to be dreaming of marriage. Marriage! I cannot

bear the word: it sounds so silly and utopian. I have settled it decidedly that marriage and love are

superfluities, intended only for the rich, who live at ease, and have no need to take thought for the morrow; or

desperations the last and reckless joy of the deeply wretched, who never hope to rise out of the slough of

'I should not think so if I were circumstanced as you are. I should think I could very likely get a wife with a

'Bah! I hate ugliness and delight in beauty. My eyes and heart, Yorke, take pleasure in a sweet, young, fair

face, as they are repelled by a grim, rugged, meagre one. Soft delicate lines and hues please, harsh ones

'Not if she were dressed in gems. I could not love I could not fancy I could not endure her. My taste must

have satisfaction, or disgust would break; out in despotism, or worse freeze to utter iciness.'

'What! Bob, if you married an honest goodnatured, and wealthy lass, though a little hardfavoured, couldn't

'I'll never try, I tell you. Grace at least I will have, and youth and symmetry yes, and what I call beauty.'

'And poverty, and a nursery full of bairns you can neither clothe nor feed, and very soon an anxious, faded

'If you are romantic, Robert, and especially if you are already in love, it is of no use talking.'

'I am not romantic. I am stripped of romance as bare as the white tenters in that field are of cloth.'

'Always use such figures of speech, lad; I can understand them. And there is no love affair to disturb your

'Well, then, if you are sound both in heart and head, there is no reason why you should not profit by a good

'I think I am a bit i' that line. I promise ye naught and I advise ye naught; but I bid ye keep your heart up, and

'In the meantime, I care naught about ye, Robert Moore: ye are nothing akin to me or mine, and whether ye

lose or find a fortune it makes no difference to me. Go home, now. It has stricken ten. Miss Hortense will be

Time wore on, and spring matured. The surface of England began to look pleasant: her fields grew green, her

hills fresh, her gardens blooming; but at heart she was no better. Still her poor were wretched, still their

employers were harassed. Commerce, in some of its branches, seemed threatened with paralysis, for the war

continued; England's blood was shed and her wealth lavished: all, it seemed, to attain most inadequate ends.

Some tidings there were indeed occasionally of successes in the Peninsula, but these came in slowly; long

intervals occurred between, in which no note was heard but the insolent selffelicitations of Bonaparte on his

continued triumphs. Those who suffered from the results of the war felt this tedious, and as they thought

hopeless, struggle against what their fears or their interests taught them to regard as an invincible power, most

insufferable: they demanded peace on any terms: men like Yorke and Moore and there were thousands

whom the war placed where it placed them, shuddering on the verge of bankruptcy insisted on peace with

They held meetings; they made speeches; they got up petitions to extort this boon: on what terms it was made

All men, taken singly, are more or less selfish; and taken in bodies they are intensely so. The British

merchant is no exception to this rule: the mercantile classes illustrate it strikingly. These classes certainly

think too exclusively of making money: they are too oblivious of every national consideration but that of

extending England's (i.e., their own) commerce. Chivalrous feeling, disinterestedness, pride in honour, is too

dead in their hearts. A land ruled by them alone would too often make ignominious submission not at all

from the motives Christ teaches, but rather from those Mammon instils. During the late war, the tradesmen of

England would have endured buffets from the French on the right cheek and on the left; their cloak they

would have given to Napoleon, and then have politely offered him their coat also, nor would they have

withheld their waistcoat if urged: they would have prayed permission only to retain their one other garment,

for the sake of the purse in its pocket. Not one spark of spirit, not one symptom of resistance would they have

shown till the hand of the Corsican bandit had grasped that beloved purse: then, perhaps, transfigured at once

into British bulldogs, they would have sprung at the robber's throat, and there they would have fastened, and

there hung inveterate, insatiable, till the treasure had been restored. Tradesmen, when they speak against

war, always profess to hate it because it is a bloody and barbarous proceeding: you would think, to hear them

talk, that they are peculiarly civilised especially gentle and kindly of disposition to their fellowmen. This

is not the case. Many of them are extremely narrow and coldhearted, have no good feeling for any class but

their own, are distant even hostile to all others; call them useless; seem to question their right to exist; seem

to grudge them the very air they breathe, and to think the circumstance of their eating, drinking, and living in

decent houses, quite unjustifiable. They do not know what others do in the way of helping, pleasing, or

teaching their race; they will not trouble themselves to inquire; whoever is not in trade is accused of eating

the bread of idleness, of passing a useless existence. Long may it be ere England really becomes a nation of

We have already said that Moore was no selfsacrificing patriot, and we have also explained what

circumstances rendered him specially prone to confine his attention and efforts to the furtherance of his

individual interest; accordingly, when he felt himself urged a second time to the brink of ruin, none struggled

harder than he against the influences which would have thrust him over. What he could do towards stirring

agitation in the North against the war, he did, and he instigated others whose money and connections gave

them more power than he possessed. Sometimes, by flashes, he felt there was little reason in the demands his

party made on Government: when he heard of all Europe threatened by Bonaparte, and of all Europe arming

to resist him; when he saw Russia menaced, and beheld Russia rising, incensed and stern, to defend her

frozen soil, her wild provinces of serfs, her dark native despotism, from the tread, the yoke, the tyranny of a

foreign victor, he knew that England, a free realm, could not then depute her sons to make concessions and

propose terms to the unjust, grasping French leader. When news came from time to time of the movements of

that MAN then representing England in the Peninsula; of his advance from success to success that advance

so deliberate but so unswerving, so circumspect but so certain, so 'unhasting' but so 'unresting'; when he read

Lord Wellington's own despatches in the columns of the newspapers, documents written by Modesty to the

dictation of Truth Moore confessed at heart that a power was with the troops of Britain, of that vigilant,

enduring, genuine, unostentatious sort, which must win victory to the side it led, in the end. In the end! but

that end, he thought, was yet far off; and meantime he, Moore, as an individual, would be crushed, his hopes

ground to dust: it was himself be had to care for, his hopes he had to pursue, and he would fulfil his destiny.

He fulfiled it so vigorously, that ere long he came to a decisive rupture with his old Tory friend the Rector.

They quarrelled at a public meeting, and afterwards exchanged some pungent letters in the newspapers. Mr.

Helstone denounced Moore as a Jacobin, ceased to see him, would not even speak to him when they met: he

intimated also to his niece, very distinctly, that her communications with Hollow's Cottage must for the

present cease; she must give up taking French lessons. The language, he observed, was a bad and frivolous

one at the best, and most of the works it boasted were bad and frivolous, highly injurious in their tendency to

weak female minds. He wondered (he remarked parenthetically) what noodle first made it the fashion to teach

women French: nothing was more improper for them; it was like feeding a rickety child on chalk and

watergruel; Caroline must give it up, and give up her cousins too: they were dangerous people.

Mr. Helstone quite expected opposition to this order; he expected tears. Seldom did he trouble himself about

Caroline s movements, but a vague idea possessed him that she was fond of going to Hollow's Cottage: also

he suspected that she liked Robert Moore's occasional presence at the Rectory. The Cossack had perceived

that whereas if Malone stepped in of an evening to make himself sociable and charming, by pinching the ears

of an aged black cat, which usually shared with Miss Helstone's feet the accommodation of her footstool, or

by borrowing a fowlingpiece, and banging away at a toolshed door in the garden while enough of daylight

remained to show that conspicuous mark keeping the passage and sittingroom doors meantime

uncomfortably open for the convenience of running in and out to announce his failures and successes with

noisy brusquerie he had observed that under such entertaining circumstances Caroline had a trick of

disappearing, tripping noiselessly upstairs, and remaining invisible till called down to supper. On the other

hand, when Robert Moore was the guest, though he elicited no vivacities from the cat, did nothing to it,

indeed, beyond occasionally coaxing it from the stool to his knee, and there letting it purr, climb to his

shoulder, and rub its head against his cheek; though there was no earsplitting cracking off of firearms, no

diffusion of sulphurous gunpowder perfume, no noise, no boasting during his stay, that still Caroline sat in

the room, and seemed to find wondrous content in the stitching of Jewbasket pincushions, and the knitting

She was very quiet, and Robert paid her little attention, scarcely ever addressing his discourse to her; but Mr.

Helstone, not being one of those elderly gentlemen who are easily blinded, on the contrary, finding himself

on all occasions extremely wideawake, had watched them when they bade each other goodnight: he had

just seen their eyes meet once only once. Some natures would have taken pleasure in the glance then

surprised, because there was no harm and some delight in it. It was by no means a glance of mutual

intelligence, for mutual lovesecrets existed not between them: there was nothing then of craft and

concealment to offend; only Mr. Moore's eyes, looking into Caroline's, felt they were clear and gentle, and

Caroline's eyes encountering Mr. Moore's confessed they were manly and searching: each acknowledged the

charm in his or her own way. Moore smiled slightly, and Caroline coloured as slightly. Mr. Helstone could,

on the spot, have rated them both: they annoyed him; why? impossible to say. If you had asked him what

Moore merited at that moment, he would have said 'a horsewhip'; if you had inquired into Caroline's deserts,

he would have adjudged her a box on the ear; if you had further demanded the reason of such chastisements,

he would have stormed against flirtation and lovemaking, and vowed he would have no such folly going on

These private considerations, combined with political reasons, fixed his resolution of separating the cousins.

He announced his will to Caroline one evening, as she was sitting at work near the drawingroom window:

her face was turned towards him, and the light fell full upon it. It had struck him a few minutes before that

she was looking paler and quieter than she used to look; it had not escaped him either that Robert Moore's

name had never, for some three weeks past, dropped from her lips; nor during the same space of time had that

personage made his appearance at the Rectory. Some suspicion of clandestine meetings haunted him; having

but an indifferent opinion of women, he always suspected them: he thought they needed constant watching. It

was in a tone drily significant he desired her to cease her daily visits to the Hollow; he expected a start, a look

of deprecation: the start he saw but it was a very slight one; no look whatever was directed to him.

'And there must be no letterscribbling to your cousin Hortense: no intercourse whatever. I do not approve of

'Very well,' said Caroline quietly. She acquiesced then: there was no vexed flushing of the face, no gathering

tears: the shadowy thoughtfulness which had covered her features ere Mr. Helstone spoke remained

Yes, perfectly; because the mandate coincided with her own previous judgment; because it was now become

pain to her to go to Hollow's Cottage; nothing met her there but disappointment: hope and love had quitted

that little tenement, for Robert seemed to have deserted its precincts. Whenever she asked after him which

she very seldom did, since the mere utterance of his name made her face grow hot the answer was, be was

from home, or he was quite taken up with business: Hortense feared he was killing himself by application: he

At church only Caroline had the chance of seeing him, and there she rarely looked at him: it was both too

much pain and too much pleasure to look: it excited too much emotion; and that it was all wasted emotion,

Once, on a dark, wet Sunday, when there were few people at church, and when especially certain ladies were

absent, of whose observant faculties and tomahawk tongues Caroline stood in awe, she had allowed her eye

to seek Robert's pew, and to rest a while on its occupant. He was there alone: Hortense had been kept at home

by prudent considerations relative to the rain and a new spring 'chapeau.' During the sermon, he sat with

folded arms and eyes cast down, looking very sad and abstracted. When depressed, the very hue of his face

seemed more dusk than when he smiled, and today cheek and forehead wore their most tintless and sober

olive. By instinct Caroline knew, as she examined that clouded countenance, that his thoughts were running

in no familiar or kindly channel; that they were far away, not merely from her, but from all which she could

comprehend, or in which she could sympathise. Nothing that they had ever talked of together was now in his

mind: he was wrapped from her by interests and responsibilities in which it was deemed such as she could

Caroline meditated in her own way on the subject; speculated on his feelings, on his life, on his fears, on his

fate; mused over the mystery of 'business,' tried to comprehend more about it than had ever been told her to

understand its perplexities, liabilities, duties, exactions; endeavoured to realise the state of mind of man of a

'man of business,' to enter into it, feel what he would feel, aspire to what he would aspire. Her earnest wish

was to see things as they were, and not to be romantic. By dint of effort she contrived to get a glimpse of the

light of truth here and there, and hoped that scant ray might suffice to guide her.

'Different, indeed,' she concluded, 'is Robert's mental condition to mine: I think only of him; he has no room,

no leisure to think of me. The feeling called love is and has been for two years the predominant emotion of

my heart: always there, always awake, always astir: quite other feelings absorb his reflections, and govern his

faculties. He is rising now, going to leave the church, for service is over. Will he turn his head towards this

pew? no not once he has not one look for me: that is hard: a kind glance would have made me happy

till tomorrow. I have not got it; he would not give it; he is gone. Strange that grief should now almost choke

That Sunday evening, Mr. Malone coming, as usual, to pass it with his Rector, Caroline withdrew after tea to

her chamber. Fanny, knowing her habits, had lit her a cheerful little fire, as the weather was so gusty and

chill. Closeted there, silent and solitary, what could she do but think? She noiselessly paced to and fro the

carpeted floor, her head drooped, her hands folded: it was irksome to sit: the current of reflection ran rapidly

Mute was the room, mute the house. The double door of the study muffled the voices of the gentlemen: the

servants were quiet in the kitchen, engaged with books their young mistress had lent them; books which she

had told them were 'fit for Sunday reading.' And she herself had another of the same sort open on the table,

but she could not read it: its theology was incomprehensible to her, and her own mind was too busy, teeming,

Then, too, her imagination was full of pictures; images of Moore; scenes where he and she had been together;

winter fireside sketches; a glowing landscape of a hot summer afternoon passed with him in the bosom of

Nunnely Wood: divine vignettes of mild spring or mellow autumn moments, when she had sat at his side in

Hollow's Copse, listening to the call of the May cuckoo, or sharing the September treasure of nuts and ripe

blackberries a wild dessert which it was her morning's pleasure to collect in a little basket, and cover with

green leaves and fresh blossoms, and her afternoon's delight to administer to Moore, berry by berry, and nut

Robert's features and form were with her; the sound of his voice was quite distinct in her ear; his few caresses

seemed renewed. But these joys being hollow, were, ere long, crushed in: the pictures faded, the voice failed,

the visionary clasp melted chill from her hand, and where the warm seal of lips had made impress on her

forehead, it felt now as if a sleety raindrop had fallen. She returned from an enchanted region to the real

world for Nunnely Wood in June, she saw her narrow chamber; for the songs of birds in alleys, she heard the

rain on her casement; for the sigh of the south wind, came the sob of the mournful east; and for Moore's

manly companionship, she had the thin illusion of her own dim shadow on the wall. Turning from the pale

phantom which reflected herself in its outline, and her reverie in the drooped attitude of its dim head and

colourless tresses, she sat down inaction would suit the frame of mind into which she was now declining

she said to herself 'I have to live, perhaps, till seventy years. As far as I know, I have good health: half a

century of existence may lie before me. How am I to occupy it? What am I to do to fill the interval of time

'I shall not be married, it appears,' she continued. 'I suppose, as Robert does not care for me, I shall never

have a husband to love, nor little children to take care of. Till lately I had reckoned securely on the duties and

affections of wife and mother to occupy my existence. I considered, somehow, as a matter of course, that I

was growing up to the ordinary destiny, and never troubled myself to seek any other; but now, I perceive

plainly, I may have been mistaken. Probably I shall be an old maid. I shall live to see Robert married to some

one else, some rich lady: I shall never marry. What was I created for, I wonder? Where is my place in the

'Ah! I see,' she pursued presently: 'that is the question which most old maids are puzzled to solve; other

people solve it for them by saying, 'Your place is to do good to others, to be helpful whenever help is wanted.'

That is right in some measure, and a very convenient doctrine for the people who hold it; but I perceive that

certain sets of human beings are very apt to maintain that other sets should give up their lives to them and

their service, and then they requite them by praise: they call them devoted and virtuous. Is this enough? Is it

to live? Is there not a terrible hollowness, mockery, want, craving, in that existence which is given away to

others, for want of something of your own to bestow it on? I suspect there is. Does virtue lie in abnegation of

self? I do not believe it. Undue humility makes tyranny; weak concession creates selfishness. The Romish

religion especially teaches renunciation of self, submission to others, and nowhere are found so many

grasping tyrants as in the ranks of the Romish priesthood. Each human being has his share of rights. I suspect

it would conduce to the happiness and welfare of all, if each knew his allotment, and held to it as tenaciously

as the martyr to his creed. Queer thoughts these, that surge in my mind: are they right thoughts? I am not

'Well, life is short at the best: seventy years, they say, pass like a vapour, like a dream when one awaketh; and

every path trod by human feet terminates in one bourne the grave: the little chink in the surface of this great

globe the furrow where the mighty husbandman with the scythe deposits the seed he has shaken from the

ripe stem; and there it falls, decays, and thence it springs again, when the world has rolled round a few times

more. So much for the body: the soul meantime wings its long flight upward, folds its wings on the brink of

the sea of fire and glass, and gazing down through the burning clearness, finds there mirrored the vision of

the Christian's triple Godhead: the Sovereign Father; the mediating Son; the Creator Spirit. Such words, at

least, have been chosen to express what is inexpressible, to describe what baffles description. The soul's real

Her fire was decayed to its last cinder; Malone had departed; and now the study bell rang for prayers.

The next day Caroline had to spend altogether alone, her uncle being gone to dine with his friend Dr.

Boultby, vicar of Whinbury. The whole time she was talking inwardly in the same strain; looking forwards,

asking what she was to do with life. Fanny, as she passed in and out of the room occasionally, intent on

housemaid errands, perceived that her young mistress sat very still. She was always in the same place, always

bent industriously over a piece of work: she did not lift her head to speak to Fanny, as her custom was; and

when the latter remarked that the day was fine, and she ought to take a walk, she only said 'It is cold.'

You are very diligent at that sewing, Miss Caroline,' continued the girl, approaching her little table.

'Then why do you go on with it? Put it down: read, or do something to amuse you.'

'I don't find it so, miss. Me and Eliza are company for one another; but you are quite too still you should

visit more. Now, be persuaded; go upstairs and dress yourself smart, and go and take tea, in a friendly way,

with Miss Mann or Miss Ainley: I am certain either of those ladies would be delighted to see you.'

'But their houses are dismal: they are both old maids. I am certain old maids are a very unhappy race.'

'Not they, miss: they can't be unhappy; they take such care of themselves. They are all selfish.'

'Miss Ainley is not selfish, Fanny: she is always doing good. How devotedly kind she was to her stepmother,

as long as the old lady lived; and now when she is quite alone in the world, without brother or sister, or any

one to care for her, how charitable she is to the poor, as far as her means permit! Still nobody thinks much of

her, or has pleasure in going to see her: and how gentlemen always sneer at her!'

'They shouldn't, miss; I believe she is a good woman: but gentlemen think only of ladies' looks.'

'I'll go and see her,' exclaimed Caroline, starting up: 'and if she asks me to stay to tea, I'll stay. How wrong it

is to neglect people because they are not pretty, and young, and merry! And I will certainly call to see Miss

Mann, too: she may not be amiable; but what has made her unamiable? What has life been to her?'

Fanny helped Miss Helstone to put away her work, and afterwards assisted her to dress.

'You'll not be an old maid, Miss Caroline,' she said, as she tied the sash of her brownsilk frock, having

previously smoothed her soft, full, and shining curls; 'there are no signs of an old maid about you.'

Caroline looked at the little mirror before her, and she thought there were some signs. She could see that she

was altered within the last month; that the hues of her complexion were paler, her eyes changed a wan

shade seemed to circle them, her countenance was dejected: she was not, in short, so pretty or so fresh as she

used to be. She distantly hinted this to Fanny, from whom she got no direct answer, only a remark that people

did vary in their looks; but that at her age a little falling away signified nothing, she would soon come

round again, and be plumper and rosier than ever. Having given this assurance, Fanny showed singular zeal

in wrapping her up in warm shawls and handkerchiefs, till Caroline, nearly smothered with the weight, was

She paid her visits: first to Miss Mann, for this was the most difficult point: Miss Mann was certainly not

quite a lovable person. Till now, Caroline had always unhesitatingly declared she disliked her, and more than

once she had joined her cousin Robert in laughing at some of her peculiarities. Moore was not habitually

given to sarcasm, especially on anything humbler or weaker than himself; but he had once or twice happened

to be in the room when Miss Mann had made a call on his sister, and after listening to her conversation and

viewing her features for a time, he had gone out into the garden where his little cousin was tending some of

his favourite flowers, and while standing near and watching her, he had amused himself with comparing fair

youth delicate and attractive with shrivelled eld, livid and loveless, and in jestingly repeating to a smiling

girl the vinegar discourse of a cankered old maid. Once on such an occasion, Caroline had said to him,

looking up from the luxuriant creeper she was binding to its frame, 'Ah! Robert, you do not like old maids. I,

'You an old maid!' he had replied. 'A piquant notion suggested by lips of that tint and form. I can fancy you,

though, at forty, quietly dressed, pale and sunk, but still with that straight nose, white forehead, and those soft

eyes. I suppose, too, you will keep your voice, which has another 'timbre' than that hard, deep organ of Miss

'Nature made her in the mood in which she makes her briars and thorns; whereas for the creation of some

women, she reserves the May morning hours, when with light and dew she woos the primrose from the turf,

Ushered into Miss Mann's little parlour, Caroline found her, as she always found her, surrounded by perfect

neatness, cleanliness, and comfort (after all, is it not a virtue in old maids that solitude rarely makes them

negligent or disorderly?); no dust on her polished furniture, none on her carpet, fresh flowers in the vase on

her table, a bright fire in the grate. She herself sat primly and somewhat grimlytidy in a cushioned

rockingchair, her hands busied with some knitting: this was her favourite work, as it required the least

exertion. She scarcely rose as Caroline entered; to avoid excitement was one of Miss Mann's aims in life: she

had been composing herself ever since she came down in the morning, and had just attained a certain

lethargic state of tranquillity when the visitor's knock at the door startled her, and undid her day's work. She

was scarcely pleased, therefore, to see Miss Helstone: she received her with reserve, bade her be seated with

This was no ordinary doom to be fixed with Miss Mann's eye. Robert Moore had undergone it once, and

He considered it quite equal to anything Medusa could do: he professed to doubt whether, since that

infliction, his flesh had been quite what it was before whether there was not something stony in its texture.

The gaze had had such an effect on him as to drive him promptly from the apartment and house; it had even

sent him straightway up to the Rectory, where he had appeared in Caroline's presence with a very queer face,

and amazed her by demanding a cousinly salute on the spot, to rectify a damage that had been done him.

Certainly Miss Mann had a formidable eye for one of the softer sex: it was prominent, and showed a great

deal of the white, and looked as steadily, as unwinkingly, at you as if it were a steel ball soldered in her head;

and when, while looking, she began to talk in an indescribably dry monotonous tone a tone without

vibration or inflection you felt as if a graven image of some bad spirit were addressing you. But it was all a

figment of fancy, a matter of surface. Miss Mann's goblingrimness scarcely went deeper than the

angelsweetness of hundreds of beauties. She was a perfectly honest, conscientious woman, who had

performed duties in her day from whose severe anguish many a human Peri, gazelleeyed, silkentressed,

and silvertongued, would have shrunk appalled: she had passed alone through protracted scenes of

suffering, exercised rigid selfdenial, made large sacrifices of time, money, health, for those who had repaid

her only by ingratitude, and now her main almost her sole fault was, that she was censorious.

Censorious she certainly was. Caroline had not sat five minutes ere her hostess, still keeping her under the

spell of that dread and Gorgon gaze, began flaying alive certain of the families in the neighbourhood. She

went to work at this business in a singularly cool, deliberate manner, like some surgeon practising with his

scalpel on a lifeless subject: she made few distinctions; she allowed scarcely any one to be good; she

dissected impartially almost all her acquaintance. If her auditress ventured now and then to put in a palliative

word, she set it aside with a certain disdain. Still, though thus pitiless in moral anatomy, she was no

scandalmonger: she never disseminated really malignant or dangerous reports: it was not her heart so much

Caroline made this discovery for the first time today; and moved thereby to regret divers unjust judgments

she had more than once passed on the crabbed old maid, she began to talk to her softly, not in sympathising

words, but with a sympathising voice. The loneliness of her condition struck her visitor in a new light; as did

also the character of her ugliness a bloodless pallor of complexion, and deeply worn lines of feature. The

girl pitied the solitary and afflicted woman; her looks told what she felt: a sweet countenance is never so

sweet as when the moved heart animates it with compassionate tenderness. Miss Mann, seeing such a

countenance raised to her, was touched in her turn: she acknowledged her sense of the interest thus

unexpectedly shown in her, who usually met with only coldness and ridicule, by replying to her candidly.

Communicative on her own affairs she usually was not, because no one cared to listen to her; but today she

became so, and her confidant shed tears as she heard her speak: for she told of cruel, slowwasting, obstinate

sufferings. Well might she be corpselike; well might she look grim, and never smile; well might she wish to

avoid excitement, to gain and retain composure! Caroline, when she knew all, acknowledged that Miss Mann

was rather to be admired for fortitude than blamed for moroseness. Reader! when you behold an aspect for

whose constant gloom and frown you cannot account, whose unvarying cloud exasperates you by its apparent

causelessness, be sure that there is a canker somewhere, and a canker not the less deeply corroding because

Miss Mann felt that she was understood partly, and wished to be understood further; for however old, plain,

humble, desolate, afflicted we may be, so long as our hearts preserve the feeblest spark of life, they preserve

also, shivering near that pale ember, a starved, ghostly longing for appreciation and affection. To this

extenuated spectre, perhaps, a crumb is not thrown once a year; but when ahungered and athirst to famine

when all humanity has forgotten the dying tenant of a decaying house Divine Mercy remembers the

mourner, and a shower of manna falls for lips that earthly nutriment is to pass no more. Biblical promises,

heard first in health, but then unheeded, come whispering to the couch of sickness: it is felt that a pitying God

watches what all mankind have forsaken; the tender compassion of Jesus is recalled and relied on: the faded

Miss Mann, drawn on by the still attention of her listener, proceeded to allude to circumstances in her past

life. She spoke like one who tells the truth simply, and with a certain reserve: she did not boast, nor did she

exaggerate. Caroline found that the old maid had been a most devoted daughter and sister, an unwearied

watcher by lingering deathbeds; that to prolonged and unrelaxing attendance on the sick, the malady that now

poisoned her own life owed its origin; that to one wretched relative she had been a support and succour in the

depths of selfearned degradation, and that it was still her hand which kept him from utter destitution. Miss

Helstone stayed the whole evening, omitting to pay her other intended visit; and when she left Miss Mann, it

was with the determination to try in future to excuse her faults, never again to make light of her peculiarities

or to laugh at her plainness; and, above all things, not to neglect her, but to come once a week, and to offer

her from one human heart at least, the homage of affection and respect: she felt she could now sincerely give

Caroline, on her return, told Fanny she was very glad she had gone out, as she felt much better for the visit.

The next day she failed not to seek Miss Ainley. This lady was in narrower circumstances than Miss Mann,

and her dwelling was more humble: it was, however, if possible, yet more exquisitely clean; though the

decayed gentlewoman could not afford to keep a servant, but waited on herself, and had only the occasional

Not only was Miss Ainley poorer, but she was even plainer than the other old maid. In her first youth she

must have been ugly; now, at the age of fifty, she was very ugly. At first sight, all but peculiarly

welldisciplined minds were apt to turn from her with annoyance: to conceive against her a prejudice, simply

on the ground of her unattractive look. Then she was prim in dress and manner: she looked, spoke, and

Her welcome to Caroline was formal, even in its kindness for it was kind; but Miss Helstone excused this.

She knew something of the benevolence of the heart which beat under that starched kerchief; all the

neighbourhood at least all the female neighbourhood knew something of it: no one spoke against Miss

Ainley except lively young gentlemen, and inconsiderate old ones, who declared her hideous.

Caroline was soon at home in that tiny parlour; a kind hand took from her her shawl and bonnet, and installed

her in the most comfortable seat near the fire. The young and the antiquated woman were presently deep in

kindly conversation, and soon Caroline became aware of the power a most serene, unselfish, and benignant

mind could exercise over those to whom it was developed. She talked never of herself always of others.

Their faults she passed over; her theme was their wants, which she sought to supply; their sufferings, which

she longed to alleviate. She was religious a professor of religion what some would call 'a saint,' and she

referred to religion often in sanctioned phrase in phrase which those who possess a perception of the

ridiculous, without owning the power of exactly testing and truly judging character, would certainly have

esteemed a proper subject for satire a matter for mimicry and laughter. They would have been hugely

mistaken for their pains. Sincerity is never ludicrous; it is always respectable. Whether truth be it religious

or moral truth speak eloquently and in wellchosen language or not, its voice should be heard with

reverence. Let those who cannot nicely, and with certainty, discern the difference between the tones of

hypocrisy and those of sincerity, never presume to laugh at all, lest they should have the miserable misfortune

to laugh in the wrong place, and commit impiety when they think they are achieving wit.

Not from Miss Ainley's own lips did Caroline hear of her good works; but she knew much of them

nevertheless; her beneficence was the familiar topic of the poor in Briarfield. They were not works of

almsgiving: the old maid was too poor to give much, though she straitened herself to privation that she might

contribute her mite when needful: they were the works of a Sister of Charity, far more difficult to perform

than those of a Lady Bountiful. She would watch by any sickbed: she seemed to fear no disease; she would

nurse the poorest whom none else would nurse: she was serene, humble, kind, and equable through

For this goodness she got but little reward in this life. Many of the poor became so accustomed to her services

that they hardly thanked her for them: the rich heard them mentioned with wonder, but were silent, from a

sense of shame at the difference between her sacrifices and their own. Many ladies, however, respected her

deeply: they could not help it; one gentleman one only gave her his friendship and perfect confidence:

this was Mr. Hall, the vicar of Nunnely. He said, and said truly, that her life came nearer the life of Christ

than that of any other human being he had ever met with. You must not think, reader, that in sketching Miss

Ainley's character, I depict a figment of imagination no we seek the originals of such portraits in real life

Miss Helstone studied well the mind and heart now revealed to her. She found no high intellect to admire: the

old maid was merely sensible, but she discovered so much goodness, so much usefulness, so much mildness,

patience, truth, that she bent her own mind before Miss Ainley's in reverence. What was her love of nature,

what was her sense of beauty, what were her more varied and fervent emotions, what was her deeper power

of thought, what her wider capacity to comprehend, compared to the practical excellence of this good

woman? Momently, they seemed only beautiful forms of selfish delight; mentally, she trod them under foot.

It is true, she still felt with pain that the life which made Miss Ainley happy could not make her happy: pure

and active as it was, in her heart she deemed it deeply dreary because it was so loveless to her ideas, so

forlorn. Yet, doubtless, she reflected, it needed only habit to make it practicable and agreeable to any one: it

was despicable, she felt, to pine sentimentally, to cherish secret griefs, vain memories; to be inert, to waste

'I will bestir myself,' was her resolution, 'and try to be wise if I cannot be good.'

She proceeded to make inquiry of Miss Ainley if she could help her in anything. Miss Ainley, glad of an

assistant, told her that she could, and indicated some poor families in Briarfield that it was desirable she

should visit; giving her likewise, at her further request, some work to do for certain poor women who had

Caroline went home, laid her plans, and took a resolve not to swerve from them. She allotted a certain portion

of her time for her various studies, and a certain portion for doing anything Miss Ainley might direct her to

do; the remainder was to be spent in exercise; not a moment was to be left for the indulgence of such fevered

To do her justice, she executed her plans conscientiously, perseveringly. It was very hard work at first it

was even hard work to the end, but it helped her to stem and keep down anguish: it forced her to be

employed; it forbade her to brood; and gleams of satisfaction chequered her grey life here and there when she

Yet I must speak truth; these efforts brought her neither health of body nor continued peace of mind: with

them all, she wasted, grew more joyless and more wan; with them all, her memory kept harping on the name

of Robert Moore; an elegy over the past still rung constantly in her ear; a funereal inward cry haunted and

harassed her: the heaviness of a broken spirit, and of pining and palsying faculties, settled slow on her

buoyant youth. Winter seemed conquering her spring: the mind's soil and its treasures were freezing

Yet Caroline refused tamely to succumb: she had native strength in her girl's heart, and she used it. Men and

women never struggle so hard as when they struggle alone, without witness, counsellor, or confidant;

Miss Helstone was in this position. Her sufferings were her only spur; and being very real and sharp, they

roused her spirit keenly. Bent on victory over a mortal pain, she did her best to quell it. Never had she been

seen so busy, so studious, and, above all, so active. She took walks in all weathers long walks in solitary

directions. Day by day she came back in the evening, pale and weariedlooking, yet seemingly not fatigued;

for still, as soon as she had thrown off her bonnet and shawl, she would, instead of resting, begin to pace her

apartment: sometimes she would not sit down till she was literally faint. She said she did this to tire herself

well, that she might sleep soundly at night. But if that was her aim it was unattained, for at night, when others

slumbered, she was tossing on her pillow, or sitting at the foot of her couch in the darkness, forgetful,

apparently, of the necessity of seeking repose. Often, unhappy girl! she was crying crying in a sort of

intolerable despair; which, when it rushed over her, smote down her strength, and reduced her to childlike

When thus prostrate, temptations besieged her: weak suggestions whispered in her weary heart to write to

Robert, and say that she was unhappy because she was forbidden to see him and Hortense, and that she feared

he would withdraw his friendship (not love) from her, and forget her entirely, and begging him to remember

her, and sometimes to write to her. One or two such letters she actually indited, but she never sent them:

At last the life she led reached the point when it seemed she could bear it no longer; that she must seek and

find a change somehow, or her heart and head would fail under the pressure which strained them. She longed

to leave Briarfield, to go to some very distant place. She longed for something else: the deep, secret, anxious

yearning to discover and know her mother strengthened daily; but with the desire was coupled a doubt, a

dread if she knew her, could she love her? There was cause for hesitation, for apprehension on this point:

never in her life had she heard that mother praised: whoever mentioned her, mentioned her coolly. Her uncle

seemed to regard his sisterinlaw with a sort of tacit antipathy; an old servant, who had lived with Mrs.

James Helstone for a short time after her marriage, whenever she referred to her former mistress, spoke with

chilling reserve: sometimes she called her 'queer,' sometimes she said she did not understand her. These

expressions were ice to the daughter's heart; they suggested the conclusions that it was perhaps better never to

But one project could she frame whose execution seemed likely to bring her a hope of relief; it was to take a

situation, to be a governess she could do nothing else. A little incident brought her to the point when she

Her long and late walks lay always, as has been said, on lonely roads; but in whatever direction she had

rambled, whether along the drear skirts of Stilbro' Moor, or over the sunny stretch of Nunnely Common, her

homeward path was still so contrived as to lead her near the Hollow. She rarely descended the den, but she

visited its brink at twilight almost as regularly as the stars rose over the hillcrests. Her restingplace was at a

certain stile under a certain old thorn: thence she could look down on the cottage, the mill, the dewy

gardenground, the still, deep dam; thence was visible the wellknown countinghouse window, from whose

panes at a fixed hour shot, suddenly bright, the ray of the wellknown lamp. Her errand was to watch for this

ray: her reward to catch it, sometimes sparkling bright in clear air, sometimes shimmering dim through mist,

and anon flashing broken between slant lines of rain for she came in all weathers.

There were nights when it failed to appear: she knew then that Robert was from home, and went away doubly

sad; whereas its kindling rendered her elate, as though she saw in it the promise of some indefinite hope. If,

while she gazed, a shadow bent between the light and lattice, her heart leaped that eclipse was Robert: she

had seen him. She would return home comforted, carrying in her mind a clearer vision of his aspect, a

distincter recollection of his voice, his smile, his hearing; and, blent with these impressions, was often a

sweet persuasion that, if she could get near him, his heart might welcome her presence yet: that at this

moment he might be willing to extend his hand and draw her to him, and shelter her at his side as he used to

do. That night, though she might weep as usual, she would fancy her tears less scalding; the pillow they

The shortest path from the Hollow to the Rectory wound near a certain mansion, the same under whose lone

walls Malone passed on that nightjourney mentioned in an early chapter of this work the old and

tenantless dwelling yclept Fieldhead. Tenantless by the proprietor it had been for ten years, but it was no ruin:

Mr. Yorke had seen it kept in good repair, and an old gardener and his wife had lived in it, cultivated the

If Fieldhead had few other merits as a building, it might at least be termed picturesque: its irregular

architecture, and the grey and mossy colouring communicated by time, gave it a just claim to this epithet. The

old latticed windows, the stone porch, the walls, the roof, the chimneystacks, were rich in crayon touches

and sepia lights and shades. The trees behind were fine, bold, and spreading; the cedar on the lawn in front

was grand, and the granite urns on the garden wall, the fretted arch of the gateway, were, for an artist, as the

One mild May evening, Caroline passing near about moonrise, and feeling, though weary, unwilling yet to go

home, where there was only the bed of thorns and the night of grief to anticipate, sat down on the mossy

ground near the gate, and gazed through towards cedar and mansion. It was a still night calm, dewy,

cloudless: the gables, turned to the west, reflected the clear amber of the horizon they faced; the oaks behind

were black; the cedar was blacker; under its dense, raven boughs a glimpse of sky opened gravely blue: it was

full of the moon, which looked solemnly and mildly down on Caroline from beneath that sombre canopy.

She felt this night and prospect mournfully lovely. She wished she could he happy: she wished she could

know inward peace: she wondered Providence had no pity on her, and would not help or console her.

Recollections of happy trysts of lovers commemorated in old ballads returned on his mind: she thought such

tryst in such scene would be blissful. Where now was Robert? she asked: not at the Hollow: she had watched

for his lamp long, and had not seen it. She questioned within herself whether she and Moore were ever

destined to meet and speak again. Suddenly the door within the stone porch of the hall opened, and two men

came out: one elderly and whiteheaded, the other young, darkhaired, and tall. They passed across the lawn,

out through a portal in the garden wall: Caroline saw them cross the road, pass the stile, descend the fields;

she saw them disappear. Robert Moore had passed before her with his friend Mr. Yorke: neither had seen her.

The apparition had been transient scarce seen ere gone; but its electric passage left her veins kindled, her

soul insurgent. It found her despairing: it left her desperate two different states.

'Oh! had he but been alone! Had he but seen me!' was her cry, 'he would have said something; he would have

given me his hand. He does, he must love me a little: he would have shown some token of affection: in his

eye, on his lips, I should have read comfort: but the chance is lost. The wind the cloud's shadow does not

pass more silently, more emptily than he. I have been mocked, and Heaven is cruel!'

The next morning at breakfast, when she appeared whitecheeked and miserablelooking as one who had

seen a ghost, she inquired of Mr. Helstone 'Have you any objection, uncle, to my inquiring for a situation in

Her uncle, ignorant as the table supporting his coffeecup of all his niece had undergone and was

He examined her. He discovered she had experienced a change, at any rate. Without his being aware of it, the

rose had dwindled and faded to a mere snowdrop: bloom had vanished, flesh wasted; she sat before him

drooping, colourless, and thin. But for the soft expression of her brown eyes, the delicate lines of her features,

and the flowing abundance of her hair, she would no longer have possessed a claim to the epithet pretty.

'What on earth is the matter with you?' he asked. 'What is wrong? How are you ailing?'

'Look out for a situation, indeed! For what situation are you fit? What have you been doing with yourself?

'These women are incomprehensible. They have the strangest knack of startling you with unpleasant

surprises. Today you see them bouncing, buxom, red as cherries, and round as apples; tomorrow they

exhibit themselves effete as dead weeds, blanched and broken down. And the reason of it all? that's the

puzzle. She has her meals, her liberty, a good house to live in, and good clothes to wear, as usual: a while

since that sufficed to keep her handsome and cheery, and there she sits now, a poor little, pale, puling chit

enough. Provoking! Then comes the question, what is to be done? I suppose I must send for advice. Will you

'No, uncle: I don't want one: a doctor could do me no good. I merely want change of air and scene.'

'Well, if that be the caprice, it shall be gratified. You shall go to a wateringplace I don't mind the expense:

'But, uncle, some day I must do something for myself; I have no fortune. I had better begin now.'

'While I live, you shall not turn out as a governess, Caroline. I will not have it said that my niece is a

'But the later in life one makes a change of that sort, uncle, the more difficult and painful it is. I should wish

to get accustomed to the yoke before any habits of ease and independence are formed.'

'I beg you will not harass me, Caroline. I mean to provide for you. I have always meant to provide for you: I

will purchase an annuity. Bless me; I am but fiftyfive; my health and constitution are excellent: there is

plenty of time to save and take measures. Don't make yourself anxious respecting the future: is that what frets

He laughed. 'There speaks the woman!' cried he, 'the very woman! A change! a change! Always fantastical

'Necessity, I think. I feel weaker than formerly; I believe I should have more to do.'

'Admirable! She feels weak, and therefore she should be set to hard labour "clair comme le jour" as

Moore confound Moore! You shall go to Cliff Bridge; and there are two guineas to buy a new frock. Come,

Sympathising was the word on Caroline's lips, but it was not uttered: she checked herself in time: her uncle

would indeed have laughed if that nambypamby word had escaped her. Finding her silent, he said 'The

'Pooh! mere nonsense! I'll not hear of governessing. Don't mention it again. It is rather too feminine a fancy. I

have finished breakfast, ring the bell: put all crotchets out of your head, and run away and amuse yourself.'

A week or two passed; her bodily and mental health neither grew worse nor better. She was now precisely in

that state, when, if her constitution had contained the seeds of consumption, decline, or slow fever, those

diseases would have been rapidly developed, and would soon have carried her quietly from the world. People

never die of love or grief alone; though some die of inherent maladies, which the tortures of those passions

prematurely force into destructive action. The sound by nature undergo these tortures, and are racked, shaken,

shattered: their beauty and bloom perish, but life remains untouched. They are brought to a certain point of

dilapidation; they are reduced to pallor, debility, and emaciation. People think, as they see them gliding

languidly about, that they will soon withdraw to sickbeds, perish there, and cease from among the healthy

and happy. This does not happen: they live on; and though they cannot regain youth and gaiety, they may

regain strength and serenity. The blossom which the March wind nips, but fails to sweep away, may survive

to hang a withered apple on the tree late into autumn: having braved the last frosts of spring, it may also

Every one noticed the change in Miss Helstone's appearance, and most people said she was going to die. She

never thought so herself: she felt in no dying case; she had neither pain nor sickness. Her appetite was

diminished; she knew the reason: it was because she wept so much at night. Her strength was lessened; she

could account for it; sleep was coy and hard to be won; dreams were distressing and baleful. In the far future

she still seemed to anticipate a time when this passage of misery should be got over, and when she should

Meanwhile her uncle urged her to visit; to comply with the frequent invitations of their acquaintance: this she

evaded doing; she could not be cheerful in company: she felt she was observed there with more curiosity than

sympathy. Old ladies were always offering her their advice, recommending this or that nostrum; young ladies

looked at her in a way she understood, and from which she shrank. Their eyes said they knew she had been

Commonplace young ladies can be quite as hard as commonplace young gentlemen quite as worldly and

selfish. Those who suffer should always avoid them; grief and calamity they despise: they seem to regard

them as the judgments of God on the lowly. With them, to 'love' is merely to contrive a scheme for achieving

a good match: to be 'disappointed' is to have their scheme seen through and frustrated. They think the feelings

and projects of others on the subject of love similar to their own, and judge them accordingly.

All this Caroline knew, partly by instinct, partly by observation: she regulated her conduct by her knowledge,

keeping her pale face and wasted figure as much out of sight as she could. Living thus in complete seclusion,

she ceased to receive intelligence of the little transactions of the neighbourhood.

One morning her uncle came into the parlour, where she sat endeavouring to find some pleasure in painting a

little group of wild flowers, gathered under a hedge at the top of the Hollow fields, and said to her in his

abrupt manner 'Come, child, you are always stooping over palette, or book, or sampler: leave that tinting

'Then it is that which is poisoning you. The paints are deleterious, child: there is white lead and red lead, and

verdigris, and gamboge, and twenty other poisons in those colour cakes. Lock them up! lock them up! Get

This question was asked in a tone of surprise. She was not accustomed to make calls with her uncle: she

She hurriedly gathered up her materials, asking, meantime, where they were going.

'She is. She has been there a week. I met her at a party last night; that party to which you would not go. I

was pleased with her: I choose that you shall make her acquaintance: it will do you good.'

'She is come of age, and will reside for a time on her property. I lectured her on the subject: I showed her her

duty: she is not intractable; she is rather a fine girl; she will teach you what it is to have a sprightly spirit:

'I don't think she will want to see me, or to have me introduced to her. What good can I do her? How can I

'Don't know. You hardly imagine she would show her pride to me, I suppose? A chit like that would scarcely

presume to give herself airs with the Rector of her parish, however rich she might be.'

'Didn't observe. She holds her head high, and probably can be saucy enough where she dare she wouldn't be

Not naturally very confident, a failure of physical strength and a depression of spirits had not tended to

increase Caroline's presence of mind and ease of manner, or to give her additional courage to face strangers,

and she quailed, in spite of selfremonstrance, as she and her uncle walked up the broad, paved approach

leading from the gateway of Fieldhead to its porch. She followed Mr. Helstone reluctantly through that porch

Very sombre it was; long, vast, and dark: one latticed window lit it but dimly; the wide old chimney

contained now no fire, for the present warm weather needed it not; it was filled instead with willowboughs.

The gallery on high, opposite the entrance, was seen but in outline, so shadowy became this hall towards its

ceiling; carved stags' heads, with real antlers, looked down grotesquely from the walls, This was neither a

grand nor a comfortable house: within as without it was antique, rambling, and incommodious. A property of

a thousand a year belonged to it; which property had descended, for lack of male heirs, on a female. There

were mercantile families in the district boasting twice the income, but the Keeldars, by virtue of their

antiquity, and their distinction of lords of the manor, took the precedence of all.

Mr. and Miss Helstone were ushered into a parlour: of course, as was to be expected in such a Gothic old

barrack, this parlour was lined with oak: fine dark, glossy panels compassed the walls gloomily and grandly.

Very handsome, reader, these shining brown panels are: very mellow in colouring and tasteful in effect, but

if you know what a 'Springclean' is very execrable and inhuman. Whoever, having the bowels of

humanity, has seen servants scrubbing at these polished wooden walls with beeswaxed cloths on a warm

May day, must allow that they are 'intolerable and not to be endured'; and I cannot but secretly applaud the

benevolent barbarian who had painted another and larger apartment of Fieldhead the drawingroom to wit,

formerly also an oakroom of a delicate pinky white; thereby earning for himself the character of a Hun,

but mightily enhancing the cheerfulness of that portion of his abode, and saving future housemaids a world of

The brownpanelled parlour was furnished all in old style, and with real old furniture. On each side of the

high mantelpiece stood two antique chairs of oak, solid as sylvan thrones, and in one of these sat a lady. But

if this were Miss Keeldar, she must have come of age at least some twenty years ago: she was of matronly

form, and though she wore no cap, and possessed hair of quite an undimmed auburn, shading small and

naturally younglooking features, she had no youthful aspect, nor apparently the wish to assume it. You

could have wished her attire of a newer fashion: in a wellcut, wellmade gown, hers would have been no

uncomely presence. It puzzled you to guess why a garment of handsome materials should be arranged in such

scanty folds, and devised after such an obsolete mode: you felt disposed to set down the wearer as somewhat

This lady received the visitors with a mixture of ceremony and diffidence quite English: no middleaged

matron who was not an Englishwoman could evince precisely the same manner; a manner so uncertain of

herself, of her own merits, of her power to please; and yet so anxious to be proper, and if possible, rather

agreeable than otherwise. In the present instance, however, more embarrassment was shown than is usual

even with diffident Englishwomen: Miss Helstone felt this, sympathised with the stranger, and knowing by

experience what was good for the timid, took a seat quietly near her, and began to talk to her with a gentle

ease, communicated for the moment by the presence of one less selfpossessed than herself.

She and this lady would, if alone, have at once got on extremely well together. The lady had the clearest

voice imaginable: infinitely softer and more tuneful than could have been reasonably expected from forty

years, and a form decidedly inclined to embonpoint. This voice Caroline liked: it atoned for the formal, if

correct, accent and language: the lady would soon have discovered she liked it and her, and in ten minutes

they would have been friends. But Mr. Helstone stood on the rug looking at them both; looking especially at

the strange lady with his sarcastic, keen eye, that clearly expressed impatience of her chilly ceremony, and

annoyance at her want of aplomb. His hard gaze and rasping voice discomfited the lady more and more; she

tried, however, to get up little speeches about the weather, the aspect of the country, etc., but the

impracticable Mr. Helstone presently found himself somewhat deaf: whatever she said, he affected not to

hear distinctly, and she was obliged to go over each elaborately constructed nothing twice. The effort soon

became too much for her; she was just rising in a perplexed flutter, nervously murmuring that she knew not

what detained Miss Keeldar that she would go and look for her, when Miss Keeldar saved her the trouble

by appearing: it was to be presumed at least that she who now came in through a glassdoor from the garden

There is real grace in ease of manner, and so old Helstone her left when an erect, slight girl walked up to him,

retaining with her left hand her little silk apron full of flowers, and giving him her right hand said pleasantly:

'I knew you would come to see me, though you do think Mr. Yorke has made me a Jacobin. Goodmorning.'

'But we'll not have you a Jacobin,' returned he. 'No, Miss Shirley, they shall not steal the flower of my parish

from me: now that you are amongst us, you shall be my pupil in politics and religion: I'll teach you sound

'Mrs. Pryor has anticipated you,' she replied, turning to the elder lady. 'Mrs. Pryor, you know, was my

governess, and is still my friend; and of all the high and rigid Tories, she is queen; of all the stanch

churchwomen, she is chief. I have been well drilled both in theology and history, I assure you, Mr. Helstone.'

The Rector immediately bowed very low to Mrs. Pryor, and expressed himself obliged to her.

The exgoverness disclaimed skill either in political or religious controversy, explained that she thought such

matters little adapted for female minds, but avowed herself in general terms the advocate of order and loyalty,

and, of course, truly attached to the Establishment. She added, she was ever averse to change under any

circumstances; and something scarcely audible about the extreme danger of being too ready to take up new

'Difference of age and difference of temperament occasion difference of sentiment,' was the reply. 'It can

scarcely he expected that the eager and young should hold the opinions of the cool and middleaged.'

'Oh! oh! we are independent: we think for ourselves!' cried Mr. Helstone. 'We are a little Jacobin, for

anything I know: a little freethinker, in good earnest. Let us have a confession of faith on the spot.'

And he took the heiress's two hands causing her to let fall her whole cargo of flowers and seated her by

Tartar was a rather large, strong, and fiercelooking dog, very ugly, being of a breed between mastiff and

bulldog, who at this moment entered through the glassdoor, and posting directly to the rug, snuffed the

fresh flowers scattered there. He seemed to scorn them as food; but probably thinking their velvety petals

might be convenient as litter, he was turning round preparatory to depositing his tawny bulk upon them, when

'Thank you,' said the heiress, as she again held out her little apron for Caroline to heap the blossoms into it, 'Is

Miss Keeldar shook hands with her, and then looked at her. Caroline also looked at her hostess.

Shirley Keeldar (she had no Christian name but Shirley: her parents, who had wished to have a son, finding

that, after eight years of marriage, Providence had granted them only a daughter, bestowed on her the same

masculine family cognomen they would have bestowed on a boy, if with a boy they had been blessed)

Shirley Keeldar was no ugly heiress: she was agreeable to the eye. Her height and shape were not unlike Miss

Helstone's: perhaps in stature she might have the advantage by an inch or two; she was gracefully made, and

her face, too, possessed a charm as well described by the word grace as any other. It was pale naturally, but

intelligent, and of varied expression. She was not a blonde, like Caroline: clear and dark were the

characteristics of her aspect as to colour: her face and brow were clear, her eyes of the darkest grey: no green

lights in them, transparent, pure, neutral grey: and her hair of the darkest brown. Her features were

distinguished: by which I do not mean that they were high, bony, and Roman, being indeed rather small and

slightly marked than otherwise; but only that they were, to use a few French words, 'fins, gracieux, spirituels':

mobile they were and speaking; but their changes were not to be understood, nor their language interpreted

all at once. She examined Caroline seriously, inclining her head a little to one side, with a thoughtful air.

'She looks young younger than I. How old are you?' she inquired, in a manner that would have been

She said no more; she had now placed her flowers on the table, and was busied in arranging them.

'I can't remember it quite all. I will give you a nosegay, Mr. Helstone, when I have given your niece one.'

She had selected a little bouquet of one brilliant and two or three delicate flowers, relieved by a spray of dark

verdure: she tied it with silk from her workbox, and placed it on Caroline's lap; and then she put her hands

behind her, and stood bending slightly towards her guest, still regarding her, in the attitude and with

something of the aspect of a grave but gallant little cavalier. This temporary expression of face was aided by

the style in which she wore her hair, parted on one temple, and brushed in a glossy sweep above the forehead,

whence it fell in curls that looked natural, so free were their wavy undulations.

'She ought to have one: you ought to give her one: you should send her to the seacoast.'

'I will, ere summer is over. Meantime, I intend her to make acquaintance with you, if you have no objection.'

'I am sure Miss Keeldar will have no objection,' here observed Mrs. Pryor. 'I think I may take it upon me to

say that Miss Helstone's frequent presence at Fieldhead will be esteemed a favour.'

'You speak my sentiments precisely, ma'am,' said Shirley, 'and I thank you for anticipating me. Let me tell

you,' she continued, turning again to Caroline, 'that you also ought to thank my governess; it is not every one

she would welcome as she has welcomed you: you are distinguished more than you think. This morning, as

soon as you are gone, I shall ask Mrs. Pryor's opinion of you. I am apt to rely on her judgment of character,

for hitherto I have found it wondrous accurate. Already I foresee a favourable answer to my inquiries: do I

'My dear you said but now you would ask my opinion when Miss Helstone was gone; I am scarcely likely

'No and perhaps it will be long enough before I obtain it. I am sometimes sadly tantalised, Mr. Helstone, by

Mrs. Pryor's extreme caution: her judgments ought to be correct when they come, for they are often as tardy

of delivery as a Lord Chancellor's: on some people's characters I cannot get her to pronounce sentence,

'Yes,' said her pupil, 'I know what that smile means: you are thinking of my gentlemantenant. Do you know

'Ay! ay! your tenant so he is: you have seen a good deal of him, no doubt, since you came?'

'I have been obliged to see him: there was business to transact. Business! Really the word makes me

conscious I am indeed no longer a girl, but quite a woman and something more. I am an esquire! Shirley

Keeldar, Esquire, ought to be my style and title. They gave me a man's name; I hold a man's position: it is

enough to inspire me with a touch of manhood, and when I see such people as that stately AngloBelgian

that G rard Moore before me, gravely talking to me of business, really I feel quite gentlemanlike. You must

choose me for your churchwarden, Mr. Helstone, the next time you elect new ones: they ought to make me a

magistrate and a captain of yeomanry Tony Lumpkin's mother was a colonel, and his aunt a justice of the

'With all my heart. If you choose to get up a requisition on the subject, I promise to head the list of signatures

'Ah! yes. I find it a little difficult to understand Mr. Moore to know what to think of him: whether to like

him or not. He seems a tenant of whom any proprietor might be proud and proud of him I am, in that sense

but as a neighbour, what is he? Again and again I have entreated Mrs. Pryor to say what she thinks of him,

but she still evades returning a direct answer. I hope you will be less oracular, Mr. Helstone, and pronounce at

'My uncle and he disagree on politics,' interposed the low voice of Caroline. She had better not have spoken

just then: having scarcely joined in the conversation before, it was not apropos to do it now: she felt this with

'Those of a tradesman,' returned the Rector; 'narrow, selfish, and unpatriotic. The man is eternally writing and

'The war hurts his trade. I remember he remarked that only yesterday. But what other objection have you to

'He looks the gentleman, in my sense of the term,' pursued Shirley, 'and it pleases me to think he is such.'

Caroline rent the Tyrian petals of the one brilliant flower in her bouquet, and answered in distinct tones

'Decidedly he is.' Shirley, hearing this courageous affirmation, flashed an arch, searching glance at the

'I am both his friend and his relative,' was the prompt reply. 'Robert Moore is my cousin.'

'Oh, then, you can tell me all about him. Just give me a sketch of his character.'

Insuperable embarrassment seized Caroline when this demand was made: she could not, and did not attempt

to comply with it. Her silence was immediately covered by Mrs. Pryor, who proceeded to address sundry

questions to Mr. Helstone regarding a family or two in the neighbourhood, with whose connections in the

south she said she was acquainted. Shirley soon withdrew her gaze from Miss Helstone's face. She did not

renew her interrogations, but returning to her flowers, proceeded to choose a nosegay for the Rector. She

presented it to him as he took leave, and received the homage of a salute on the hand in return.

'Next my heart, of course,' responded Helstone. 'Mrs. Pryor, take care of this future magistrate, this

churchwarden in perspective, this captain of yeomanry, this young squire of Briarfield, in a word: don't let

him exert himself too much: don't let him break his neck in hunting: especially, let him mind how he rides

'I like a descent,' said Shirley 'I like to clear it rapidly; and especially I like that romantic Hollow, with all

'Romantic with a mill in it. The old mill and the white cottage are each admirable in its way.'

'The countinghouse is better than my bloomcoloured drawingroom: I adore the countinghouse.'

Mischief, spirit, and glee sparkled all over her face as she thus bandied words with the old Cossack, who

'Captain Keeldar, you have no mercantile blood in your veins: why are you so fond of trade?'

'Because I am a millowner, of course. Half my income comes from the works in that Hollow.'

'You've put it into my head! you've put it into my head!' she exclaimed, with a joyous laugh. 'It will never get

out: thank you.' And waving her hand, white as a lily and fine as a fairy's, she vanished within the porch,

Shirley showed she had been sincere in saying she should be glad of Caroline's society, by frequently seeking

it: and, indeed, if she had not sought it, she would not have had it; for Miss Helstone was slow to make fresh

acquaintance. She was always held back by the idea that people could not want her, that she could not

amuse them; and a brilliant, happy, youthful creature, like the heiress of Fieldhead, seemed to her too

completely independent of society so uninteresting as hers, ever to find it really welcome.

Shirley might be brilliant, and probably happy likewise, but no one is independent of genial society; and

though in about a month she had made the acquaintance of most of the families round, and was on quite free

and easy terms with all the Misses Sykes, and all the Misses Pearson, and the two superlative Misses Wynne

of Walden Hall; yet, it appeared, she found none amongst them very genial: she fraternised with none of

them, to use her own words. If she had had the bliss to be really Shirley Keeldar, Esq., Lord of the Manor of

Briarfield, there was not a single fair one in this and the two neighbouring parishes, whom she should have

felt disposed to request to become Mrs. Keeldar, lady of the manor. This declaration she made to Mrs. Pryor,

who received it very quietly, as she did most of her pupil's offhand speeches, responding 'My dear, do not

allow that habit of alluding to yourself as a gentleman to be confirmed: it is a strange one. Those who do not

Shirley never laughed at her former governess: even the little formalities and harmless peculiarities of that

lady were respectable in her eyes: had it been otherwise, she would have proved herself a weak character at

once: for it is only the weak who make a butt of quiet worth; therefore she took her remonstrance in silence.

She stood quietly near the window, looking at the grand cedar on her lawn, watching a bird on one of its

lower boughs. Presently she began to chirrup to the bird: soon her chirrup grew clearer; erelong she was

whistling; the whistle struck into a tune, and very sweetly and deftly it was executed.

'Was I whistling?' said Shirley; 'I forgot. I beg your pardon, ma'am. I had resolved to take care not to whistle

'But, Miss Keeldar, where did you learn to whistle? You must have got the habit since you came down into

'No one: I took it up by listening, and I had laid it down again; but lately, yesterday evening, as I was coming

up our lane, I heard a gentleman whistling that very tune in the field on the other side of the hedge, and that

'We have only one gentleman in this region, ma'am, and that is Mr. Moore: at least he is the only gentleman

who is not greyhaired: my two venerable favourites, Mr. Helstone and Mr. Yorke, it is true, are fine old

'Yes, I shall go to the Rectory, and seek and find Caroline Helstone, and make her take some exercise: she

'If you go in that direction, my dear, have the goodness to remind Miss Helstone to wrap up well, as there is a

'You shall be minutely obeyed, Mrs. Pryor: meantime, will you not accompany us yourself?'

'No, my love; I should be a restraint upon you: I am stout, and cannot walk so quickly as you would wish to

Shirley easily persuaded Caroline to go with her: and when they were fairly out on the quiet road, traversing

the extensive and solitary sweep of Nunnely Common, she as easily drew her into conversation. The first

feelings of diffidence overcome, Caroline soon felt glad to talk with Miss Keeldar. The very first interchange

of slight observations sufficed to give each an idea of what the other was. Shirley said she liked the green

sweep of the common turf, and, better still, the heath on its ridges, for the heath reminded her of moors: she

had seen moors when she was travelling on the borders near Scotland. She remembered particularly a district

traversed one long afternoon, on a sultry but sunless day in summer: they journeyed from noon till sunset,

over what seemed a boundless waste of deep heath, and nothing had they seen but wild sheep; nothing heard

'I know how the heath would look on such a day,' said Caroline; 'purpleblack: a deeper shade of the

'Yes quite livid, with brassy edges to the clouds, and here and there a white gleam, more ghastly than the

lurid tinge, which, as you looked at it, you momentarily expected would kindle into blinding lightning.'

'It muttered distant peals, but the storm did not break till evening, after we had reached our inn: that inn being

'I did: I stood at the window an hour watching them. The hills seemed rolled in a sullen mist, and when the

rain fell in whitening sheets, suddenly they were blotted from the prospect: they were washed from the

'I have seen such storms in hilly districts in Yorkshire; and at their riotous climax, while the sky was all

'It is singularly reviving after such hurricanes to feel calm return, and from the opening clouds to receive a

They both halted on the green brow of the Common: they looked down on the deep valley robed in May

raiment; on varied meads, some pearled with daisies, and some golden with kingcups: today all this young

verdure smiled clear in sunlight; transparent emerald and amber gleams played over it. On Nunnwood the

sole remnant of antique British forest in a region whose lowlands were once all sylvan chase, as its highlands

were breastdeep heather slept the shadow of a cloud; the distant hills were dappled, the horizon was

shaded and tinted like motherofpearl; silvery blues, soft purples, evanescent greens and roseshades, all

melting into fleeces of white cloud, pure as azury snow, allured the eye as with a remote glimpse of heaven's

'Our England is a bonnie island,' said Shirley, 'and Yorkshire is one of her bonniest nooks.'

'I am Yorkshire in blood and birth. Five generations of my race sleep under the aisles of Briarfield Church:

Hereupon Caroline presented her hand, which was accordingly taken and shaken. 'We are compatriots,' said

'It is like an encampment of forest sons of Anak. The trees are huge and old. When you stand at their roots,

the summits seem in another region: the trunks remain still and firm as pillars, while the boughs sway to

every breeze. In the deepest calm their leaves are never quite hushed, and in high wind a flood rushes a sea

'Yes, and there are mementoes of him still existing. To penetrate into Nunnwood, Miss Keeldar, is to go far

back into the dim days of old. Can you see a break in the forest, about the centre?'

'That break is a dell; a deep, hollow cup, lined with turf as green and short as the sod of this common: the

very oldest of the trees, gnarled mighty oaks, crowd about the brink of this dell: in the bottom lie the ruins of

'We will go you and I alone, Caroline to that wood, early some fine summer morning, and spend a long

day there. We can take pencils and sketchbooks, and any interesting readingbook we like; and of course

we shall take something to eat. I have two little baskets, in which Mrs. Gill, my housekeeper, might pack our

provisions, and we could each carry our own. It would not tire you too much to walk so far?'

'Oh, no; especially if we rested the whole day in the wood, and I know all the pleasantest spots: I know where

we could get nuts in nutting time; I know where wild strawberries abound: I know certain lonely, quite

untrodden glades, carpeted with strange mosses, some yellow as if gilded, some a sober grey, some

gemgreen. I know groups of trees that ravish the eye with their perfect, picturelike effects: rude oak,

delicate birch, glossy beech, clustered in contrast; and ash trees stately as Saul, standing isolated, and

superannuated woodgiants clad in bright shrouds of ivy. Miss Keeldar, I could guide you.'

'I should not. I think we should suit: and what third person is there whose presence would not spoil our

'Indeed, I know of none about our own ages no lady at least, and as to gentlemen'

'An excursion becomes quite a different thing when there are gentlemen of the party,' interrupted Caroline.

'We were going simply to see the old trees, the old ruins; to pass a day in old times, surrounded by olden

'You are right; and the presence of gentlemen dispels the last charm, I think. If they are of the wrong sort, like

your Malones, and your young Sykes, and Wynnes, irritation takes the place of serenity. If they are of the

right sort, there is still a change I can hardly tell what change, one easy to feel, difficult to describe.'

'And then Nature forgets us; covers her vast calm brow with a dim veil, conceals her face, and withdraws the

peaceful joy with which, if we had been content to worship her only, she would have filled our hearts.'

'More elation and more anxiety: an excitement that steals the hours away fast, and a trouble that ruffles their

'Our power of being happy lies a good deal in ourselves, I believe,' remarked Caroline sagely. 'I have gone to

Nunnwood with a large party, all the curates and some other gentry of these parts, together with sundry

ladies; and I found the affair insufferably tedious and absurd: and I have gone quite alone, or accompanied

but by Fanny, who sat in the woodman's hut and sewed, or talked to the good wife, while I roamed about and

made sketches, or read; and I have enjoyed much happiness of a quiet kind all day long. But that was when I

'I am aware of that; but cousins, if they are stupid, are still more insupportable than strangers, because you

'If the company of fools irritates, as you say, the society of clever men leaves its own peculiar pain also.

Where the goodness or talent of your friend is beyond and above all doubt, your own worthiness to be his

'Oh! there I cannot follow you: that crotchet is not one I should choose to entertain for an instant. I consider

myself not unworthy to be the associate of the best of them of gentlemen, I mean: though that is saying a

great deal. Where they are good, they are very good, I believe. Your uncle, bythebye, is not a bad

specimen of the elderly gentleman: I am always glad to see his brown, keen, sensible old face, either in my

own house or any other. Are you fond of him? Is he kind to you? Now speak the truth.'

He has brought me up from childhood, I doubt not, precisely as he would have brought up his own daughter,

if he had had one; and that is kindness; but I am not fond of him: I would rather be out of his presence than in

'Yes, in company; but he is stern and silent at home. As he puts away his cane and shovelhat in the

Rectoryhall, so he locks his liveliness in his bookcase and studydesk: the knitted brow and brief word for

'Not in the least: he is neither tyrannical nor hypocritical: he is simply a man who is rather liberal than

goodnatured, rather brilliant than genial, rather scrupulously equitable than truly just, if you can

'Oh! yes: goodnature implies indulgence, which he has not; geniality, warmth of heart, which he does not

own; and genuine justice is the offspring of sympathy and considerateness, of which, I can well conceive, my

'I often wonder, Shirley, whether most men resemble my uncle in their domestic relations; whether it is

necessary to be new and unfamiliar to them, in order to seem agreeable or estimable in their eyes; and

whether it is impossible to their natures to retain a constant interest and affection for those they see every

'I don't know: I can't clear up your doubts. I ponder over similar ones myself sometimes. But, to tell you a

secret, if I were convinced that they are necessarily and universally different from us fickle, soon

petrifying, unsympathising I would never marry. I should not like to find out that what I loved did not love

me, that it was weary of me, and that whatever effort I might make to please would hereafter be worse than

useless, since it was inevitably in its nature to change and become indifferent. That discovery once made,

what should I long for? To go away to remove from a presence where my society gave no pleasure.'

'No, I could not, there it is. I could never be my own mistress more. A terrible thought! it suffocates me!

Nothing irks me like the idea of being a burden and a bore, an inevitable burden, a ceaseless bore! Now,

when I feel my company superfluous, I can comfortably fold my independence round me like a mantle, and

drop my pride like a veil, and withdraw to solitude. If married, that could not be.'

'I wonder we don't all make up our minds to remain single,' said Caroline: 'we should if we listened to the

wisdom of experience. My uncle always speaks of marriage as a burden; and I believe whenever he hears of a

man being married, he invariably regards him as a fool, or at any rate, as doing a foolish thing.'

'I suppose we each find an exception in the one we love, till we are married,' suggested Caroline.

'I suppose so: and this exception we believe to be of sterling materials; we fancy it like ourselves; we imagine

a sense of harmony. We think his voice gives the softest, truest promise of a heart that will never harden

against us: we read in his eyes that faithful feeling affection. I don't think we should trust to what they call

passion at all, Caroline. I believe it is a mere fire of dry sticks, blazing up and vanishing: but we watch him,

and see him kind to animals, to little children, to poor people. He is kind to us likewise good considerate:

he does not flatter women, but he is patient with them, and he seems to be easy in their presence, and to find

their company genial. He likes them not only for vain and selfish reasons, but as we like him because we

like him. Then we observe that he is just that he always speaks the truth that he is conscientious. We feel

joy and peace when he comes into a room: we feel sadness and trouble when he leaves it. We know that this

man has been a kind son, that he is a kind brother: will any one dare to tell me that he will not be a kind

'My uncle would affirm it unhesitatingly. He will be sick of you in a month,' he would say.'

'Neither man nor woman, elderly nor young : the little Irish beggar that comes barefoot to my door; the

mouse that steals out of the cranny in the wainscot; the bird that in frost and snow pecks at my window for a

'Did you ever see any one whom such things seemed instinctively to follow, like, rely on?'

'We have a black cat and an old dog at the Rectory. I know somebody to whose knee that black cat loves to

climb; against whose shoulder and cheek it likes to purr. The old dog always comes out of his kennel and

'He quietly strokes the cat, and lets her sit while he conveniently can, and when he must disturb her by rising,

he puts her softly down, and never flings her from him roughly; he always whistles to the dog and gives him

'Is he not handsome? Has he not fine eyes and wellcut features, and a clear, princely forehead?'

'I was sure you would see that he was: when I first looked at your face I knew you would.'

'I was well inclined to him before I saw him. I liked him when I did see him: I admire him now. There is

charm in beauty for itself, Caroline; when it is blent with goodness, there is a powerful charm.'

'Remember the croaking of the frogs of Egypt! He is a noble being. I tell you when they are good, they are

the lords of the creation, they are the sons of God. Moulded in their Maker's image, the minutest spark of

His spirit lifts them almost above mortality. Indisputably, a great, good, handsome man is the first of created

'I would scorn to contend for empire with him, I would scorn it. Shall my left hand dispute for precedence

with my right? shall my heart quarrel with my pulse? shall my veins be jealous of the blood which fills

'Poor things! poor, fallen, degenerate things! God made them for another lot for other feelings.'

'Nothing ever charms me more than when I meet my superior one who makes me sincerely feel that he is

'I should be glad to see him any day: the higher above me, so much the better: it degrades to stoop it is

glorious to look up. What frets me is, that when I try to esteem, I am baffled: when religiously inclined, there

'Not today; but tomorrow I shall fetch you to spend the evening with me. Caroline Helstone if you really

are what at present to me you seem you and I will suit. I have never in my whole life been able to talk to a

young lady as I have talked to you this morning. Kiss me and goodbye.' . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Mrs. Pryor seemed as welldisposed to cultivate Caroline's acquaintance as Shirley. She, who went nowhere

else, called on an early day at the Rectory. She came in the afternoon, when the Rector happened to be out. It

was rather a close day; the heat of the weather had flushed her, and she seemed fluttered, too, by the

circumstance of entering a strange house; for it appeared her habits were most retiring and secluded. When

Miss Helstone went to her in the diningroom she found her seated on the sofa, trembling, fanning herself

with her handkerchief, and seeming to contend with a nervous discomposure that threatened to become

Caroline marvelled somewhat at this unusual want of selfcommand in a lady of her years, and also at the

lack of real strength in one who appeared almost robust: for Mrs. Pryor hastened to allege the fatigue of her

walk, the heat of the sun, etc., as reasons for her temporary indisposition; and still as, with more hurry than

coherence, she again and again enumerated these causes of exhaustion, Caroline gently sought to relieve her

by opening her shawl and removing her bonnet. Attentions of this sort, Mrs. Pryor would not have accepted

from everyone: in general, she recoiled from touch or close approach, with a mixture of embarrassment and

coldness far from flattering to those who offered her aid: to Miss Helstone's little light hand, however, she

yielded tractably, and seemed soothed by its contact. In a few minutes she ceased to tremble, and grew quiet

Her usual manner being resumed, she proceeded to talk of ordinary topics. In a miscellaneous company, Mrs.

Pryor rarely opened her lips; or, if obliged to speak, she spoke under restraint, and consequently not well; in

dialogue, she was a good converser: her language, always a little formal, was well chosen; her sentiments

were just; her information was varied and correct. Caroline felt it pleasant to listen to her: more pleasant than

On the wall opposite the sofa where they sat, hung three pictures: the centre one, above the mantelpiece,

'That is a beautiful face,' said Mrs. Pryor, interrupting a brief pause which had followed halfanhour's

animated conversation: 'the features may be termed perfect; no statuary's chisel could improve them: it is a

'It is, and is said to be a good likeness: before her marriage, she was accounted the beauty of the district.'

'I should say she merited the distinction: what accuracy in all the lineaments! It is, however, a passive face:

'One would scarcely have expected, my dear, that your uncle's choice should have fallen on a partner of that

'In company he is; but he always says he could never do with a talking wife: he must have quiet at home. You

'Mrs. Matthewson lived but a few years after her marriage, I think I have heard?'

'Well, my dear,' pursued Mrs. Pryor, rising to go, 'I trust it is understood that you will frequently come to

Fieldhead: I hope you will. You must feel lonely here, having no female relative in the house: you must

'I am inured to it: I have grown up by myself. May I arrange your shawl for you?'

'Should you chance to require help in your studies,' she said, 'you may command me.'

'I hope to have frequent conversations with you. I should wish to be of use to you.'

Again Miss Helstone returned thanks. She thought what a kind heart was hidden under her visitor's seeming

chilliness. Observing that Mrs. Pryor again glanced with an air of interest towards the portraits, as she walked

down the room, Caroline casually explained 'The likeness that hangs near the window, you will see, is my

uncle, taken twenty years ago; the other, to the left of the mantelpiece, is his brother James, my father.'

'They resemble each other in some measure,' said Mrs. Pryor; 'yet a difference of character may be traced in

'What difference?' inquired Caroline, accompanying her to the door. 'James Helstone that is, my father is

generally considered the bestlooking of the two: strangers, I remark, always exclaim, 'What a handsome

'But where or what is the difference of character to which you alluded? Tell me: I wish to see if you guess

'My dear, your uncle is a man of principle: his forehead and his lips are firm, and his eye is steady.'

'Well, and the other? Do not be afraid of offending me: I always like the truth.'

'Do you like the truth? It is well for you: adhere to that preference never swerve thence. The other, my dear,

if he had been living now, would probably have furnished little support to his daughter. It is, however, a

graceful head taken in youth, I should think. My dear' (turning abruptly), 'you acknowledge an inestimate

'The lesson was not lost, then, though it came so prematurely. I suppose the soil is not light nor stony,

otherwise seed falling in that season never would have borne fruit. My dear, do not stand in the air of the

Miss Helstone's new acquaintance soon became of value to her: their society was acknowledged a privilege.

She found she would have been in error indeed to have let slip this chance of relief to have neglected to

avail herself of this happy change: a turn was thereby given to her thoughts; a new channel was opened for

them, which, diverting a few of them at least from the one direction in which all had hitherto tended, abated

the impetuosity of their rush, and lessened the force of their pressure on one worndown point.

Soon she was content to spend whole days at Fieldhead, doing by turns whatever Shirley or Mrs. Pryor

wished her to do: and now one would claim her, now the other. Nothing could be less demonstrative than the

friendship of the elder lady; but also nothing could be more vigilant, assiduous, untiring. I have intimated that

she was a peculiar personage; and in nothing was her peculiarity more shown than in the nature of the interest

she evinced for Caroline. She watched all her movements: she seemed as if she would have guarded all her

steps: it gave her pleasure to be applied to by Miss Helstone for advice and assistance; she yielded her aid,

when asked, with such quiet yet obvious enjoyment, that Caroline ere long took delight in depending on her.

Shirley Keeldar's complete docility with Mrs. Pryor had at first surprised Miss Helstone, and not less the fact

of the reserved exgoverness being so much at home and at ease in the residence of her young pupil, where

she filled with such quiet independency a very dependent post; but she soon found that it needed but to know

both ladies to comprehend fully the enigma. Every one, it seemed to her, must like, must love, must prize

Mrs. Pryor when they knew her. No matter that she perseveringly wore oldfashioned gowns; that her speech

was formal, and her manner cool; that she had twenty little ways such as nobody else had she was still such

a stay, such a counsellor, so truthful, so kind in her way, that, in Caroline's idea, none once accustomed to her

As to dependency or humiliation, Caroline did not feel it in her intercourse with Shirley, and why should

Mrs. Pryor? The heiress was rich very rich compared with her new friend: one possessed a clear thousand

a year the other not a penny; and yet there was a safe sense of equality experienced in her society, never

The reason was, Shirley's head ran on other things than money and position. She was glad to be independent

as to property: by fits she was even elated at the notion of being lady of the manor, and having tenants and an

estate: she was especially tickled with an agreeable complacency when reminded of 'all that property' down in

the Hollow, 'comprising an excellent clothmill, dyehouse, warehouse, together with the messuage, gardens,

and outbuildings, termed Hollow's Cottage'; but her exultation being quite undisguised was singularly

inoffensive; and, for her serious thoughts, they tended elsewhere. To admire the great, reverence the good,

and be joyous with the genial, was very much the bent of Shirley's soul: she mused therefore on the means of

In Caroline, Miss Keeldar had first taken an interest because she was quiet, retiring, looked delicate, and

seemed as if she needed some one to take care of her. Her predilection increased greatly when she discovered

that her own way of thinking and talking was understood and responded to by this new acquaintance. She had

hardly expected it. Miss Helstone, she fancied, had too pretty a face, manners and voice too soft, to be

anything out of the common way in mind and attainments; and she very much wondered to see the gentle

features light up archly to the reveill of a dry sally or two risked by herself; and more did she wonder to

discover the selfwon knowledge treasured, and the untaught speculations working in that girlish, curlveiled

head. Caroline's instinct of taste, too, was like her own: such books as Miss Keeldar had read with the most

pleasure, were Miss Helstone's delight also. They held many aversions too in common, and could have the

comfort of laughing together over works of false sentimentality and pompous pretension.

Few, Shirley conceived, men or women have the right taste in poetry: the right sense for discriminating

between what is real and what is false. She had again and again heard very clever people pronounce this or

that passage, in this or that versifier, altogether admirable, which, when she read, her soul refused to

acknowledge as anything but cant, flourish, and tinsel, or at the best, elaborate wordiness; curious, clever,

learned perhaps; haply even tinged with the fascinating hues of fancy, but, God knows, as different from real

poetry as the gorgeous and massy vase of mosaic is from the little cup of pure metal; or, to give the reader a

choice of similes, as the milliner's artificial wreath is from the freshgathered lily of the field.

Caroline, she found, felt the value of the true ore, and knew the deception of the flashy dross. The minds of

One evening, they chanced to be alone in the oakparlour. They had passed a long wet day together without

ennui; it was now on the edge of dark; candles were not yet brought in; both, as twilight deepened, grew

meditative and silent. A western wind roared high round the hall, driving wild clouds and stormy rain up

from the farremote ocean: all was tempest outside the antique lattices, all deep peace within. Shirley sat at

the window, watching the rack in heaven, the mist on earth, listening to certain notes of the gale that plained

like restless spirits notes which, had she not been so young, gay, and healthy, would have swept her

trembling nerves like some omen, some anticipatory dirge: in this her prime of existence and bloom of

beauty, they but subdued vivacity to pensiveness. Snatches of sweet ballads haunted her ear; now and then

she sang a stanza: her accents obeyed the fitful impulse of the wind; they swelled as its gusts rushed on, and

died as they wandered away. Caroline, withdrawn to the farthest and darkest end of the room, her figure just

discernible by the ruby shine of the flameless fire, was pacing to and fro, murmuring to herself fragments of

wellremembered poetry. She spoke very low, but Shirley heard her; and while singing softly, she listened.

This was the strain: Obscurest night involved the sky, The Atlantic billows roar'd, When such a destined

wretch as I, Washed headlong from on board, Of friends, of hope, of all bereft, His floating home for ever

Here the fragment stopped; because Shirley's song, erewhile somewhat full and thrilling, had become

And as it was nearly dark, and, after all, Miss Keeldar was no formidable auditor, Caroline went through it.

She went through it as she should have gone through it. The wild sea, the drowning mariner, the reluctant

ship swept on in the storm, you heard were realised by her; and more vividly was realised the heart of the

poet, who did not weep for The Castaway, but who, in an hour of tearless anguish, traced a semblance to his

own Godabandoned misery in the fate of that manforsaken sailor, and cried from the depths where he

struggled: No voice divine the storm allayed, No light propitious shone, When, snatch'd from all effectual aid,

We perish'd each alone! But I beneath a rougher sea, And whelm'd in deeper gulfs than he.

'Pity him, Shirley? What can I do else? He was nearly brokenhearted when he wrote that poem, and it

almost breaks one's heart to read it. But he found relief in writing it I know he did; and that gift of poetry

the most divine bestowed on man was, I believe, granted to allay emotions when their strength threatens

harm. It seems to me, Shirley, that nobody should write poetry to exhibit intellect or attainment. Who cares

for that sort of poetry? Who cares for learning who cares for fine words in poetry? And who does not care

'It seems you care for it, at all events: and certainly, in hearing that poem, one discovers that Cowper was

under an impulse strong as that of the wind which drove the ship an impulse which, while it would not

suffer him to stop to add ornament to a single stanza, filled him with force to achieve the whole with

consummate perfection. You managed to recite it with a steady voice, Caroline: I wonder thereat.'

'Cowper's hand did not tremble in writing the lines; why should my voice falter in repeating them? Depend on

it, Shirley, no tear blistered the manuscript of The Castaway, I hear in it no sob of sorrow, only the cry of

despair; but, that cry uttered, I believe the deadly spasm passed from his heart; that he wept abundantly, and

Shirley resumed her ballad minstrelsy. Stopping short, she remarked ere long 'One could have loved

Cowper, if it were only for the sake of having the privilege of comforting him.'

'You never would have loved Cowper,' rejoined Caroline promptly: 'he was not made to be loved by woman.'

'What I say. I know there is a kind of natures in the world and very noble, elevated natures, too whom

love never comes near. You might have sought Cowper with the intention of loving him; and you would have

looked at him, pitied him, and left him: forced away by a sense of the impossible, the incongruous, as the

'And what I say of Cowper, I should say of Rousseau. Was Rousseau ever loved? He loved passionately; but

was his passion ever returned? I am certain, never. And if there were any female Cowpers and Rousseaus, I

'Why should anybody have told me? Have I not an instinct? Can I not divine by analogy? Moore never talked

to me either about Cowper, or Rousseau, or love. The voice we hear in solitude told me all I know on these

'Not at all, as a whole. I sympathise intensely with certain qualities they possess: certain divine sparks in their

nature dazzle my eyes, and make my soul glow. Then, again, I scorn them. They are made of clay and gold.

The refuse and the ore make a mass of weakness: taken altogether, I feel them unnatural, unhealthy,

'I dare say I should be more tolerant of a Rousseau than you would, Cary: submissive and contemplative

yourself, you like the stern and the practical. By the way, you must miss that Cousin Robert of yours very

'I cannot imagine,' pursued Shirley, who had lately got a habit of introducing Moore's name into the

conversation, even when it seemed to have no business there, 'I cannot imagine but that he was fond of you,

'He never was fond of me: he never professed to be fond of me. He took pains to prove that he only just

Caroline, determined not to err on the flattering side in estimating her cousin's regard for her, always now

habitually thought of it and mentioned it in the most scanty measure. She had her own reasons for being less

sanguine than ever in hopeful views of the future: less indulgent to pleasurable retrospections of the past.

'Of course, then,' observed Miss Keeldar, 'you only just tolerated him, in return?'

'Shirley, men and women are so different: they are in such a different position. Women have so few things to

think about men so many: you may have a friendship for a man, while he is almost indifferent to you. Much

of what cheers your life may be dependent on him, while not a feeling or interest of moment in his eyes may

have reference to you. Robert used to be in the habit of going to London, sometimes for a week or a fortnight

together; well, while he was away, I found his absence a void: there was something wanting; Briarfield was

duller. Of course, I had my usual occupations; still I missed him. As I sat by myself in the evenings, I used to

feel a strange certainty of conviction I cannot describe: that if a magician or a genius had, at that moment,

offered me Prince Ali's tube (you remember it in the Arabian Nights?), and if, with its aid, I had been enabled

to take a view of Robert to see where he was, how occupied I should have learned, in a startling manner,

the width of the chasm which gaped between such as he and such as I. I knew that, however my thoughts

'Caroline,' demanded Miss Keeldar abruptly, 'don't you wish you had a profession a trade?'

'I wish it fifty times a day. As it is, I often wonder what I came into the world for. I long to have something

'No; but it can give varieties of pain, and prevent us from breaking our hearts with a single tyrant

mastertorture. Besides, successful labour has its recompense; a vacant, weary, lonely, hopeless life has

'But hard labour and learned professions, they say, make women masculine, coarse, unwomanly.'

'And what does it signify, whether unmarried and nevertobemarried women are unattractive and

inelegant, or not? provided only they are decent, decorous, and neat, it is enough. The utmost which ought

to be required of old maids, in the way of appearance, is that they should not absolutely offend men's eyes as

they pass them in the street; for the rest, they should be allowed, without too much scorn, to be as absorbed,

'I shall be one: it is my destiny. I will never marry a Malone or a Sykes and no one else will ever marry me.'

Here fell a long pause. Shirley broke it. Again the name by which she seemed bewitched was almost the first

'Yes: it is sometimes used as the abbreviation of Caroline in his native country.'

'Well, Lina, do you remember my one day noticing an inequality in your hair a curl wanting on that right

side and your telling me that it was Robert's fault, as he had once cut therefrom a long lock?'

'If he is, and always was, as indifferent to you as you say, why did he steal your hair?'

'I don't know yes, I do: it was my doing, not his. Everything of that sort always was my doing. He was

going from home, to London, as usual; and the night before he went, I had found in his sister's workbox a

lock of black hair a short, round curl: Hortense told me it was her brother's and a keepsake. He was sitting

near the table; I looked at his head he has plenty of hair; on the temples were many such round curls. I

thought he could spare me one: I knew I should like to have it, and I asked for it. He said, on condition that he

might have his choice of a tress from my head; so he got one of my long locks of hair, and I got one of his

short ones. I keep his, but, I dare say, he has lost mine. It was my doing, and one of those silly deeds it

distresses the heart and sets the face on fire to think of: one of those small but sharp recollections that return,

lacerating your selfrespect like tiny penknives, and forcing from your lips, as you sit alone, sudden,

'I do think myself a fool, Shirley, in some respects: I do despise myself. But I said I would not make you my

confessor; for you cannot reciprocate foible for foible: you are not weak. How steadily you watch me now!

Turn aside your clear, strong, sheeagle eye: it is an insult to fix it on me thus.'

'What a study of character you are! Weak, certainly; but not in the sense you think. Come in!'

This was said in answer to a tap at the door. Miss Keeldar happened to be near it at the moment, Caroline at

the other end of the room; she saw a note put into Shirley's hands, and heard the words 'From Mr. Moore,

'A communication on business,' said the heiress; but when candles were brought, she neither opened nor read

it. The Rector's Fanny was presently announced, and the Rector's niece went home.

In Shirley's nature prevailed at times an easy indolence: there were periods when she took delight in perfect

vacancy of hand and eye moments when her thoughts, her simple existence, the fact of the world being

around and heaven above her, seemed to yield her such fulness of happiness, that she did not need to lift a

finger to increase the joy. Often, after an active morning, she would spend a sunny afternoon in lying stirless

on the turf, at the foot of some tree of friendly umbrage: no society did she need but that of Caroline, and it

sufficed if she were within call; no spectacle did she ask but that of the deep blue sky, and such cloudlets as

sailed afar and aloft across its span; no sound but that of the bee's hum, the leaf's whisper. Her sole book in

such hours was the dim chronicle of memory, or the sibyl page of anticipation: from her young eyes fell on

each volume a glorious light to read by; round her lips at moments played a smile which revealed glimpses of

the tale or prophecy: it was not sad, not dark. Fate had been benign to the blissful dreamer, and promised to

favour her yet again. In her past were sweet passages; in her future rosy hopes.

Yet one day when Caroline drew near to rouse her, thinking she had lain long enough, behold, as she looked

down, Shirley's cheek was wet as if with dew: those fine eyes of hers shone humid and brimming.

Miss Keeldar smiled, and turned her picturesque head towards the questioner. 'Because it pleases me mightily

to cry,' she said; 'my heart is both sad and glad: but why, you good, patient child why do you not bear me

company? I only weep tears, delightful and soon wiped away: you might weep gall, if you choose.'

I have dreamed,' she said: 'a mere daydream; certainly bright, probably baseless!' . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Miss Helstone was by this time free enough from illusions: she took a sufficiently grave view of the future,

and fancied she knew pretty well how her own destiny and that of some others were tending. Yet old

associations retained their influence over her, and it was these, and the power of habit, which still frequently

drew her of an evening to the fieldstile and the old thorn overlooking the Hollow.

One night, the night after the incident of the note, she had been at her usual post, watching for her beacon

watching vainly; that evening no lamp was lit. She waited till the rising of certain constellations warned her

of lateness, and signed her away. In passing Fieldhead, on her return, its moonlight beauty attracted her

glance, and stayed her step an instant. Tree and hall rose peaceful under the night sky and clear full orb;

pearly paleness gilded the building; mellow brown gloom bosomed it round; shadows of deep green brooded

above its oakwreathed roof. The broad pavement in front shone pale also; it gleamed as if some spell had

transformed the dark granite to glistering Parian: on the silvery space slept two sable shadows, thrown

sharply defined from two human figures. These figures when first seen were motionless and mute; presently

they moved in harmonious step, and spoke low in harmonious key. Earnest was the gaze that scrutinised them

as they emerged from behind the trunk of the cedar. ' Is it Mrs. Pryor and Shirley?

Certainly it is Shirley. Who else has a shape so lithe, and proud, and graceful? And her face, too, is visible:

her countenance careless and pensive, and musing and mirthful, and mocking and tender. Not fearing the

dew, she has not covered her head; her curls are free: they veil her neck and caress her shoulder with their

tendril rings. An ornament of gold gleams through the halfclosed folds of the scarf she has wrapped across

her bust, and a large bright gem glitters on the white hand which confines it. Yes, that is Shirley.

Yes, if Mrs. Pryor owns six feet of stature, and if she has changed her decent widow's weeds for masculine

disguise. The figure walking at Miss Keeldar's side is a man a tall, young, stately man it is her tenant,

The pair speak softly, their words are not distinguishable: to remain a moment to gaze is not to be an

eavesdropper; and as the moon shines so clearly and their countenances are so distinctly apparent, who can

resist the attraction of such interest; Caroline it seems cannot, for she lingers.

There was a time when, on summer nights, Moore had been wont to walk with his cousin, as he was now

walking with the heiress. Often had she gone up the Hollow with him after sunset, to scent the freshness of

the earth, where a growth of fragrant herbage carpeted a certain narrow terrace, edging a deep ravine, from

whose rifted gloom was heard a sound like the spirit of the lonely watercourse, moaning amongst its wet

'But I used to be closer to him,' thought Caroline: 'he felt no obligation to treat me with homage; I needed

only kindness. He used to hold my hand: he does not touch hers. And yet Shirley is not proud where she

loves. There is no haughtiness in her aspect now, only a little in her port; what is natural to and inseparable

from her; what she retains in her most careless as in her most guarded moments. Robert must think as I think,

that he is at this instant looking down on a fine face; and he must think it with a man's brain, not with mine.

She has such generous, yet soft fire in her eyes. She smiles what makes her smile so sweet? I saw that

Robert felt its beauty, and he must have felt it with his man's heart, not with my dim woman's perceptions.

They look to me like two great happy spirits; yonder silver pavement reminds me of that white shore we

believe to be beyond the deathflood: they have reached it, they walk there united. And what am I standing

here in shadow, shrinking into concealment, my mind darker than my hidingplace? I am one of this world,

no spirit a poor, doomed mortal, who asks, in ignorance and hopelessness, wherefore she was born, to what

end she lives; whose mind for ever runs on the question, how she shall at last encounter, and by whom be

'This is the worst passage I have come to yet: still I was quite prepared for it. I gave Robert up, and gave him

up to Shirley, the first day I heard she was come: the first moment I saw her rich, youthful, and lovely. She

has him now: he is her lover; she is his darling: she will be far more his darling yet when they are married:

the more Robert knows of Shirley, the more his soul will cleave to her. They will both be happy, and I do not

grudge them their bliss; but I groan under my own misery: some of my suffering is very acute. Truly, I ought

Here, Shirley stepping aside to gather a dewy flower, she and her companion turned into a path that lay nearer

the gate: some of their conversation became audible. Caroline would not stay to listen: she passed away

noiselessly, and the moonlight kissed the wall which her shadow had dimmed. The reader is privileged to

'I cannot conceive why Nature did not give you a bulldog's head, for you have all a bulldog's tenacity,' said

'And something also you have of the same animal's silent ways of going about its work: you give no warning;

'This is guesswork; you have witnessed no such feat on my part: in your presence I have been no bulldog.'

'Your very silence indicates your race. How little you talk in general, yet how deeply you scheme! You are

'I know the ways of these people. I have gathered information of their intentions. My note last night informed

you that Barraclough's trial had ended in his conviction and sentence to transportation: his associates will plot

vengeance. I shall lay my plans so as to counteract, or, at least, be prepared for theirs; that is all. Having now

given you as clear an explanation as I can, am I to understand that for what I propose doing I have your

'Good! Without any aid even opposed or disapproved by you I believe I should have acted precisely as I

now intend to act; but in another spirit. I now feel satisfied. On the whole, I relish the position.'

'I dare say you do; that is evident: you relish the work which lies before you still better than you would relish

'So would old Helstone. It is true there is a shade of difference in your motives: many shades, perhaps. Shall I

'Act as you please: your judgment, Miss Keeldar, will guide you accurately. I could rely on it myself, in a

more difficult crisis; but I should inform you, Mr. Helstone is somewhat prejudiced against me at present.'

'I am aware, I have heard all about your differences: depend upon it they will melt away: he cannot resist the

'By no means. It will cost me several cups of tea, some toast and cake, and an ample measure of

'I perceive you shiver. Am I acting wrongly to detain you here? Yet it is so calm: I even feel it warm; and

society such as yours is a pleasure to me so rare. If you were wrapped in a thicker shawl '

'I might stay longer, and forget how late it is, which would chagrin Mrs. Pryor. We keep early and regular

hours at Fieldhead, Mr. Moore; and so, I am sure, does your sister at the cottage.'

'Yes; but Hortense and I have an understanding the most convenient in the world, that we shall each do as we

'Three nights in the week I sleep in the mill: but I require little rest; and when it is moonlight and mild, I often

'When I was a very little girl, Mr. Moore, my nurse used to tell me tales of fairies being seen in that Hollow.

That was before my father built the mill, when it was a perfectly solitary ravine: you will be falling under

'But there are worse things than fairies to be guarded against,' pursued Miss Keeldar.

'Far more so. For instance, how would you like to meet Michael Hartley, that mad Calvinist and Jacobin

weaver? They say he is addicted to poaching, and often goes abroad at night with his gun.'

'I have already had the luck to meet him. We held a long argument together one night. A strange little

'In the deepest, shadiest spot in the glen, where the water runs low, under brushwood. We sat down near that

'And religion. I think the moon was at the full, and Michael was as near crazed as possible: he uttered strange

'Excuse me, but I think you must have been nearly as mad as he, to sit listening to him.'

'There is a wild interest in his ravings. The man would be half a poet, if he were not wholly a maniac; and

perhaps a prophet, if he were not a profligate. He solemnly informed me that hell was foreordained my

inevitable portion; that he read the mark of the beast on my brow; that I had been an outcast from the

beginning. God's vengeance, he said, was preparing for me, and affirmed that in a vision of the night he had

beheld the manner and the instrument of my doom. I wanted to know further, but he left me with these words,

'About a month afterwards, in returning from market, I encountered him and Moses Barraclough both in an

advanced stage of inebriation: they were praying in frantic sort at the roadside. They accosted me as Satan,

bid me avaunt, and clamoured to be delivered from temptation. Again, but a few days ago, Michael took the

trouble of appearing at the countinghouse door, hatless, in his shirtsleeves, his coat and castor having

been detained at the publichouse in pledge; he delivered himself of the comfortable message that he could

wish Mr. Moore to set his house in order, as his soul was likely shortly to be required of him.'

'The poor man had been drinking for weeks, and was in a state bordering on delirium tremens.'

'What then? He is the more likely to attempt the fulfilment of his own prophecies.'

'It is late: for my part I am going in. Will you promise me not to wander in the Hollow tonight?'

'Existence is neither aimless nor hopeless to me now; and it was both three months ago. I was then drowning,

and rather wished the operation over. All at once a hand was stretched to me, such a delicate hand, I

'Live to make the best of it. Don't offer yourself as a target to Michael Hartley, and goodnight!' . . . . . . . . . . .

Miss Helstone was under a promise to spend the evening of the next day at Fieldhead: she kept her promise.

Some gloomy hours had she spent in the interval. Most of the time had been passed shut up in her own

apartment; only issuing from it, indeed, to join her uncle at meals, and anticipating inquires from Fanny by

telling her that she was busy altering a dress, and preferred sewing upstairs, to avoid interruption.

She did sew: she plied her needle continuously, ceaselessly; but her brain worked faster than her fingers.

Again, and more intensely than ever, she desired a fixed occupation, no matter how onerous, how irksome.

Her uncle must be once more entreated, but first she would consult Mrs. Pryor. Her head laboured to frame

projects as diligently as her hands to plait and stitch the thin texture of the muslin summer dress spread on the

little white couch at the foot of which she sat. Now and then, while thus doubly occupied, a tear would fill her

eyes and fall on her busy hands; but this sign of emotion was rare and quickly effaced: the sharp pang passed,

the dimness cleared from her vision; she would rethread her needle, rearrange tuck and trimming, and work

Late in the afternoon she dressed herself: she reached Fieldhead, and appeared in the oak parlour just as tea

'Because I have been making my dress,' said she. 'These fine sunny days began to make me ashamed of my

'In which you look as I like to see you,' said Shirley. 'You are a ladylike little person, Caroline: is she not,

Mrs. Pryor never paid compliments, and seldom indulged in remarks, favourable or otherwise, on personal

appearance. On the present occasion she only swept Caroline's curls from her cheek as she took a seat near

her, caressed the oval outline, and observed 'You get somewhat thin, my love, and somewhat pale. Do you

'I sometimes dream melancholy dreams,' answered Caroline; 'and if I lie awake for an hour or two in the

night, I am continually thinking of the Rectory as a dreary old place. You know it is very near the

churchyard: the back part of the house is extremely ancient, and it is said that the outkitchens there were

once enclosed in the churchyard, and that there are graves under them. I rather long to leave the Rectory.'

'No, Mrs. Pryor; but I think I grow what is called nervous. I see things under a darker aspect than I used to do.

I have fears I never used to have not of ghosts, but of omens and disastrous events; and I have an

inexpressible weight on my mind which I would give the world to shake off, and I cannot do it.'

'Fine weather, pleasant days, pleasant scenes are powerless to give me pleasure,' continued Caroline. 'Calm

evenings are not calm to me: moonlight, which I used to think mild, now only looks mournful. Is this

weakness of mind, Mrs. Pryor, or what is it? I cannot help it: I often struggle against it: I reason: but reason

'Mrs. Pryor, I should like to go from home, but not on any purposeless excursion or visit. I wish to be a

governess as you have been. It would oblige me greatly if you would speak to my uncle on the subject.'

'Nonsense!' broke in Shirley. 'What an idea! Be a governess! Better be a slave at once. Where is the necessity

'My dear,' said Mrs. Pryor, 'you are very young to be a governess, and not sufficiently robust: the duties a

'Occupy you!' cried Shirley. 'When are you idle? I never saw a more industrious girl than you you are always

at work. Come,' she continued 'come and sit by my side, and take some tea to refresh you. You don't care

'Indeed, I do, Shirley; and I don't wish to leave you. I shall never find another friend so dear.'

At which words Miss Keeldar put her hand into Caroline's with an impulsively affectionate movement, which

'If you think so, you had better make much of me,' she said, 'and not run away from me. I hate to part with

those to whom I am become attached. Mrs. Pryor there sometimes talks of leaving me, and says I might make

a more advantageous connection than herself. I should as soon think of exchanging an oldfashioned mother

for something modish and stylish. As for you why, I began to flatter myself we were thoroughly friends;

that you liked Shirley almost as well as Shirley likes you: and she does not stint her regard.'

'I do like Shirley: I like her more and more every day; but that does not make me strong or happy.'

'And would it make you strong or happy to go and live as a dependent amongst utter strangers? It would not;

and the experiment must not be tried. I tell you it would fail: it is not in your nature to bear the desolate life

And Miss Keeldar paused, having uttered this prohibition very decidedly. Soon she recommenced, still

looking somewhat courrouc e 'Why, it is my daily pleasure now to look out for the little cottage bonnet

and the silk scarf glancing through the trees in the lane, and to know that my quiet, shrewd, thoughtful

companion and monitress is coming back to me: that I shall have her sitting in the room to look at, to talk to,

or to let alone, as she and I please. This may be a selfish sort of language I know it is; but it is the language

'And what are letters? Only a sort of pisaller. Drink some tea, Caroline: eat something you eat nothing;

Miss Helstone shook her head and sighed. She felt what difficulty she would have to persuade any one to

assist or sanction her in making that change in her life which she believed desirable. Might she only follow

her own judgment, she thought she should be able to find, perhaps a harsh, but an effectual cure for her

sufferings. But this judgment, founded on circumstances she could fully explain to none, least of all to

Shirley, seemed, in all eyes but her own, incomprehensible and fantastic, and was opposed accordingly.

There really was no present pecuniary need for her to leave a comfortable home and 'take a situation'; and

there was every probability that her uncle might in some way permanently provide for her. So her friends

thought, and, as far as their lights enabled them to see, they reasoned correctly: but of Caroline's strange

sufferings, which she desired so eagerly to overcome or escape, they had no idea, of her racked nights and

dismal days, no suspicion. It was at once impossible and hopeless to explain: to wait and endure was her only

plan. Many that want food and clothing have cheerier lives and brighter prospects than she had; many,

'Now, is your mind quieted?' inquired Shirley. 'Will you consent to stay at home?'

'I shall not leave it against the approbation of my friends,' was the reply; 'but I think in time they will be

During this conversation Mrs. Pryor looked far from easy. Her extreme habitual reserve would rarely permit

her to talk freely, or to interrogate others closely. She could think a multitude of questions she never ventured

to put; give advice in her mind which her tongue never delivered. Had she been alone with Caroline, she

might possibly have said something to the point: Miss Keeldar's presence, accustomed as she was to it, sealed

her lips. Now, as on a thousand other occasions, inexplicable nervous scruples kept her back from interfering.

She merely showed her concern for Miss Helstone in an indirect way, by asking her if the fire made her too

warm, placing a screen between her chair and the hearth, closing a window whence she imagined a draught

proceeded, and often and restlessly glancing at her. Shirley resumed 'Having destroyed your plan,' she said,

'which I hope I have done, I shall construct a new one of my own. Every summer I make an excursion. This

season I propose spending two months either at the Scotch lochs or the English lakes: that is, I shall go there,

'I would be very good if you would let me: I have every disposition to be good. It is my misfortune and habit,

I know, to think of myself paramount to anybody else: but who is not like me in that respect? However, when

Captain Keeldar is made comfortable, accommodated with all he wants, including a sensible genial comrade,

it gives him a thorough pleasure to devote his spare efforts to making that comrade happy. And should we not

be happy, Caroline, in the Highlands? We will go to the Highlands. We will, if you can bear a seavoyage,

go to the Isles, the Hebrides, the Shetland, the Orkney Islands. Would you not like that? I see you would:

Mrs. Pryor, I call you to witness; her face is all sunshine at the bare mention of it.'

'I should like it much,' returned Caroline; to whom, indeed, the notion of such a tour was not only pleasant,

'Come, I can bestow a benefit,' she exclaimed. 'I can do a good deed with my cash. My thousand a year is not

merely a matter of dirty banknotes and jaundiced guineas (let me speak respectfully of both though, for I

adore them); but, it may be, health to the drooping, strength to the weak, consolation to the sad. I was

determined to make something of it better than a fine old house to live in, than satin gowns to wear; better

than deference from acquaintance, and homage from the poor. Here is to begin. This summer Caroline,

Mrs. Pryor, and I go out into the North Atlantic, beyond the Shetland perhaps to the Faroe Isles. We will

see seals in Suderoe, and, doubtless, mermaids in Stromoe. Caroline is laughing, Mrs. Pryor: I made her

'I shall like to go, Shirley,' again said Miss Helstone. 'I long to hear the sound of waves oceanwaves, and

to see them as I have imagined them in dreams, like tossing banks of green light, strewed with vanishing and

reappearing wreaths of foam, whiter than lilies. I shall delight to pass the shores of those lone rockislets

where the seabirds live and breed unmolested. We shall be on the track of the old Scandinavians of the

Norsemen; we shall almost see the shores of Norway. This is a very vague delight that I feel, communicated

'Will you think of Fitful Head now, when you lie awake at night; of gulls shrieking round it, and waves

'I will try; and instead of musing about remnants of shrouds, and fragments of coffins, and human bones and

mould, I will fancy seals lying in the sunshine on solitary shores, where neither fisherman nor hunter ever

come: of rockcrevices full of pearly eggs bedded in seaweed; of unscared birds covering white sands in

'And what will become of that inexpressible weight you said you had on your mind?'

'I will try to forget it in speculation on the sway of the whole Great Deep above a herd of whales rushing

through the livid and liquid thunder down from the frozen zone: a hundred of them, perhaps, wallowing,

flashing, rolling in the wake of a patriarch bull, huge enough to have been spawned before the Flood: such a

creature as poor Smart had in his mind when he said: Strong against tides, the enormous whale Emerges as he

'I hope our bark will meet with no such shoal, or herd, as you term it, Caroline. (I suppose you fancy the

seamammoths pasturing about the bases of the 'everlasting hills,' devouring strange provender in the vast

valleys through and above which seabillows roll.) I should not like to be capsized by the patriarch bull.'

'One of them at any rate: I do not bargain for less: and she is to appear in some such fashion as this. I am to

be walking by myself on deck, rather late of an August evening, watching and being watched by a full

harvestmoon: something is to rise white on the surface of the sea, over which that moon mounts silent, and

hangs glorious: the object glitters and sinks. It rises again. I think I hear it cry with an articulate voice: I call

you up from the cabin: I show you an image, fair as alabaster, emerging from the dim wave. We both see the

long hair, the lifted and foamwhite arm, the oval mirror brilliant as a star. It glides nearer: a human face is

plainly visible; a face in the style of yours, whose straight, pure (excuse the word, it is appropriate), whose

straight, pure lineaments, paleness does not disfigure. It looks at us, but not with your eyes. I see a

preternatural lure in its wily glance: it beckons. Were we men, we should spring at the sign, the cold billow

would be dared for the sake of the colder enchantress; being women, we stand safe, though not dreadless. She

comprehends our unmoved gaze; she feels herself powerless; anger crosses her front; she cannot charm, but

she will appal us: she rises high, and glides all revealed, on the dark waveridge. Temptressterror!

monstrous likeness of ourselves! Are you not glad, Caroline, when at last, and with a wild shriek, she dives?'

'But, Shirley, she is not like us: we are neither temptresses, nor terrors, nor monsters.'

'Some of our kind, it is said, are all three. There are men who ascribe to 'woman,' in general, such attributes.'

'My dears,' here interrupted Mrs. Pryor, 'does it not strike you that your conversation for the last ten minutes

'We are aware that mermaids do not exist: why speak of them as if they did? How can you find interest in

'My dear, I think there is an arrival. I heard a step in the lane, while you were talking; and is not that the

'Yes, there is some one,' said she, turning quietly away; and, as she resumed her seat, a sensitive flush

animated her face, while a trembling ray at once kindled and softened her eye. She raised her hand to her

The servant announced Mr. Moore, and Shirley turned round when Mr. Moore appeared at the door. His

figure seemed very tall as he entered, and stood in contrast with the three ladies, none of whom could boast a

stature much beyond the average. He was looking well, better than he had been known to look for the past

twelve months: a sort of renewed youth glowed in his eye and colour, and an invigorated hope and settled

purpose sustained his bearing: firmness his countenance still indicated, but not austerity: it looked as cheerful

'I am just returned from Stilbro',' he said to Miss Keeldar, as he greeted her; 'and I thought I would call to

'You did right not to keep me in suspense,' she said; 'and your visit is welltimed. Sit down: we have not

finished tea. Are you English enough to relish tea; or do you faithfully adhere to coffee?'

'I am learning to be a naturalised Englishman,' said he; my foreign habits are leaving me one by one.'

And now he paid his respects to Mrs. Pryor, and paid them well, with a grave modesty that became his age,

compared with hers. Then he looked at Caroline not, however, for the first time his glance had fallen

upon her before: he bent towards her as she sat, gave her his hand, and asked her how she was. The light from

the window did not fall upon Miss Helstone, her back was turned towards it: a quiet though rather low reply,

a still demeanour, and the friendly protection of early twilight, kept out of view each traitorous symptom.

None could affirm that she had trembled or blushed, that her heart had quaked, or her nerves thrilled: none

could prove emotion: a greeting showing less effusion was never interchanged. Moore took the empty chair

near her, opposite Miss Keeldar. He had placed himself well: his neighbour, screened by the very closeness

of his vicinage from his scrutiny, and sheltered further by the dusk which deepened each moment, soon

regained not merely seeming, but real mastery of the feelings which had started into insurrection at the first

'I went to the barracks,' he said, 'and had an interview with Colonel Ryde: he approved my plans, and

promised the aid I wanted: indeed, he offered a more numerous force than I require halfadozen will

suffice. I don't intend to be swamped by redcoats: they are needed for appearance rather than anything else:

'What, Captain Keeldar?' inquired Moore, slightly smiling, and not lifting his eyes: the tone of raillery in

'No,' returned Shirley, answering the smile; 'Captain G rard Moore, who trusts much to the prowess of his

'Furnished with his countinghouse ruler,' added Moore. Resuming his usual gravity, he went on: 'I received

by this evening's post a note from the Home Secretary in answer to mine: it appears they are uneasy at the

state of matters here in the north; they especially condemn the supineness and pusillanimity of the

millowners; they say, as I have always said, that inaction, under present circumstances, is criminal, and that

cowardice is cruelty, since both can only encourage disorder, and lead finally to sanguinary outbreaks. There

is the note: I brought it for your perusal; and there is a batch of newspapers, containing further accounts of

He produced letters and journals, and laid them before Miss Keeldar. While she perused them, he took his tea

quietly; but, though his tongue was still, his observant faculties seemed by no means off duty. Mrs. Pryor,

sitting in the background, did not come within the range of his glance, but the two younger ladies had the full

Miss Keeldar, placed directly opposite, was seen without effort: she was the object his eyes, when lifted,

naturally met first; and, as what remained of daylight the gilding of the west was upon her, her shape rose

in relief from the dark panelling behind. Shirley's clear cheek was tinted yet with the colour which had risen

into it a few minutes since: the dark lashes of her eyes looking down as she read, the dusk yet delicate line of

her eyebrows, the almost sable gloss of her curls, made her heightened complexion look fine as the bloom of

a red wildflower by contrast. There was natural grace in her attitude, and there was artistic effect in the

ample and shining folds of her silk dress an attire simply fashioned, but almost splendid from the shifting

brightness of its dye, warp and woof being of tints deep and changing as the hue on a pheasant's neck. A

glancing bracelet on her arm produced the contrast of gold and ivory: there was something brilliant in the

whole picture. It is to be supposed that Moore thought so, as his eye dwelt long on it, but he seldom permitted

his feelings or his opinions to exhibit themselves in his face: his temperament boasted a certain amount of

phlegm, and he preferred an undemonstrative, not ungentle, but serious aspect, to any other.

He could not, by looking straight before him, see Caroline, as she was close at his side; it was necessary,

therefore, to manoeuvre a little to get her well within the range of his observation: he leaned back in his chair,

and looked down on her. In Miss Helstone, neither he nor any one else could discover brilliancy. Sitting in

the shade, without flowers or ornaments, her attire the modest muslin dress, colourless but for its narrow

stripe of pale azure, her complexion unflushed, unexcited, the very brownness of her hair and eyes invisible

by this faint light, she was, compared with the heiress, as a graceful pencilsketch compared with a vivid

painting. Since Robert had seen her last, a great change had been wrought in her; whether he perceived it,

'Tell her that I miss her, and that I write and read a portion of French every day.'

'She will ask if you sent your love: she is always particular on that point. You know she likes attention.'

'My best love my very best; and say to her, that whenever she has time to write me a little note, I shall be

'Hortense will be ready to shed tears. She is tenderhearted on the subject of her pupil; yet she reproaches

you sometimes for obeying your uncle's injunctions too literally. Affection, like love, will be unjust now and

And Caroline made no answer to this observation; for indeed her heart was troubled, and to her eyes she

would have raised her handkerchief, if she had dared. If she had dared, too, she would have declared how the

very flowers in the garden of Hollow's Cottage were dear to her; how the little parlour of that house was her

earthly paradise; how she longed to return to it, as much almost as the First Woman, in her exile, must have

longed to revisit Eden. Not daring, however, to say these things, she held her peace: she sat quiet at Robert's

side, waiting for him to say something more. It was long since this proximity had been hers long since his

voice had addressed her; could she, with any show of probability, even of possibility, have imagined that the

meeting gave him pleasure, to her it would have given deep bliss. Yet, even in doubt that it pleased in dread

that it might annoy him she received the boon of the meeting as an imprisoned bird would the admission of

sunshine to its cage: it is of no use arguing contending against the sense of present happiness: to be near

'And are you glad or sad for all these menacing tidings?' she inquired of her tenant.

'Not precisely either; but I certainly am instructed. I see that our only plan is to be firm. I see that efficient

He then inquired if she had observed some particular paragraph, to which she replied in the negative, and he

rose to show it to her: he continued the conversation standing before her. From the tenor of what he said, it

appeared evident that they both apprehended disturbances in the neighbourhood of Briarfield, though in what

form they expected them to break out was not specified. Neither Caroline nor Mrs. Pryor asked questions: the

subject did not appear to be regarded as one ripe for free discussion; therefore the lady and her tenant were

suffered to keep details to themselves, unimportuned by the curiosity of their listeners.

Miss Keeldar, in speaking to Mr. Moore, took a tone at once animated and dignified, confidential and

selfrespecting. When, however, the candles were brought in, and the fire was stirred up, and the fulness of

light thus produced rendered the expression of her countenance legible, you could see that she was all

interest, life, and earnestness: there was nothing coquettish in her demeanour: whatever she felt for Moore,

she felt it seriously. And serious, too, were his feelings, and settled were his views, apparently; for he made

no petty effort to attract, dazzle, or impress. He contrived, notwithstanding, to command a little; because the

deeper voice, however mildly modulated, the somewhat harder mind, now and then, though involuntarily and

unintentionally, bore down by some peremptory phrase or tone the mellow accents and susceptible, if high,

nature of Shirley. Miss Keeldar looked happy in conversing with him, and her joy seemed twofold, a joy of

What I have just said are Caroline's ideas of the pair: she felt what has just been described. In thus feeling,

she tried not to suffer; but suffered sharply, nevertheless. She suffered, indeed, miserably: a few minutes

before, her famished heart had tasted a drop and crumb of nourishment, that, if freely given, would have

brought back abundance of life where life was failing; but the generous feast was snatched from her, spread

The clock struck nine: it was Caroline's time for going home: she gathered up her work, put the embroidery,

the scissors, the thimble into her bag: she bade Mrs. Pryor a quiet goodnight, receiving from that lady a

'I never heard the clock. You will come again tomorrow, and you will be happy tonight, will you not?

Her mind misgave her that neither those plans nor any other could permanently restore her mental

tranquillity. She turned to Robert, who stood close behind her: as he looked up, the light of the candles on the

mantelpiece fell full on her face: all its paleness, all its change, all its forlorn meaning were clearly revealed.

Robert had good eyes, and might have seen it, if he would: whether he did see it, nothing indicated.

'Goodnight!' she said, shaking like a leaf, offering her thin hand hastily, anxious to part from him quickly.

'I may as well accompany you a step of the way: not up to the Rectory, though, lest my old friend, Helstone,

He laughed and took his hat. Caroline spoke of unnecessary trouble: he told her to put on her bonnet and

shawl. She was quickly ready, and they were soon both in the open air. Moore drew her hand under his arm,

'You may run on, Fanny,' he said to the housemaid: 'we shall overtake you': and when the girl had got a little

in advance, he enclosed Caroline's hand in his, and said he was glad to find she was a familiar guest at

Fieldhead: he hoped her intimacy with Miss Keeldar would continue; such society would be both pleasant

'And there is no doubt the liking is mutual,' said Moore: 'if she professes friendship, be certain she is sincere:

she cannot feign; she scorns hypocrisy. And, Caroline, are we never to see you at Hollow's Cottage again?'

'You must take care of yourself. Be sure not to neglect exercise. Do you know I fancied you somewhat

'Not too tender, that is to say; not too protective and attentive. And what ails you, then? tell me, Lina.'

'That is to say, nothing that you will tell me: I am not to be taken into confidence. Separation is then quite to

'But it ought not to have that effect. 'Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and days o' lang syne?''

'I have come to the top of the fields sometimes of an evening, and looked down. Once I saw Hortense in the

garden watering her flowers, and I know at what time you light your lamp in the countinghouse: I have

waited for it to shine out now and then; and I have seen you bend between it and the window: I knew it was

'I wonder I never encountered you: I occasionally walk to the top of the Hollow's fields after sunset.'

'Who was my companion? Probably nothing but Joe Scott, or my own shadow by moonlight.'

'No; neither Joe Scott nor your shadow, Robert. The first time you were with Mr. Yorke; and the second time

what you call your shadow was a shape with a white forehead and dark curls, and a sparkling necklace round

its neck; but I only just got a glimpse of you and that fairy shadow: I did not wait to hear you converse.'

'It appears you walk invisible. I noticed a ring on your hand this evening; can it be the ring of Gyges?

Henceforth, when sitting in the countinghouse by myself, perhaps at dead of night, I shall permit myself to

imagine that Caroline may be leaning over my shoulder reading with me from the same book, or sitting at my

side engaged in her own particular task, and now and then raising her unseen eyes to my face to read there

'You need fear no such infliction: I do not come near you: I only stand afar off, watching what may become

'When I walk out along the hedgerows in the evening after the mill is shut or at night, when I take the

watchman's place I shall fancy the flutter of every little bird over its nest, the rustle of every leaf, a

movement made by you; treeshadows will take your shape: in the white sprays of hawthorn, I shall imagine

'I will never be where you would not wish me to he, nor see nor hear what you would wish unseen and

'I shall see you in my very mill in broad daylight: indeed, I have seen you there once. But a week ago, I was

standing at the top of one of my long rooms, girls were working at the other end, and amongst halfadozen

of them, moving to and fro, I seemed to see a figure resembling yours. It was some effect of doubtful light or

shade, or of dazzling sunbeam. I walked up to this group; what I sought had glided away: I found myself

'Nor is that the only occasion on which imagination has played me a trick. One night, when I came home late

from market, I walked into the cottage parlour thinking to find Hortense; but instead of her, I thought I found

you. There was no candle in the room: my sister had taken the light upstairs with her; the windowblind was

not drawn, and broad moonbeams poured through the panes: there you were, Lina, at the casement, shrinking

a little to one side in an attitude not unusual with you. You were dressed in white, as I have seen you dressed

at an evening party. For half a second, your fresh, living face seemed turned towards me, looking at me; for

half a second, my idea was to go and take your our hand, to chide you for your long absence, and welcome

your present visit. Two steps forward broke the spell: the drapery of the dress changed outline; the tints of the

complexion dissolved, and were formless: positively, as I reached the spot, there was nothing left but the

sweep of a white muslin curtain, and a balsam plant in a flowerpot, covered with a flush of bloom 'sic

'So do I. But I find in myself, Lina, two natures; one for the world and business, and one for home and

leisure. G rard Moore is a hard dog, brought up to mill and market: the person you call your cousin Robert is

'Your two natures agree with you: I think you are looking in good spirits and health: you have quite lost the

'Do you observe that? Certainly, I am disentangled of some difficulties: I have got clear of some shoals, and

'I may hope it yes but hope is deceptive: there is no controlling wind or wave: gusts and swells

perpetually trouble the mariner's course; he dare not dismiss from his mind the expectation of tempest.'

'But you are ready for a breeze you are a good seaman an able commander: you are a skilful pilot, Robert;

'My kinswoman always thinks the best of me, but I will take her words for a propitious omen; I will consider

that in meeting her tonight, I have met with one of those birds whose appearance is to the sailor the

'A poor harbinger of goodluck is she who can do nothing who has no power. I feel my incapacity: it is of

no use saying I have the will to serve you, when I cannot prove it; yet I have the will. I wish you success; I

'When did you ever wish me anything else? What is Fanny waiting for I told her to walk on? Oh! we have

reached the churchyard: then, we are to part here, I suppose: we might have sat a few minutes in the

churchporch, if the girl had not been with us. It is so fine a night, so summermild and still, I have no

'But we cannot sit in the porch now, Robert.' Caroline said this because Moore was turning her round towards

'Perhaps not, but tell Fanny to go in; say we are coming, a few minutes will make no difference.'

'My uncle will be coming out to take his usual sentinel round, and he always surveys the church and

'And if he does? If it were not for Fanny, who knows we are here, I should find pleasure in dodging and

eluding him. We could be under the east window when he is at the porch; as he came round to the north side

we could wheel off to the south; we might at a pinch hide behind some of the monuments: that tall erection of

'Robert, what good spirits you have! Go go!' added Caroline hastily, 'I hear the front door '

'You know my uncle will be terribly angry: he forbade me to see you because you are a Jacobin.'

'You remember what he did to Fanny's ' began Caroline, and stopped abruptly short. Sweetheart was the

word that ought to have followed, but she could not utter it; it seemed calculated to suggest ideas she had no

intention to suggest; ideas delusive and disturbing. Moore was less scrupulous; 'Fanny's sweetheart?' he said

at once. 'He gave him a showerbath under the pump did he not? He'd do as much for me, I daresay, with

pleasure. I should like to provoke the old Turk not however against you: but he would make a distinction

'Oh! he would not think of you in that way, of course not; his quarrel with you is entirely political; yet I

should not like the breach to be widened, and he is so testy. Here he is at the garden gate for your own sake

The beseeching words were aided by a beseeching gesture and a more beseeching look. Moore covered her

clasped hands an instant with his, answered her upward by a downward gaze, said 'Goodnight!' and went.

Caroline was in a moment at the kitchendoor behind Fanny; the shadow of the shovelhat at that very

instant fell on a moonlit tomb; the Rector emerged erect as a cane, from his garden, and proceeded in slow

march, his hands behind him, down the cemetery. Moore was almost caught: he had to 'dodge' after all, to

coast round the church, and finally to bend his tall form behind the Wynnes' ambitious monument. There he

was forced to hide full ten minutes, kneeling with one knee on the turf, his hat off, his curls bare to the dew,

his dark eye shining, and his lips parted with inward laughter at his position; for the Rector meantime stood

It happened, however, that Mr. Helstone had no suspicion whatever on his mind; for being usually but

vaguely informed of his niece's movements, not thinking it worth while to follow them closely, he was not

aware that she had been out at all that day, and imagined her then occupied with book or work in her

chamber: where, indeed, she was by this time; though not absorbed in the tranquil employment he ascribed to

her, but standing at her window with fastthrobbing heart, peeping anxiously from behind the blind, watching

for her uncle to reenter and her cousin to escape; and at last she was gratified; she heard Mr. Helstone come

in; she saw Robert stride the tombs and vault the wall; she then went down to prayers. When she returned to

her chamber, it was to meet the memory of Robert. Slumber's visitation was long averted: long she sat at her

lattice, long gazed down on the old garden and older church, on the tombs laid out all grey and calm, and

clear in moonlight. She followed the steps of the night, on its pathway of stars, far into the 'wee sma' hours

ayont the twal':' she was with Moore, in spirit, the whole time: she was at his side: she heard his voice: she

gave her hand into his hand; it rested warm in his fingers. When the churchclock struck, when any other

sound stirred, when a little mouse familiar to her chamber, an intruder for which she would never permit

Fanny to lay a trap, came rattling amongst the links of her locket chain, her one ring, and another trinket or

two on the toilettable, to nibble a bit of biscuit laid ready for it, she looked up, recalled momentarily to the

real. Then she said half aloud, as if deprecating the accusation of some unseen and unheard monitor, 'I am not

cherishing lovedreams: I am only thinking because I cannot sleep; of course, I know he will marry Shirley.'

With returning silence, with the lull of the chime, and the retreat of her small untamed and unknown prot g ,

she still resumed the dream, nestling to the vision's side, listening to, conversing with it. It paled at last: as

dawn approached, the setting stars and breaking day dimmed the creation of Fancy: the wakened song of

birds hushed her whispers. The tale full of fire, quick with interest, borne away by the morning wind, became

a vague murmur. The shape that, seen in a moonbeam, lived, had a pulse, had movement, wore health's glow

and youth's freshness, turned cold and ghostly grey, confronted with the red of sunrise. It wasted. She was left

'Of course, I know he will marry Shirley,' were her first words when she rose in the morning. 'And he ought

to marry her: she can help him,' she added firmly. 'But I shall be forgotten when they are married,' was the

cruel succeeding thought. 'Oh! I shall be wholly forgotten! And what what shall I do when Robert is taken

quite from me? Where shall I turn? My Robert! I wish I could justly call him mine: but I am poverty and

incapacity; Shirley is wealth and power: and she is beauty too, and love I cannot deny it. This is no sordid

suit: she loves him not with inferior feelings: she loves, or will love, as he must feel proud to be loved. Not

a valid objection can be made. Let them be married then: but afterwards I shall be nothing to him. As for

being his sister, and all that stuff, I despise it. I will either be all or nothing to a man like Robert: no feeble

shuffling or false cant is endurable. Once let that pair be united, and I will certainly leave them. As for

lingering about, playing the hypocrite, and pretending to calm sentiments of friendship, when my soul will be

wrung with other feelings, I shall not descend to such degradation. As little could I fill the place of their

mutual friend as that of their deadly foe: as little could I stand between them as trample over them. Robert is

a firstrate man in my eyes: I have loved, do love, and must love him. I would be his wife, if I could; as I

cannot, I must go where I shall never see him. There is but one alternative to cleave to him as if I were a

part of him, or to be sundered from him wide as the two poles of a sphere. Sunder me then, Providence. Part

Some such aspirations as these were again working in her mind late in the afternoon, when the apparition of

one of the personages haunting her thoughts passed the parlour window. Miss Keeldar sauntered slowly by:

her gait, her countenance wearing that mixture of wistfulness and carelessness which, when quiescent, was

the wonted cast of her look, and character of her bearing. When animated, the carelessness quite vanished, the

wistfulness became blent with a genial gaiety, seasoning the laugh, the smile, the glance, with an unique

flavour of sentiment, so that mirth from her never resembled 'the crackling of thorns under a pot.'

'What do you mean by not coming to see me this afternoon, as you promised?' was her address to Caroline as

'No,' she said; 'I see you are not in the humour for loving me: you are in one of your sunless, inclement

moods, when one feels a fellowcreature's presence is not welcome to you, You have such moods are you

'Yes; I am come to have my tea, and must have it before I go. I shall take the liberty then of removing my

'A pretty expression you have in your countenance,' she went on, still gazing keenly, though not inimically,

rather indeed pityingly at Caroline. 'Wonderfully selfsupported you look, you solitudeseeking, wounded

deer. Are you afraid Shirley will worry you, if she discovers that you are hurt, and that you bleed?'

'But sometimes you dislike her: often you avoid her. Shirley can feel when she is slighted and shunned. If you

had not walked home in the company you did last night, you would have been a different girl today. What

'Humph! You took threequarters of an hour to walk a mile. Was it you, or Moore, who lingered so?'

'He talked nonsense that I doubt not; or he looked it, which is a thousand times worse: I see the reflection of

his eyes on your forehead at this moment. I feel disposed to call him out, if I could only get a trustworthy

second: I feel desperately irritated: I felt so last night, and have felt it all day.'

'You don't ask me why,' she proceeded, after a pause, 'you little silent, overmodest thing; and you don't

deserve that I should pour out my secrets into your lap without an invitation. Upon my word, I could have

found it in my heart to have dogged Moore yesterday evening with dire intent: I have pistols, and can use

'Neither, perhaps perhaps myself more likely a bat or a treebough. He is a puppy your cousin: a quiet,

serious, sensible, judicious, ambitious puppy. I see him standing before me, talking his halfstern,

halfgentle talk, bearing me down (as I am very conscious he does) with his fixity of purpose, etc.; and then

Miss Keeldar started off on a rapid walk through the room, repeating energetically that she had no patience

'You are mistaken,' urged Caroline, in some anxiety: 'Robert is no puppy or male flirt; I can vouch for that.'

'You vouch for it! Do you think I'll take your word on the subject? There is no one's testimony I would not

credit sooner than yours. To advance Moore's fortune, you would cut off your right hand.'

'But not tell lies; and if I speak the truth, I must assure you that he was just civil to me last night that was

'I never asked what he was I can guess: I saw him from the window take your hand in his long fingers, just

'That is nothing. I am not a stranger, you know: I am an old acquaintance, and his cousin.'

'I feel indignant; and that is the long and short of the matter,' responded Miss Keeldar. 'All my comfort,' she

added presently, 'is broken up by his manoeuvres. He keeps intruding between you and me: without him we

should be good friends; but that six feet of puppyhood makes a perpetuallyrecurring eclipse of our

friendship. Again and again he crosses and obscures the disk I want always to see clear: ever and anon he

'He does. You did not want my society this afternoon, and I feel it hard: you are naturally somewhat reserved,

but I am a social personage, who cannot live alone. If we were but left unmolested, I have that regard for you

that I could bear you in my presence for ever, and not for the fraction of a second do I ever wish to be rid of

'I shall not. I am every day growing more accustomed to fonder of you. You know I am too English to get

up a vehement friendship all at once; but you are so much better than common you are so different to

everyday young ladies I esteem you I value you: you are never a burden to me never. Do you believe

'Partly,' replied Miss Keeldar, smiling rather incredulously; 'but you are a peculiar personage: quiet as you

look, there is both a force and a depth somewhere within, not easily reached or appreciated: then you

'Not at all: I mean rather that unhappy people are often preoccupied, and not in the mood for discoursing

with companions of my nature. Moreover, there is a sort of unhappiness which not only depresses, but

corrodes and that, I fear, is your portion. Will pity do you any good, Lina? If it will, take some from

'Shirley, I never had a sister you never had a sister; but it flashes on me at this moment how sisters feel

towards each other. Affection twined with their life, which no shocks of feeling can uproot, which little

quarrels only trample an instant that it may spring more freshly when the pressure is removed: affection that

no passion can ultimately outrival, with which even love itself cannot do more than compete in force and

truth. Love hurts us so, Shirley: it is so tormenting, so racking, and it burns away our strength with its flame;

in affection is no pain and no fire, only sustenance and balm. I am supported and soothed when you that is,

'I am always easy of belief when the creed pleases me. We really are friends then, Lina, in spite of the black

'We really are,' returned the other, drawing Shirley towards her, and making her sit down, 'chance what may.'

'Come, then, we will talk of something else than the Troubler.' But at this moment the Rector came in, and

the 'something else' of which Miss Keeldar was about to talk was not again alluded to till the moment of her

departure; she then delayed a few minutes in the passage to say. 'Caroline, I wish to tell you that I have a

great weight on my mind: my conscience is quite uneasy, as if I had committed, or was going to commit, a

crime. It is not my private conscience, you must understand, but my landedproprietor and

lordofthemanor conscience. I have got into the clutch of an eagle with iron talons. I have fallen under a

stern influence, which I scarcely approve, but cannot resist. Something will be done ere long, I fear, which it

by no means pleases me to think of. To ease my mind, and to prevent harm as far as I can, I mean to enter on

a series of good works. Don't be surprised, therefore, if you see me all at once turn outrageously charitable. I

have no idea how to begin, but you must give me some advice: we will talk more on the subject tomorrow;

and just ask that excellent person, Miss Ainley, to step up to Fieldhead: I have some notion of putting myself

under her tuition won't she have a precious pupil? Drop a hint to her, Lina, that, though a wellmeaning, I

am rather a neglected character, and then she will feel less scandalised at my ignorance about clothing

On the morrow, Caroline found Shirley sitting gravely at her desk, with an accountbook, a bundle of

banknotes, and a wellfilled purse before her. She was looking mighty serious, but a little puzzled. She said

she had been 'casting an eye' over the weekly expenditure in housekeeping at the Hall, trying to find out

where she could retrench; that she had also just given audience to Mrs. Gill, the cook, and had sent that

person away with a notion that her (Shirley's) brain was certainly crazed. 'I have lectured her on the duty of

being careful,' said she, 'in a way quite new to her. So eloquent was I on the text of economy, that I surprised

myself; for, you see, it is altogether a fresh idea: I never thought, much less spoke, on the subject till lately.

But it is all theory; for when I came to the practical part I could retrench nothing. I had not firmness to take

off a single pound of butter, or to prosecute to any clear result an inquest into the destiny of either dripping,

lard, bread, cold meat, or other kitchen perquisite whatever. I know we never get up illuminations at

Fieldhead, but I could not ask the meaning of sundry quite unaccountable pounds of candles: we do not wash

for the parish, yet I viewed in silence items of soap and bleachingpowder calculated to satisfy the solicitude

of the most anxious inquirer after our position in reference to those articles: carnivorous I am not, nor is Mrs.

Pryor, nor is Mrs. Gill herself, yet I only hemmed and opened my eyes a little wide when I saw butchers' bills

whose figures seemed to prove that fact falsehood, I mean. Caroline, you may laugh at me, but you can't

change me. I am a poltroon on certain points I feel it. There is a base alloy of moral cowardice in my

composition. I blushed and hung my head before Mrs. Gill, when she ought to have been faltering

confessions to me. I found it impossible to get up the spirit even to hint, much less to prove, to her that she

'Shirley, what fit of selfinjustice is this? My uncle, who is not given to speak well of women, says there are

'I am fearless, physically: I am never nervous about danger. I was not startled from selfpossession when Mr.

Wynne's great red bull rose with a bellow before my face, as I was crossing the cowsliplea alone, stooped

his begrimed, sullen head, and made a run at me: but I was afraid of seeing Mrs. Gill brought to shame and

confusion of face. You have twice ten times my strength of mind on certain subjects, Caroline: you, whom

no persuasions can induce to pass a bull, however quiet he looks, would have firmly shown my housekeeper

she had done wrong; then you would have gently and wisely admonished her; and at last, I daresay, provided

she had seemed penitent, you would have very sweetly forgiven her. Of this conduct I am incapable.

However, in spite of exaggerated imposition, I still find we live within our means: I have money in hand, and

I really must do some good with it. The Briarfield poor are badly off: they must be helped. What ought I to

'No, indeed, Shirley: you will not manage properly. I have often noticed that your only notion of charity is to

give shillings and halfcrowns in a careless, freehanded sort of way, which is liable to continual abuse. You

must have a prime minister, or you will get yourself into a series of scrapes. You suggested Miss Ainley

yourself: to Miss Ainley I will apply; and, meantime, promise to keep quiet, and not begin throwing away

your money. What a great deal you have, Shirley! you must feel very rich with all that?'

'Yes; I feel of consequence. It is not an immense sum, but I feel responsible for its disposal; and really this

responsibility weighs on my mind more heavily than I could have expected. They say that there are some

families almost starving to death in Briarfield: some of my own cottagers are in wretched circumstances: I

'They are great fools for their pains. For those who are not hungry, it is easy to palaver about the degradation

of charity, and so on; but they forget the brevity of life, as well as its bitterness. We have none of us long to

live: let us help each other through seasons of want and woe, as well as we can, without heeding in the least

'Not enough: I must give more, or, I tell you, my brother's blood will some day be crying to Heaven against

me. For, after all, if political incendiaries come here to kindle conflagration in the neighbourhood, and my

property is attacked, I shall defend it like a tigress I know I shall. Let me listen to Mercy as long as she is

near me: her voice once drowned by the shout of ruffian defiance, and I shall be full of impulses to resist and

quell. If once the poor gather and rise in the form of the mob, I shall turn against them as an aristocrat: if they

'I feel like Robert, only more fierily. Let them meddle with Robert, or Robert's mill, or Robert's interests, and

I shall hate them. At present I am no patrician, nor do I regard the poor around me as plebeians; but if once

they violently wrong me or mine, and then presume to dictate to us, I shall quite forget pity for their

wretchedness and respect for their poverty, in scorn of their ignorance and wrath at their insolence.'

'Because my soul burns. Would you, any more than me, let Robert be borne down by numbers?'

'If I had your power to aid Robert, I would use it as you mean to use it. If I could be such a friend to him as

'And now, Lina, though your eyes don't flash, they glow. You drop your lids; but I saw a kindled spark.

However, it is not yet come to fighting. What I want to do is to prevent mischief. I cannot forget, either day

or night, that these embittered feelings of the poor against the rich have been generated in suffering: they

would neither hate nor envy us if they did not deem us so much happier than themselves. To allay this

suffering, and thereby lessen this hate, let me, out of my abundance, give abundantly: and that the donation

may go farther, let it be made wisely. To that intent, we must introduce some clear, calm, practical sense into

Without another word, Caroline put on her bonnet and departed. It may, perhaps, appear strange that neither

she nor Shirley thought of consulting Mrs. Pryor on their scheme; but they were wise in abstaining. To have

consulted her and this they knew by instinct would only have been to involve her in painful

embarrassment. She was far better informed, better read, a deeper thinker than Miss Ainley, but of

administrative energy, of executive activity, she had none. She would subscribe her own modest mite to a

charitable object willingly, secret almsgiving suited her; but in public plans, on a large scale, she could take

no part: as to originating them, that was out of the question. This Shirley knew, and therefore she did not

trouble Mrs. Pryor by unavailing conferences, which could only remind her of her own deficiencies, and do

It was a bright day for Miss Ainley when she was summoned to Fieldhead to deliberate on projects so

congenial to her; when she was seated with all honour and deference at a table with paper, pen, ink and

what was best of all cash before her, and requested to draw up a regular plan for administering relief to the

destitute poor of Briarfield. She, who knew them all, had studied their wants, had again and again felt in what

way they might best be succoured, could the means of succour only be found, was fully competent to the

undertaking, and a meek exultation gladdened her kind heart as she felt herself able to answer clearly and

promptly the eager questions put by the two young girls; as she showed them in her answers how much and

what serviceable knowledge she had acquired of the condition of her fellowcreatures round her.

Shirley placed at her disposal �300, and at sight of the money Miss Ainley's eyes filled with joyful tears; for

she already saw the hungry fed, the naked clothed, the sick comforted thereby. She quickly drew up a simple,

sensible plan for its expenditure; and she assured them brighter times would now come round, for she

doubted not the lady of Fieldhead's example would be followed by others: she should try to get additional

subscriptions, and to form a fund; but first she must consult the clergy: yes, on that point, she was

peremptory: Mr. Helstone, Dr. Boultby, Mr. Hall, must be consulted (for not only must Briarfield be

relieved, but Whinbury and Nunnely) it would, she averred, be presumption in her to take a single step

The clergy were sacred beings in Miss Ainley's eyes: no matter what might be the insignificance of the

individual, his station made him holy. The very curates who, in their trivial arrogance, were hardly worthy

to tie her pattenstrings, or carry her cotton umbrella, or check woollenshawl she, in her pure, sincere

enthusiasm, looked upon as sucking saints. No matter how clearly their little vices and enormous absurdities

were pointed out to her, she could not see them: she was blind to ecclesiastical defects: the white surplice

Shirley, knowing this harmless infatuation on the part of her recently chosen prime minister, stipulated

expressly that the curates were to have no voice in the disposal of the money; that their meddling fingers were

not to be inserted into the pie. The rectors, of course, must be paramount, and they might be trusted: they had

some experience, some sagacity, and Mr. Hall, at least, had sympathy and lovingkindness for his

fellowmen; but as for the youth under them, they must be set aside, kept down, and taught that subordination

It was with some horror Miss Ainley heard this language: Caroline, however, interposing with a mild word or

two in praise of Mr. Sweeting, calmed her again. Sweeting was, indeed, her own favourite: she endeavoured

to respect Messrs. Malone and Donne; but the slices of spongecake, and glasses of cowslip or primrose

wine, she had at different times administered to Sweeting when he came to see her in her little cottage, were

ever offered with sentiments of truly motherly regard. The same innocuous collation she had once presented

to Malone; but that personage evinced such open scorn of the offering, she had never ventured to renew it. To

Donne she always served the treat, and was happy to see his approbation of it proved beyond a doubt, by the

fact of his usually eating two pieces of cake, and putting a third in his pocket.

Indefatigable in her exertions where good was to be done, Miss Ainley would immediately have set out on a

walk of ten miles round to the three rectors, in order to show her plan, and humbly solicit their approval: but

Miss Keeldar interdicted this, and proposed, as an amendment, to collect the clergy in a small select reunion

that evening at Fieldhead. Miss Ainley was to meet them, and the plan was to be discussed in full privy

Shirley managed to get the senior priesthood together accordingly; and before the old maid's arrival she had,

further, talked all the gentlemen into the most charming mood imaginable. She herself had taken in hand Dr.

Boultby and Mr. Helstone. The first was a stubborn old Welshman, hot, opinionated, and obstinate, but withal

a man who did a great deal of good, though not without making some noise about it: the latter we know. She

had rather a friendly feeling for both; especially for old Helstone; and it cost her no trouble to be quite

delightful to them, She took them round the garden; she gathered them flowers; she was like a kind daughter

to them. Mr. Hall she left to Caroline or rather, it was to Caroline's care Mr. Hall consigned himself.

He generally sought Caroline in every party where she and he happened to be. He was not generally a lady's

man, though all ladies liked him: something of a bookworm he was, nearsighted, spectacled, now and then

abstracted. To old ladies he was kind as a son. To men of every occupation and grade he was acceptable: the

truth, simplicity, frankness of his manners, the nobleness of his integrity, the reality and elevation of his

piety, won him friends in every grade: his poor clerk and sexton delighted in him; the noble patron of his

living esteemed him highly. It was only with young, handsome, fashionable, and stylish ladies he felt a little

shy: being himself a plain man plain in aspect, plain in manners, plain in speech he seemed to fear their

dash, elegance, and airs. But Miss Helstone had neither dash nor airs, and her native elegance was of a very

quiet order quiet as the beauty of a groundloving hedgeflower. He was a fluent, cheerful, agreeable

talker. Caroline could talk, too, in a t te t te: she liked Mr. Hall to come and take the seat next her in a

party, and thus secure her from Peter Augustus Malone, Joseph Donne, or John Sykes; and Mr. Hall never

failed to avail himself of this privilege when he possibly could. Such preference shown by a single gentleman

to a single lady would certainly, in ordinary cases, have set in motion the tongues of the gossips; but Cyril

Hall was fortyfive years old, slightly bald and slightly grey, and nobody ever said or thought he was likely

to be married to Miss Helstone. Nor did he think so himself: he was wedded already to his books and his

parish: his kind sister Margaret, spectacled and learned like himself, made him happy in his single state; he

considered it too late to change. Besides, he had known Caroline as a pretty little girl: she had sat on his knee

many a time; he had bought her toys and given her books; he felt that her friendship for him was mixed with

a sort of filial respect; he could not have brought himself to attempt to give another colour to her sentiments,

and his serene mind could glass a fair image without feeling its depths troubled by the reflection.

When Miss Ainley arrived, she was made kindly welcome by every one: Mrs. Pryor and Margaret Hall made

room for her on the sofa between them; and when the three were seated, they formed a trio which the gay and

thoughtless would have scorned, indeed, as quite worthless and unattractive a middleaged widow and two

plain spectacled old maids yet which had its own quiet value, as many a suffering and friendless human

'I know the hand which drew up that,' said Mr. Hall, glancing at Miss Ainley, and smiling benignantly: his

approbation was won at once. Boultby heard and deliberated with bent brow and protruded under lip: his

consent he considered too weighty to be given in a hurry. Helstone glanced sharply round with an alert,

suspicious expression, as if he apprehended that female craft was at work, and that something in petticoats

was somehow trying underhand to acquire too much influence, and make itself of too much importance.

Shirley caught and comprehended the expression 'This scheme is nothing,' said she carelessly; 'it is only an

outline a mere suggestion; you, gentlemen, are requested to draw up rules of your own.'

And she directly fetched her writingcase, smiling queerly to herself as she bent over the table where it

stood: she produced a sheet of paper, a new pen, drew an armchair to the table, and presenting her hand to

old Helstone, begged permission to instal him in it. For a minute he was a little stiff, and stood wrinkling his

coppercoloured forehead strangely. At last he muttered 'Well, you are neither my wife nor my daughter,

so I'll be led for once; but mind I know I am led: your little female manoeuvres don't blind me.'

'Oh!' said Shirley, dipping the pen in the ink, and putting it into his hand, 'you must regard me as Captain

Keeldar today. This is quite a gentleman's affair yours and mine entirely, Doctor' (so she had dubbed the

Rector). 'The ladies there are only to be our aidesdecamp, and at their peril they speak, till we have settled

He smiled a little grimly, and began to write. He soon interrupted himself to ask questions, and consult his

brethren, disdainfully lifting his glance over the curly heads of the two girls, and the demure caps of the elder

ladies, to meet the winking glasses and grey pates of the priests. In the discussion which ensued, all three

gentlemen, to their infinite credit, showed a thorough acquaintance with the poor of their parishes, an even

minute knowledge of their separate wants. Each rector knew where clothing was needed, where food would

be most acceptable, where money could be bestowed with a probability of it being judiciously laid out.

Wherever their memories fell short, Miss Ainley or Miss Hall, if applied to, could help them out; but both

ladies took care not to speak unless spoken to. Neither of them wanted to be foremost but each sincerely

desired to be useful, and useful the clergy consented to make them: with which boon they were content.

Shirley stood behind the rectors, leaning over their shoulders now and then to glance at the rules drawn up,

and the list of cases making out, listening to all they said, and still at intervals smiling her queer smile a

smile not illnatured, but significant: too significant to be generally thought amiable. Men rarely like such of

their fellows as read their inward nature too clearly and truly. It is good for women, especially, to be endowed

with a soft blindness: to have mild, dim eyes, that never penetrate below the surface of things that take all

for what it seems: thousands, knowing this, keep their eyelids drooped, on system; but the most downcast

glance has its loophole, through which it can, on occasion, take its sentinelsurvey of life. I remember once

seeing a pair of blue eyes, that were usually thought sleepy, secretly on the alert, and I knew by their

expression an expression which chilled my blood, it was in that quarter so wondrously unexpected that

for years they had been accustomed to silent soulreading. The world called the owner of these blue eyes

'bonne petite femme' (she was not an Englishwoman): I learned her nature afterwards got it off by heart

studied it in its farthest, most hidden recesses she was the finest, deepest, subtlest schemer in Europe.

When all was at length settled to Miss Keeldar's mind, and the clergy had entered so fully into the spirit of

her plans as to head the subscriptionlist with their signatures for �50 each, she ordered supper to be served;

having previously directed Mrs. Gill to exercise her utmost skill in the preparation of this repast. Mr. Hall

was no bonvivant: he was naturally an abstemious man, indifferent to luxury; but Boultby and Helstone

both liked good cookery; the recherch supper consequently put them into excellent humour: they did justice

to it, though in a gentlemanly way not in the mode Mr. Donne would have done, had he been present. A

glass of fine wine was likewise tasted, with discerning though most decorous relish. Captain Keeldar was

complimented on his taste; the compliment charmed him: it had been his aim to gratify and satisfy his priestly

The next day Shirley expressed to Caroline how delighted she felt that the little party had gone off so well.

'I rather like to entertain a circle of gentlemen,' said she; 'it is amusing to observe how they enjoy a

judiciously concocted repast. For ourselves, you see, these choice wines and these scientific dishes are of no

importance to us; but gentlemen seem to retain something of the naovet of children about food, and one

likes to please them: that is, when they show the becoming, decent selfgovernment of our admirable rectors.

I watch Moore sometimes, to try and discover how he can be pleased; but he has not that child's simplicity

about him. Did you ever find out his accessible point, Caroline? You have seen more of him than I.'

'It is not, at any rate, that of my uncle and Dr. Boultby,' returned Caroline, smiling. She always felt a sort of

shy pleasure in following Miss Keeldar's lead respecting the discussion of her cousin's character: left to

herself, she would never have touched on the subject; but when invited, the temptation of talking about him

of whom she was ever thinking was irresistible. 'But,' she added, 'I really don't know what it is; for I never

watched Robert in my life but my scrutiny was presently baffled by finding he was watching me.'

'There it is!' exclaimed Shirley: 'you can't fix your eyes on him but his presently flash on you. He is never off

his guard: he won't give you an advantage: even when he does not look at you, his thoughts seem to be busy

amongst your own thoughts, tracing your words and actions to their source, contemplating your motives at

his ease. Oh! I know that sort of character, or something in the same style: it is one that piques me singularly

This question was a specimen of one of Shirley's sharp, sudden turns: Caroline used to be fluttered by them at

first, but she had now got into the way of parrying these homethrusts like a little Quakeress.

'Here he comes!' suddenly exclaimed Shirley, breaking off, starting up and running to the window. 'Here

comes a diversion. I never told you of a superb conquest I have made lately made at those parties to which I

can never persuade you to accompany me; and the thing has been done without effort or intention on my part:

that I aver. There is the bell and, by all that's delicious! there are two of them. Do they never hunt, then,

except in couples? You may have one, Lina, and you may take your choice: I hope I am generous enough.

The blackmuzzled, tawny dog, a glimpse of which was seen in the chapter which first introduced its

mistress to the reader, here gave tongue in the hall, amidst whose hollow space the deep bark resounded

formidably. A growl, more terrible than the bark menacing as muttered thunder succeeded.

'Listen!' again cried Shirley, laughing. 'You would think that the prelude to a bloody onslaught: they will be

frightened: they don't know old Tartar as I do: they are not aware his uproars are all sound and fury,

Some bustle was heard. 'Down, sir! down!' exclaimed a hightoned, imperious voice, and then came a

crack of a cane or whip. Immediately there was a yell a scutter a run a positive tumult.

'He really is worrying them!' exclaimed Shirley. 'They have struck him: a blow is what he is not used to, and

Out she ran a gentleman was fleeing up the oak staircase, making for refuge in the gallery or chambers in

hot haste; another was backing fast to the stairfoot, wildly flourishing a knotty stick, at the same time

reiterating, 'Down I down! down!' while the tawny dog bayed, bellowed, howled at him, and a group of

servants came bundling from the kitchen. The dog made a spring: the second gentleman turned tail and

rushed after his comrade: the first was already safe in a bedroom: he held the door against his fellow;

nothing so merciless as terror; but the other fugitive struggled hard: the door was about to yield to his

'Gentlemen,' was uttered in Miss Keeldar's silvery but vibrating tones, 'spare my locks, if you please. Calm

She was caressing the said Tartar: he lay crouched at her feet, his forepaws stretched out, his tail still in

threatening agitation, his nostrils snorting, his bulldog eyes conscious of a dull fire. He was an honest,

phlegmatic, stupid, but stubborn canine character: he loved his mistress, and John the man who fed him

but was mostly indifferent to the rest of the world: quiet enough he was, unless struck or threatened with a

'Mr. Malone, how do you do?' continued Shirley, lifting up her mirthlit face to the gallery. 'That is not the

way to the oakparlour: that is Mrs. Pryor's apartment. Request your friend Mr. Donne to evacuate: I shall

'Ha! ha!' cried Malone, in hollow laughter, quitting the door, and leaning over the massive balustrade. 'Really

that animal alarmed Donne. He is a little timid,' he proceeded, stiffening himself, and walking trimly to the

'It appears you did: well, come down, if you please. John' (turning to her manservant), 'go upstairs and

In truth they were; being of polished oak. The caution came a little late for Malone: he had slipped already in

his stately descent, and was only saved from falling by a clutch at the banisters, which made the whole

Tartar seemed to think the visitor's descent effected with unwarranted clat, and accordingly he growled once

more. Malone, however, was no coward: the spring of the dog had taken him by surprise: but he passed him

now in suppressed fury rather than fear: if a look could have strangled Tartar, he would have breathed no

more. Forgetting politeness, in his sullen rage, Malone pushed into the parlour before Miss Keeldar. He

glanced at Miss Helstone; he could scarcely bring himself to bend to her. He glared on both the ladies: he

looked as if, had either of them been his wife, he would have made a glorious husband at the moment: in each

However, Shirley took pity: she ceased to laugh; and Caroline was too true a lady to smile even at any one

under mortification. Tartar was dismissed; Peter Augustus was soothed: for Shirley had looks and tones that

might soothe a very bull: he had sense to feel that, since he could not challenge the owner of the dog, he had

better be civil; and civil he tried to be; and his attempts being well received, he grew presently very civil and

quite himself again. He had come, indeed, for the express purpose of making himself charming and

fascinating: rough portents had met him on his first admission to Fieldhead; but that passage got over,

charming and fascinating he resolved to be. Like March, having come in like a lion, he purposed to go out

For the sake of air, as it appeared, or perhaps for that of ready exit in case of some new emergency arising, he

took his seat not on the sofa, where Miss Keeldar offered him enthronisation, nor yet near the fireside, to

which Caroline, by a friendly sigh, gently invited him, but on a chair close to the door. Being no longer

sullen or furious, he grew, after his fashion, constrained and embarrassed. He talked to the ladies by fits and

starts, choosing for topics whatever was most intensely commonplace: he sighed deeply, significantly, at the

close of every sentence; he sighed in each pause; he sighed ere he opened his mouth. At last, finding it

desirable to add ease to his other charms, he drew forth to aid him an ample silk pockethandkerchief. This

was to be the graceful toy with which his unoccupied hands were to trifle. He went to work with a certain

energy: he folded the red and yellow square cornerwise; he whipped it open with a waft: again he folded it in

narrower compass: he made of it a handsome band. To what purpose would he proceed to apply the ligature?

Would he wrap it about his throat his head? Should it be a comforter or a turban? Neither. Peter Augustus

had an inventive an original genius: he was about to show the ladies graces of action possessing at least the

charm of novelty. He sat on the chair with his athletic Irish legs crossed, and these legs, in that attitude, he

circled with the bandanna and bound firmly together. It was evident he felt this device to be worth an encore:

he repeated it more than once. The second performance sent Shirley to the window to laugh her silent but

irrepressible laugh unseen: it turned Caroline's head aside, that her long curls might screen the smile mantling

on her features. Miss Helstone, indeed, was amused by more than one point in Peter's demeanour: she was

edified at the complete though abrupt diversion of his homage from herself to the heiress: the �5,000 he

supposed her likely one day to inherit, were not to be weighed in the balance against Miss Keeldar's estate

and hall. He took no pains to conceal his calculations and tactics: he pretended to no gradual change of views:

he wheeled about at once: the pursuit of the lesser fortune was openly relinquished for that of the greater. On

what grounds he expected to succeed in his chase, himself best knew: certainly not by skilful management.

From the length of time that elapsed, it appeared that John had some difficulty in persuading Mr. Donne to

descend. At length, however, that gentleman appeared: nor, as he presented himself at the oakparlour door,

did he seem in the slightest degree ashamed or confused not a whit. Donne, indeed, was of that coldly

phlegmatic, immovably complacent, densely selfsatisfied nature which is insensible to shame. He had never

blushed in his life: no humiliation could abash him: his nerves were not capable of sensation enough to stir

his life, and make colour mount to his cheek: he had no fire in his blood, and no modesty in his soul: he was a

frontless, arrogant; decorous slip of the commonplace; conceited, inane, insipid: and this gentleman had a

notion of wooing Miss Keeldar! He knew no more, however, how to set about the business than if he had

been an image carved in wood: he had no idea of a taste to be pleased, a heart to be reached in courtship: his

notion was, when he should have formally visited her a few times, to write a letter proposing marriage; then

he calculated she would accept him for love of his office, then they would be married, then he should be

master of Fieldhead, and he should live very comfortably, have servants at his command, eat and drink of the

best, and be a great man. You would not have suspected his intentions when he addressed his intended bride

in an impertinent, injured tone 'A very dangerous dog that, Miss Keeldar. I wonder you should keep such an

'Do you, Mr. Donne? Perhaps you will wonder more when I tell you I am very fond of him.'

'I should say you are not serious in the assertion. Can't fancy a lady fond of that brute 'tis so ugly a mere

'And purchase in his stead some sweetly pooty pug or poodle: something appropriate to the fair sex: ladies

'Oh! you can't be, you know. All ladies are alike in those matters: that is universally allowed.'

'That I shall, no doubt. He gave me a turn I shall not soon forget. When I sor him' (such was Mr. Donne's

'No; I bore up that I might hold the door fast: I was determined not to let any one enter: I thought I would

'Malone must take care of himself. Your man persuaded me to come out at last by saying the dog was chained

up in his kennel: if I had not been assured of this, I would have remained all day in the chamber. But what is

And indeed Tartar walked past the glassdoor opening to the garden, stiff, tawny, and blackmuzzled as

ever. He still seemed in bad humour; he was growling again, and whistling a halfstrangled whistle, being an

'There are other visitors coming,' observed Shirley, with that provoking coolness which the owners of

formidablelooking dogs are apt to show while their animals are all bristle and bay. Tartar sprang down the

pavement towards the gate, bellowing 'avec explosion.' His mistress quietly opened the glassdoor, and

stepped out chirruping to him. His bellow was already silenced, and he was lifting up his huge, blunt, stupid

'What Tartar, Tartar!' said a cheery, rather boyish voice, 'don't you know us? Goodmorning, old boy!'

And little Mr. Sweeting, whose conscious goodnature made him comparatively fearless of man, woman,

child, or brute, came through the gate, caressing the guardian. His vicar, Mr. Hall, followed: he had no fear of

Tartar either, and Tartar had no illwill to him: he snuffed both the gentlemen round, and then, as if

concluding that they were harmless, and might be allowed to pass, he withdrew to the sunny front of the hall,

leaving the archway free. Mr. Sweeting followed, and would have played with him, but Tartar took no notice

of his caresses: it was only his mistress's hand whose touch gave him pleasure; to all others he showed

Shirley advanced to meet Messrs. Hall and Sweeting, shaking hands with them cordially: they were come to

tell her of certain successes they had achieved that morning in applications for subscriptions to the fund. Mr.

Hall's eyes beamed benignantly through his spectacles: his plain face looked positively handsome with

goodness, and when Caroline, seeing who was come, ran out to meet him, and put both her hands into his, he

gazed down on her with a gentle, serene, affectionate expression, that gave him the aspect of a smiling

Instead of reentering the house, they strayed through the garden, the ladies walking one on each side of Mr.

Hall. It was a breezy sunny day; the air freshened the girls' cheeks, and gracefully dishevelled their ringlets:

both of them looked pretty, one, gay: Mr. Hall spoke oftenest to his brilliant companion, looked most

frequently at the quiet one. Miss Keeldar gathered handfuls of the profusely blooming flowers, whose

perfume filled the enclosure; she gave some to Caroline, telling her to choose a nosegay for Mr. Hall; and

with her lap filled with delicate and splendid blossoms, Caroline sat down on the steps of a summerhouse:

Shirley, who could not be inhospitable, now called out the neglected pair in the oakparlour: she convoyed

Donne past his dread enemy Tartar, who, with his nose on his forepaws, lay snoring under the meridian sun.

Donne was not grateful: he never was grateful for kindness and attention; but he was glad of the safeguard.

Miss Keeldar, desirous of being impartial, offered the curates flowers: they accepted them with native

awkwardness. Malone seemed specially at a loss, when a bouquet filled one hand, while his shillelagh

occupied the other. Donne's 'Thank you!' was rich to hear: it was the most fatuous and arrogant of sounds,

implying that he considered this offering an homage to his merits, and an attempt on the part of the heiress to

ingratiate herself into his priceless affections. Sweeting alone received the posy like a smart, sensible little

As a reward for his good manners, Miss Keeldar beckoning him apart, gave him some commission, which

made his eyes sparkle with glee. Away he flew, round by the courtyard to the kitchen: no need to give him

directions; he was always at home everywhere. Erelong he reappeared, carrying a round table, which he

placed under the cedar; then he collected six gardenchairs from various nooks and bowers in the grounds,

and placed them in a circle. The parlourmaid Miss Keeldar kept no footman came out, bearing a

napkincovered tray. Sweeting's nimble fingers aided in disposing glasses, plates, knives and forks: he

assisted her too in setting forth a neat luncheon, consisting of cold chicken, ham, and tarts.

This sort of impromptu regale, it was Shirley's delight to offer any chance guests: and nothing pleased her

better than to have an alert, obliging little friend, like Sweeting, to run about her hand, cheerily receive and

briskly execute her hospitable hints. David and she were on the best terms in the world; and his devotion to

the heiress was quite disinterested, since it prejudiced in nothing his faithful allegiance to the magnificent

The repast turned out a very merry one. Donne and Malone, indeed, contributed but little to its vivacity, the

chief part they played in it being what concerned the knife, fork, and wineglass; but where four such natures

as Mr. Hall, David Sweeting, Shirley, and Caroline, were assembled in health and amity, on a green lawn,

under a sunny sky, amidst a wilderness of flowers, there could not be ungenial dullness.

In the course of conversation, Mr. Hall reminded the ladies that Whitsuntide was approaching, when the

grand United SundaySchool teadrinking and procession of the three parishes of Briarfield, Whinbury, and

Nunnely were to take place. Caroline he knew would be at her post as teacher, he said, and he hoped Miss

Keeldar would not be wanting: he hoped she would make her first public appearance amongst them at that

time. Shirley was not the person to miss an occasion of this sort; she liked festive excitement, a gathering of

happiness, a concentration and combination of pleasant details, a throng of glad faces, a muster of elated

hearts: she told Mr. Hall they might count on her with security: she did not know what she would have to do,

'And,' said Caroline, 'you will promise to come to my table, and to sit near me, Mr. Hall?'

'I shall not fail, Deo volente,' said he. 'I have occupied the place on her right hand at these monster

teadrinkings for the last six years,' he proceeded, turning to Miss Keeldar. 'They made her a Sundayschool

teacher when she was a little girl of twelve: she is not particularly selfconfident by nature, as you may have

observed; and the first time she had to 'take a tray,' as the phrase is, and make tea in public, there was some

piteous trembling and flushing. I observed the speechless panic, the cups shaking in the little hand, and the

overflowing teapot filled too full from the urn. I came to her aid, took a seat near her, managed the urn and

'You were: you told me so with an earnest sincerity that repaid me well; inasmuch as it was not like the

majority of little ladies of twelve, whom you may help and caress for ever without their evincing any quicker

sense of the kindness done and meant than if they were made of wax and wood, instead of flesh and nerves.

She kept close to me, Miss Keeldar, the rest of the evening, walking with me over the grounds where the

children were playing; she followed me into the vestry when all were summoned into church: she would, I

believe, have mounted with me to the pulpit, had I not taken the previous precaution of conducting her to the

'And always sat at her table, near her tray, and handed the cups, that is the extent of my services. The next

thing I do for her will be to marry her some day to some curate or millowner: but mind, Caroline, I shall

inquire about the bridegroom's character, and if he is not a gentleman likely to render happy the little girl who

walked with me hand in hand over Nunnely Common, I will not officiate: so take care.'

'The caution is useless: I am not going to be married. I shall live single like your sister Margaret, Mr. Hall.'

'Very well you might do worse Margaret is not unhappy: she has her books for a pleasure, and her brother

for a care, and is content. If ever you want a home; if the day should come when Briarfield Rectory is yours

no longer, come to Nunnely Vicarage. Should the old maid and bachelor be still living, they will make you

'There are your flowers. Now,' said Caroline, who had kept the nosegay she had selected for him till this

moment, 'you don't care for a bouquet, but you must give it to Margaret: only to be sentimental for once

keep that little forgetmenot, which is a wildflower I gathered from the grass; and to be still more

sentimental let me take two or three of the blue blossoms and put them in my souvenir.'

And she took out a small book with enamelled cover and silver clasp, wherein, having opened it, she inserted

the flowers, writing round them in pencil 'To be kept for the sake of the Rev. Cyril Hall, my friend. May

The Rev. Cyril Hall, on his part also, placed a sprig in safety between the leaves of a pocket Testament: he

'Now,' said he, smiling, 'I trust we are romantic enough. Miss Keeldar,' he continued (the curates,

bythebye, during this conversation, were too much occupied with their own jokes to notice what passed at

the other end of the table), 'I hope you are laughing at this trait of 'exaltation' in the old greyheaded Vicar;

but the fact is, I am so used to comply with the requests of this young friend of yours, I don't know how to

refuse her when she tells me to do anything. You would say it is not much in my way to traffic with flowers

and forgetmenots: but, you see, when requested to be sentimental, I am obedient.'

'He is naturally rather sentimental,' remarked Caroline; 'Margaret told me so, and I know what pleases him.'

'That you should be good and happy? Yes; that is one of my greatest pleasures. May God long preserve to

you the blessings of peace and innocence! By which phrase, I mean comparative innocence; for in His sight, I

am well aware, none are pure. What, to our human perceptions, looks spotless as we fancy angels, is to Him

but frailty, needing the blood of His Son to cleanse, and the strength of His Spirit to sustain. Let us each and

all cherish humility I, as you, my young friends; and we may well do it when we look into our own hearts,

and see there temptations, inconsistencies, propensities, even we blush to recognise. And it is not youth, nor

good looks, nor grace, nor any gentle outside charm which makes either beauty or goodness in God's eyes.

Young ladies, when your mirror or men's tongues flatter you, remember that, in the sight of her Maker, Mary

Ann Ainley a woman whom neither glass nor lips have ever panegyrised is fairer and better than either of

you. She is, indeed,' he added, after a pause 'she is, indeed. You young things wrapt up in yourselves and

in earthly hopes scarcely live as Christ lived: perhaps you cannot do it yet, while existence is so sweet and

earth so smiling to you; it would be too much to expect: she, with meek heart and due reverence, treads close

Here the harsh voice of Donne broke in on the mild tones of Mr. Hall 'Ahem!' he began, clearing his throat

evidently for a speech of some importance. 'Ahem Miss Keeldar, your attention an instant, if you please.'

'Well,' said Shirley nonchalantly. 'What is it? I listen: all of me is ear that is not eye.'

'I hope part of you is hand also,' returned Donne, in his vulgarly presumptuous and familiar style, 'and part

purse: it is to the hand and purse I propose to appeal. I came here this morning with a view to beg of you

'To beg of you a subscription to a school. I and Dr. Boultby intend to erect one in the hamlet of Ecclefigg,

which is under our vicarage of Whinbury. The Baptists have got possession of it: they have a chapel there,

'Admirable creature!' muttered Shirley, under her breath: 'exquisite address: fine style! What raptures he

'Then you can't refuse to contribute in this case. The population of Ecclefigg are a parcel of brutes we want

'I hope not I expect success; but we must have money. There is the paper pray give a handsome sum.'

When asked for money, Shirley rarely held back. She put down her name for �5: after the �300 she had lately

given, and the many smaller sums she was giving constantly, it was as much as she could at present afford.

Donne looked at it, declared the subscription 'shabby,' and clamorously demanded more. Miss Keeldar

'Not give more! Why, I expected you to head the list with a cool hundred. With your property, you should

'In the south,' went on Donne, 'a lady with a thousand a year would be ashamed to give five pounds for a

Shirley, so rarely haughty, looked so now. Her slight frame became nerved; her distinguished face quickened

'Strange remarks!' said she: 'most inconsiderate! Reproach in return for bounty is misplaced.'

'I do: and bounty which, had I not given it to Dr. Boultby's intended school, of the erection of which I

approve, and in no sort to his curate, who seems illadvised in his manner of applying for or rather

extorting subscriptions, bounty, I repeat, which, but for this consideration, I should instantly reclaim.'

Donne was thickskinned: he did not feel all or half that the tone, air, glance of the speaker expressed: he

'Wretched place this Yorkshire,' he went on. 'I could never have formed an idear of the country had I not

seen it; and the people rich and poor what a set! How corse and uncultivated! They would be scouted in

Shirley leaned forwards on the table, her nostrils dilating a little, her taper fingers interlaced and compressing

'The rich,' pursued the infatuated and unconscious Donne, 'are a parcel of misers never living as persons

with their incomes ought to live: you scarsley' (you must excuse Mr. Donne's pronunciation, reader; it was

very choice; he considered it genteel, and prided himself on his southern accent; northern ears received with

singular sensations his utterance of certain words); 'you scarsley ever see a fam'ly where a propa carriage or a

reg'la butla is kep; and as to the poor just look at them when they come crowding about the churchdoors

on the occasion of a marriage or a funeral, clattering in clogs; the men in their shirtsleeves and

woolcombers' aprons, the women in mobcaps and bedgowns. They pos'tively deserve that one should

turn a mad cow in amongst them to rout their rabblerank he! he! What fun it would be!'

'There, you have reached the climax,' said Shirley quietly. 'You have reached the climax,' she repeated,

turning her glowing glance towards him. 'You cannot go beyond it, and,' she added with emphasis, 'you shall

Up she rose: nobody could control her now, for she was exasperated; straight she walked to her gardengates,

'Walk through,' she said austerely, 'and pretty quickly, and set foot on this pavement no more.'

Donne was astounded. He had thought all the time he was showing himself off to high advantage, as a

loftysouled person of the first 'ton'; he imagined he was producing a crushing impression. Had he not

expressed disdain of everything in Yorkshire? What more conclusive proof could be given that he was better

than anything there? And yet here was he about to be turned like a dog out of a Yorkshire garden! Where,

'Off! Were you an archbishop you have proved yourself no gentleman, and must go. Quick!'

She was quite resolved: there was no trifling with her: besides, Tartar was again rising; he perceived

symptoms of a commotion: he manifested a disposition to join in; there was evidently nothing for it but to go,

and Donne made his Exodus; the heiress sweeping him a deep curtsey as she closed the gates on him.

'How dare the pompous priest abuse his flock? How dare the lisping cockney revile Yorkshire?' was her sole

Ere long, the little party broke up: Miss Keeldar's ruffled and darkened brow, curled lip, and incensed eye,

The fund prospered. By dint of Miss Keeldar's example, the three rectors' vigorous exertions, and the efficient

though quiet aid of their spinster and spectacled lieutenants, Mary Ann Ainley and Margaret Hall, a

handsome sum was raised; and this being judiciously managed, served for the present greatly to alleviate the

distress of the unemployed poor. The neighbourhood seemed to grow calmer: for a fortnight past no cloth had

been destroyed; no outrage on mill or mansion had been committed in the three parishes. Shirley was

sanguine that the evil she wished to avert was almost escaped; that the threatened storm was passing over:

with the approach of summer she felt certain that trade would improve it always did; and then this weary

war could not last for ever: peace must return one day: with peace what an impulse would be given to

Such was the usual tenor of her observations to her tenant, G rard Moore, whenever she met him where they

could converse, and Moore would listen very quietly too quietly to satisfy her. She would then by her

impatient glance demand something more from him some explanation, or at least some additional remark.

Smiling in his way, with that expression which gave a remarkable cast of sweetness to his mouth, while his

brow remained grave, he would answer to the effect, that himself, too, trusted in the finite nature of the war;

that it was indeed on that ground the anchor of his hopes was fixed: thereon his speculations depended. 'For

you are aware,' he would continue, 'that I now work Hollow's Mill entirely on speculation: I sell nothing;

there is no market for my goods. I manufacture for a future day: I make myself ready to take advantage of the

first opening that shall occur. Three months ago this was impossible to me; I had exhausted both credit and

capital: you well know who came to my rescue; from what hand I received the loan which saved me. It is on

the strength of that loan I am enabled to continue the bold game which, a while since, I feared I should never

play more. Total ruin I know will follow loss, and I am aware that gain is doubtful; but I am quite cheerful: so

long as I can be active, so long as I can strive, so long, in short, as my hands are not tied, it is impossible for

me to be depressed. One year, nay, but six months of the reign of the olive, and I am safe; for, as you say,

peace will give an impulse to commerce. In this you are right; but as to the restored tranquillity of the

neighbourhood as to the permanent good effect of your charitable fund I doubt. Eleemosynary relief

never yet tranquillised the workingclasses it never made them grateful; it is not in human nature that it

should. I suppose, were all things ordered aright, they ought not to be in a position to need that humiliating

relief; and this they feel: we should feel it were we so placed. Besides, to whom should they be grateful? To

you to the clergy perhaps, but not to us millowners. They hate us worse than ever. Then, the disaffected

here are in correspondence with the disaffected elsewhere: Nottingham is one of their headquarters,

Manchester another, Birmingham a third. The subalterns receive orders from their chiefs; they are in a good

state of discipline: no blow is struck without mature deliberation. In sultry weather, you have seen the sky

threaten thunder day by day, and yet night after night the clouds have cleared, and the sun has set quietly; but

the danger was not gone, it was only delayed: the longthreatening storm is sure to break at last. There is

'Well, Mr. Moore' (so these conferences always ended), 'take care of yourself. If you think that I have ever

'I do: I will take close and watchful care. I wish to live, not to die: the future opens like Eden before me; and

still, when I look deep into the shades of my paradise, I see a vision, that I like better than seraph or cherub,

The early part of that May, as we have seen, was fine, the middle was wet; but in the last week, at change of

moon, it cleared again. A fresh wind swept off the silverwhite, deeppiled rainclouds, bearing them, mass

on mass, to the eastern horizon; on whose verge they dwindled, and behind whose rim they disappeared,

leaving the vault behind all pure blue space, ready for the reign of the summer sun. That sun rose broad on

WhitTuesday was the great day, in preparation for which the two large schoolrooms of Briarfield, built by

the present rector, chiefly at his own expense, were cleaned out, whitewashed, repainted, and decorated with

flowers and evergreens some from the Rectorygarden, two cartloads from Fieldhead, and a

wheelbarrowful from the more stingy domain of De Walden, the residence of Mr. Wynne. In these

schoolrooms twenty tables, each calculated to accommodate twenty guests, were laid out, surrounded with

benches, and covered with white cloths: above them were suspended at least some twenty cages, containing

as many canaries, according to a fancy of the district, specially cherished by Mr. Helstone's clerk, who

delighted in the piercing song of these birds, and knew that amidst confusion of tongues they always carolled

loudest. These tables, be it understood, were not spread for the twelve hundred scholars to be assembled from

the three parishes, but only for the patrons and teachers of the schools: the children's feast was to be spread in

the open air. At one o'clock the troops were to come in; at two they were to be marshalled; till four they were

to parade the parish; then came the feast, and afterwards the meeting, with music and speechifying in the

Why Briarfield was chosen for the point of rendezvous the scene of the f te should be explained. It was

not because it was the largest or most populous parish Whinbury far outdid it in that respect; nor because it

was the oldest antique as were the hoary Church and Rectory, Nunnely's lowroofed Temple and mossy

Parsonage, buried both in coeval oaks, outstanding sentinels of Nunnwood, were older still: it was simply

because Mr. Helstone willed it so, and Mr. Helstone's will was stronger than that of Boultby or Hall; the

former could not, the latter would not, dispute a point of precedence with their resolute and imperious

This notable anniversary had always hitherto been a trying day to Caroline Helstone, because it dragged her

perforce into public, compelling her to face all that was wealthy, respectable, influential in the

neighbourhood; in whose presence, but for the kind countenance of Mr. Hall, she would have appeared

unsupported. Obliged to be conspicuous; obliged to walk at the head of her regiment as the Rector's niece,

and first teacher of the first class; obliged to make tea at the first table for a mixed multitude of ladies and

gentlemen; and to do all this without the countenance of mother, aunt, or other chaperon she, meantime,

being a nervous person, who mortally feared publicity it will be comprehended that, under these

But this year Shirley was to be with her, and that changed the aspect of the trial singularly it changed it

utterly: it was a trial no longer it was almost an enjoyment. Miss Keeldar was better in her single self than a

host of ordinary friends. Quite selfpossessed, and always spirited and easy; conscious of her social

importance, yet never presuming upon it, it would be enough to give one courage only to look at her. The

only fear was, lest the heiress should not be punctual to tryst: she often had a careless way of lingering behind

time, and Caroline knew her uncle would not wait a second for any one: at the moment of the churchclock

tolling two, the bells would clash out and the march begin. She must look after Shirley, then, in this matter, or

WhitTuesday saw her rise almost with the sun. She, Fanny, and Eliza were busy the whole morning

arranging the Rectoryparlours in firstrate company order, and setting out a collation of cooling

refreshments wine, fruit, cakes on the diningroom sideboard. Then she had to dress in her freshest and

fairest attire of white muslin; the perfect fineness of the day and the solemnity of the occasion warranted, and

even exacted, such costume. Her new sash a birthday present from Margaret Hall, which she had reason to

believe Cyril himself had bought, and in return for which she had indeed given him a set of cambric bands in

a handsome case was tied by the dexterous fingers of Fanny, who took no little pleasure in arraying her fair

young mistress for the occasion; her simple bonnet had been trimmed to correspond with her sash; her pretty

but inexpensive scarf of white crape suited her dress. When ready she formed a picture, not bright enough to

dazzle, but fair enough to interest; not brilliantly striking, but very delicately pleasing; a picture in which

sweetness of tint, purity of air, and grace of mien, atoned for the absence of rich colouring and magnificent

contour. What her brown eye and clear forehead showed of her mind, was in keeping with her dress and face

modest, gentle, and, though pensive, harmonious. It appeared that neither lamb nor dove need fear her, but

would welcome rather, in her look of simplicity and softness, a sympathy with their own natures, or with the

After all, she was an imperfect, faulty human being; fair enough of form, hue, and array; but, as Cyril Hall

said, neither so good nor so great as the withered Miss Ainley, now putting on her best black gown and

Away Caroline went, across some very sequestered fields and through some quite hidden lanes, to Fieldhead.

She glided quickly under the green hedges and across the greener leas. There was no dust no moisture to

soil the hem of her stainless garment, or to damp her slender sandal: after the late rains all was clean, and

under the present glowing sun all was dry: she walked fearlessly, then on daisy and turf, and through thick

plantations; she reached Fieldhead and penetrated to Miss Keeldar's dressingroom.

It was well she had come, or Shirley would have been too late. Instead of making ready with all speed, she

lay stretched on a couch, absorbed in reading: Mrs. Pryor stood near, vainly urging her to rise and dress.

Caroline wasted no words: she immediately took the book from her, and with her own hands commenced the

business of disrobing and rerobing her. Shirley, indolent with the heat, and gay with her youth and

pleasurable nature, wanted to talk, laugh and linger; but Caroline, intent on being in time, persevered in

dressing her as fast as fingers could fasten strings or insert pins. At length, as she united a final row of hooks

and eyes, she found leisure to chide her, saying she was very naughty to be so unpunctual; that she looked

even now the picture of incorrigible carelessness: and so Shirley did but a very lovely picture of that

She presented quite a contrast to Caroline: there was style in every fold of her dress and every line of her

figure: the rich silk suited her better than a simpler costume; the deep embroidered scarf became her: she

wore it negligently, but gracefully; the wreath on her bonnet crowned her well: the attention to fashion, the

tasteful appliance of ornament in each portion of her dress, were quite in place with her: all this suited her,

like the frank light in her eyes, the rallying smile about her lips, like her shaftstraight carriage and lightsome

step. Caroline took her hand when she was dressed, hurried her downstairs, out of doors, and thus they sped

through the fields, laughing as they went, and looking very much like a snowwhite dove and gemtinted

Thanks to Miss Helstone's promptitude, they arrived in good time. While yet trees hid the church, they heard

the bell tolling a measured but urgent summons for all to assemble; the trooping in of numbers, the trampling

of many steps, and murmuring of many voices were likewise audible. From a rising ground they presently

saw, on the Whinbury road, the Whinbury school approaching: it numbered five hundred souls. The Rector

and Curate, Boultby and Donne, headed it: the former, looming large in full canonicals, walking as became a

beneficed priest, under the canopy of a shovelhat, with the dignity of an ample corporation, the

embellishment of the squarest and vastest of black coats, and the support of the stoutest of goldheaded

canes. As the Doctor walked, he now and then slightly flourished his cane, and inclined his shovelhat with a

dogmatical wag towards his aidedecamp. That aidedecamp Donne, to wit narrow as the line of his

shape was compared to the broad bulk of his principal, contrived, notwithstanding, to look every inch a

curate: all about him was pragmatical and selfcomplacent, from his turnedup nose and elevated chin to his

clerical black gaiters, his somewhat short, strapless trousers, and his squaretoed shoes.

Walk on, Mr. Donne! You have undergone scrutiny. You think you look well whether the white and purple

These figures come running down when the regiment has marched by: the churchyard is full of children and

teachers, all in their very best holiday attire: and distressed as is the district, bad as are the times it is

wonderful to see how respectably how handsomely even they have contrived to clothe themselves. That

British love of decency will work miracles: the poverty which reduces an Irish girl to rags is impotent to rob

the English girl of the neat wardrobe she knows necessary to her selfrespect. Besides, the lady of the manor

that Shirley, now gazing with pleasure on this welldressed and happylooking crowd has really done

them good: her seasonable bounty consoled many a poor family against the coming holiday, and supplied

many a child with a new frock or bonnet for the occasion; she knows it, and is elate with the consciousness:

glad that her money, example, and influence have really substantially benefited those around her. She

cannot be charitable like Miss Ainley it is not in her nature: it relieves her to feel that there is another way

of being charitable, practicable for other characters, and under other circumstances.

Caroline, too, is pleased; for she also has done good in her small way; robbed herself of more than one dress,

ribbon, or collar she could ill spare, to aid in fitting out the scholars of her class; and as she could not give

money, she has followed Miss Ainley's example, in giving her time and her industry to sew for the children.

Not only is the churchyard full, but the Rectorygarden is also thronged: pairs and parties of ladies and

gentlemen are seen walking amongst the waving lilacs and laburnums. The house also is occupied: at the

wideopen parlourwindows gay groups are standing. These are the patrons and teachers, who are to swell

the procession. In the parson's croft, behind the Rectory, are the musicians of the three parish bands, with

their instruments. Fanny and Eliza, in the smartest of caps and gowns, and the whitest of aprons, move

amongst them, serving out quarts of ale; whereof a stock was brewed very sound and strong some weeks

since, by the Rector's orders, and under his special superintendence. Whatever he had a hand in, must be

managed handsomely: 'shabby doings,' of any description, were not endured under his sanction: from the

erection of a public building, a church, school, or courthouse, to the cooking of a dinner, he still advocated

the lordly, liberal, and effective. Miss Keeldar was like him in this respect, and they mutually approved each

Caroline and Shirley were soon in the midst of the company; the former met them very easily for her: instead

of sitting down in a retired corner, or stealing away to her own room till the procession should be marshalled,

according to her wont, she moved through the three parlours, conversed and smiled, absolutely spoke once or

twice ere she was spoken to, and, in short, seemed a new creature. It was Shirley's presence which thus

transformed her: the view of Miss Keeldar's air and manner did her a world of good. Shirley had no fear of

her kind; no tendency to shrink from, to avoid it. All human beings, men, women, or children, whom low

breeding or coarse presumption did not render positively offensive, were welcome enough to her: some much

more so than others, of course; but, generally speaking, till a man had indisputably proved himself bad and a

nuisance, Shirley was willing to think him good and an acquisition, and to treat him accordingly. This

disposition made her a general favourite, for it robbed her very raillery of its sting, and gave her serious or

smiling conversation a happy charm: nor did it diminish the value of her intimate friendship, which was a

distinct thing from this social benevolence, depending, indeed, on quite a different part of her character. Miss

Helstone was the choice of her affection and intellect; the Misses Pearson, Sykes, Wynne, etc., etc., only the

Donne happened to come into the drawingroom while Shirley, sitting on the sofa, formed the centre of a

tolerably wide circle. She had already forgotten her exasperation against him, and she bowed and smiled

goodhumouredly. The disposition of the man was then seen. He knew neither how to decline the advance

with dignity, as one whose just pride has been wounded, nor how to meet it with frankness, as one who is

glad to forget and forgive; his punishment had impressed him with no sense of shame, and he did not

experience that feeling on encountering his chastiser: he was not vigorous enough in evil to be actively

malignant he merely passed by sheepishly with a rated, scowling look. Nothing could ever again reconcile

him to his enemy; while no passion of resentment, for even sharper and more ignominious inflictions, could

'He was not worth a scene!' said Shirley to Caroline. 'What a fool I was! To revenge on poor Donne his silly

spite at Yorkshire, is something like crushing a gnat for attacking the hide of a rhinoceros. Had I been a

gentleman, I believe I should have helped him off the premises by dint of physical force: I am glad now I

only employed the moral weapon. But he must come near me no more: I don't like him: he irritates me: there

It seemed as if Malone wished to justify the preference; for the words were scarcely out of the speaker's

mouth, when Peter Augustus came up, all in 'grande tenue,' gloved and scented, with his hair oiled and

brushed to perfection, and bearing in one hand a huge bunch of cabbage roses, five or six in full blow: these

he presented to the heiress with a grace to which the most cunning pencil could do but defective justice. And

who, after this, could dare to say that Peter was not a lady's man? He had gathered and he had given flowers:

he had offered a sentimental a poetic tribute at the shrine of Love or Mammon. Hercules holding the distaff

was but a faint type of Peter bearing the roses. He must have thought this himself, for he seemed amazed at

what he had done: he backed without a word; he was going away with a husky chuckle of selffelicitation;

then he bethought himself to stop and turn, to ascertain by ocular testimony that he really had presented a

bouquet: yes there were the six red cabbages on the purple satin lap, a very white hand, with some gold

rings on the fingers, slightly holding them together, and streaming ringlets, half hiding a laughing face,

drooped over them: only halfhiding: Peter saw the laugh it was unmistakable he was made a joke of

his gallantry, his chivalry were the subject of a jest for a petticoat for two petticoats Miss Helstone too

was smiling. Moreover, he felt he was seen through, and Peter grew black as a thundercloud. When Shirley

looked up, a fell eye was fastened on her: Malone, at least, had energy enough in hate: she saw it in his

'Peter is worth a scene, and shall have it; if he likes, one day,' she whispered to her friend.

And now solemn and sombre as to their colour, though bland enough as to their faces appeared at the

diningroom door the three rectors: they had hitherto been busy in the church, and were now coming to take

some little refreshment for the body, ere the march commenced. The large moroccocovered easy chair had

been left vacant for Dr. Boultby; he was put into it, and Caroline, obeying the instigations of Shirley, who

told her now was the time to play the hostess, hastened to hand to her uncle's vast, revered, and, on the whole,

worthy friend, a glass of wine and a plate of macaroons. Boultby's churchwardens, patrons of the

Sundayschool both, as he insisted on their being, were already beside him; Mrs. Sykes. and the other ladies

of his congregation were on his right hand and on his left, expressing their hopes that he was not fatigued,

their fears that the day would be too warm for him. Mrs. Boultby, who held an opinion that when her lord

dropped asleep after a good dinner his face became as the face of an angel, was bending over him, tenderly

wiping some perspiration, real or imaginary, from his brow: Boultby, in short, was in his glory, and in a

round sound 'voix de poitrine,' he rumbled out thanks for attentions, and assurances of his tolerable health. Of

Caroline he took no manner of notice as she came near, save to accept what she offered; he did not see her, he

never did see her: he hardly knew that such a person existed. He saw the macaroons, however, and being fond

of sweets, possessed himself of a small handful thereof. The wine Mrs. Boultby insisted on mingling with hot

Mr. Hall stood near an open window, breathing the fresh air and scent of flowers, and talking like a brother to

Miss Ainley. To him Caroline turned her attention with pleasure. 'What should she bring him? He must not

help himself he must be served by her'; and she provided herself with a little salver, that she might offer

him variety. Margaret Hall joined them; so did Miss Keeldar: the four ladies stood round their favourite

pastor: they also had an idea that they looked on the face of an earthly angel: Cyril Hall was their pope,

infallible to them as Dr. Thomas Boultby to his admirers. A throng, too, enclosed the Rector of Briarfield:

twenty or more pressed round him; and no parson was ever more potent in a circle than old Helstone. The

curates, herding together after their manner, made a constellation of three lesser planets: divers young ladies

Mr. Helstone produced his watch. 'Ten minutes to two,' he announced aloud. 'Time for all to fall into line.

Come.' He seized his shovelhat and marched away; all rose and followed en masse.

The twelve hundred children were drawn up in three bodies of four hundred souls each: in the rear of each

regiment was stationed a band; between every twenty there was an interval, wherein Helstone posted the

The rectors passed to the full front the parish clerks fell to the extreme rear; Helstone lifted his shovelhat;

in an instant out clashed the eight bells in the tower, loud swelled the sounding bands, flute spoke and clarion

The broad white road unrolled before the long procession, the sun and sky surveyed it cloudless, the wind

tossed the treeboughs above it, and the twelve hundred children, and one hundred and forty adults, of which

it was composed, trod on in time and tune, with gay faces and glad hearts. It was a joyous scene, and a scene

to do good: it was a day of happiness for rich and poor: the work, first of God, and then of the clergy. Let

England's priests have their due: they are a faulty set in some respects, being only of common flesh and

blood, like us all; but the land would be badly off without them: Britain would miss her church, if that church

Not on combat bent, nor of foemen in search, was this priestled and womenofficered company: yet their

music played martial tunes, and to judge by the eyes and carriage of some, Miss Keeldar, for instance

these sounds awoke, if not a martial, yet a longing spirit. Old Helstone, turning by chance, looked into her

'There is no battle in prospect,' he said; 'our country does not want us to fight for it: no foe or tyrant is

questioning or threatening our liberty: there is nothing to be done: we are only taking a walk. Keep your hand

on the reins, Captain, and slack the fire of that spirit: it is not wanted; the more's the pity.'

'Take your own advice, Doctor,' was Shirley's response. To Caroline she murmured, 'I'll borrow of

imagination what reality will not give me. We are not soldiersbloodshed is not my desire; or, if we are, we

are soldiers of the Cross. Time has rolled back some hundreds of years, and we are bound on a pilgrimage to

Palestine. But no, that is too visionary. I need a sterner dream: we are Lowlanders of Scotland, following a

covenanting captain up into the hills to hold a meeting out of the reach of persecuting troopers. We know that

battle may follow prayer; and, as we believe that in the worst issue of battle, heaven must be our reward, we

are ready and willing to redden the peatmoss with our blood. That music stirs my soul; it wakens all my life;

it makes my heart beat: not with its temperate daily pulse, but with a new, thrilling vigour. I almost long for

'Look, Shirley!' interrupted Caroline. 'What is that red speck above Stilbro' Brow? You have keener sight than

Miss Keeldar looked. 'I see,' she said: then added presently, 'there is a line of red. They are soldiers cavalry

soldiers,' she subjoined quickly: 'they ride fast: there are six of them: they will pass us: no they have turned

off to the right: they saw our procession, and avoid it by making a circuit. Where are they going?'

'We shall pass through Roydlane, to reach Nunnely Common by a short cut,' said he.

And into the straits of Royd Lane they accordingly defiled. It was very narrow, so narrow that only two

could walk abreast without falling into the ditch which ran along each side. They had gained the middle of it,

when excitement became obvious in the clerical commanders: Boultby's spectacles and Helstone's Rehoboam

were agitated: the curates nudged each other: Mr. Hall turned to the ladies and smiled.

He pointed with his staff to the end of the lane before them. Lo and behold! another, an opposition

procession was there entering, headed also by men in black, and followed also, as they could now hear, by

'Is it our double?' asked Shirley: 'our manifold wraith? Here is a card turned up.'

'If you wanted a battle, you are likely to get one, at least of looks,' whispered Caroline, laughing.

'Give way!' retorted Helstone sternly, turning round; 'who talks of giving way? You, boys, mind what you are

about: the ladies, I know, will be firm; I can trust them. There is not a churchwoman here but will stand her

ground against these folks, for the honour of the Establishment. What does Miss Keeldar say?'

'The Dissenting and Methodist schools, the Baptists, Independents, and Wesleyans, joined in unholy alliance,

and turning purposely into this lane with the intention of obstructing our march and driving us back.'

'Bad manners!' said Shirley; 'and I hate bad manners. Of course, they must have a lesson.'

'A lesson in politeness,' suggested Mr. Hall, who was ever for peace: 'not an example of rudeness.'

Old Helstone moved on. Quickening his step, he marched some yards in advance of his company. He had

nearly reached the other sable leaders, when he who appeared to act as the hostile commanderinchief a

large, greasy man, with black hair combed flat on his forehead called a halt. The procession paused: he

drew forth a hymnbook, gave out a verse, set a tune, and they all struck up the most dolorous of canticles.

Helstone signed to his bands: they clashed out with all the power of brass. He desired them to play 'Rule,

Britannia,' and ordered the children to join in vocally, which they did with enthusiastic spirit. The enemy was

sung and stormed down; his psalm quelled: as far as noise went, he was conquered.

'Now, follow me!' exclaimed Helstone; 'not at a run, but at a firm, smart pace. Be steady, every child and

And he strode on with such a determined and deliberate gait, and was, besides, so well seconded by his

scholars and teachers who did exactly as he told them, neither running nor faltering, but marching with

cool, solid impetus: the curates, too, being compelled to do the same, as they were between two fires,

Helstone and Miss Keeldar, both of whom watched any deviation with lynxeyed vigilance, and were ready,

the one with his cane, the other with her parasol, to rebuke the slightest breach of orders, the least

independent or irregular demonstration, that the body of Dissenters were first amazed, then alarmed, then

borne down and pressed back, and at last forced to turn tail and leave the outlet from Royd Lane free.

Boultby suffered in the onslaught, but Helstone and Malone, between them, held him up, and brought him

The fat Dissenter who had given out the hymn was left sitting in the ditch. He was a spirit merchant by trade,

a leader of the Nonconformists, and, it was said, drank more water in that one afternoon than he had

swallowed for a twelvemonth before. Mr. Hall had taken care of Caroline, and Caroline of him: he and Miss

Ainley made their own quiet comments to each other afterwards on the incident. Miss Keeldar and Mr.

Helstone shook hands heartily when they had fairly got the whole party through the lane. The curates began

to exult, but Mr. Helstone presently put the curb on their innocent spirits: he remarked that they never had

sense to know what to say, and had better hold their tongues; and he reminded them that the business was

About halfpast three the procession turned back, and at four once more regained the startingplace. Long

lines of benches were arranged in the closeshorn fields round the school: there the children were seated, and

huge baskets, covered up with white cloths, and great smoking tin vessels were brought out. Ere the

distribution of good things commenced, a brief grace was pronounced by Mr. Hall, and sung by the children:

their young voices sounded melodious, even touching, in the open air. Large currant buns, and hot,

wellsweetened tea, were then administered in the proper spirit of liberality: no stinting was permitted on this

day, at least; the rule for each child's allowance being that it was to have about twice as much as it could

possibly eat, thus leaving a reserve to be carried home for such as age, sickness, or other impediment,

prevented from coming to the feast. Buns and beer circulated, meantime, amongst the musicians and

churchsingers: afterwards the benches were removed, and they were left to unbend their spirits in licensed

A bell summoned the teachers, patrons, and patronesses to the schoolroom; Miss Keeldar, Miss Helstone, and

many other ladies were already there, glancing over the arrangement of their separate trays and tables. Most

of the female servants of the neighbourhood, together with the clerks', the singers', and the musicians' wives,

had been pressed into the service of the day as waiters: each vied with the other in smartness and daintiness

of dress, and many handsome forms were seen amongst the younger ones. About half a score were cutting

bread and butter; another halfscore supplying hot water, brought from the coppers of the Rector's kitchen.

The profusion of flowers and evergreens decorating the white walls, the show of silver teapots and bright

porcelain on the tables, the active figures, blithe faces, gay dresses flitting about everywhere, formed

altogether a refreshing and lively spectacle. Everybody talked, not very loudly, but merrily, and the canary

Caroline, as the Rector's niece, took her place at one of the three first tables; Mrs. Boultby and Margaret Hall

officiated at the others. At these tables the lite of the company were to be entertained; strict rules of equality

not being more in fashion at Briarfield than elsewhere. Miss Helstone removed her bonnet and scarf, that she

might be less oppressed with the heat; her long curls, falling on her neck, served almost in place of a veil, and

for the rest, her muslin dress was fashioned modestly as a nun's robe, enabling her thus to dispense with the

The room was filling: Mr. Hall had taken his post beside Caroline, who now, as she rearranged the cups and

spoons before her, whispered to him in a low voice remarks on the events of the day. He looked a little grave

about what had taken place in Royd Lane, and she tried to smile him out of his seriousness. Miss Keeldar sat

near; for a wonder, neither laughing nor talking; on the contrary, very still, and gazing round her vigilantly:

she seemed afraid lest some intruder should take a seat she apparently wished to reserve next her own: ever

and anon she spread her satin dress over an undue portion of the bench, or laid her gloves or her embroidered

handkerchief upon it. Caroline noticed this man ge at last, and asked her what friend she expected. Shirley

bent towards her, almost touched her ear with her rosy lips, and whispered with a musical softness that often

characterised her tones, when what she said tended even remotely to stir some sweet secret source of feeling

in her heart 'I expect Mr. Moore: I saw him last night, and I made him promise to come with his sister, and

to sit at our table: he won't fail me, I feel certain, but I apprehend his coming too late, and being separated

In fact Mr. Wynne the magistrate, his wife, his son, and his two daughters, now entered in high state. They

were Briarfield gentry: of course their place was at the first table, and being conducted thither, they filled up

the whole remaining space. For Miss Keeldar's comfort, Mr. Sam Wynne inducted himself into the very

vacancy she had kept for Moore, planting himself solidly on her gown, her gloves, and her handkerchief. Mr.

Sam was one of the objects of her aversion; and the more so because he showed serious symptoms of an aim

at her hand. The old gentleman, too, had publicly declared that the Fieldhead estate and the De Walden estate

were delightfully contagious a malapropism which rumour had not failed to repeat to Shirley.

Caroline's ears yet rung with that thrilling whisper, 'I expect Mr. Moore,' her heart yet beat and her cheek yet

glowed with it, when a note from the organ pealed above the confused hum of the place. Dr. Boultby, Mr.

Helstone, and Mr. Hall rose, so did all present, and grace was sung to the accompaniment of the music; and

then tea began. She was kept too busy with her office for a while to have leisure for looking round, but the

last cup being filled, she threw a restless glance over the room. There were some ladies and several

gentlemen standing about yet unaccommodated with seats; amidst a group she recognised her spinster friend,

Miss Mann, whom the fine weather had tempted, or some urgent friend had persuaded, to leave her drear

solitude for one hour of social enjoyment. Miss Mann looked tired of standing: a lady in a yellow bonnet

brought her a chair. Caroline knew well that 'chapeau en satin jaune'; she knew the black hair, and the kindly

though rather opinionated and frowardlooking face under it; she knew that 'robe de soie noire'; she knew

even that 'schal gris de lin'; she knew, in short, Hortense Moore, and she wanted to jump up and run to her

and kiss her to give her one embrace for her own sake, and two for her brother's. She half rose, indeed, with

a smothered exclamation, and perhaps for the impulse was very strong she would have run across the

room, and actually saluted her, but a hand replaced her in her seat, and a voice behind her whispered 'Wait

And when she could look up she did, and there was Robert himself close behind, smiling at her eagerness,

looking better than she had ever seen him look looking, indeed, to her partial eyes, so very handsome, that

she dared not trust herself to hazard a second glance; for his image struck on her vision with painful

brightness, and pictured itself on her memory as vividly as if there daguerreotyped by a pencil of keen

He moved on, and spoke to Miss Keeldar. Shirley, irritated by some unwelcome attentions from Sam Wynne,

and by the fact of that gentleman being still seated on her gloves and handkerchief and probably, also, by

Moore's want of punctuality was by no means in good humour. She first shrugged her shoulder at him, and

then she said a bitter word or two about his 'insupportable tardiness.' Moore neither apologised nor retorted:

he stood near her quietly, as if waiting to see whether she would recover her temper; which she did in little

more than three minutes, indicating the change by offering him her hand. Moore took it with a smile, half

corrective, half grateful: the slightest possible shake of the head delicately marked the former quality; it is

'You may sit where you can now, Mr. Moore,' said Shirley, also smiling: 'you see there is not an inch of room

for you here; but I discern plenty of space at Mrs. Boultby's table, between Miss Armitage and Miss

Birtwhistle; go: John Sykes will be your vis vis, and you will sit with your back towards us.'

Moore, however, preferred lingering about where he was: he now and then took a turn down the long room,

pausing in his walk to interchange greetings with other gentlemen in his own placeless predicament: but still

he came back to the magnet, Shirley, bringing with him, each time he returned, observations it was necessary

Meantime, poor Sam Wynne looked far from comfortable; his fair neighbour, judging from her movements,

appeared in a mood the most unquiet and unaccommodating: she would not sit still two seconds: she was hot;

she fanned herself; complained of want of air and space. She remarked, that, in her opinion, when people had

finished their tea they ought to leave the tables, and announced distinctly that she expected to faint if the

present state of things continued. Mr. Sam offered to accompany her into the open air; just the way to give

her her death of cold, she alleged: in short, his post became untenable; and having swallowed his quantum of

Moore should have been at hand, whereas he was quite at the other extremity of the room, deep in conference

with Christopher Sykes. A large cornfactor, Timothy Ramsden, Esq., happened to be nearer, and feeling

himself tired of standing, he advanced to fill the vacant seat. Shirley's expedients did not fail her: a sweep of

her scarf upset her teacup, its contents were shared between the bench and her own satin dress. Of course, it

became necessary to call a waiter to remedy the mischief: Mr. Ramsden, a stout, puffy gentleman, as large in

person as he was in property, held aloof from the consequent commotion. Shirley, usually almost culpably

indifferent to slight accidents affecting dress, etc., now made a commotion that might have become the most

delicate and nervous of her sex; Mr. Ramsden opened his mouth, withdrew slowly, and, as Miss Keeldar

again intimated her intention to 'give way' and swoon on the spot, he turned on his heel, and beat a heavy

Moore at last returned: calmly surveying the bustle, and somewhat quizzically scanning Shirley's

enigmaticallooking countenance, he remarked, that in truth this was the hottest end of the room; that he

found a climate there calculated to agree with none but cool temperaments like his own; and, putting the

waiters, the napkins, the satin robe, the whole turmoil, in short, to one side, he installed himself where destiny

evidently decreed he should sit. Shirley subsided; her features altered their lines: the raised knit brow and

inexplicable curve of the mouth became straight again: wilfulness and roguery gave place to other

expressions; and all the angular movements with which she had vexed the soul of Sam Wynne were conjured

to rest as by a charm. Still, no gracious glance was cast on Moore: on the contrary, he was accused of giving

her a world of trouble, and roundly charged with being the cause of depriving her of the esteem of Mr.

'Wouldn't have offended either gentleman, for the world,' she averred: 'I have always been accustomed to

treat both with the most respectful consideration, and there, owing to you, how they have been used! I shall

not be happy till I have made it up: I never am happy till I am friends with my neighbours; so tomorrow I

must make a pilgrimage to Royd cornmill, soothe the miller, and praise the grain; and next day I must call at

De Walden where I hate to go and carry in my reticule half an oatcake to give to Mr. Sam's favourite

'You know the surest path to the heart of each swain, I doubt not,' said Moore quietly. He looked very content

to have at last secured his present place; but he made no fine speech expressive of gratification, and offered

no apology for the trouble he had given. His phlegm became him wonderfully: it made him look handsomer,

he was so composed: it made his vicinage pleasant, it was so peacerestoring. You would not have thought,

to look at him, that he was a poor, struggling man seated beside a rich woman; the calm of equality stilled his

aspect: perhaps that calm, too, reigned in his soul. Now and then, from the way in which he looked down on

Miss Keeldar as he addressed her, you would have fancied his station towered above hers as much as his

stature did. Almost stern lights sometimes crossed his brow and gleamed in his eyes: their conversation had

become animated, though it was confined to a low key; she was urging him with questions evidently he

refused to her curiosity all the gratification it demanded. She sought his eye once with hers: you read, in its

soft yet eager expression, that it solicited clearer replies. Moore smiled pleasantly, but his lips continued

sealed. Then she was piqued and turned away, but he recalled her attention in two minutes: he seemed

It appeared that the heat of the room did not suit Miss Helstone: she grew paler and paler as the process of

teamaking was protracted. The moment thanks were returned, she quitted the table, and hastened to follow

her cousin Hortense, who, with Miss Mann, had already sought the open air. Robert Moore had risen when

she did perhaps he meant to speak to her; but there was yet a parting word to exchange with Miss Keeldar,

Hortense received her former pupil with a demeanour of more dignity than warmth: she had been seriously

offended by Mr. Helstone's proceedings, and had all along considered Caroline to blame in obeying her uncle

'You are a very great stranger,' she said austerely, as her pupil held and pressed her hand. The pupil knew her

too well to remonstrate or complain of coldness; she let the punctilious whim pass, sure that her natural bont

(I use this French word, because it expresses just what I mean; neither goodness nor goodnature, but

something between the two) would presently get the upper hand. It did: Hortense had no sooner examined her

face well, and observed the change its somewhat wasted features betrayed, than her mien softened. Kissing

her on both cheeks, she asked anxiously after her health: Caroline answered gaily. It would, however, have

been her lot to undergo a long cross examination, followed by an endless lecture on this head, had not Miss

Mann called off the attention of the questioner, by requesting to be conducted home. The poor invalid was

already fatigued: her weariness made her cross too cross almost to speak to Caroline; and besides, that

young person's white dress and lively look were displeasing in the eyes of Miss Mann: the everyday garb of

brown stuff or grey gingham, and the everyday air of melancholy, suited the solitary spinster better: she

would hardly know her young friend tonight, and quitted her with a cool nod. Hortense having promised to

Caroline now looked round for Shirley. She saw the rainbow scarf and purple dress in the centre of a throng

of ladies, all well known to herself, but all of the order whom she systematically avoided whenever avoidance

was possible. Shyer at some moments than at others, she felt just now no courage at all to join this company:

she could not, however, stand alone where all others went in pairs or parties, so she approached a group of

her own scholars, great girls, or rather young women, who were standing watching some hundreds of the

Miss Helstone knew these girls liked her, yet she was shy even with them out of school: they were not more

in awe of her than she of them: she drew near them now, rather to find protection in their company than to

patronise them with her presence. By some instinct they knew her weakness, and with natural politeness they

respected it. Her knowledge commanded their esteem when she taught them; her gentleness attracted their

regard; and because she was what they considered wise and good when on duty, they kindly overlooked her

evident timidity when off: they did not take advantage of it. Peasant girls as they were, they had too much of

her own English sensibility to be guilty of the coarse error: they stood round her still, civil, friendly, receiving

her slight smiles, and rather hurried efforts to converse, with a good feeling and good breeding: the last

Mr. Sam Wynne coming up with great haste, to insist on the elder girls joining in the game as well as the

younger ones, Caroline was again left alone. She was meditating a quiet retreat to the house, when Shirley,

'Let us go to the top of the fields,' she said: 'I know you don't like crowds, Caroline.'

'But it will be depriving you of a pleasure, Shirley, to take you from all these fine people, who court your

society so assiduously, and to whom you can, without art or effort, make yourself so pleasant.'

'Not quite without effort: I am already tired of the exertion: it is but insipid, barren work, talking and laughing

with the good gentlefolks of Briarfield. I have been looking out for your white dress for the last ten minutes: I

like to watch those I love in a crowd, and to compare them with others: I have thus compared you. You

resemble none of the rest, Lina: there are some prettier faces than yours here; you are not a modelbeauty

like Harriet Sykes, for instance; beside her, your person appears almost insignificant; but you look agreeable

'Where?' And as Caroline asked the question, she looked not over the fields, but into Miss Keeldar's eyes, as

was her wont whenever Shirley mentioned any object she descried afar. Her friend had quicker vision than

herself; and Caroline seemed to think that the secret of her eagle acuteness might be read in her dark grey

irids: or rather, perhaps, she only sought guidance by the direction of those discriminating and brilliant

'There is Moore,' said Shirley, pointing right across the wide field where a thousand children were playing,

and now nearly a thousand adult spectators walking about. 'There can you miss the tall stature and straight

port? He looks amidst the set that surround him like Eliab amongst humbler shepherds like Saul in a

'Why so, Shirley?' asked Caroline, whose eye had at last caught the object it sought. 'Robert is just now

'Reconciled not without good reason, depend on it: making common cause against some common foe. And

why, think you, are Messrs. Wynne and Sykes, and Armitage and Ramsden, gathered in such a close circle

round them? And why is Malone beckoned to join them? When he is summoned, be sure a strong arm is

'They won't trust me,' she said: 'that is always the way when it comes to the point.'

'Cannot you feel? There is some mystery afloat: some event is expected; some preparation is to be made, I am

certain: I saw it all in Mr. Moore's manner this evening: he was excited, yet hard.'

'Yes, to me. He often is hard to me. We seldom converse t te t te, but I am made to feel that the basis of

'Did he not? Very gentle tones and quiet manner; yet the man is peremptory and secret: his secrecy vexes me.'

'Which he has scarcely a right to be with me; especially as he commenced by giving me his confidence.

Having done nothing to forfeit that confidence, it ought not to be withdrawn: but I suppose I am not

'An unnecessary precaution: I am of elastic materials, not soon crushed: he ought to know that: but the man is

proud: he has his faults, say what you will, Lina. Observe how engaged that group appear: they do not know

'If we keep on the alert, Shirley, we shall perhaps find the clue to their secret.'

'There will be some unusual movements ere long perhaps tomorrow possibly tonight. But my eyes and

ears are wide open: Mr. Moore, you shall be under surveillance. Be you vigilant also, Lina.'

'I will: Robert is going, I saw him turn I believe he noticed us they are shaking hands.'

'Shaking hands, with emphasis,' added Shirley; 'as if they were ratifying some solemn league and covenant.'

Scarcely had the words escaped her lips, when she tried by a smile to deny the confession of disappointment

they seemed to imply. An unbidden suffusion for one moment both softened and brightened her eyes.

'Oh, that is soon remedied!' exclaimed Shirley. 'We'll make him bid us goodbye.'

Caroline said this as Miss Keeldar seized her arm, and hurried her down the fields. It was vain to contend:

nothing was so wilful as Shirley, when she took a whim into her head: Caroline found herself out of sight of

the crowd almost before she was aware, and ushered into a narrow shady spot, embowered above with

hawthorns, and enamelled under foot with daisies. She took no notice of the evening sun chequering the turf,

nor was she sensible of the pure incense exhaling at this hour from tree and plant; she only heard the wicket

opening at one end, and knew Robert was approaching. The long sprays of the hawthorns, shooting out

before them, served as a screen; they saw him before he observed them. At a glance Caroline perceived that

his social hilarity was gone: he had left it behind him in the joyechoing fields round the school; what

remained now was his dark, quiet, business countenance. As Shirley had said, a certain hardness

characterised his air, while his eye was excited, but austere. So much the worsetimed was the present freak

of Shirley's: if he had looked disposed for holiday mirth, it would not have mattered much, but now

'I told you not to come,' said Caroline, somewhat bitterly, to her friend. She seemed truly perturbed: to be

intruded on Robert thus, against her will and his expectation, and when he evidently would rather not be

delayed, keenly annoyed her. It did not annoy Miss Keeldar in the least: she stepped forward and faced her

'Omitted to bid you goodbye! Where did you come from? Are you fairies? I left two like you, one in purple

and one in white, standing at the top of a bank, four fields off, but a minute ago.'

'You left us there and find us here. We have been watching you; and shall watch you still: you must be

questioned one day, but not now: at present, all you have to do is to say goodnight, and then pass.'

Moore glanced from one to the other, without unbending his aspect. 'Days of fete have their privileges, and so

'Yes, and to Caroline likewise. It is nothing new, I hope: you have bid us both goodnight before.'

He took her hand, held it in one of his, and covered it with the other: he looked down at her gravely, kindly,

yet commandingly. The heiress could not make this man her subject: in his gaze on her bright face there was

no servility, hardly homage; but there was interest and affection, heightened by another feeling: something in

his tone when he spoke, as well as in his words, marked that last sentiment to be gratitude.

'Your debtor bids you goodnight! May you rest safely and serenely till morning!'

'And you, Mr. Moore, what are you going to do? What have you been saying to Mr. Helstone, with whom I

saw you shake hands? Why did all those gentlemen gather round you? Put away reserve for once: be frank

'Who can resist you? I will be frank: tomorrow, if there is anything to relate, you shall hear it.'

'But I could only tell half a tale; and my time is limited, I have not a moment to spare: hereafter I will make

He would have taken Caroline's hand and joined it in the same clasp in which he held Shirley's, but somehow

it was not ready for him; she had withdrawn a few steps apart: her answer to Moore's adieu was only a slight

bend of the head, and a gentle, serious smile. He sought no more cordial token: again he said 'Farewell!' and

'There! it is over!' said Shirley, when he was gone. 'We have made him bid us goodnight, and yet not lost

'I consider you very timid and undemonstrative,' remarked Miss Keeldar. 'Why did you not give Mr. Moore

your hand when he offered you his? He is your cousin: you like him. Are you ashamed to let him perceive

'He perceives all of it that interests him: no need to make a display of feeling.'

'You are laconic: you would be stoical if you could. Is love, in your eyes, a crime, Caroline?'

'Love a crime! No, Shirley: love is a divine virtue; but why drag that word into the conversation? it is

'Obtrusiveness is a crime; forwardness is a crime; and both disgust: but love! no purest angel need blush to

love! And when I see or hear either man or woman couple shame with love, I know their minds are coarse,

their associations debased. Many who think themselves refined ladies and gentlemen, and on whose lips the

word 'vulgarity' is for ever hovering, cannot mention 'love' without betraying their own innate and imbecile

degradation: it is a low feeling in their estimation, connected only with low ideas for them.'

'They are cold they are cowardly they are stupid on the subject, Shirley! They never loved they never

'Thou art right, Lina! And in their dense ignorance they blaspheme living fire, seraphbrought from a divine

The sudden and joyous clash of bells here stopped the dialogue by summoning all to the church.

The evening was still and warm; close and sultry it even promised to become. Round the descending sun the

clouds glowed purple; summer tints, rather Indian than English, suffused the horizon, and cast rosy

reflections on hillside, housefront, treebole; on winding road, and undulating pastureground. The two

girls came down from the fields slowly by the time they reached the churchyard the bells were hushed; the

'And how hot it will be in the church!' responded Shirley; 'and what a dreary long speech Dr. Boultby will

make! and how the curates will hammer over their prepared orations! For my part, I would rather not enter.'

'I will bear the brunt of his wrath: he will not devour me. I shall be sorry to miss his pungent speech. I know it

will be all sense for the Church, and all causticity for Schism: he'll not forget the battle of Royd Lane. I shall

be sorry also to deprive you of Mr. Hall's sincere friendly homily, with all its racy Yorkshireisms; but here I

must stay. The grey church and greyer tombs look divine with this crimson gleam on them. Nature is now at

her evening prayers: she is kneeling before those red hills. I see her prostrate on the great steps of her altar,

praying for a fair night for mariners at sea, for travellers in deserts, for lambs on moors, and unfledged birds

in woods. Caroline, I see her! and I will tell you what she is like: she is like what Eve was when she and

'Milton's Eve! Milton's Eve! I repeat. No, by the pure Mother of God, she is not! Cary, we are alone: we may

speak what we think. Milton was great; but was he good? His brain was right; how was his heart? He saw

heaven: he looked down on hell. He saw Satan, and Sin his daughter, and Death their horrible offspring.

Angels serried before him their battalions: the long lines of adamantine shields flashed back on his blind

eyeballs the unutterable splendour of heaven. Devils gathered their legions in his sight: their dim,

discrowned, and tarnished armies passed rank and file before him. Milton tried to see the first woman; but,

'Not more bold than faithful. It was his cook that he saw; or it was Mrs. Gill, as I have seen her, making

custards, in the heat of summer, in the cool dairy, with rosetrees and nasturtiums about the latticed window,

preparing a cold collation for the rectors, preserves, and 'dulcet creams' puzzled 'what choice to choose

for delicacy best; what order so contrived as not to mix tastes, not welljoined, inelegant; but bring taste after

'I would beg to remind him that the first men of the earth were Titans, and that Eve was their mother: from

'I say, there were giants on the earth in those days: giants that strove to scale heaven. The first woman's breast

that heaved with life on this world yielded the daring which could contend with Omnipotence: the strength

which could bear a thousand years of bondage, the vitality which could feed that vulture death through

uncounted ages, the unexhausted life and uncorrupted excellence, sisters to immortality, which, after

millenniums of crimes, struggles, and woes, could conceive and bring forth a Messiah. The first woman was

heavenborn: vast was the heart whence gushed the wellspring of the blood of nations; and grand the

'She coveted an apple, and was cheated by a snake: but you have got such a hash of Scripture and mythology

into your head that there is no making any sense of you. You have not yet told me what you saw kneeling on

'I saw I now see a womanTitan: her robe of blue air spreads to the outskirts of the heath, where yonder

flock is grazing; a veil white as an avalanche sweeps from her head to her feet, and arabesques of lightning

flame on its borders. Under her breast I see her zone, purple like that horizon: through its blush shines the star

of evening. Her steady eyes I cannot picture; they are clear they are deep as lakes they are lifted and full

of worship they tremble with the softness of love and the lustre of prayer. Her forehead has the expanse of a

cloud, and is paler than the early moon, risen long before dark gathers: she reclines her bosom on the ridge of

Stilbro' Moor; her mighty hands are joined beneath it. So kneeling, face to face she speaks with God. That

'Caroline, I will not: I will stay out here with my mother Eve, in these days called Nature. I love her, undying,

mighty being! Heaven may have faded from her brow when she fell in paradise; but all that is glorious on

earth shines there still, She is taking me to her bosom, and showing me her heart. Hush, Caroline! you will

'I will humour your whim; but you will begin talking again, ere ten minutes are over.'

Miss Keeldar, on whom the soft excitement of the warm summer evening seemed working with unwonted

power, leaned against an upright headstone: she fixed her eyes on the deepburning west, and sank into a

pleasurable trance. Caroline, going a little apart, paced to and fro beneath the Rectory gardenwall, dreaming,

too, in her way. Shirley had mentioned the word 'mother': that word suggested to Caroline's imagination not

the mighty and mystical parent of Shirley's visions, but a gentle human form the form she ascribed to her

'Oh, that the day would come when she would remember her child! Oh, that I might know her, and knowing,

The longing of her childhood filled her soul again. The desire which many a night had kept her awake in her

crib, and which fear of its fallacy had of late years almost extinguished, relit suddenly, and glowed warm in

her heart: that her mother might come some happy day, and send for her to her presence look upon her

fondly with loving eyes, and say to her tenderly, in a sweet voice 'Caroline, my child I have a home for

you: you shall live with me. All the love you have needed, and not tasted, from infancy, I have saved for you

A noise on the road roused Caroline from her filial hopes, and Shirley from her Titan visions. They listened,

and heard the tramp of horses: they looked, and saw a glitter through the trees: they caught through the

foliage glimpses of martial scarlet; helm shone, plume waved. Silent and orderly, six soldiers rode softly by.

'The same we saw this afternoon,' whispered Shirley: 'they have been halting somewhere till now. They wish

to be as little noticed as possible, and are seeking their rendezvous at this quiet hour, while the people are at

Scarcely were sight and sound of the soldiers lost, when another and somewhat different disturbance broke

the nighthush a child's impatient scream. They looked: a man issued from the church, carrying in his arms

an infant a robust, ruddy little boy, of some two years old roaring with all the power of his lungs; he had

probably just awaked from a churchsleep: two little girls, of nine and ten, followed. The influence of the

fresh air, and the attraction of some flowers gathered from a grave, soon quieted the child; the man sat down

with him, dandling him on his knee as tenderly as any woman; the two little girls took their places one on

'Good evening, William,' said Shirley, after due scrutiny of the man. He had seen her before, and apparently

was waiting to be recognised; he now took off his hat, and grinned a smile of pleasure. He was a

roughheaded, hardfeatured personage, not old, but very weatherbeaten; his attire was decent and clean,

that of his children singularly neat; it was our old friend, Farren. The young ladies approached him.

'You are not going into the church?' he inquired, gazing at them complacently, yet with a mixture of

bashfulness in his look: a sentiment not by any means the result of awe of their station, but only of

appreciation of their elegance and youth. Before gentlemen such as Moore or Helstone, for instance

William was often a little dogged; with proud or insolent ladies, too, he was quite unmanageable, sometimes

very resentful; but he was most sensible of, most tractable to, goodhumour and civility. His nature a

stubborn one was repelled by inflexibility in other natures; for which reason, he had never been able to like

his former master, Moore; and unconscious of that gentleman's good opinion of himself, and of the service he

had secretly rendered him in recommending him as gardener to Mr. Yorke, and by this means to other

families in the neighbourhood, he continued to harbour a grudge against his austerity. Latterly, he had often

worked at Fieldhead; Miss Keeldar's frank, hospitable manners were perfectly charming to him. Caroline he

had known from her childhood: unconsciously she was his ideal of a lady. Her gentle mien, step, gestures, her

grace of person and attire, moved some artistfibres about his peasant heart: he had a pleasure in looking at

her, as he had in examining rare flowers, or in seeing pleasant landscapes. Both the ladies liked William: it

was their delight to lend him books, to give him plants; and they preferred his conversation far before that of

'Ay, Miss Shirley, there's a gleg light i' your een sometimes which betrays you. You look raight down

'Me? I'm stalled o' t' curates, and so is t' wife: they've no manners; they talk to poor folk fair as if they thought

they were beneath them. They're allus magnifying their office: it is a pity but their office could magnify them;

'But you are proud in your own way yourself,' interposed Caroline: 'you are what you call houseproud; you

like to have everything handsome about you: sometimes you look as if you were almost too proud to take

your wages. When you were out of work, you were too proud to get anything on credit; but for your children,

I believe you would rather have starved than gone to the shops without money; and when I wanted to give

'It is partly true, Miss Caroline: ony day I'd rather give than take, especially from sich as ye. Look at t'

difference between us: ye're a little, young, slender lass, and I'm a great strong man: I'm rather more nor twice

your age. It is not my part then, I think, to tak' fro' ye to be under obligations (as they say) to ye; and that

day ye came to our house, and called me to t' door, and offered me five shillings, which I doubt ye could ill

spare, for ye've no fortin', I know, that day I war fair a rebel a radical an insurrectionist; and ye made

me so. I thought it shameful that, willing and able as I was to work, I suld be i' such a condition that a young

cratur about the age o' my own eldest lass suld think it needful to come and offer me her bit o' brass.'

'I almost was, in a way; but I forgave ye varry soon: ye meant well. Ay, I am proud, and so are ye; but your

pride and mine is t' raight mak' what we call i' Yorkshire clean pride such as Mr. Malone and Mr. Donne

knows nought about: theirs is mucky pride. Now, I shall teach my lasses to be as proud as Miss Shirley there,

and my lads to be as proud as myseln; but I dare ony o' 'em to be like t' curates: I'd lick little Michael, if I seed

'Ye know t' difference weel enow, but ye want me to get a gate o' talking. Mr. Malone and Mr. Donne is

almost too proud to do aught for theirsel'n; we are almost too proud to let anybody do aught for us. T' curates

can hardly bide to speak a civil word to them they think beneath them; we can hardly bide to tak' an uncivil

'Now, William, be humble enough to tell me truly how you are getting on in the world. Are you well off?'

'Miss Shirley I am varry well off. Since I got into t' gardening line, wi' Mr. Yorke's help, and since Mr. Hall

(another o' t' raight sort) helped my wife to set up a bit of a shop, I've nought to complain of. My family has

plenty to eat and plenty to wear: my pride makes me find means to save an odd pound now and then against

rainy days; for I think I'd die afore I'd come to t' parish: and me and mine is content; but th' neighbours is

'And, consequently, there is still discontent, I suppose?' inquired Miss Keeldar.

'Consequently ye say right consequently. In course, starving folk cannot be satisfied or settled folk. The

'Do? ye can do not mich, poor young lass! Ye've gi'en your brass: ye've done well. If ye could transport

'William, for shame!' exclaimed Caroline warmly. 'If folks do hate him, it is to their disgrace, not his. Mr.

Moore himself hates nobody; he only wants to do his duty, and maintain his rights: you are wrong to talk so!'

'But,' interposed Shirley, 'supposing Moore was driven from the country, and his mill razed to the ground,

'They'd have less. I know that, and they know that; and there is many an honest lad driven desperate by the

certainty that, whichever way he turns, he cannot better himself, and there is dishonest men plenty to guide

them to the devil: scoundrels that reckons to be the 'people's friends,' and that knows naught about the people,

and is as insincere as Lucifer. I've lived aboon forty year in the world, and I believe that 'the people' will

never have any true friends but theirsel'n, and them two or three good folk i' different stations that is friends

to all the world. Human natur', taking it i' th' lump, is naught but selfishness. It is but excessive few, it is but

just an exception here and there, now and then, sich as ye two young uns and me, that being in a different

sphere, can understand t' one t' other, and be friends wi'out slavishness o' one hand, or pride o' t' other. Them

that reckons to be friends to a lower class than their own fro' political motives is never to be trusted: they

always try to make their inferiors tools. For my own part, I will neither be patronised nor misled for no man's

pleasure. I've had overtures made to me lately that I saw were treacherous, and I flung 'em back i' the faces o'

'I will not: it would do no good; it would mak' no difference: them they concerned can look after theirsel'n.'

'Ay, we'se look after wersel'n,' said another voice. Joe Scott had sauntered forth from the church to get a

'And I'll warrant my maister,' was the answer. 'Young ladies,' continued Joe, assuming a lordly air, 'ye'd better

'I wonder what for?' inquired Shirley, to whom the overlooker's somewhat pragmatical manners were

familiar, and who was often at war with him; for Joe, holding supercilious theories about women in general,

resented greatly, in his secret soul, the fact of his master and his master's mill being, in a manner, under

petticoat government, and had felt as wormwood and gall certain businessvisits of the heiress to the

'Indeed! There is prayer and preaching agate in that church: are we not concerned in that?'

'Ye have been present neither at the prayer nor preaching, ma'am, if I have observed aright. What I alluded to

was politics: William Farren, here, was touching on that subject, if I'm not mista'en.'

'Well, what then? Politics are our habitual study, Joe. Do you know I see a newspaper every day, and two of a

'I should think you'll read the marriages, probably, Miss, and the murders, and the accidents, and sich like?'

'I read the leading articles, Joe, and the foreign intelligence, and I look over the market prices: in short, I read

Joe looked as if he thought this talk was like the chattering of a pie. He replied to it by a disdainful silence.

'Joe,' continued Miss Keeldar, 'I never yet could ascertain properly whether you are a Whig or a Tory: pray

'It is rayther difficult to explain where you are sure not to be understood,' was Joe's haughty response; 'but, as

to being a Tory, I'd as soon be an old woman, or a young one, which is a more flimsier article still. It is the

Tories that carries on the war and ruins trade; and, if I be of any party though political parties is all

nonsense I'm of that which is most favourable to peace, and, by consequence, to the mercantile interests of

'So am I, Joe,' replied Shirley, who had rather a pleasure in teasing the overlooker, by persisting in talking on

subjects with which he opined she as a woman had no right to meddle: 'partly, at least. I have rather a

leaning to the agricultural interest, too; as good reason is, seeing that I don't desire England to be under the

feet of France, and that if a share of my income comes from Hollow's Mill, a larger share comes from the

landed estate around it. It would not do to take any measure injurious to the farmers, Joe, I think?'

'If you make that remark out of interest in me, I have merely to assure you that I am impervious to cold. I

should not mind taking my turn to watch the mill one of these summer nights, armed with your musket, Joe.'

Joe Scott's chin was always rather prominent: he poked it out, at this speech, some inches farther than usual.

'But to go back to my sheep,' she proceeded 'clothier and millowner as I am, besides farmer, I cannot get

out of my head a certain idea that we manufacturers and persons of business are sometimes a little a very

little selfish and shortsighted in our views, and rather too regardless of human suffering, rather heartless in

'Man of mystery! Your master will argue with me sometimes, Joe; he is not so stiff as you are.'

'Joe, do you seriously think all the wisdom in the world is lodged in male skulls?'

'I think that women are a kittle and a froward generation; and I've a great respect for the doctrines delivered in

''Let the woman learn in silence, with all subjection. I suffer not a woman to teach, nor to usurp authority over

'What has that to do with the business?' interjected Shirley: 'that smacks of rights of primogeniture. I'll bring

''And,'' continued Joe Scott, ''Adam was not deceived; but the woman, being deceived, was in the

'More shame to Adam to sin with his eyes open!' cried Miss Keeldar. 'To confess the honest truth, Joe, I never

'He may read it in his own fashion,' remarked Caroline, now joining in the dialogue for the first time. 'You

'Nay: women is to take their husbands' opinion, both in politics and religion: it's wholesomest for them.'

'Consider yourself groaned down, and cried shame over, for such a stupid observation' said Miss Keeldar.

'You might as well say men are to take the opinions of their priests without examination. Of what value

'Hem! I I account for them in this way: he wrote that chapter for a particular congregation of Christians,

under peculiar circumstances; and besides, I dare say, if I could read the original Greek, I should find that

many of the words have been wrongly translated, perhaps misapprehended altogether. It would be possible, I

doubt not, with a little ingenuity, to give the passage quite a contrary turn: to make it say, 'Let the woman

speak out whenever she sees fit to make an objection;' 'it is permitted to a woman to teach and to exercise

authority as much as may be. Man, meantime, cannot do better than hold his peace,' and so on.'

'I dare say it will. My notions are dyed in faster colours than yours, Joe. Mr. Scott, you are a thoroughly

'Joe is well enough in his own house,' said Shirley: 'I have seen him as quiet as a lamb at home. There is not a

'My wife is a hardworking, plain woman: time and trouble has ta'en all the conceit out of her; but that is not

the case with you, young misses. And then you reckon to have so much knowledge; and i' my thoughts it's

only superficial sort o' vanities you're acquainted with. I can tell happen a year sin' one day Miss Caroline

coming into our countinghouse when I war packing up summat behind t' great desk, and she didn't see me,

and she brought a slate wi' a sum on it to t' maister: it were only a bit of a sum in practice, that our Harry

would have settled i' two minutes. She couldn't do it; Mr. Moore had to show her how; and when he did show

'Nay, it's no nonsense: and Miss Shirley there reckons to hearken to t' maister when he's talking ower trade, so

attentive like, as if she followed him word for word, and all war as clear as a lady's lookingglass to her een;

and all t' while she's peeping and peeping out o' t' window to see if t' mare stands quiet; and then looking at a

bit of a splash on her ridingskirt; and then glancing glegly round at wer countinghouse cobwebs and dust,

and thinking what mucky folk we are, and what a grand ride she'll have just i' now ower Nunnely Common.

'Joe, you are a real slanderer. I would give you your answer, only the people are coming out of church: we

must leave you. Man of prejudice, goodbye: William, goodbye. Children, come up to Fieldhead

tomorrow, and you shall choose what you like best out of Mrs. Gill's storeroom.'

'There will be just light enough to show me the way home,' said Miss Keeldar, as she prepared to take leave

'That she shall not. Of what need I be afraid in my own parish? I would walk from Fieldhead to the church

any fine midsummer night, three hours later than this, for the mere pleasure of seeing the stars, and the

'Agreed. There are the five Misses Armitage streaming by. Here comes Mrs. Sykes's phaeton, Mr. Wynne's

close carriage, Mrs. Birtwhistle's car: I don't wish to go through the ceremony of bidding them all goodbye,

so we will step into the garden and take shelter amongst the laburnums for an instant.'

The rectors, their curates and their churchwardens, now issued from the churchporch. There was a great

confabulation, shaking of hands, congratulation on speeches, recommendation to be careful of the night air,

etc. By degrees the throng dispersed; the carriages drove off. Miss Keeldar was just emerging from her

'Oh! I want you!' he said: 'I was afraid you were already gone. Caroline, come here!'

Caroline came, expecting, as Shirley did, a lecture on not having been visible at church. Other subjects,

'I shall not sleep at home tonight,' he continued. 'I have just met with an old friend, and promised to

accompany him. I shall return probably about noon tomorrow. Thomas, the clerk, is engaged, and I cannot

get him to sleep in the house, as I usually do when I am absent for a night; now '

'Now,' interrupted Shirley, 'you want me as a gentleman the first gentleman in Briarfield, in short, to supply

your place, be master of the Rectory, and guardian of your niece and maids while you are away?'

'Exactly, Captain: I thought the post would suit you. Will you favour Caroline so far as to be her guest for one

'I will send her word. Come, make up your mind to stay. It grows late; the dew falls heavily: you and

'I promise you then to stay with Caroline,' replied Shirley. 'As you say, we shall enjoy each other's society:

we will not be separated tonight. Now, rejoin your old friend, and fear nothing for us.'

'If there should chance to be any disturbance in the night, Captain if you should hear the picking of a lock,

the cutting out of a pane of glass, a stealthy tread of steps about the house (and I need not fear to tell you,

who bear a welltempered, mettlesome heart under your girl's ribbonsash, that such little incidents are very

'Don't know faint, perhaps fall down, and have to be picked up again. But, doctor, if you assign me the

post of honour, you must give me arms. What weapons are there in your stronghold?'

'You will find a good one in the diningroom sideboard: a lady's knife, light to handle, and as sharppointed

'It will suit Caroline; but you must give me a brace of pistols: I know you have pistols.'

'I have two pairs; one pair I can place at your disposal. You will find them suspended over the mantelpiece of

'Yes, but not on the cock. Cock them before you go to bed. It is paying you a great compliment, Captain, to

'I will take care. You need delay no longer, Mr. Helstone: you may go now. He is gracious to me to lend me

his pistols,' she remarked, as the rector passed out at the gardengate. 'But come, Lina,' she continued; 'let us

go in and have some supper: I was too much vexed at tea with the vicinage of Mr. Sam Wynne to be able to

Entering the house, they repaired to the darkened diningroom, through the open windows of which

apartment stole the evening air, bearing the perfume of flowers from the garden, the very distant sound of

farretreating steps from the road, and a soft vague murmur; whose origin Caroline explained by the remark,

uttered as she stood listening at the casement Shirley, I hear the beck in the Hollow.'

Then she rung the bell, asked for a candle and some bread and milk Miss Keeldar's usual supper and her

own. Fanny, when she brought in the tray, would have closed the windows and the shutters, but was

requested to desist for the present: the twilight was too calm, its breath too balmy to be yet excluded. They

took their meal in silence: Caroline rose once, to remove to the windowsill a glass of flowers which stood

on the sideboard; the exhalation from the blossoms being somewhat too powerful for the sultry room: in

returning, she half opened a drawer, and took from it something that glittered clear and keen in her hand.

'You assigned this to me, then, Shirley did you? It is bright, keenedged, finelytapered: it is

dangerouslooking, I never yet felt the impulse which could move me to direct this against a fellowcreature.

It is difficult to fancy what circumstances could nerve my arm to strike home with this long knife.'

'I should hate to do it,' replied Shirley; 'but I think I could do it, if goaded by certain exigencies which I can

imagine.' And Miss Keeldar quietly sipped her glass of new milk, looking somewhat thoughtful, and a little

The milk sipped and the bread eaten, Fanny was again summoned: she and Eliza were recommended to go to

bed, which they were quite willing to do, being weary of the day's exertions, of much cutting of currantbuns,

and filling of urns and teapots, and running backwards and forwards with trays. Erelong the maids'

chamberdoor was heard to close; Caroline took a candle, and went quietly all over the house, seeing that

every window was fast and every door barred. She did not even evade the haunted backkitchen, nor the

'There is neither spirit nor flesh in the house at present,' she said, 'which should not be there. It is now near

eleven o'clock, fully bedtime, yet I would rather sit up a little longer, if you do not object, Shirley. Here,' she

continued, 'I have brought the brace of pistols from my uncle's study: you may examine them at your leisure.'

'Why would you rather sit up longer?' asked Miss Keeldar, taking up the firearms, examining them, and again

'Is this state of sleeplessness and restlessness caused by something electrical in the air, I wonder?'

'But very still. I hear the water fret over its stony bed in Hollow's Copse as distinctly as if it ran below the

'I am glad it is so still a night: a moaning wind or rushing rain would vex me to fever just now.'

They both sat near the window, and both leaned their arms on the sill, and both inclined their heads towards

the open lattice. They saw each other's young faces by the starlight, and that dim June twilight which does not

'Mr. Helstone thinks we have no idea which way he is gone,' murmured Miss Keeldar, 'nor on what errand,

'All those gentlemen your cousin Moore included think that you and I are now asleep in our beds,

'Caring nothing about them hoping and fearing nothing for them,' added Caroline.

Both kept silence for full halfanhour. The night was silent, too; only the churchclock measured its course

by quarters. Some words were interchanged about the chill of the air: they wrapped their scarves closer round

Towards midnight the teasing, monotonous bark of the housedog disturbed the quietude of their vigil.

Caroline rose, and made her way noiselessly through the dark passages to the kitchen, intending to appease

him with a piece of bread: she succeeded. On returning to the diningroom, she found it all dark, Miss

Keeldar having extinguished the candle: the outline of her shape was visible near the still open window,

leaning out. Miss Helstone asked no questions: she stole to her side. The dog recommenced barking

furiously; suddenly he stopped, and seemed to listen. The occupants of the diningroom listened too, and not

merely now to the flow of the millstream: there was a nearer, though a muffled sound on the road below the

churchyard; a measured, beating, approaching sound; a dull tramp of marching feet.

It drew near. Those who listened by degrees comprehended its extent. It was not the tread of two, nor of a

dozen, nor of a score of men: it was the tread of hundreds. They could see nothing: the high shrubs of the

garden formed a leafy screen between them and the road. To hear, however, was not enough; and this they

felt as the troop trod forwards, and seemed actually passing the Rectory. They felt it more when a human

A halt followed: the march was arrested. Then came a low conference, of which no word was distinguishable

She turned, took her pistols from the table, silently passed out through the middle window of the

diningroom, which was, in fact, a glass door, stole down the walk to the garden wall, and stood listening

under the lilacs. Caroline would not have quitted the house had she been alone, but where Shirley went she

would go. She glanced at the weapon on the sideboard, but left it behind her, and presently stood at her

friend's side. They dared not look over the wall, for fear of being seen: they were obliged to crouch behind it:

'If I were ordered to do his job and he desarves it I'd try yond' long window: it opens to the diningroom:

'Let 'em alone except they shrieked, and then I'd soon quieten 'em. I could wish to find the old chap asleep: if

'Then you're a fool to stop us here; a shot would give the alarm: Moore would be on us before we could turn

A pause. One of the party dropped some weapon, which rang on the stone causeway: at this sound the

'That spoils all!' said the voice; 'he'll awake: a noise like that might rouse the dead. You did not say there was

Forward they went, tramp, tramp, with mustering manifold, slowfiling tread. They were gone.

Caroline repeated the ejaculation, not in so steady a tone: she was trembling much; her heart was beating fast

'Thank God for us!' she reiterated; 'but what will happen elsewhere? They have passed us by that they may

'They have done well,' returned Shirley with composure: 'the others will defend themselves, they can do it,

they are prepared for them: with us it is otherwise. My finger was on the trigger of this pistol. I was quite

ready to give that man, if he had entered, such a greeting as he little calculated on; but behind him followed

three hundred: I had neither three hundred hands nor three hundred weapons. I could not have effectually

protected either you, myself, or the two poor women asleep under that roof; therefore I again earnestly thank

After a second pause, she continued 'What is it my duty and wisdom to do next? Not to stay here inactive, I

'They have taken the highway: we should not encounter them: the road over the fields is as safe, silent, and

'Yes,' was the answer, given mechanically, not because the speaker wished, or was prepared to go; or, indeed,

was otherwise than scared at the prospect of going, but because she felt she could not abandon Shirley.

'Then we must fasten up these windows, and leave all as secure as we can behind us. Do you know what we

'Is that all? And you are so obedient to a mere caprice of mine? What a docile wife you would make to a stern

husband. The moon's face is not whiter than yours at this moment; and the aspen at the gate does not tremble

more than your busy fingers; and so tractable and terrorstruck, and dismayed and devoted, you would follow

me into the thick of real danger! Cary, let me give your fidelity a motive: we are going for Moore's sake; to

see if we can be of use to him: to make an effort to warn him of what is coming.'

'To be sure! I am a blind, weak fool, and you are acute and sensible, Shirley! I will go with you! I will gladly

'I do not doubt it. You would die blindly and meekly for me, but you would intelligently and gladly die for

Moore; but in truth there is no question of death tonight, we run no risk at all.'

Caroline rapidly closed shutter and lattice. 'Do not fear that I shall not have breath to run as fast as you can

They started: they ran. Many a wall checked but did not baffle them. Shirley was surefooted and agile: she

could spring like a deer when she chose. Caroline, more timid and less dexterous, fell once or twice, and

bruised herself; but she rose again directly, saying she was not hurt. A quickset hedge bounded the last field:

they lost time in seeking a gap in it: the aperture, when found, was narrow, but they worked their way

through: the long hair, the tender skin, the silks and the muslins suffered; but what was chiefly regretted was

the impediment this difficulty had caused to speed. On the other side they met the beck, flowing deep in a

rough bed: at this point a narrow plank formed the only bridge across it. Shirley had trodden the plank

successfully and fearlessly many a time before: Caroline had never yet dared to risk the transit.

'I will carry you across,' said Miss Keeldar: 'you are light, and I am not weak: let me try.'

'If I fall in you may fish me out,' was the answer, as a grateful squeeze compressed her hand. Caroline,

without pausing, trod forward on the trembling plank as if it were a continuation of the firm turf: Shirley,

who followed, did not cross it more resolutely or safely. In their present humour, on their present errand, a

strong and foaming channel would have been a barrier to neither. At the moment they were above the control

either of fire or water: all Stilbro' Moor, alight and alow with bonfires, would not have stopped them, nor

would Calder or Aire thundering in flood. Yet one sound made them pause. Scarce had they set foot on the

solid opposite bank, when a shot split the air from the north. One second elapsed. Further off, burst a like

note in the south. Within the space of three minutes, similar signals boomed in the east and west.

'I thought we were dead at the first explosion,' observed Shirley, drawing a long breath. 'I felt myself hit in

the temples, and I concluded your heart was pierced; but the reiterated voice was an explanation: those are

signals it is their way the attack must be near. We should have had wings: our feet have not borne us

A portion of the copse was now to clear: when they emerged from it, the mill lay just below them: they could

look down upon the buildings, the yard; they could see the road beyond. And the first glance in that direction

told Shirley she was right in her conjecture: they were already too late to give warning: it had taken more

time than they calculated on to overcome the various obstacles which embarrassed the short cut across the

The road, which should have been white, was dark with a moving mass: the rioters were assembled in front of

the closed yard gates, and a single figure stood within, apparently addressing them: the mill itself was

'Surely he is prepared: surely that is not Moore meeting them alone? ' whispered Shirley.

'There is a small entrance at the back, besides the gates in front: it opens by a secret method which I know I

Miss Keeldar clasped her round the waist with both arms and held her back. 'Not one step shall you stir,' she

went on authoritatively. 'At this moment, Moore would be both shocked and embarrassed, if he saw either

'How? By inspiring him with heroism? Pooh! These are not the days of chivalry: it is not a tilt at a

tournament we are going to behold, but a struggle about money, and food, and life.'

'As queen of his heart? His mill is his ladylove, Cary! Backed by his factory and his frames, he has all the

encouragement he wants or can know. It is not for love or beauty, but for ledger and broadcloth, he is going

'Off then I let you go seek Moore: you'll not find him.' She loosened her hold. Caroline sped like levelled

shaft from bent bow; after her rang a jesting, gibing laugh. 'Look well there is no mistake!' was the warning

But there was a mistake. Miss Helstone paused, hesitated, gazed. The figure had suddenly retreated from the

Caroline slowly returned. 'It is not Robert,' she said: 'it has neither his height, form, nor bearing.'

'I saw it was not Robert when I let you go. How could you imagine it? It is a shabby little figure of a private

soldier: they have posted him as sentinel. He is safe in the mill now: I saw the door open and admit him. My

mind grows easier; Robert is prepared: our warning would have been superfluous, and now I am thankful we

came too late to give it: it has saved us the trouble of a scene. How fine to have entered the countinghouse

'toute perdue,' and to have found oneself in presence of Messrs. Armitage and Ramsden smoking, Malone

swaggering, your uncle sneering, Mr. Sykes sipping a cordial, and Moore himself in his cold

'Plenty to defend it. The soldiers we have twice seen today were going there no doubt, and the group we

'Hatchets and crowbars against the yardgates: they are forcing them. Are you afraid?'

'No; but my heart throbs fast; I have a difficulty in standing: I will sit down. Do you feel unmoved?'

'Hardly that but I am glad I came: we shall see what transpires with our own eyes: we are here on the spot,

and none know it. Instead of amazing the curate, the clothier, and the corndealer with a romantic rush on the

stage, we stand alone with the friendly night, its mute stars, and these whispering trees, whose report our

'Shirley Shirley, the gates are down! That crash was like the felling of great trees. Now they are pouring

through. They will break down the mill doors as they have broken the gate: what can Robert do against so

many? Would to God I were a little nearer him could hear him speak could speak to him! With my will

my longing to serve him I could not be a useless burden in his way: I could be turned to some account.'

'They come on!' cried Shirley. 'How steadily they march in! There is discipline in their ranks I will not say

there is courage: hundreds against tens are no proof of that quality; but' (she dropped her voice) 'there is

suffering and desperation enough amongst them these goads will urge them forwards.'

'Forwards against Robert and they hate him. Shirley, is there much danger they will win the day?'

'We shall see. Moore and Helstone are of 'earth's first blood' no bunglersno cravens'

A crash smash shiver stopped their whispers. A simultaneouslyhurled volley of stones had saluted the

broad front of the mill, with all its windows; and now every pane of every lattice lay in shattered and pounded

fragments. A yell followed this demonstration a rioters' yell a NorthofEngland a Yorkshire a

WestRiding a WestRidingclothingdistrictofYorkshire rioters' yell. You never heard that sound,

perhaps, reader? So much the better for your ears perhaps for your heart; since, if it rends the air in hate to

yourself, or to the men or principles you approve, the interests to which you wish well. Wrath wakens to the

cry of Hate: the Lion shakes his mane, and rises to the howl of the Hyena: Caste stands up ireful against

Caste; and the indignant, wronged spirit of the Middle Rank bears down in zeal and scorn on the famished

and furious mass of the Operative class. It is difficult to be tolerant difficult to be just in such moments.

Caroline rose, Shirley put her arm round her: they stood together as still as the straight stems of two trees.

That yell was a long one, and when it ceased, the night was yet full of the swaying and murmuring of a

'What next?' was the question of the listeners. Nothing came yet. The mill remained mute as a mausoleum.

'I would stake all I have, that he is as little alone as he is alarmed,' responded Shirley.

Shots were discharged by the rioters. Had the defenders waited for this signal? It seemed so. The hitherto

inert and passive mill woke: fire flashed from its empty windowframes; a volley of musketry pealed sharp

'Moore speaks at last!' said Shirley, 'and he seems to have the gift of tongues; that was not a single voice.'

'He has been forbearing; no one can accuse him of rashness,' alleged Caroline: 'their discharge preceded his:

they broke his gates and his windows; they fired at his garrison before he repelled them.'

What was going on now? It seemed difficult, in the darkness, to distinguish, but something terrible, a

stillrenewing tumult, was obvious: fierce attacks, desperate repulses; the millyard, the mill itself, was full

of battle movements: there was scarcely any cessation now of the discharge of firearms; and there was

struggling, rushing, trampling, and shouting between. The aim of the assailants seemed to be to enter the mill,

that of the defendants to beat them off. They heard the rebel leader cry, 'To the back, lads!' They heard a

'Welcome! We shall have you there!' was the response. And accordingly, the fiercest blaze that had yet

glowed, the loudest rattle that had yet been heard, burst from the countinghouse front, when the mass of

The voice that had spoken was Moore's own voice. They could tell by its tones that his soul was now warm

with the conflict: they could guess that the fighting animal was roused in every one of those men there

struggling together, and was for the time quite paramount above the rational human being.

Both the girls felt their faces glow and their pulses throb: both knew they would do no good by rushing down

into the m l e: they desired neither to deal nor to receive blows; but they could not have run away

Caroline no more than Shirley; they could not have fainted; they could not have taken their eyes from the

dim, terrible scene from the mass of cloud, of smoke the musketlightning for the world.

'How and when would it end?' was the demand throbbing in their throbbing pulses. 'Would a juncture arise in

which they could be useful?' was what they waited to see; for, though Shirley put off their toolate arrival

with a jest, and was ever ready to satirise her own or any other person's enthusiasm, she would have given a

The chance was not vouchsafed her; the lookedfor juncture never came: it was not likely. Moore had

expected this attack for days, perhaps weeks: he was prepared for it at every point. He had fortified and

garrisoned his mill, which in itself was a strong building: he was a cool, brave man: he stood to the defence

with unflinching firmness; those who were with him caught his spirit, and copied his demeanour. The rioters

had never been so met before. At other mills they had attacked, they had found no resistance; an organised,

resolute defence was what they never dreamed of encountering. When their leaders saw the steady fire kept

up from the mill, witnessed the composure and determination of its owner, heard themselves coolly defied

and invited on to death, and beheld their men falling wounded round them, they felt that nothing was to be

done here. In haste, they mustered their forces, drew them away from the building: a roll was called over, in

which the men answered to figures instead of names: they dispersed wide over the fields, leaving silence and

ruin behind them. The attack, from its commencement to its termination, had not occupied an hour.

Day was by this time approaching: the west was dim, the east beginning to gleam. It would have seemed that

the girls who had watched this conflict would now wish to hasten to the victors, on whose side all their

interest had been enlisted; but they only very cautiously approached the now battered mill, and, when

suddenly a number of soldiers and gentlemen appeared at the great door opening into the yard, they quickly

stepped aside into a shed, the deposit of old iron and timber, whence they could see without being seen.

It was no cheering spectacle: these premises were now a mere blot of desolation on the fresh front of the

summerdawn. All the copse up the Hollow was shady and dewy, the hill at its head was green; but just here

in the centre of the sweet glen, Discord, broken loose in the night from control, had beaten the ground with

his stamping hoofs, and left it waste and pulverised. The mill yawned all ruinous with unglazed frames; the

yard was thickly bestrewn with stones and brickbats, and, close under the mill, with the glittering fragments

of the shattered windows, muskets and other weapons lay here and there; more than one deep crimson stain

was visible on the gravel; a human body lay quiet on its face near the gates; and five or six wounded men

Miss Keeldar's countenance changed at this view: it was the aftertaste of the battle, death and pain replacing

excitement and exertion: it was the blackness the bright fire leaves when its blaze is sunk, its warmth failed,

'That is what I wished to prevent,' she said, in a voice whose cadence betrayed the altered impulse of her

'But you could not prevent it; you did your best; it was in vain,' said Caroline comfortingly. 'Don't grieve,

'I am sorry for those poor fellows,' was the answer, while the spark in her glance dissolved to dew. 'Are any

'Well' (resuming her former tone), 'don't squeeze your fingers quite into my hand: I see, there is nothing

'Towards the pump, that is to say, for the purpose of washing his hands and his forehead, which has got a

'To tease and annoy him; to make a spectacle of yourself and him before those soldiers, Mr. Malone, your

uncle, et cetera. Would he like it, think you? Would you like to remember it a week hence?'

'Am I always to be curbed and kept down?' demanded Caroline, a little passionately.

'For his sake, yes. And still more for your own. I tell you, if you showed yourself now, you would repent it an

'Far less than he would like our stopping him to say goodnight, which you were so sore about.'

'I quite understand. But now, watch him. He has bathed his forehead, and the blood has ceased trickling; his

hurt is really a mere graze: I can see it from hence: he is going to look after the wounded men.'

Accordingly Mr. Moore and Mr. Helstone went round the yard, examining each prostrate form. They then

gave directions to have the wounded taken up and carried into the mill. This duty being performed, Joe Scott

was ordered to saddle his master's horse and Mr. Helstone's pony, and the two gentlemen rode away full

'Shirley, Shirley, I should have liked to speak one word to him before he went,' she murmured, while the tears

'Why do you cry, Lina?' asked Miss Keeldar a little sternly. 'You ought to be glad instead of sorry. Robert has

escaped any serious harm; he is victorious; he has been cool and brave in combat; he is now considerate in

'You do not know what I have in my heart,' pleaded the other: 'what pain, what distraction; nor whence it

arises. I can understand that you should exult in Robert's greatness and goodness; so do I, in one sense, but, in

another, I feel so miserable. I am too far removed from him: I used to be nearer. Let me alone, Shirley: do let

Miss Keeldar, feeling her tremble in every limb, ceased to expostulate with her: she went out of the shed, and

left her to weep in peace. It was the best plan: in a few minutes Caroline rejoined her, much calmer: she said

with her natural, docile, gentle manner 'Come, Shirley, we will go home now. I promise not to try to see

Robert again till he asks for me. I never will try to push myself on him. I thank you for restraining me just

'Now, dear Lina,' she continued, 'let us turn our faces to the cool morning breeze, and walk very quietly back

to the Rectory. We will steal in as we stole out; none shall know where we have been, or what we have seen

tonight: neither taunt nor misconstruction can consequently molest us. Tomorrow, we will see Robert, and

be of good cheer; but I will say no more, lest I should begin to cry too, I seem hard towards you, but I am not

The two girls met no living soul on their way back to the Rectory: they let themselves in noiselessly; they

stole upstairs unheard: the breaking morning gave them what light they needed. Shirley sought her couch

immediately; and, though the room was strange for she had never slept at the Rectory before and though

the recent scene was one unparalleled for excitement and terror by any it had hitherto been her lot to witness,

yet, scarce was her head laid on the pillow, ere a deep, refreshing sleep closed her eyes, and calmed her

Perfect health was Shirley's enviable portion; though warmhearted and sympathetic, she was not nervous:

powerful emotions could rouse and sway, without exhausting her spirit: the tempest troubled and shook her

while it lasted; but it left her elasticity unbent, and her freshness quite unblighted. As every day brought her

stimulating emotion, so every night yielded her recreating rest. Caroline now watched her sleeping, and read

For herself, being of a different temperament, she could not sleep. The commonplace excitement of the

teadrinking and schoolgathering would alone have sufficed to make her restless all night: the effect of the

terrible drama which had just been enacted before her eyes was not likely to quit her for days. It was vain

even to try to retain a recumbent posture: she sat up by Shirley's side, counting the slow minutes, and

Life wastes fast in such vigils as Caroline had of late but too often kept; vigils during which the mind

having no pleasant food to nourish it no manna of hope no hivedhoney of joyous memories tries to

live on the meagre diet of wishes, and failing to derive thence either delight or support, and feeling itself

ready to perish with craving want, turns to philosophy, to resolution, to resignation; calls on all these gods for

Caroline was a Christian; therefore in trouble she framed many a prayer after the Christian creed; preferred it

with deep earnestness; begged for patience, strength, relief. This world, however, we all know, is the scene of

trial and probation; and, for any favourable result her petitions had yet wrought, it seemed to her that they

were unheard and unaccepted. She believed, sometimes, that God had turned His face from her. At moments

she was a Calvinist, and, sinking into the gulf of religious despair, she saw darkening over her the doom of

Most people have had a period or periods in their lives when they have felt thus forsaken; when, having long

hoped against hope, and still seen the day of fruition deferred, their hearts have truly sickened within them.

This is a terrible hour, but it is often that darkest point which precedes the rise of day; that turn of the year

when the icy January wind carries over the waste at once the dirge of departing winter, and the prophecy of

coming spring. The perishing birds, however, cannot thus understand the blast before which they shiver; and

as little can the suffering soul recognise, in the climax of its affliction, the dawn of its deliverance. Yet, let

whoever grieves still cling fast to love and faith in God: God will never deceive, never finally desert him.

'Whom He loveth, He chasteneth.' These words are true, and should not be forgotten.

The household was astir at last: the servants were up; the shutters were opened below. Caroline, as she

quitted the couch, which had been but a thorny one to her, felt that revival of spirits which the return of day,

of action, gives to all but the wholly despairing or actually dying: she dressed herself, as usual, carefully,

trying so to arrange her hair and attire that nothing of the forlornness she felt at heart should be visible

externally: she looked as fresh as Shirley when both were dressed, only that Miss Keeldar's eyes were lively,

'Today I shall have much to say to Moore,' were Shirley's first words; and you could see in her face that life

was full of interest, expectation, and occupation for her. 'He will have to undergo crossexamination,' she

added: 'I dare say he thinks he has outwitted me cleverly. And this is the way men deal with women; still

concealing danger from them: thinking, I suppose, to spare them pain. They imagined we little knew where

they were tonight: we know they little conjectured where we were. Men, I believe, fancy women's minds

This was said as she stood at the glass, training her naturally waved hair into curls by twining it round her

fingers. She took up the theme again five minutes after, as Caroline fastened her dress and clasped her girdle.

'If men could see us as we really are, they would be a little amazed; but the cleverest, the acutest men are

often under an illusion about women: they do not read them in a true light: they misapprehend them, both for

good and evil: their good woman is a queer thing, half doll, half angel; their bad woman almost always a

fiend. Then to hear them fall into ecstasies with each other's creations, worshipping the heroine of such a

poem novel drama, thinking it fine divine! Fine and divine it may be, but often quite artificial false as

the rose in my best bonnet there. If I spoke all I think on this point; if I gave my real opinion of some

firstrate female characters in firstrate works, where should I be? Dead under a cairn of avenging stones in

'Shirley, you chatter so, I can't fasten you: be still. And after all, authors' heroines are almost as good as

'Not at all: women read men more truly than men read women. I'll prove that in a magazine paper some day

when I've time; only it will never be inserted: it will be 'declined with thanks,' and left for me at the

'To be sure: you could not write cleverly enough; you don't know enough; you are not learned, Shirley.'

'God knows, I can't contradict you, Cary: I'm as ignorant as a stone. There's one comfort, however, you are

'I wonder how Mrs. Pryor and Hortense Moore have passed the night,' said Caroline, as she made the coffee.

'Selfish being that I am! I never thought of either of them till just now: they will have heard all the tumult,

Fieldhead and the Cottage are so near; and Hortense is timid in such matters: so no doubt is Mrs. Pryor.'

'Take my word for it, Lina, Moore will have contrived to get his sister out of the way: she went home with

Miss Mann; he will have quartered her there for the night. As to Mrs. Pryor, I own I am uneasy about her; but

By this time the news of what had happened at the Hollow was spread all over the neighbourhood. Fanny,

who had been to Fieldhead to fetch the milk, returned in panting haste, with tidings that there had been a

battle in the night at Mr. Moore's mill, and that some said twenty men were killed. Eliza, during Fanny's

absence, had been apprised by the butcher's boy that the mill was burnt to the ground. Both women rushed

into the parlour to announce these terrible facts to the ladies, terminating their clear and accurate narrative by

the assertion that they were sure master must have been in it all. He and Thomas, the clerk, they were

confident, must have gone last night to join Mr. Moore and the soldiers: Mr. Malone, too, had not been heard

of at his lodgings since yesterday afternoon; and Joe Scott's wife and family were in the greatest distress,

Scarcely was this information imparted when a knock at the kitchendoor announced the Fieldhead

errandboy, arrived in hot haste, bearing a billet from Mrs. Pryor. It was hurriedly written, and urged Miss

Keeldar to return directly, as the neighbourhood and the house seemed likely to be all in confusion, and

orders would have to be given which the mistress of the hall alone could regulate. In a postscript it was

entreated that Miss Helstone might not be left alone at the Rectory: she had better, it was suggested,

'There are not two opinions on that head,' said Shirley, as she tied on her own bonnet, and then ran to fetch

'Your uncle will not return yet; he has other fish to fry; he will be galloping backwards and forwards from

Briarfield to Stilbro' all day, rousing the magistrates in the courthouse, and the officers at the barracks; and

Fanny and Eliza can have in Joe Scott's and the clerk's wives to bear them company. Besides, of course, there

is no real danger to be apprehended now: weeks will elapse before the rioters can again rally, or plan any

other attempt; and I am much mistaken if Moore and Mr. Helstone will not take advantage of last night's

outbreak to quell them altogether: they will frighten the authorities of Stilbro' into energetic measures. I only

As they hurried along the meadow and plantationpath to Fieldhead, they saw the distant highway already

alive with an unwonted flow of equestrians and pedestrians, tending in the direction of the usually solitary

Hollow. On reaching the hall, they found the backyard gates open, and the court and kitchen seemed

crowded with excited milkfetchers men, women, and children, whom Mrs. Gill, the housekeeper,

appeared vainly persuading to take their milkcans and depart. (It is, or was, bythebye, the custom in the

north of England for the cottagers on a country squire's estate to receive their supplies of milk and butter from

the dairy of the ManorHouse, on whose pastures a herd of milch kine was usually fed for the convenience of

the neighbourhood. Miss Keeldar owned such a herd all deepdewlapped, Craven cows, reared on the

sweet herbage and clear waters of bonnie Airedale; and very proud she was of their sleek aspect and high

condition.) Seeing now the state of matters, and that it was desirable to effect a clearance of the premises,

Shirley stepped in amongst the gossiping groups. She bade them goodmorning with a certain frank, tranquil

ease the natural characteristic of her manner when she addressed numbers; especially if those numbers

belonged to the workingclass; she was cooler amongst her equals, and rather proud to those above her. She

then asked them if they had all got their milk measured out, and understanding that they had, she further

'We're just talking a bit over this battle there has been at your mill, Mistress,' replied a man.

'Talking a bit! Just like you!' said Shirley. 'It is a queer thing all the world is so fond of talking over events:

you talk if anybody dies suddenly; you talk if a fire breaks out; you talk if a millowner fails; you talk if he's

There is nothing the lower orders like better than a little downright goodhumoured rating. Flattery they

scorn very much: honest abuse they enjoy. They call it speaking plainly, and take a sincere delight in being

the objects thereof. The homely harshness of Miss Keeldar's salutation won her the ear of the whole throng in

'Nor a whit better: you that should be models of industry are just as gossiploving as the idle. Fine, rich

people that have nothing to do, may be partly excused for trifling their time away: you who have to earn your

'Never,' was the prompt answer; 'unless,' added the 'mistress,' with a smile that halfbelied the severity of her

speech, 'unless you knew how to make a better use of it than to get together over rum and tea, if you are

women or over beer and pipes, if you are men, and talk scandal at your neighbours' expense. Come,

friends,' she added, changing at once from bluntness to courtesy, 'oblige me by taking your cans and going

home. I expect several persons to call today, and it will be inconvenient to have the avenues to the house

Yorkshire people are as yielding to persuasion as they are stubborn against compulsion: the yard was clear in

'Thank you, and goodbye to you, friends,' said Shirley, as she closed the gates on a quiet court.

Now, let me hear the most refined of Cockneys presume to find fault with Yorkshire manners! Taken as they

ought to be, the majority of the lads and lasses of the WestRiding are gentlemen and ladies, every inch of

them: it is only against the weak affectation and futile pomposity of a wouldbe aristocrat they turn

Entering by the backway, the young ladies passed through the kitchen (or house, as the inner kitchen is

called) to the hall. Mrs. Pryor came running down the oak staircase to meet them. She was all unnerved: her

naturally sanguine complexion was pale; her usually placid, though timid, blue eye was wandering, unsettled,

alarmed. She did not, however, break out into any exclamations, or hurried narrative of what had happened.

Her predominant feeling had been in the course of the night, and was now this morning, a sense of

dissatisfaction with herself that she could not feel firmer, cooler, more equal to the demands of the occasion.

'You are aware,' she began with a trembling voice, and yet the most conscientious anxiety to avoid

exaggeration in what she was about to say, 'that a body of rioters has attacked Mr. Moore's mill tonight:

we heard the firing and confusion very plainly here; we none of us slept: it was a sad night: the house has

been in great bustle all the morning with people coming and going: the servants have applied to me for orders

and directions, which I really did not feel warranted in giving. Mr. Moore has, I believe, sent up for

refreshments for the soldiers and others engaged in the defence; for some conveniences also for the wounded.

I could not undertake the responsibility of giving orders or taking measures. I fear delay may have been

injurious in some instances; but this is not my house: you were absent, my dear Miss Keeldar what could I

'Were no refreshments sent?' asked Shirley, while her countenance, hitherto so clear, propitious, and quiet,

'I think not. I cannot tell what Mrs. Gill did: but it seemed impossible to me, at the moment, to venture to

dispose of your property by sending supplies to soldiers provisions for a company of soldiers sounds

formidable: how many there are I did not ask; but I could not think of allowing them to pillage the house, as

it were. I intended to do what was right; yet I did not see the case quite clearly, I own.'

'It lies in a nutshell, notwithstanding. These soldiers have risked their lives in defence of my property I

suppose they have a right to my gratitude: the wounded are our fellowcreatures I suppose we should aid

She turned, and called in a voice more clear than soft. It rung through the thick oak of the hall and kitchen

doors more effectually than a bell's summons. Mrs. Gill, who was deep in breadmaking, came with hands

and apron in culinary case, not having dared to stop to rub the dough from the one, or to shake the flour from

the other. Her mistress had never called a servant in that voice save once before, and that was when she had

seen from the window Tartar in full tug with two carriers' dogs, each of them a match for him in size, if not in

courage, and their masters standing by, encouraging their animals, while hers was unbefriended: then, indeed,

she had summoned John as if the Day of Judgment were at hand: nor had she waited for the said John's

coming, but had walked out into the lane bonnetless; and after informing the carriers that she held them far

less of men than the three brutes whirling and worrying in the dust before them, had put her hands round the

thick neck of the largest of the curs and given her whole strength to the essay of choking it from Tartar's torn

and bleeding eye, just above and below which organ the vengeful fangs were inserted. Five or six men were

presently on the spot to help her, but she never thanked one of them: 'They might have come before, if their

will had been good,' she said. She had not a word for anybody during the rest of the day; but sat near the hall

fire till evening watching and tending Tartar, who lay all gory, stiff, and swelled on a mat at her feet. She

wept furtively over him sometimes, and murmured the softest words of pity and endearment, in tones whose

music the old, scarred, canine warrior acknowledged by licking her hand or her sandal alternately with his

own red wounds. As to John, his lady turned a cold shoulder on him for a week afterwards.

Mrs. Gill, remembering this little episode, came 'all of a tremble,' as she said herself. In a firm, brief voice,

Miss Keeldar proceeded to put questions and give orders. That at such a time Fieldhead should have evinced

the inhospitality of a miser's hovel, stung her haughty spirit to the quick; and the revolt of its pride was seen

in the heaving of her heart; stirred stormily under the lace and silk which veiled it.

'Not an hour! You might almost as well have said not a day. They will have applied elsewhere by this time.

Send a man instantly down to tell them that everything this house contains is at Mr. Moore's, Mr. Helstone's,

While the order was being executed, Shirley moved away from her friends, and stood at the hallwindow,

silent, unapproachable. When Mrs. Gill came back, she turned: the purple flush which painful excitement

kindles on a pale cheek, glowed on hers: the spark which displeasure lights in a dark eye fired her glance.

'Let the contents of the larder and the winecellar be brought up, put into the haycarts, and driven down to

the Hollow. If there does not happen to be much bread or much meat in the house, go to the butcher and

'All will be right soon: she will get over it in an hour,' whispered Caroline to Mrs. Pryor. 'Go upstairs, dear

madam,' she added affectionately, 'and try to be as calm and easy as you can. The truth is, Shirley will blame

By dint of a few more gentle assurances and persuasions, Miss Helstone contrived to soothe the agitated lady.

Having accompanied her to her apartment, and promised to rejoin her there when things were settled,

Caroline left her to see, as she said, 'if she could be useful.' She presently found that she could be very useful;

for the retinue of servants at Fieldhead was by no means numerous, and just now their mistress found plenty

of occupation for all the hands at her command, and for her own also. The delicate goodnature and

dexterous activity which Caroline brought to the aid of the housekeeper and maids all somewhat scared by

their lady's unwonted mood did a world of good at once: it helped the assistants and appeased the

directress. A chance glance and smile from Caroline moved Shirley to an answering smile directly. The

She took it from her, and herself bore it out into the yard. The cloud of temper was dispelled when she came

back; the flash in her eye was melted; the shade on her forehead vanished: she resumed her usual cheerful and

cordial manner to those about her, tempering her revived spirits with a little of the softness of shame at her

She was still superintending the lading of the cart, when a gentleman entered the yard and approached her ere

'I hope I see Miss Keeldar well this morning?' he said, examining with rather significant scrutiny her still

She gave him a look, and then again bent to her employment, without reply. A pleasant enough smile played

on her lips, but she hid it. The gentleman repeated his salutation, stooping, that it might reach her ear with

'Well enough, if she be good enough,' was the answer; 'and so is Mr. Moore too, I dare say. To speak truth, I

am not anxious about him; some slight mischance would be only his just due: his conduct has been we will

say strange, just now, till we have time to characterise it by a more exact epithet. Meantime, may I ask what

'Mr. Helstone and I have just received your message, that everything at Fieldhead was at our service. We

judged, by the unlimited wording of the gracious intimation, that you would be giving yourself too much

trouble: I perceive our conjecture was correct. We are not a regiment, remember: only about halfadozen

soldiers, and as many civilians. Allow me to retrench something from these too abundant supplies.'

Miss Keeldar blushed, while she laughed at her own overeager generosity, and most disproportionate

calculations. Moore laughed too very quietly, though; and as quietly, he ordered basket after basket to be

'The Rector must hear of this,' he said: 'he will make a good story of it. What an excellent army contractor

Miss Keeldar would have been!' again he laughed, adding 'It is precisely as I conjectured.'

'You ought to be thankful,' said Shirley, 'and not mock me. What could I do? How could I gauge your

appetites, or number your band? For aught I knew, there might have been fifty of you at least to victual. You

told me nothing; and then, an application to provision soldiers naturally suggests large ideas.'

'It appears so,' remarked Moore; levelling another of his keen, quiet glances at the discomfited Shirley. 'Now,'

he continued, addressing the carter, 'I think you may take what remains to the Hollow. Your load will be

As the vehicle rumbled out of the yard, Shirley, rallying her spirits, demanded what had become of the

'You were hurt yourself, on the temples,' interposed a quick, low voice that of Caroline, who, having

withdrawn within the shade of the door, and behind the large person of Mrs. Gill, had till now escaped

He took his hat off, and did as he was bid, disclosing only a narrow slip of courtplaster. Caroline indicated,

by a slight movement of the head, that she was satisfied, and disappeared within the clear obscure of the

'By rumour, no doubt. But it is too good in her to trouble herself about you. For my part, it was of your

victims I was thinking when I inquired after the wounded: what damage have your opponents sustained?'

'One of the rioters, or victims, as you call them, was killed, and six were hurt.'

'What you will perfectly approve. Medical aid was procured immediately; and as soon as we can get a couple

'Straw! you must have beds and bedding. I will send my waggon directly, properly furnished; and Mr. Yorke,

'You guess correctly: he has volunteered already; and Mrs. Yorke who, like you, seems disposed to regard

the rioters as martyrs, and me, and especially Mr. Helstone, as murderers is at this moment, I believe, most

assiduously engaged in fitting it up with featherbeds, pillows, bolsters, blankets, etc. The victims lack no

attentions I promise you. Mr. Hall your favourite parson has been with them ever since six o'clock,

exhorting them, praying with them, and even waiting on them like any nurse; and Caroline's good friend,

Miss Ainley, that very plain old maid, sent in a stock of lint and linen, something in the proportion of another

'Well cared for. I had her securely domiciled with Miss Mann. This very morning the two set out for

'So Mr. Helstone domiciled me at the Rectory! Mighty clever you gentlemen think you are! I make you

heartily welcome to the idea, and hope its savour, as you chew the cud of reflection upon it, gives you

pleasure. Acute and astute, why are you not also omniscient? How is it that events transpire, under your very

noses, of which you have no suspicion? It should be so, otherwise the requisite gratification of

outmanoeuvring you would be unknown. Ah! friend, you may search my countenance, but you cannot read

'And knowing her I assert that she is neither eccentric nor difficult of control: is she?'

'Why lay such emphasis on her? Do you consider her a contrast, in that respect, to yourself?'

'You do, no doubt; but that does not signify. Caroline is neither masculine, nor of what they call the spirited

'So have I but not with manly fire: it was a short, vivid, trembling glow, that shot up, shone, vanished '

'The point I wish to establish is, that Miss Helstone, though gentle, tractable, and candid enough, is still

'If you are hungry, Mrs. Gill will give you something to eat here. Step into the oakparlour, and ring the bell

you will be served as if at an inn; or, if you like better, go back to the Hollow.'

'The alternative is not open to me: I must go back. Goodmorning: the first leisure I have, I will see you

While Shirley was talking with Moore, Caroline rejoined Mrs. Pryor upstairs. She found that lady deeply

depressed. She would not say that Miss Keeldar's hastiness had hurt her feelings; but it was evident an inward

wound galled her. To any but a congenial nature, she would have seemed insensible to the quiet, tender

attentions by which Miss Helstone sought to impart solace; but Caroline knew that, unmoved or slightly

'I am deficient in selfconfidence and decision,' she said at last. 'I always have been deficient in those

qualities: yet I think Miss Keeldar should have known my character well enough by this time, to be aware

that I always feel an even painful solicitude to do right, to act for the best. The unusual nature of the demand

on my judgment puzzled me, especially following the alarms of the night. I could not venture to act promptly

for another: but I trust no serious harm will result from my lapse of firmness.'

Miss Helstone went out: there stood Shirley in the gallery, looking contrite, ashamed, sorry as any repentant

'I have behaved very shamefully, very ungenerously, very ungratefully to her,' said Shirley. 'How insolent in

me to turn on her thus, for what after all was no fault, only an excess of conscientiousness on her part. But I

Caroline discharged the errand with heartfelt pleasure. Mrs. Pryor rose, came to the door: she did not like

scenes; she dreaded them as all timid people do: she said falteringly 'Come in, my dear.'

Shirley did come in with some impetuosity: she threw her arms round her governess, and while she kissed her

heartily, she said 'You know you must forgive me, Mrs. Pryor. I could not get on at all if there was a

'I have nothing to forgive,' was the reply. 'We will pass it over now, if you please. The final result of the

incident is that it proves more plainly than ever how unequal I am to certain crises.'

And that was the painful feeling which would remain on Mrs. Pryor's mind: no effort of Shirley's or

Caroline's could efface it thence: she could forgive her offending pupil, not her innocent self.

Miss Keeldar, doomed to be in constant request during the morning, was presently summoned downstairs

again. The Rector called first: a lively welcome and livelier reprimand were at his service; he expected both,

In the course of his brief visit, he quite forgot to ask after his niece: the riot, the rioters, the mill, the

magistrates, the heiress, absorbed all his thoughts to the exclusion of family ties. He alluded to the part

'The vials of pharisaical wrath will be emptied on our heads, for our share in this business,' he said; 'but I defy

every calumniator. I was there only to support the law, to play my part as a man and a Briton; which

characters I deem quite compatible with those of the priest and Levite, in their highest sense. Your tenant,

Moore,' he went on, 'has won my approbation. A cooler commander I would not wish to see, nor a more

determined. Besides, the man has shown sound judgment and good sense; first, in being thoroughly prepared

for the event which has taken place, and subsequently, when his wellconcerted plans had secured him

success, in knowing how to use without abusing his victory. Some of the magistrates are now well frightened,

and, like all cowards, show a tendency to be cruel; Moore restrains them with admirable prudence. He has

hitherto been very unpopular in the neighbourhood; but, mark my words, the tide of opinion will now take a

turn in his favour: people will find out that they have not appreciated him, and will hasten to remedy their

error; and he, when he perceives the public disposed to acknowledge his merits, will show a more gracious

Mr. Helstone was about to add to this speech some halfjesting, halfserious warnings to Miss Keeldar, on

the subject of her rumoured partiality for her talented tenant, when a ring at the door, announcing another

caller, checked his raillery; and as that other caller appeared in the form of a whitehaired, elderly gentleman,

with a rather truculent countenance and disdainful eye in short, our old acquaintance, and the Rector's old

enemy, Mr. Yorke the priest and Levite seized his hat, and with the briefest of adieux to Miss Keeldar, and

Mr. Yorke was in no mild mood, and in no measured terms did he express his opinion on the transaction of

the night: Moore, the magistrates, the soldiers, the mobleaders, each and all came in for a share of his

invectives; but he reserved his strongest epithets and real racy Yorkshire Doric adjectives they were for

the benefit of the fighting parsons, the 'sanguinary, demoniac' rector and curate. According to him, the cup of

'The Church,' he said, 'was in a bonnie pickle now: it was time it came down when parsons took to

swaggering among soldiers, blazing away wi' bullet and gunpowder, taking the lives of far honester men than

'Which means, you would have left him by himself to face that mob. Good. He has plenty of courage; but the

greatest amount of gallantry that ever garrisoned one human breast could scarce avail against two hundred.'

'He had the soldiers; those poor slaves who hire out their own blood and spill other folk's for money.'

'You abuse soldiers almost as much as you abuse clergymen. All who wear red coats are national refuse in

your eyes, and all who wear black are national swindlers. Mr. Moore, according to you, did wrong to get

military aid, and he did still worse to accept of any other aid. Your way of talking amounts to this: he

should have abandoned his mill and his life to the rage of a set of misguided madmen, and Mr. Helstone and

every other gentleman in the parish should have looked on, and seen the building razed and its owner

'If Moore had behaved to his men from the beginning as a master ought to behave, they never would have

'Easy for you to talk,' exclaimed Miss Keeldar, who was beginning to wax warm in her tenant's cause: 'you,

whose family have lived at Briarmains for six generations, to whose person the people have been accustomed

for fifty years, who know all their ways, prejudices, and preferences. Easy, indeed, for you to act so as to

avoid offending them; but Mr. Moore came a stranger into the district: he came here poor and friendless, with

nothing but his own energies to back him; nothing but his honour, his talent, and his industry to make his way

for him. A monstrous crime indeed that, under such circumstances, he could not popularise his naturally

grave, quiet manners, all at once: could not be jocular, and free, and cordial with a strange peasantry, as you

are with your fellowtownsmen! An unpardonable transgression, that when he introduced improvements he

did not go about the business in quite the most politic way; did not graduate his changes as delicately as a

rich capitalist might have done For errors of this sort is he to be the victim of moboutrage? Is he to be

denied even the privilege of defending himself? Are those who have the hearts of men in their breasts (and

Mr. Helstone say what you will of him has such a heart) to be reviled like malefactors because they stand

'Come come now be cool,' said Mr. Yorke, smiling at the earnestness with which Shirley multiplied her

'Cool! Must I listen coolly to downright nonsense to dangerous nonsense? No. I like you very well, Mr.

Yorke, as you know; but I thoroughly dislike some of your principles. All that cant excuse me, but I repeat

the word all that cant about soldiers and parsons is most offensive in my ears. All ridiculous, irrational

crying up of one class, whether the same be aristocrat or democrat all howling down of another class,

whether clerical or military all exacting injustice to individuals, whether monarch or mendicant is really

sickening to me: all arraying of ranks against ranks, all party hatreds, all tyrannies disguised as liberties, I

reject and wash my hands of. You think you are a philanthropist; you think you are an advocate of liberty; but

I will tell you this Mr. Hall, the parson of Nunnely, is a better friend both of man and freedom than Hiram

From a man, Mr. Yorke would not have borne this language very patiently, nor would he have endured it

from some women; but he accounted Shirley both honest and pretty, and her plainspoken ire amused him:

besides, he took a secret pleasure in hearing her defend her tenant, for we have already intimated he had

Robert Moore's interest very much at heart: moreover, if he wished to avenge himself for her severity, he

knew the means lay in his power: a word, he believed, would suffice to tame and silence her, to cover her

frank forehead with the rosy shadow of shame, and veil the glow of her eye under downdrooped lid and

'What more hast thou to say?' he inquired, as she paused, rather it appeared to take breath, than because her

'Say, Mr. Yorke!' was the answer, the speaker meantime walking fast from wall to wall of the oakparlour.

'Say? I have a great deal to say, if I could get it out in lucid order, which I never can do. I have to say that

your views, and those of most extreme politicians, are such as none but men in an irresponsible position can

advocate; that they are purely opposition views, meant only to be talked about, and never intended to be acted

on. Make you Prime Minister of England tomorrow, and you would have to abandon them. You abuse

Moore for defending his mill: had you been in Moore's place you could not with honour or sense have acted

otherwise than he acted. You abuse Mr. Helstone for everything he does: Mr. Helstone has his faults: he

sometimes does wrong, but oftener right. Were you ordained vicar of Briarfield, you would find it no easy

task to sustain all the active schemes for the benefit of the parish planned and persevered in by your

predecessor. I wonder people cannot judge more fairly of each other and themselves. When I hear Messrs.

Malone and Donne chatter about the authority of the Church, the dignity and claims of the priesthood, the

deference due to them as clergymen; when I hear the outbreaks of their small spite against Dissenters; when I

witness their silly narrow jealousies and assumptions; when their palaver about forms, and traditions, and

superstitions, is sounding in my ear; when I behold their insolent carriage to the poor, their often base

servility to the rich, I think the Establishment is indeed in a poor way, and both she and her sons appear in the

utmost need of reformation. Turning away distressed from minstertower and villagespire ay, as

distressed as a churchwarden who feels the exigence of whitewash, and has not wherewithal to purchase lime

I recall your senseless sarcasms on the 'fat bishops,' the 'pampered parsons,' 'old mother church,' etc. I

remember your strictures on all who differ from you, your sweeping condemnation of classes and individuals,

without the slightest allowance made for circumstances or temptations; and then, Mr. Yorke, doubt clutches

my inmost heart as to whether men exist clement, reasonable, and just enough to be entrusted with the task of

'You have an ill opinion of me, Miss Shirley: you never told me so much of your mind before.'

'I never had an opening; but I have sat on Jessy's stool by your chair in the backparlour at Briarmains, for

evenings together, listening excitedly to your talk, halfadmiring what you said, and halfrebelling against it.

I think you a fine old Yorkshireman, sir: I am proud to have been born in the same county and parish at

yourself truthful, upright, independent you are, as a rock based below seas; but also you are harsh, rude,

'Not to the poor, lass nor to the meek of the earth only to the proud and highminded.'

'And what right have you, sir, to make such distinctions? A prouder a higherminded man than yourself

does not exist. You find it easy to speak comfortably to your inferiors you are too haughty, too ambitious,

too jealous to be civil to those above you. But you are all alike. Helstone also is proud and prejudiced. Moore,

though juster and more considerate than either you or the Rector, is still haughty, stern, and in a public sense,

selfish. It is well there are such men as Mr. Hall to be found occasionally: men of large and kind hearts, who

can love their whole race, who can forgive others for being richer, more prosperous, or more powerful than

they are. Such men may have less originality, less force of character than you, but they are better friends to

'Only that of Robert G rard Moore, Esq., of Hollow's Cottage, with Miss Keeldar, daughter and heiress of the

Shirley gazed at the questioner with rising colour; but the light in her eye was not faltering: it shone steadily

'That is your revenge,' she said slowly: then added; 'Would it be a bad match, unworthy of the late Charles

'My lass, Moore is a gentleman: his blood is pure and ancient as mine or thine.'

'And we too set store by ancient blood? We have family pride, though one of us at least is a Republican?'

Yorke bowed as he stood before her. His lips were mute; but his eye confessed the impeachment. Yes he

'Moore is a gentleman,' echoed Shirley, lifting her head with glad grace. She checked herself words seemed

crowding to her tongue, she would not give them utterance; but her look spoke much at the moment: what

Yorke tried to read, but could not the language was there visible, but untranslatable a poem

a fervid lyric in an unknown tongue. It was not a plain story, however no simple gush of feeling no

ordinary loveconfession that was obvious; it was something other, deeper, more intricate than he guessed

at: he felt his revenge had not struck home; he felt that Shirley triumphed she held him at fault, baffled,

'Thank you for your approbation. Will you give me away when I relinquish the name of Keeldar for that of

Mr. Yorke, instead of replying, gazed at her much puzzled. He could not divine what her look signified;

whether she spoke in earnest or in jest: there was purpose and feeling, banter and scoff, playing, mingled, on

She laughed: 'Take courage, sir; you are not singular in your ignorance: but I suppose if Moore understands

'Moore may settle his own matters henceforward for me; I'll neither meddle nor make with them further.'

A new thought crossed her: her countenance changed magically; with a sudden darkening of the eye, and

austere fixing of the features, she demanded 'Have you been asked to interfere. Are you questioning me as

'The Lord save us! Whoever weds thee must look about him! Keep all your questions for Robert; I'll answer

The day being fine, or at least fair for soft clouds curtained the sun, and a dim but not chill or waterish haze

slept blue on the hills Caroline, while Shirley was engaged with her callers, had persuaded Mrs. Pryor to

assume her bonnet and summer shawl, and to take a walk with her up towards the narrow end of the Hollow.

Here, the opposing sides of the glen approaching each other, and becoming clothed with brushwood and

stunted oaks, formed a wooded ravine; at the bottom of which ran the millstream, in broken unquiet course,

struggling with many stones, chafing against rugged banks, fretting with gnarled treeroots, foaming,

gurgling, battling as it went. Here, when you had wandered halfamile from the mill, you found a sense of

deep solitude: found it in the shade of unmolested trees; received it in the singing of many birds, for which

that shade made a home. This was no trodden way: the freshness of the woodflowers attested that foot of

man seldom pressed them: abounding wildroses looked as if they budded, bloomed, and faded under the

watch of solitude, as in a Sultan's harem. Here you saw the sweet azure of bluebells, and recognised in

pearlwhite blossoms, spangling the grass, an humble type of some starlit spot in space.

Mrs. Pryor liked a quiet walk: she ever shunned highroads, and sought byways and lonely lanes: one

companion she preferred to total solitude, for in solitude she was nervous; a vague fear of annoying

encounters broke the enjoyment of quite lonely rambles; but she feared nothing with Caroline: when once she

got away from human habitations, and entered the still demesne of nature accompanied by this one youthful

friend, a propitious change seem to steal over her mind and beam in her countenance. When with Caroline

and Caroline only her heart, you would have said, shook off a burden, her brow put aside a veil, her spirits

too escaped from a restraint: with her she was cheerful; with her, at times, she was tender: to her she would

impart her knowledge, reveal glimpses of her experience, give her opportunities for guessing what life she

had lived, what cultivation her mind had received, of what calibre was her intelligence, how and where her

Today, for instance, as they walked along, Mrs. Pryor talked to her companion about the various birds

singing in the trees, discriminated their species, and said something about their habits and peculiarities.

English natural history seemed familiar to her. All the wild flowers round their path were recognised by her:

tiny plants springing near stones and peeping out of chinks in old walls plants such as Caroline had scarcely

noticed before received a name and an intimation of their properties: it appeared that she had minutely

studied the botany of English fields and woods. Having reached the head of the ravine, they sat down

together on a ledge of grey and mossy rock jutting from the base of a steep green hill, which towered above

them: she looked round her, and spoke of the neighbourhood as she had once before seen it long ago. She

alluded to its changes, and compared its aspect with that of other parts of England; revealing in quiet,

unconscious touches of description, a sense of the picturesque, an appreciation of the beautiful or

commonplace, a power of comparing the wild with the cultured, the grand with the tame, that gave to her

The sort of reverent pleasure with which Caroline listened so sincere, so quiet, yet so evident, stirred the

elder lady's faculties to a gentle animation. Rarely, probably, had she, with her chill, repellent outside her

diffident mien and incommunicative habits, known what it was to excite in one whom she herself could love,

feelings of earnest affection and admiring esteem. Delightful, doubtless, was the consciousness that a young

girl towards whom it seemed judging by the moved expression of her eyes and features her heart turned

with almost a fond impulse, looked up to her as an instructor, and clung to her as a friend. With a somewhat

more marked accent of interest than she often permitted herself to use, she said, as she bent towards her

youthful companion, and put aside from her forehead a pale brown curl which had strayed from the confining

comb 'I do hope this sweet air blowing from the hill will do you good, my dear Caroline: I wish I could see

'I had red cheeks once,' returned Miss Helstone, smiling. 'I remember a year two years ago, when I used to

look in the glass, I saw a different face there to what I see now rounder and rosier. But when we are young,'

'Do you' continued Mrs. Pryor, mastering by an effort that tyrant timidity which made it difficult for her,

even under present circumstances, to attempt the scrutiny of another's heart 'Do you, at your age, fret

yourself with cares for the future? Believe me, you had better not: let the morrow take thought for the things

'True, dear madam: it is not over the future I pine. The evil of the day is sometimes oppressive too

'That is the evil of the day that is your uncle perhaps is not you find it difficult to understand he

Mrs. Pryor could not complete her broken sentences: she could not manage to put the question whether Mr.

'Oh, that is nothing,' she replied; 'my uncle and I get on very well: we never quarrel I don't call him harsh

he never scolds me. Sometimes I wish somebody in the world loved me; but I cannot say that I particularly

wish him to have more affection for me than he has. As a child, I should perhaps have felt the want of

attention, only the servants were very kind to me; but when people are long indifferent to us, we grow

indifferent to their indifference. It is my uncle's way not to care for women and girls unless they be ladies

that he meets in company: he could not alter, and I have no wish that he should alter, as far as I am

concerned. I believe it would merely annoy and frighten me were he to be affectionate towards me now. But

you know, Mrs. Pryor, it is scarcely living to measure time as I do at the Rectory. The hours pass, and I get

them over somehow, but I do not live. I endure existence, but I rarely enjoy it. Since Miss Keeldar and you

came, I have been I was going to say happier, but that would be untrue.' She paused.

'Very fond of Shirley: I both like and admire her: but I am painfully circumstanced: for a reason I cannot

'You told me before you wished to be a governess; but, my dear, if you remember, I did not encourage the

idea. I have been a governess myself great part of my life. In Miss Keeldar's acquaintance, I esteem myself

most fortunate: her talents and her really sweet disposition have rendered my office easy to me; but when I

was young, before I married, my trials were severe, poignant I should not like a I should not like you to

endure similar ones. It was my lot to enter a family of considerable pretensions to good birth and mental

superiority, and the members of which also believed that 'on them was perceptible' an usual endowment of

the 'Christian graces'; that all their hearts were regenerate, and their spirits in a peculiar state of discipline. I

was early given to understand that 'as I was not their equal,' so I could not expect 'to have their sympathy.' It

was in no sort concealed from me that I was held a 'burden and a restraint in society.' The gentlemen, I found,

regarded me as a 'tabooed woman,' to whom 'they were interdicted from granting the usual privileges of the

sex,' and yet who 'annoyed them by frequently crossing their path.' The ladies too made it plain that they

thought me 'a bore.' The servants, it was signified, 'detested me'; why, I could never clearly comprehend. My

pupils, I was told, 'however much they might love me, and how deep soever the interest I might take in them,

could not be my friends.' It was intimated that I must 'live alone, and never transgress the invisible but rigid

line which established the difference between me and my employers.' My life in this house was sedentary,

solitary, constrained, joyless, toilsome. The dreadful crushing of the animal spirits, the everprevailing sense

of friendlessness and homelessness consequent on this state of things, began ere long to produce mortal

effects on my constitution I sickened. The lady of the house told me coolly I was the victim of 'wounded

vanity.' She hinted, that if I did not make an effort to quell my 'ungodly discontent,' to cease 'murmuring

against God's appointment,' and to cultivate the profound humility befitting my station, my mind would very

likely 'go to pieces' on the rock that wrecked most of my sisterhood morbid selfesteem; and that I should

'I said nothing to Mrs. Hardman; it would have been useless: but to her eldest daughter I one day dropped a

few observations, which were answered thus: There were hardships, she allowed, in the position of a

governess: 'doubtless they had their trials: but,' she averred, with a manner it makes me smile now to recall

'but it must be so. She (Miss H.) had neither view, hope, nor wish to see these things remedied: for, in the

inherent constitution of English habits, feelings, and prejudices, there was no possibility that they should be.

Governesses,' she observed, 'must ever be kept in a sort of isolation: it is the only means of maintaining that

distance which the reserve of English manners and the decorum of English families exact.'

'I remember I sighed as Miss Hardman quitted my bedside: she caught the sound, and turning, said severely

'I fear, Miss Grey, you have inherited in fullest measure the worst sin of our fallen nature the sin of pride.

You are proud, and therefore you are ungrateful too. Mamma pays you a handsome salary; and, if you had

average sense, you would thankfully put up with much that is fatiguing to do and irksome to bear, since it is

'Miss Hardman, my love, was a very strongminded young lady, of most distinguished talents: the aristocracy

are decidedly a very superior class, you know both physically, and morally, and mentally as a high Tory I

acknowledge that; I could not describe the dignity of her voice and mien as she addressed me thus: still, I

fear, she was selfish, my dear. I would never wish to speak ill of my superiors in rank; but I think she was a

'I remember,' continued Mrs. Pryor, after a pause, 'another of Miss H.'s observations, which she would utter

with quite a grand air. 'WE,' she would say, 'WE need the imprudences, extravagances, mistakes, and

crimes of a certain number of fathers to sow the seed from which WE reap the harvest of governesses. The

daughters of tradespeople, however welleducated, must necessarily be underbred, and as such unfit to be

inmates of OUR dwellings, or guardians of OUR children's minds and persons. WE shall ever prefer to place

those about OUR offspring, who have been born and bred with somewhat of the same refinement as

'Miss Hardman must have thought herself something better than her fellowcreatures, ma'am, since she held

that their calamities, and even crimes, were necessary to minister to her convenience. You say she was

religious: her religion must have been that of the Pharisee, who thanked God that he was not as other men

'My dear, we will not discuss the point: I should be the last person to wish to instil into your mind any feeling

of dissatisfaction with your lot in life, or any sentiment of envy or insubordination towards your superiors.

Implicit submission to authorities, scrupulous deference to our betters (under which term I, of course, include

the higher classes of society) are, in my opinion, indispensable to the wellbeing of every community. All I

mean to say, my dear, is, that you had better not attempt to be a governess, as the duties of the position would

be too severe for your constitution. Not one word of disrespect would I breathe towards either Mrs. or Miss

Hardman; only, recalling my own experience, I cannot but feel that, were you to fall under auspices such as

theirs, you would contend a while courageously with your doom: then you would pine and grow too weak for

your work; you would come home if you still had a home broken down. Those languishing years would

follow, of which none but the invalid and her immediate friends feel the heartsickness and know the burden:

consumption or decline would close the chapter. Such is the history of many a life: I would not have it yours.

'My dear,' erelong again began Mrs. Pryor, a sort of timid, embarrassed abruptness marking her manner as

she spoke, 'the young, especially those to whom nature has been favourable often frequently anticipate

And she stopped. Caroline came to her relief with promptitude, showing a great deal more selfpossession

'They do; and naturally,' she replied, with a calm emphasis that startled Mrs. Pryor. 'They look forward to

marriage with some one they love as the brightest, the only bright destiny that can await them. Are they

'Oh, my dear!' exclaimed Mrs. Pryor, clasping her hands: and again she paused. Caroline turned a searching,

an eager eye on the face of her friend: that face was much agitated. 'My dear,' she murmured, 'life is an

'But not love! Love is real: the most real, the most lasting the sweetest and yet the bitterest thing we know.'

'My dear it is very bitter. It is said to be strong strong as death! Most of the cheats of existence are strong.

As to their sweetness nothing is so transitory: its date is a moment, the twinkling of an eye: the sting

remains for ever: it may perish with the dawn of eternity, but it tortures through time into its deepest night.'

'Yes, it tortures through time,' agreed Caroline, 'except when it is mutual love.'

'Sometimes whenever I can get them, indeed; but romancewriters might know nothing of love, judging by

'Nothing whatever, my dear!' assented Mrs. Pryor eagerly; 'nor of marriage; and the false pictures they give of

those subjects cannot be too strongly condemned. They are not like reality: they show you only the green

tempting surface of the marsh, and give not one faithful or truthful hint of the slough underneath.'

'But it is not always slough,' objected Caroline: 'there are happy marriages. Where affection is reciprocal and

'It is never wholly happy. Two people can never literally be as one: there is, perhaps, a possibility of content

under peculiar circumstances, such as are seldom combined; but it is as well not to run the risk: you may

make fatal mistakes. Be satisfied, my dear: let all the single be satisfied with their freedom.'

'You echo my uncle's words!' exclaimed Caroline, in a tone of dismay: 'you speak like Mrs. Yorke, in her

most gloomy moments; like Miss Mann, when she is most sourly and hypochondriacally disposed. This is

'No, it is only true. Oh, child! you have only lived the pleasant morning time of life: the hot, weary noon, the

sad evening, the sunless night, are yet to come for you! Mr. Helstone, you say, talks as I talk; and I wonder

how Mrs. Matthewson Helstone would have talked had she been living. She died! She died!'

'And, alas! my own mother and father. . . .' exclaimed Caroline, struck by a sombre recollection.

'There ought, my dear, were it only to prove that this life is a mere state of probation, wherein neither rest nor

Mrs. Pryor shrunk and shuddered as if a rude finger had pressed a naked nerve: Caroline felt she had touched

'My marriage was unhappy,' said the lady, summoning courage at last; 'but yet ' she hesitated.

'Not in its results, at least. No,' she added, in a softer tone; 'God mingles something of the balm of mercy even

in vials of the most corrosive woe. He can so turn events, that from the very same blind, rash act whence

sprang the curse of half our life, may flow the blessing of the remainder. Then, I am of a peculiar disposition,

I own that: far from facile, without address, in some points eccentric. I ought never to have married: mine is

not the nature easily to find a duplicate, or likely to assimilate with a contrast. I was quite aware of my own

ineligibility; and if I had not been so miserable as a governess, I never should have married; and then '

Caroline's eyes asked her to proceed: they entreated her to break the thick cloud of despair which her

'And then, my dear, Mr. that is, the gentleman I married, was, perhaps, rather an exceptional than an

average character. I hope, at least, the experience of few has been such as mine was, or that few have felt

their sufferings as I felt mine. They nearly shook my mind: relief was so hopeless, redress so unattainable:

but, my dear, I do not wish to dishearten, I only wish to warn you, and to prove that the single should not be

'Thank you, my dear madam, I quite understand your kind intentions; but there is no fear of my falling into

the error to which you allude. I, at least, have no thoughts of marriage, and, for that reason, I want to make

'My dear, listen to me. On what I am going to say, I have carefully deliberated; having, indeed, revolved the

subject in my thoughts ever since you first mentioned your wish to obtain a situation. You know I at present

reside with Miss Keeldar in the capacity of companion: should she marry (and that she will marry ere long,

many circumstances induce me to conclude), I shall cease to be necessary to her in that capacity. I must tell

you that I possess a small independency, arising partly from my own savings, and partly from a legacy left

me some years since; whenever I leave Fieldhead, I shall take a house of my own: I could not endure to live

in solitude: I have no relations whom I care to invite to close intimacy; for, as you must have observed, and as

I have already avowed, my habits and tastes have their peculiarities: to you, my dear, I need not say I am

attached; with you I am happier than I have ever been with any living thing' (this was said with marked

emphasis). 'Your society I should esteem a very dear privilege an inestimable privilege, a comfort, a

blessing. You shall come to me then. Caroline, do you refuse me? I hope you can love me?'

'Indeed, I do love you,' was the reply. 'I should like to live with you: but you are too kind.'

'All I have,' went on Mrs. Pryor, 'I would leave to you: you should be provided for, but never again say I am

'Hush! you must not talk about it: there are some things we cannot bear to hear. Oh! it is late to begin, but I

may yet live a few years: I can never wipe out the past, but perhaps a brief space in the future may yet be

Mrs. Pryor seemed deeply agitated: large tears trembled in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. Caroline

kissed her, in her gentle caressing way, saying softly 'I love you dearly. Don't cry.'

But the lady's whole frame seemed shaken: she sat down, bent her head to her knee, and wept aloud. Nothing

could console her till the inward storm had had its way. At last the agony subsided of itself.

'Poor thing!' she murmured, returning Caroline's kiss: 'poor lonely lamb! But come,' she added abruptly:

For a short distance Mrs. Pryor walked very fast: by degrees, however, she calmed down to her wonted

manner, fell into her usual characteristic pace a peculiar one, like all her movements and by the time they

reached Fieldhead, she had reentered into herself: the outside was, as usual, still and shy.

Only half of Moore's activity and resolution had been seen in his defence of the mill: he showed the other half

(and a terrible half it was) in the indefatigable, the relentless assiduity, with which he pursued the leaders of

the riot. The mob, the mere followers, he let alone: perhaps an innate sense of justice told him that men

misled by false counsel, goaded by privations, are not fit objects of vengeance, and that he who would visit

an even violent act on the bent head of suffering, is a tyrant, not a judge. At all events, though he knew many

of the number, having recognised them during the latter part of the attack when day began to dawn, he let

The leaders he did not know. They were strangers: emissaries from the large towns. Most of these were not

members of the operative class: they were chiefly 'downdraughts,' bankrupts, men always in debt and often in

drink men who had nothing to lose, and much in the way of character, cash, and cleanliness to gain.

These persons Moore hunted like any sleuthhound; and well he liked the occupation: its excitement was of a

His horse must have hated these times, for it was ridden both hard and often: he almost lived on the road, and

the fresh air was as welcome to his lungs as the policeman's quest to his mood: he preferred it to the steam of

dyehouses. The magistrates of the district must have dreaded him: they were slow, timid men; he liked both

to frighten and to rouse them. He liked to force them to betray a certain fear, which made them alike falter in

resolve and recoil in action the fear, simply, of assassination. This, indeed, was the dread which had

hitherto hampered every manufacturer and almost every public man in the district. Helstone alone had ever

repelled it. The old Cossack knew well he might be shot: he knew there was risk; but such a death had for his

Moore likewise knew his danger: the result was an unquenchable scorn of the quarter whence such danger

was to be apprehended. The consciousness that he hunted assassins was the spur in his highmettled temper's

flank. As for fear, he was too proud too hardnatured (if you will) too phlegmatic a man to fear. Many

a time he rode belated over moors, moonlit or moonless as the case might be, with feelings far more elate,

faculties far better refreshed, than when safety and stagnation environed him in the countinghouse. Four was

the number of the leaders to be accounted for: two, in the course of a fortnight, were brought to bay near

Stilbro'; the remaining two it was necessary to seek further off: their haunts were supposed to lie near

Meantime the clothier did not neglect his battered mill: its reparation was esteemed a light task; carpenters'

and glaziers' work alone being needed. The rioters not having succeeded in effecting an entrance, his grim,

Whether, during this busy life whether, while stern justice and exacting business claimed his energies and

harassed his thoughts he now and then gave one moment, dedicated one effort, to keep alive gentler fires

than those which smoulder in the fane of Nemesis, it was not easy to discover. He seldom went near

Fieldhead; if he did, his visits were brief: if he called at the Rectory, it was only to hold conferences with the

Rector in his study. He maintained his rigid course very steadily. Meantime the history of the year continued

troubled; there was no lull in the tempest of war; her long hurricane still swept the Continent. There was not

the faintest sign of serene weather: no opening amid 'the clouds of battledust and smoke'; no fall of pure

dews genial to the olive; no cessation of the red rain which nourishes the baleful and glorious laurel.

Meantime, Ruin had her sappers and miners at work under Moore's feet, and whether he rode or walked

whether he only crossed his countinghouse hearth, or galloped over sullen Rushedge he was aware of a

While the summer thus passed with Moore, how did it lapse with Shirley and Caroline? Let us first visit the

heiress. How does she look? Like a lovelorn maiden, pale and pining for a neglectful swain? Does she sit

the day long bent over some sedentary task? Has she for ever a book in her hand, or sewing on her knee, and

By no means. Shirley is all right. If her wistful cast of physiognomy is not gone, no more is her careless

smile. She keeps her dark old manorhouse light and bright with her cheery presence: the gallery, and the

lowceiled chambers that open into it, have learned lively echoes from her voice: the dim entrancehall, with

its one window, has grown pleasantly accustomed to the frequent rustle of a silk dress, as its wearer sweeps

across from room to room, now carrying flowers to the barbarous peachbloom salon, now entering the

diningroom to open its casements and let in the scent of mignonette and sweetbriar, anon bringing plants

She takes her sewing occasionally: but, by some fatality, she is doomed never to sit steadily at it for above

five minutes at a time: her thimble is scarcely fitted on, her needle scarce threaded, when a sudden thought

calls her upstairs: perhaps she goes to seek some justthenremembered old ivorybacked needlebook, or

older chinatopped workbox, quite unneeded, but which seems at the moment indispensable; perhaps to

arrange her hair, or a drawer which she recollects to have seen that morning in a state of curious confusion;

perhaps only to take a peep from a particular window at a particular view, whence Briarfield Church and

Rectory are visible, pleasantly bowered in trees. She has scarcely returned, and again taken up the slip of

cambric, or square of halfwrought canvas, when Tartar's bold scrape and strangled whistle are heard at the

porchdoor, and she must run to open it for him; it is a hot day; he comes in panting; she must convoy him to

the kitchen, and see with her own eyes that his waterbowl is replenished. Through the open kitchendoor

the court is visible, all sunny and gay, and peopled with turkeys and their poults, peahens and their chicks,

pearlflecked Guinea fowls, and a bright variety of pure white, and purplenecked, and blue and

cinnamonplumed pigeons. Irresistible spectacle to Shirley! She runs to the pantry for a roll, and she stands

on the doorstep scattering crumbs: around her throng her eager, plump, happy, feathered vassals. John is

about the stables, and John must be talked to, and her mare looked at. She is still petting and patting it, when

the cows come in to be milked: this is important: Shirley must stay and take a review of them all. There are

perhaps some little calves, some little newyeaned lambs it may be twins, whose mothers have rejected

them: Miss Keeldar must be introduced to them by John must permit herself the treat of feeding them with

her own hand, under the direction of her careful foreman. Meantime, John moots doubtful questions about the

farming of certain 'crofts,' and 'ings,' and 'holms,' and his mistress is necessitated to fetch her gardenhat a

gipsystraw and accompany him, over stile and along hedgerow, to hear the conclusion of the whole

agricultural matter on the spot, and with the said 'crofts,' 'ings,' and 'holms' under her eye. Bright afternoon

thus wears into soft evening, and she comes home to a late tea, and after tea she never sews.

After tea Shirley reads, and she is just about as tenacious of her book as she is lax of her needle. Her study is

the rug, her seat a footstool, or perhaps only the carpet at Mrs. Pryor's feet there she always learned her

lessons when a child, and old habits have a strong power over her. The tawny and lionlike bulk of Tartar is

ever stretched beside her; his negro muzzle laid on his forepaws, straight, strong, and shapely as the limbs

of an Alpine wolf. One hand of the mistress generally reposes on the loving serf's rude head, because if she

takes it away he groans and is discontented. Shirley's mind is given to her book; she lifts not her eyes; she

neither stirs nor speaks; unless, indeed, it be to return a brief respectful answer to Mrs. Pryor, who addresses

'My dear, you had better not have that great dog so near you: he is crushing the border of your dress.'

'My dear, I wish you could acquire the habit of sitting to a table when you read.'

'I will try, ma'am, some time; but it is so comfortable to do as one has always been accustomed to do.'

'My dear, let me beg of you to put that book down: you are trying your eyes by the doubtful firelight.'

At last, however, a pale light falls on the page from the window: she looks, the moon is up; she closes the

volume, rises, and walks through the room. Her book has perhaps been a good one; it has refreshed, refilled,

rewarmed her heart; it has set her brain astir, furnished her mind with pictures. The still parlour, the clean

hearth, the window opening on the twilight sky, and showing its 'sweet regent,' new throned and glorious,

suffice to make earth an Eden, life a poem, for Shirley. A still, deep, inborn delight glows in her young veins;

unmingled untroubled, not to be reached or ravished by human agency, because by no human agency

bestowed: the pure gift of God to His creature, the free dower of Nature to her child. This joy gives her

experience of a geniilife. Buoyant, by green steps, by glad hills, all verdure and light, she reaches a station

scarcely lower than that whence angels looked down on the dreamer of Bethel, and her eye seeks, and her

soul possesses, the vision of life as she wishes it. No not as she wishes it; she has not time to wish: the swift

glory spreads out, sweeping and kindling, and multiplies its splendour faster than Thought can effect his

combinations, faster than Aspiration can utter her longings. Shirley says nothing while the trance is upon her

she is quite mute; but if Mrs. Pryor speaks to her now, she goes out quietly, and continues her walk upstairs

If Shirley were not an indolent, a reckless, an ignorant being, she would take a pen at such moments; or at

least while the recollection of such moments was yet fresh on her spirit: she would seize, she would fix the

apparition, tell the vision revealed. Had she a little more of the organ of acquisitiveness in her head a little

more of the love of property in her nature, she would take a goodsized sheet of paper and write plainly out,

in her own queer but clear and legible hand, the story that has been narrated, the song that has been sung to

her, and thus possess what she was enabled to create. But indolent she is, reckless she is, and most ignorant,

for she does not know her dreams are rare her feelings peculiar: she does not know, has never known, and

will die without knowing, the full value of that spring whose bright fresh bubbling in her heart keeps it green.

Shirley takes life easily: is not that fact written in her eye? In her goodtempered moments, is it not as full of

lazy softness as in her brief fits of anger it is fulgent with quickflashing fire? Her nature is in her eye: so

long as she is calm, indolence, indulgence, humour, and tenderness possess that large grey sphere: incense

Ere the month of July was passed, Miss Keeldar would probably have started with Caroline on that northern

tour they had planned; but just as that epoch an invasion befell Fieldhead: a genteel foraging party besieged

Shirley in her castle and compelled her to surrender at discretion. An uncle, an aunt, and two cousins from the

south, a Mr., Mrs., and two Misses Sympson, of Sympson Grove, shire, came down upon her in state.

The laws of hospitality obliged her to give in, which she did with a facility which somewhat surprised

Caroline, who knew her to be prompt in action and fertile in expedient, where a victory was to be gained for

her will. Miss Helstone even asked her how it was she submitted so readily? she answered, old feelings had

She had nothing in common with them, she replied: little Harry Sympson, indeed, the sole son of the family,

was very unlike his sisters, and of him she had formerly been fond; but he was not coming to Yorkshire: at

The next Sunday the Fieldhead pew in Briarfield Church appeared peopled with a prim, trim, fidgety, elderly

gentleman, who shifted his spectacles and changed his position every three minutes; a patient, placidlooking

elderly lady, in brown satin, and two pattern young ladies, in pattern attire, with pattern deportment. Shirley

had the air of a black swan, or a white crow, in the midst of this party; and very forlorn was her aspect.

Having brought her into respectable society, we will leave her there a while, and look after Miss Helstone.

Separated from Miss Keeldar for the present, as she could not seek her in the midst of her fine relatives;

scared away from Fieldhead by the visiting commotion which the new arrivals occasioned in the

neighbourhood, Caroline was limited once more to the grey Rectory; the solitary morning walk in remote

bypaths; the long, lonely afternoon sitting in a quiet parlour which the sun forsook at noon, or in the garden

alcove where it shone bright, yet sad, on the ripening red currants trained over the trellis, and on the fair

monthly roses entwined between, and through them fell chequered on Caroline sitting in her white summer

dress, still as a garden statue. There she read. old books, taken from her uncle's library; the Greek and Latin

were of no use to her; and its collection of light literature was chiefly contained on a shelf which had

belonged to her aunt Mary: some venerable Lady's Magazines, that had once performed a sea voyage with

their owner, and undergone a storm, and whose pages were stained with salt water; some mad Methodist

Magazines, full of miracles and apparitions, of preternatural warnings, ominous dreams, and frenzied

fanaticism; the equally mad Letters of Mrs. Elizabeth Rowe from the Dead to the Living; a few old English

Classics: from these faded flowers Caroline had in her childhood extracted the honey, they were tasteless

to her now. By way of change, and also of doing good, she would sew; make garments for the poor,

according to good Miss Ainley's direction. Sometimes, as she felt and saw her tears fall slowly on her work,

she would wonder how the excellent woman who had cut it out and arranged it for her, managed to be so

'I never find Miss Ainley oppressed with despondency, or lost in grief,' she thought; 'yet her cottage is a still,

dim little place, and she is without a bright hope or near friend in the world. I remember, though, she told me

once, she had tutored her thoughts to tend upwards to Heaven. She allowed there was, and ever had been,

little enjoyment in this world for her, and she looks, I suppose, to the bliss of the world to come. So do nuns

with their close cell, their iron lamp, their robe straight as a shroud, their bed narrow as a coffin. She says,

often, she has no fear of death no dread of the grave: no more, doubtless, had St. Simeon Stylites, lifted up

terrible on his wild column in the wilderness: no more has the Hindoo votary stretched on his couch of iron

spikes. Both these having violated nature, their natural likings and antipathies are reversed: they grow

altogether morbid. I do fear death as yet, but I believe it is because I am young: poor Miss Ainley would cling

closer to life, if life had more charms for her. God surely did not create us, and cause us to live, with the sole

end of wishing always to die. I believe, in my heart, we were intended to prize life and enjoy it, so long as we

retain it. Existence never was originally meant to be that useless, blank, pale, slowtrailing thing it often

'Nobody,' she went on 'nobody in particular is to blame, that I can see, for the state in which things are: and

I cannot tell, however much I puzzle over it, how they are to be altered for the better; but I feel there is

something wrong somewhere. I believe single women should have more to do better chances of interesting

and profitable occupation than they possess now. And when I speak thus, I have no impression that I

displease God by my words; that I am either impious or impatient, irreligious or sacrilegious. My consolation

is, indeed, that God hears many a groan, and compassionates much grief which man stops his ears against, or

frowns on with impotent contempt. I say impotent, for I observe that to such grievances as society cannot

readily cure, it usually forbids utterance, on pain of its scorn: this scorn being only a sort of tinselled cloak to

its deformed weakness. People hate to be reminded of ills they are unable or unwilling to remedy: such

reminder, in forcing on them a sense of their own incapacity, or a more painful sense of an obligation to make

some unpleasant effort, troubles their ease and shakes their selfcomplacency. Old maids, like the houseless

and unemployed poor, should not ask for a place and an occupation in the world: the demand disturbs the

happy and rich: it disturbs parents. Look at the numerous families of girls in this neighbourhood: the

Armitages, the Birtwistles, the Sykes. The brothers of these girls are every one in business or in professions;

they have something to do: their sisters have no earthly employment, but household work and sewing; no

earthly pleasure, but an unprofitable visiting; and no hope, in all their life to come, of anything better. This

stagnant state of things makes them decline in health: they are never well; and their minds and views shrink

to wondrous narrowness. The great wish the sole aim of every one of them is to be married, but the

majority will never marry: they will die as they now live. They scheme, they plot, they dress to ensnare

husbands. The gentlemen turn them into ridicule: they don't want them; they hold them very cheap: they say

I have heard them say it with sneering laughs many a time the matrimonial market is overstocked. Fathers

say so likewise, and are angry with their daughters when they observe their manoeuvres: they order them to

stay at home. What do they expect them to do at home? If you ask, they would answer, sew and cook. They

expect them to do this, and this only, contentedly, regularly, uncomplainingly all their lives long, as if they

had no germs of faculties for anything else: a doctrine as reasonable to hold, as it would be that the fathers

have no faculties but for eating what their daughters cook, or for wearing what they sew. Could men live so

themselves? Would they not be very weary? And, when there came no relief to their weariness, but only

reproaches at its slightest manifestation, would not their weariness ferment in time to frenzy? Lucretia,

spinning at midnight in the midst of her maidens, and Solomon's virtuous woman, are often quoted as

patterns of what 'the sex' (as they say) ought to be. I don't know: Lucretia, I dare say, was a most worthy sort

of person, much like my cousin Hortense Moore; but she kept her servants up very late. I should not have

liked to be amongst the number of the maidens. Hortense would just work me and Sarah in that fashion, if she

could, and neither of us would bear it. The 'virtuous woman,' again, had her household up in the very middle

of the night; she 'got breakfast over' (as Mrs. Sykes says) before one o'clock A.M.; but she had something

more to do than spin and give out portions: she was a manufacturer she made fine linen and sold it: she was

an agriculturist she bought estates and planted vineyards. That woman was a manager: she was what the

matrons hereabouts call 'a clever woman.' On the whole, I like her a good deal better than Lucretia; but I don't

believe either Mr. Armitage or Mr. Sykes could have got the advantage of her in a bargain: yet, I like her.

'Strength and honour were her clothing: the heart of her husband safely trusted in her. She opened her mouth

with wisdom; in her tongue was the law of kindness: her children rose up and called her blessed; her husband

also praised her.' King of Israel! your model of a woman is a worthy model! But are we, in these days,

brought up to be like her? Men of Yorkshire! do your daughters reach this royal standard? Can they reach it?

Can you help them to reach it? Can you give them a field in which their faculties may be exercised and grow?

Men of England! look at your poor girls, many of them fading round you, dropping off in consumption or

decline; or, what is worse, degenerating to sour old maids, envious, backbiting, wretched, because life is a

desert to them: or, what is worst of all, reduced to strive, by scarce modest coquetry and debasing artifice, to

gain that position and consideration by marriage which to celibacy is denied. Fathers! cannot you alter these

things? Perhaps not all at once; but consider the matter well when it is brought before you, receive it as a

theme worthy of thought: do not dismiss it with an idle jest or an unmanly insult. You would wish to be

proud of your daughters and not to blush for them then seek for them an interest and an occupation which

shall raise them above the flirt, the manoeuvrer, the mischiefmaking talebearer. Keep your girls' minds

narrow and fettered they will still be a plague and a care, sometimes a disgrace to you: cultivate them

give them scope and work they will be your gayest companions in health; your tenderest nurses in sickness;

One fine summer day that Caroline had spent entirely alone (her uncle being at Whinbury), and whose long,

bright, noiseless, breezeless, cloudless hours (how many they seemed since sunrise!) had been to her as

desolate as if they had gone over her head in the shadowless and trackless wastes of Sahara, instead of in the

blooming garden of an English home, she was sitting in the alcove, her task of work on her knee, her

fingers assiduously plying the needle, her eyes following and regulating their movements, her brain working

restlessly, when Fanny came to the door, looked round over the lawn and borders, and not seeing her whom

A low voice answered 'Fanny!' It issued from the alcove, and thither Fanny hastened a note in her hand,

which she delivered to fingers that hardly seemed to have nerve to hold it. Miss Helstone did not ask whence

it came, and she did not look at it: she let it drop amongst the folds of her work.

The girl was no enchantress, and knew no magicspell, yet what she said took almost magical effect on her

young mistress: she lifted her head with the quick motion of revived sensation; she shot not a languid, but a

The dropped note was snatched up eagerly the seal was broken; it was read in two seconds. An affectionate

billet from Hortense, informing her young cousin that she was returned from Wormwood Wells; that she was

alone today, as Robert was gone to Whinbury market; that nothing would give her greater pleasure than to

have Caroline's company to tea; and the good lady added she was sure such a change would be most

acceptable and beneficial to Caroline, who must be sadly at a loss both for safe guidance and improving

society since the misunderstanding between Robert and Mr. Helstone had occasioned a separation from her

'meilleure amie, Hortense Gerard Moore.' In a postscript, she was urged to put on her bonnet and run down

Caroline did not need the injunction: glad was she to lay by the child's brown Holland slip she was trimming

with braid for the Jew's basket, to hasten upstairs, cover her curls with her straw bonnet, and throw round her

shoulders the black silk scarf, whose simple drapery suited as well her shape as its dark hue set off the purity

of her dress and the fairness of her face; glad was she to escape for a few hours the solitude, the sadness, the

nightmare of her life; glad to run down the green lane sloping to the Hollow, to scent the fragrance of

hedgeflowers sweeter than the perfume of mossrose or lily. True, she knew Robert was not at the cottage;

but it was delight to go where he had lately been: so long, so totally separated from him, merely to see his

home, to enter the room where he had that morning sat, felt like a reunion. As such it revived her; and then

Illusion was again following her in Perimask: the soft agitation of wings caressed her cheek, and the air,

breathing from the blue summer sky, bore a voice which whispered 'Robert may come home while you are

in his house; and then, at least, you may look in his face, at least you may give him your hand: perhaps, for

'Silence!' was her austere response: but she loved the comforter and the consolation.

Miss Moore probably caught from the window the gleam and flutter of Caroline's white attire through the

branchy gardenshrubs, for she advanced from the cottage porch to meet her. Straight, unbending,

phlegmatic as usual, she came on: no haste or ecstasy was ever permitted to disorder the dignity of her

movements; but she smiled, well pleased to mark the delight of her pupil, to feel her kiss, and the gentle,

genial strain of her embrace. She led her tenderly in half deceived and wholly flattered. Half deceived! had

it not been so, she would in all probability have put her to the wicket, and shut her out. Had she known

clearly to whose account the chief share of this childlike joy was to be placed, Hortense would most likely

have felt both shocked and incensed. Sisters do not like young ladies to fall in love with their brothers: it

seems, if not presumptuous, silly, weak, a delusion, an absurd mistake. They do not love these gentlemen

whatever sisterly affection they may cherish towards them and that others should, repels them with a sense

of crude romance. The first movement, in short, excited by such discovery (as with many parents on finding

their children to be in love), is one of mixed impatience and contempt. Reason if they be rational people

corrects the false feeling in time; but if they be irrational, it is never corrected, and the daughter or

'You would expect to find me alone, from what I said in my note,' observed Miss Moore, as she conducted

Caroline towards the parlour; 'but it was written this morning: since dinner, company has come in.'

And, opening the door, she made visible an ample spread of crimson skirts overflowing the elbowchair at

the fireside, and above them, presiding with dignity, a cap more awful than a crown. That cap had never come

to the cottage under a bonnet; no, it had been brought, in a vast bag, or rather a middlesized balloon of black

silk, held wide with whalebone. The screed, or frill of the cap, stood a quarter of a yard broad round the face

of the wearer: the ribbon, flourishing in puffs and bows about the head, was of the sort called love ribbon:

there was a good deal of it, I may say, a very great deal. Mrs. Yorke wore the cap it became her: she wore

That great lady was come in a friendly way to take tea with Miss Moore. It was almost as great and as rare a

favour as if the Queen were to go uninvited to share potluck with one of her subjects: a higher mark of

distinction she could not show, she who, in general, scorned visiting and teadrinking, and held cheap and

There was no mistake, however; Miss Moore was a favourite with her: she had evinced the fact more than

once; evinced it by stopping to speak to her in the churchyard on Sundays; by inviting her, almost hospitably,

to come to Briarmains; evinced it today by the grand condescension of a personal visit. Her reasons for the

preference, as assigned by herself, were, that Miss Moore was a woman of steady deportment, without the

least levity of conversation or carriage; also, that, being a foreigner, she must feel the want of a friend to

countenance her. She might have added, that her plain aspect, homely precise dress, and phlegmatic

unattractive manner were to her so many additional recommendations. It is certain, at least, that ladies

remarkable for the opposite qualities of beauty, lively bearing, and elegant taste in attire, were not often

favoured with her approbation. Whatever gentlemen are apt to admire in women, Mrs. Yorke condemned;

Caroline advanced to the mighty matron with some sense of diffidence: she knew little of Mrs. Yorke; and, as

a parson's niece, was doubtful what sort of a reception she might get. She got a very cool one, and was glad to

hide her discomfiture by turning away to take off her bonnet. Nor, upon sitting down, was she displeased to

be immediately accosted by a little personage in a blue frock and sash, who started up like some fairy from

the side of the great dame's chair, where she had been sitting on a footstool, screened from view by the folds

of the wide red gown, and running to Miss Helstone, unceremoniously threw her arms round her neck and

'My mother is not civil to you,' said the petitioner, as she received and repaid a smiling salute; 'and Rose,

there, takes no notice of you: it is their way. If, instead of you, a white angel, with a crown of stars, had come

into the room, mother would nod stiffly, and Rose never lift her head at all: but I will be your friend: I have

'Jessy, curb that tongue of yours, and repress your forwardness!' said Mrs. Yorke.

'But, mother, you are so frozen!' expostulated Jessy. 'Miss Helstone has never done you any harm: why can't

you be kind to her? You sit so stiff, and look so cold, and speak so dry what for? That's just the fashion in

which you treat Miss Shirley Keeldar, and every other young lady who comes to our house. And Rose, there,

is such an aut aut I have forgotten the word, but it means a machine in the shape of a human being.

However, between you, you will drive every soul away from Briarmains Martin often says so!'

'I am an automaton? Good! Let me alone then,' said Rose, speaking from a corner where she was sitting on

the carpet at the foot of a bookcase, with a volume spread open on her knee. 'Miss Helstone how do you

do?' she added, directing a brief glance to the person addressed, and then again casting down her grey,

Caroline stole a quiet gaze towards her, dwelling on her young, absorbed countenance, and observing a

certain unconscious movement of the mouth as she read a movement full of character. Caroline had tact,

and she had fine instinct: she felt that Rose Yorke was a peculiar child one of the unique; she knew how to

treat her. Approaching quietly, she knelt on the carpet at her side, and looked over her little shoulder at her

Caroline read on with her, making no remark: presently Rose showed her the attention of asking, ere she

'It seemed to open with such promise such foreboding of a most strange tale to be unfolded.'

'And in reading it, you feel as if you were far away from England really in Italy under another sort of sky

'I mean to make a way to do so, if one is not made for me. I cannot live always in Briarfield. The whole world

is not very large compared with creation: I must see the outside of our own round planet at least.'

'First this hemisphere where we live; then the other. I am resolved that my life shall be a life: not a black

trance like the toad's, buried in marble; nor a long, slow death like yours in Briarfield Rectory.'

'Might you not as well be tediously dying, as for ever shut up in that glebehouse a place that, when I pass

it, always reminds me of a windowed grave? I never see any movement about the door: I never hear a sound

from the wall: I believe smoke never issues from the chimneys. What do you do there?'

'Much happier, even if you did nothing but wander. Remember, however, that I shall have an object in view:

but if you only went on and on, like some enchanted lady in a fairy tale, you might be happier than now. In a

day's wandering, you would pass many a hill, wood, and watercourse, each perpetually altering in aspect as

the sun shone out or was overcast; as the weather was wet or fair, dark or bright. Nothing changes in

Briarfield Rectory: the plaster of the parlourceilings, the paper on the walls, the curtains, carpets, chairs, are

'But, Rose,' pursued Caroline, 'I fear a wanderer's life, for me at least, would end like that tale you are reading

'Better to try all things and find all empty, than to try nothing and leave your life a blank. To do this is to

'Rose,' observed Mrs. Yorke, 'solid satisfaction is only to be realised by doing one's duty.'

'Right, mother! And if my Master has given me ten talents, my duty is to trade with them, and make them ten

talents more. Not in the dust of household drawers shall the coin be interred. I will not deposit it in a

brokenspouted teapot, and shut it up in a chinacloset among teathings. I will not commit it to your

worktable to be smothered in piles of woollen hose. I will not prison it in the linen press to find shrouds

among the sheets: and least of all, mother' (she got up from the floor) 'least of all will I hide it in a tureen

of cold potatoes, to be ranged with bread, butter, pastry, and ham on the shelves of the larder.'

She stopped then went on: 'Mother, the Lord who gave each of us our talents will come home some day,

and will demand from all an account. The teapot, the old stockingfoot, the linen rag, the willowpattern

tureen, will yield up their barren deposit in many a house: suffer your daughters, at least, to put their money

to the exchangers, that they may be enabled at the Master's coming to pay Him His own with usury.'

Rose sat down promptly, and wrought according to orders. After a busy pause of ten minutes, her mother

'Yet, as far as I understood your tirade, it was a protest against all womanly and domestic employment.'

'You misunderstood it, mother. I should be sorry not to learn to sew; you do right to teach me, and to make

'Am I to do nothing but that? I will do that, and then I will do more. Now, mother, I have said my say. I am

twelve years old at present, and not till I am sixteen will I speak again about talents: for four years, I bind

'You see what my daughters are, Miss Helstone,' observed Mrs. Yorke: 'how precociously wise in their own

conceits! I would rather this I prefer that'; such is Jessy's cuckoosong: while Rose utters the bolder cry, 'I

'I render a reason, mother: besides, if my cry is bold, it is only heard once in a twelvemonth. About each

birthday, the spirit moves me to deliver one oracle respecting my own instruction and management: I utter it

'I would advise all young ladies,' pursued Mrs. Yorke, 'to study the characters of such children as they chance

to meet with before they marry, and have any of their own; to consider well how they would like the

responsibility of guiding the careless, the labour of persuading the stubborn, the constant burden and task of

'But with love it need not be so very difficult,' interposed Caroline. 'Mothers love their children most dearly

'Fine talk! Very sentimental! There is the rough, practical part of life yet to come for you, young Miss!'

'But, Mrs. Yorke, if I take a little baby into my arms any poor woman s infant for instance, I feel that I

love that helpless thing quite peculiarly, though I am not its mother. I could do almost anything for it

willingly, if it were delivered over entirely to my care if it were quite dependent on me.'

'You feel! Yes! yes! I daresay, now: you are led a great deal by your feelings, and you think yourself a very

sensitive, refined personage, no doubt. Are you aware that, with all these romantic ideas, you have managed

to train your features into an habitually lackadaisical expression, better suited to a novelheroine than to a

'Look in the glass just behind you. Compare the face you see there with that of any earlyrising,

'My face is a pale one, but it is not sentimental, and most milkmaids, however red and robust they may be, are

more stupid and less practically fitted to make their way in the world than I am. I think more and more

correctly than milkmaids in general do; consequently, where they would often, for want of reflection, act

'Oh, no! you would be influenced by your feelings. You would be guided by impulse.'

'Of course, I should often be influenced by my feelings: they were given me to that end. Whom my feelings

teach me to love, I must and shall love; and I hope, if ever I have a husband and children, my feelings will

induce me to love them. I hope, in that case, all my impulses will be strong in compelling me to love.'

Caroline had a pleasure in saying this with emphasis: she had a pleasure in daring to say it in Mrs. Yorke's

presence. She did not care what unjust sarcasm might be hurled at her in reply: she flushed, not with anger,

but excitement, when the ungenial matron answered coolly 'Don't waste your dramatic effects. That was

well said, it was quite fine; but it is lost on two women an old wife and an old maid; there should have

been a disengaged gentleman present. Is Mr. Robert nowhere hid behind the curtains, do you think, Miss

Hortense, who during the chief part of the conversation had been in the kitchen superintending the

preparations for tea, did not yet quite comprehend the drift of the discourse She answered with a puzzled air

'Straightforward Miss Moore!' said she patronisingly. 'It is like you to understand my question so literally,

and answer it so simply. Your mind comprehends nothing of intrigue. Strange things might go on around you

without your being the wiser: you are not of the class the world calls sharpwitted.'

These equivocal compliments did not seem to please Hortense. She drew herself up, puckered her black

'I have ever been noted for sagacity and discernment from childhood,' she returned: for, indeed, on the

'You never plotted to win a husband, I'll be bound,' pursued Mrs. Yorke; 'and you have not the benefit of

Caroline felt this kind language where the benevolent speaker intended she should feel it in her very heart.

She could not even parry the shafts: she was defenceless for the present: to answer would have been to avow

that the cap fitted. Mrs. Yorke, looking at her as she sat with troubled downcast eyes, and cheek burning

painfully, and figure expressing in its bent attitude and unconscious tremor all the humiliation and chagrin

she experienced, felt the sufferer was fair game. The strange woman had a natural antipathy to a shrinking,

sensitive character a nervous temperament: nor was a pretty, delicate, and youthful face a passport to her

affections. It was seldom she met with all these obnoxious qualities combined in one individual: still more

seldom she found that individual at her mercy, under circumstances in which she could crush her well. She

happened, this afternoon, to be specially bilious and morose: as much disposed to gore as any vicious 'mother

'Your cousin Hortense is an excellent sister, Miss Helstone: such ladies as come to try their life's luck here, at

Hollow's Cottage, may, by a very little clever female artifice, cajole the mistress of the house, and have the

game all in their own hands. You are fond of your cousin's society, I daresay, Miss?'

'Every sister, with an eligible single brother, is considered most kind by her spinster friends.'

'Mrs. Yorke,' said Caroline, lifting her eyes slowly, their blue orbs at the same time clearing from trouble, and

shining steady and full, while the glow of shame left her cheek, and its hue turned pale and settled: 'Mrs.

'To give you a lesson on the cultivation of rectitude: to disgust you with craft and false sentiment.'

'Most young ladies of the present day need it. You are quite a modern young lady morbid, delicate,

professing to like retirement; which implies, I suppose, that you find little worthy of your sympathies in the

ordinary world. The ordinary world everyday, honest folks are better than you think them: much better

than any bookish, romancing chit of a girl can be, who hardly ever puts her nose over her uncle's, the

'Consequently, of whom you know nothing. Excuse me, indeed, it does not matter whether you excuse me

or not you have attacked me without provocation: I shall defend myself without apology. Of my relations

with my two cousins, you are ignorant: in a fit of illhumour you have attempted to poison them by

gratuitous insinuations, which are far more crafty and false than anything with which you can justly charge

me. That I happen to be pale, and sometimes to look diffident, is no business of yours. That I am fond of

books, and indisposed for common gossip, is still less your business. That I am a 'romancing chit of a girl' is a

mere conjecture on your part: I never romanced to you, nor to anybody you know. That I am the parson's

niece is not a crime, though you may be narrowminded enough to think it so. You dislike me: you have no

just reason for disliking me; therefore keep the expression of your aversion to yourself. If at any time, in

future, you evince it annoyingly, I shall answer even less scrupulously than I have done now.'

She ceased, and sat in white and still excitement. She had spoken in the clearest of tones, neither fast nor

loud; but her silver accent thrilled the ear. The speed of the current in her veins was just then as swift as it

Mrs. Yorke was not irritated at the reproof, worded with a severity so simple, dictated by a pride so quiet.

Turning coolly to Miss Moore, she said, nodding her cap approvingly 'She has spirit in her, after all.

Always speak as honestly as you have done just now,' she continued, 'and you'll do.'

'I repel a recommendation so offensive,' was the answer, delivered in the same pure key, with the same clear

look. 'I reject counsel poisoned by insinuation. It is my right to speak as I think proper; nothing binds me to

converse as you dictate. So far from always speaking as I have done just now, I shall never address any one in

a tone so stern, or in language so harsh, unless in answer to unprovoked insult.'

'Mother, you have found your match,' pronounced little Jessy, whom the scene appeared greatly to edify.

Rose had heard the whole with an unmoved face. She now said, 'No: Miss Helstone is not my mother's match

for she allows herself to be vexed: my mother would wear her out in a few weeks. Shirley Keeldar manages

better. Mother, you have never hurt Miss Keeldar's feelings yet. She wears armour under her silk dress that

Mrs. Yorke often complained that her children were mutinous. It was strange, that with all her strictness, with

all her 'strongmindedness,' she could gain no command over them: a look from their father had more

Miss Moore to whom the position of witness to an altercation in which she took no part was highly

displeasing, as being an unimportant secondary post now, rallying her dignity, prepared to utter a discourse

which was to prove both parties in the wrong, and to make it clear to each disputant that she had reason to be

ashamed of herself, and ought to submit humbly to the superior sense of the individual then addressing her.

Fortunately for her audience, she had not harangued above ten minutes, when Sarah's entrance with the

teatray called her attention, first, to the fact of that damsel having a gilt comb in her hair, and a red necklace

round her throat, and secondly, and subsequently to a pointed remonstrance, to the duty of making tea. After

the meal, Rose restored her to good humour by bringing her guitar and asking for a song, and afterwards

engaging her in an intelligent and sharp crossexamination about guitarplaying and music in general.

Jessy, meantime, directed her assiduities to Caroline. Sitting on a stool at her feet, she talked to her, first

about religion and then about politics. Jessy was accustomed at home to drink in a great deal of what her

father said on these subjects, and afterwards in company to retail, with more wit and fluency than consistency

or discretion, his opinions, antipathies, and preferences. She rated Caroline soundly for being a member of

the Established Church, and for having an uncle a clergyman. She informed her that she lived on the country,

and ought to work for her living honestly, instead of passing a useless life, and eating the bread of idleness in

the shape of tithes. Thence Jessy passed to a review of the Ministry at that time in office, and a consideration

of its deserts. She made familiar mention of the names of Lord Castlereagh and Mr. Perceval. Each of these

personages she adorned with a character that might have separately suited Moloch and Belial. She denounced

Her auditress listened with exceeding edification. Jessy had something of the genius of humour in her nature:

it was inexpressibly comic to hear her repeating her sire's denunciations in her nervous northern Doric; as

hearty a little Jacobin as ever pent a free mutinous spirit in a muslin frock and sash. Not malignant by nature,

her language was not so bitter as it was racy, and the expressive little face gave a piquancy to every phrase

Caroline chid her when she abused Lord Wellington; but she listened delighted to a subsequent tirade against

the Prince Regent. Jessy quickly read in the sparkle of her hearer's eye, and the laughter hovering round her

lips, that at last she had hit on a topic that pleased. Many a time had she heard the fat 'Adonis of fifty'

discussed at her father's breakfasttable, and she now gave Mr. Yorke's comments on the theme genuine as

But, Jessy, I will write about you no more. This is an autumn evening, wet and wild. There is only one cloud

in the sky; but it curtains it from pole to pole. The wind cannot rest: it hurries sobbing over hills of sullen

outline, colourless with twilight and mist. Rain has beat all day on that church tower: it rises dark from the

stony enclosure of its graveyard: the nettles, the long grass, and the tombs all drip with wet. This evening

reminds me too forcibly of another evening some years ago: a howling, rainy autumn evening too when

certain who had that day performed a pilgrimage to a grave newmade in a heretic cemetery sat near a

woodfire on the hearth of a foreign dwelling. They were merry and social, but they each knew that a gap,

never to be filled, had been made in their circle. They knew they had lost something whose absence could

never be quite atoned for so long as they lived: and they knew that heavy falling rain was soaking into the wet

earth which covered their lost darling; and that the sad, sighing gale was mourning above her buried head.

The fire warmed them; Life and Friendship yet blessed them; but Jessy lay cold, coffined, solitary only the

Mrs. Yorke folded up her knitting, cut short the musiclesson and the lecture on politics, and concluded her

visit to the cottage, at an hour early enough to ensure her return to Briarmains before the blush of sunset

should quite have faded in heaven, or the path up the fields have become thoroughly moist with evening dew.

The lady and her daughters being gone, Caroline felt that she also ought to resume her scarf, kiss her cousin's

cheek, and trip away homeward. If she lingered much later, dusk would draw on, and Fanny would be put to

the trouble of coming to fetch her: it was both baking and ironing day at the Rectory, she remembered

Fanny would be busy. Still, she could not quit her seat at the little parlourwindow. From no point of view

could the West look so lovely as from that lattice with the garland of jessamine round it, whose white stars

and green leaves seemed now but grey pencil outlines graceful in form, but colourless in tint against the

gold incarnadined of a summer evening against the firetinged blue of an August sky, at eight o'clock p.m.

Caroline looked at the wicketgate, beside which hollyoaks spired up tall; she looked at the close hedge of

privet and laurel fencing in the garden; her eyes longed to see something more than the shrubs, before they

turned from that limited prospect: they longed to see a human figure, of a certain mould and height, pass the

hedge and enter the gate. A human figure she at last saw nay, two: Frederick Murgatroyd went by, carrying

a pail of water; Joe Scott followed, dangling on his forefinger the keys of the mill. They were going to lock

'This is all folly heartbreaking folly,' she added. 'In the first place, though I should stay till dark, there will

be no arrival; because I feel in my heart, Fate has written it down in today's page of her eternal book, that I

am not to have the pleasure I long for. In the second place, if he stepped in this moment, my presence here

would be a chagrin to him, and the consciousness that it must be so would turn half my blood to ice. His hand

would, perhaps, be loose and chill, if I put mine into it: his eye would be clouded if I sought its beam. I

should look up for that kindling something I have seen in past days, when my face, or my language, or my

disposition had at some happy moment pleased him I should discover only darkness. I had better go home.'

She took her bonnet from the table where it lay, and was just fastening the ribbon, when Hortense, directing

her attention to a splendid bouquet of flowers in a glass on the same table, mentioned that Miss Keeldar had

sent them that morning from Fieldhead; and went on to comment on the guests that lady was at present

entertaining, on the bustling life she had lately been leading; adding divers conjectures that she did not very

well like it, and much wonderment that a person who was so fond of her own way as the heiress, did not find

'But they say she actually will not let Mr. Sympson and his family go,' she added: 'they wanted much to

return to the south last week, to be ready for the reception of the only son, who is expected home from a tour.

She insists that her cousin Henry shall come and join his friends here in Yorkshire. I daresay she partly does

'Please, ma'am,' said Sarah, opening the door, 'the preserves that you told me to boil in treacle the

'Les confitures! Elles sont br l es? Ah, quelle n gligence coupable! Coquine de cuisini re fille

And Mademoiselle, hastily taking from a drawer a large linen apron, and tying it over her black apron, rushed

' perdue' into the kitchen, whence to speak truth exhaled an odour of calcined sweets rather strong than

The mistress and maid had been in full feud the whole day, on the subject of preserving certain black

cherries, hard as marbles, sour as sloes. Sarah held that sugar was the only orthodox condiment to be used in

that process; Mademoiselle maintained and proved it by the practice and experience of her mother,

grandmother, and greatgrandmother that treacle, 'm lasse,' was infinitely preferable. She had committed

an imprudence in leaving Sarah in charge of the preservingpan, for her want of sympathy in the nature of its

contents had induced a degree of carelessness in watching their confection, whereof the result was dark and

cindery ruin. Hubbub followed: high upbraiding, and sobs rather loud than deep or real.

Caroline, once more turning to the little mirror, was shading her ringlets from her cheek to smooth them

under her cottage bonnet, certain that it would not only be useless but unpleasant to stay longer; when, on the

sudden opening of the backdoor, there fell an abrupt calm in the kitchen: the tongues were checked, pulled

up as with bit and bridle. 'Was it was it Robert?' He often almost always entered by the kitchenway

on his return from market. No: it was only Joe Scott, who, having hemmed significantly thrice every hem

being meant as a lofty rebuke to the squabbling womankind said, 'Now, I thowt I heerd a crack?'

'And,' he continued pragmatically, 'as t' maister's comed, and as he'll enter through this hoyle, I considered it

desirable to step in and let ye know. A household o' women is nivver fit to be comed on wi'out warning. Here

he is; walk forrard, sir. They war playing up queerly, but I think I've quieted 'em.'

Another person it was now audible entered. Joe Scott proceeded with his rebukes.

'What d'ye mean by being all i' darkness? Sarah, thou quean, canst t' not light a candle? It war sundown an

hour syne. He'll brak' his shins agean some o' yer pots, and tables, and stuff. Tak' tent o' this bakingbowl, sir,

To Joe's observations succeeded a confused sort of pause, which Caroline, though she was listening with both

her ears, could not understand. It was very brief: a cry broke it a sound of surprise, followed by the sound

'Mon Dieu! mon Dieu! Estce que je m'y attendais?' were the words chiefly to be distinguished.

'Et tu te portes toujours bien, bonne soeur?' inquired another voice Robert's, certainly.

Caroline was puzzled. Obeying an impulse, the wisdom of which she had not time to question, she escaped

from the little parlour, by way of leaving the coast clear, and running upstairs took up a position at the head

of the banisters, whence she could make further observations ere presenting herself. It was considerably past

sunset now: dusk filled the passage, yet not such deep dusk but that she could presently see Robert and

'Caroline! Caroline!' called Hortense, a moment afterwards, 'venez voir mon fr re!'

'Strange!' commented Miss Helstone, 'passing strange! What does this unwonted excitement about such an

everyday occurrence as a return from market portend? She has not lost her senses, has she? Surely the burnt

She descended in a subdued flutter: yet more was she fluttered when Hortense seized her hand at the

parlourdoor, and leading her to Robert, who stood in bodily presence, tall and dark against the one window,

presented her with a mixture of agitation and formality, as though they had been utter strangers, and this was

Increasing puzzle! He bowed rather awkwardly, and turning from her with a stranger's embarrassment, he

met the doubtful light from a window: it fell on his face, and the enigma of the dream (a dream it seemed)

Then who was this now coming through the passage, now entering the room? Caroline, looking round, met

He laughed. 'I believe it is me: and do you know who he is? You never saw him before; but you have heard of

'It can be only one person: your brother, since it is so like you: my other cousin, Louis.'

'Clever little OEdipus! you would have baffled the Sphynx! but now, see us together. Change places.

'As if it were possible to make a mistake when you speak! You should have told Hortense to ask. But you are

not so much alike: it is only your height, your figure, and complexion that are so similar.'

'And I am Robert, am I not?' asked the newcomer, making a first effort to overcome what seemed his natural

Caroline shook her head gently. A soft, expressive ray from her eye beamed on the real Robert: it said much.

She was not permitted to quit her cousins soon: Robert himself was peremptory in obliging her to remain.

Glad, simple, and affable in her demeanour (glad for this night, at least), in light, bright spirits for the time,

she was too pleasant an addition to the cottage circle to be willingly parted with by any of them. Louis

seemed naturally rather a grave, still, retiring man, but the Caroline of this evening, which was not (as you

know, reader) the Caroline of every day, thawed his reserve, and cheered his gravity soon. He sat near her,

and talked to her. She already knew his vocation was that of tuition; she learned now he had for some years

been the tutor of Mr. Sympson's son; that he had been travelling with him, and had accompanied him to the

north. She inquired if he liked his post, but got a look in reply which did not invite or license further question.

The look woke Caroline's ready sympathy: she thought it a very sad expression to pass over so sensible a face

as Louis's: for he had a sensible face, though not handsome, she considered, when seen near Robert's. She

turned to make the comparison. Robert was leaning against the wall, a little behind her, turning over the

leaves of a book of engravings, and probably listening, at the same time, to the dialogue between her and

'How could I think them alike?' she asked herself: 'I see now it is Hortense Louis resembles, not Robert.'

And this was in part true: he had the shorter nose and longer upperlip of his sister, rather than the fine traits

of his brother: he had her mould of mouth and chin all less decisive, accurate, and clear than those of the

young millowner. His air, though deliberate and reflective, could scarcely be called prompt and acute. You

felt, in sitting near and looking up at him, that a slower and probably a more benignant nature than that of the

Robert perhaps aware that Caroline's glance had wandered towards and dwelt upon him, though he had

neither met nor answered it put down the book of engravings, and approaching, took a seat at her side. She

resumed her conversation with Louis, but, while she talked to him, her thoughts were elsewhere: her heart

beat on the side from which her face was halfaverted. She acknowledged a steady, manly, kindly air in

Louis; but she bent before the secret power of Robert. To be so near him though he was silent though he

did not touch so much as her scarffringe, or the white hem of her dress affected her like a spell. Had she

been obliged to speak to him only, it would have quelled but, at liberty to address another, it excited her.

Her discourse flowed freely: it was gay, playful, eloquent. The indulgent look and placid manner of her

auditor encouraged her to ease; the sober pleasure expressed by his smile drew out all that was brilliant in her

nature. She felt that this evening she appeared to advantage, and, as Robert was a spectator, the consciousness

contented her: had he been called away, collapse would at once have succeeded stimulus.

Hortense, who for some time had been on the move ordering supper, and was now clearing the little table of

some books, etc., to make room for the tray, called Robert's attention to the glass of flowers, the carmine, and

'They came from Fieldhead,' she. said, 'intended as a gift to you, no doubt: we know who is the favourite

It was a wonder to hear Hortense jest; a sign that her spirits were at highwater mark indeed.

'Mon cher,' replied Hortense, 'Robert c'est tout ce qu'il y a de plus pr cieux au monde: c t de lui, le

reste du genre humain n'est que du rebut. N'aije pas raison, mon enfant?' she added, appealing to Caroline.

Caroline was obliged to reply, 'Yes' and her beacon was quenched: her star withdrew as she spoke.

'When you shall have an opportunity, ask herself,' was the quiet answer. Whether he reddened or paled

Caroline did not examine: she discovered it was late; and she must go home. Home she would go: not even

The future sometimes seems to sob a low warning of the events it is bringing us, like some gathering though

yet remote storm, which, in tones of the wind, in flushings of the firmament, in clouds strangely torn,

announces a blast strong to strew the sea with wrecks; or commissioned to bring in fog the yellow taint of

pestilence, covering white Western isles with the poisoned exhalations of the East, dimming the lattices of

English homes with the breath of Indian plague. At other times this Future bursts suddenly, as if a rock had

rent, and in it a grave had opened, whence issues the body of one that slept. Ere you are aware you stand face

Caroline Helstone went home from Hollow's Cottage in good health, as she imagined. On waking the next

morning she felt oppressed with unwonted languor: at breakfast, at each meal of the following day, she

'Am I ill?' she asked, and looked at herself in the glass. Her eyes were bright, their pupils dilated, her cheeks

She felt a pulse beat fast in her temples: she felt, too, her brain in strange activity: her spirits were raised;

hundreds of busy and broken, but brilliant thoughts engaged her mind: a glow rested on them, such as tinged

Now followed a hot, parched, thirsty, restless night. Towards morning one terrible dream seized her like a

How she had caught the fever (fever it was), she could not tell. Probably in her late walk home, some sweet,

poisoned breeze, redolent of honeydew and miasma, had passed into her lungs and veins, and finding there

already a fever of mental excitement, and a languor of long conflict and habitual sadness, had fanned the

It seemed, however, but a gentle fire: after two hot days and worried nights, there was no violence in the

symptoms, and neither her uncle, nor Fanny, nor the doctor, nor Miss Keeldar, when she called, had any fear

The few days passed, and though it was still thought it could not long delay the revival had not begun.

Mrs. Pryor, who had visited her daily being present in her chamber one morning when she had been ill a

fortnight watched her very narrowly for some minutes: she took her hand, and placed her finger on her

wrist; then, quietly leaving the chamber, she went to Mr. Helstone's study. With him she remained closeted a

long time half the morning. On returning to her sick young friend, she laid aside shawl and bonnet: she

stood a while at the bedside, one hand placed in the other, gently rocking herself to and fro, in an attitude and

with a movement habitual to her. At last she said 'I have sent Fanny to Fieldhead to fetch a few things for

me, such as I shall want during a short stay here: it is my wish to remain with you till you are better. Your

uncle kindly permits my attendance: will it to yourself be acceptable, Caroline?'

'I am sorry you should take such needless trouble. I do not feel very ill, but I cannot refuse resolutely: it will

be such comfort to know you are in the house, to see you sometimes in the room; but don't confine yourself

Mrs. Pryor bending over the pale little sufferer was now smoothing the hair under her cap, and gently

raising her pillow. As she performed these offices, Caroline, smiling, lifted her face to kiss her.

'Are you free from pain? Are you tolerably at ease?' was inquired in a low, earnest voice, as the selfelected

'But soon your appetite will return: it must return: that is, I pray God it may!'

In laying her again on the couch, she encircled her in her arms; and while so doing, by a movement which

seemed scarcely voluntary, she drew her to her heart, and held her close gathered an instant.

Mrs. Pryor did not smile at this speech: over her features ran a tremor, which for some minutes she was

'You are more used to Fanny than to me,' she remarked, ere long. 'I should think my attendance must seem

'No: quite natural, and very soothing. You must have been accustomed to wait on sick people, ma'am. You

move about the room so softly, and you speak so quietly, and touch me so gently.'

'I am dexterous in nothing, my dear. You will often find me awkward, but never negligent.'

Negligent, indeed, she was not. From that hour, Fanny and Eliza became ciphers in the sick room: Mrs. Pryor

made it her domain: she performed all its duties; she lived in it day and night. The patient remonstrated

faintly, however, from the first, and not at all ere long: loneliness and gloom were now banished from her

bedside; protection and solace sat there instead. She and her nurse coalesced in wondrous union. Caroline

was usually pained to require or receive much attendance: Mrs. Pryor, under ordinary circumstances, had

neither the habit nor the art of performing little offices of service; but all now passed with such ease so

naturally, that the patient was as willing to be cherished as the nurse was bent on cherishing; no sign of

weariness in the latter ever reminded the former that she ought to be anxious. There was, in fact, no very hard

With all this care, it seemed strange the sick girl did not get well; yet such was the case: she wasted like any

snowwreath in thaw; she faded like any flower in drought. Miss Keeldar, on whose thoughts danger or death

seldom intruded, had at first entertained no fears at all for her friend; but seeing her change and sink from

time to time when she paid her visits, alarm clutched her heart. She went to Mr. Helstone and expressed

herself with so much energy that that gentleman was at last obliged, however unwillingly, to admit the idea

that his niece was ill of something more than a migraine; and when Mrs. Pryor came and quietly demanded a

physician, he said she might send for two if she liked. One came, but that one was an oracle: he delivered a

dark saying of which the future. was to solve the mystery, wrote some prescriptions, gave some directions

the whole with an air of crushing authority pocketed his fee, and went. Probably, he knew well enough he

Still, no rumour of serious illness got wind in the neighbourhood. At Hollow's Cottage it was thought that

Caroline had only a severe cold, she having written a note to Hortense to that effect; and Mademoiselle

contented herself with sending two pots of currant jam, a receipt for a tisane, and a note of advice.

Mrs. Yorke being told that a physician had been summoned', sneered at the hypochondriac fancies of the rich

and idle, who, she said, having nothing but themselves to think about, must needs send for a doctor if only so

The 'rich and idle,' represented in the person of Caroline, were meantime falling fast into a condition of

prostration, whose quickly consummated debility puzzled all who witnessed it, except one; for that one alone

Sick people often have fancies inscrutable to ordinary attendants, and Caroline had one which even her tender

nurse could not at first explain. On a certain day in the week, at a certain hour, she would whether worse or

better entreat to be taken up and dressed, and suffered to sit in her chair near the window. This station she

would retain till noon was past: whatever degree of exhaustion or debility her wan aspect betrayed, she still

softly put off all persuasion to seek repose until the churchclock had duly tolled midday: the twelve strokes

sounded, she grew docile, and would meekly lie down. Returned to the couch, she usually buried her face

deep in the pillow, and drew the coverlets close round her, as if to shut out the world and sun, of which she

was tired: more than once, as she thus lay, a slight convulsion shook the sickbed, and a faint sob broke the

One Tuesday morning, as usual, she had asked leave to rise, and now she sat wrapped in her white

dressinggown, leaning forward in the easychair, gazing steadily and patiently from the lattice. Mrs. Pryor

was seated a little behind, knitting as it seemed, but, in truth, watching her. A change crossed her pale

mournful brow, animating its languor; a light shot into her faded eyes, reviving their lustre; she half rose and

looked earnestly out. Mrs. Pryor, drawing softly near, glanced over her shoulder. From this window was

visible the churchyard, beyond it the road, and there, riding sharply by, appeared a horseman. The figure was

not yet too remote for recognition; Mrs. Pryor had long sight; she knew Mr. Moore. Just as an intercepting

Her nurse assisted her to bed: having laid her down and drawn the curtain, she stood listening near. The little

couch trembled, the suppressed sob stirred the air. A contraction as of anguish altered Mrs. Pryor's features;

she wrung her hands; half a groan escaped her lips. She now remembered that Tuesday was Whinbury

marketday: Mr. Moore must always pass the Rectory on his way thither, just ere noon of that day.

Caroline wore continually round her neck a slender braid of silk, attached to which was some trinket. Mrs.

Pryor had seen the bit of gold glisten; but had not yet obtained a fair view of it. Her patient never parted with

it: when dressed it was hidden in her bosom; as she lay in bed she always held it in her hand. That Tuesday

afternoon the transient doze more like lethargy than sleep which sometimes abridged the long days, had

stolen over her: the weather was hot: while turning in febrile restlessness, she had pushed the coverlets a little

aside; Mrs. Pryor bent to replace them; the small, wasted hand, lying nerveless on the sick girl's breast,

clasped as usual her jealouslyguarded treasure: those fingers whose attenuation it gave pain to see, were

now relaxed in sleep: Mrs. Pryor gently disengaged the braid, drawing out a tiny locket a slight thing it

was, such as it suited her small purse to purchase: under its crystal face appeared a curl of black hair too

Some agitated movement occasioned a twitch of the silken chain: the sleeper started and woke. Her thoughts

were usually now somewhat scattered on waking; her look generally wandering. Halfrising, as if in terror,

she exclaimed 'Don't take it from me, Robert! Don't! It is my last comfort let me keep it. I never tell any

Mrs. Pryor had already disappeared behind the curtain: reclining far back in a deep armchair by the bedside,

she was withdrawn from view. Caroline looked abroad into the chamber: she thought it empty. As her stray

ideas returned slowly, each folding its weak wings on the mind's sad shore, like birds exhausted, beholding

void, and perceiving silence round her, she believed herself alone. Collected, she was not yet: perhaps healthy

selfpossession and selfcontrol were to be hers no more; perhaps that world the strong and prosperous live

in had already rolled from beneath her feet for ever: so, at least, it often seemed to herself. In health, she had

'Oh! I should see him once more before all is over! Heaven might favour me thus far?' she cried. 'God grant

'But he will not know I am ill till I am gone; and he will come when they have laid me out, and I am

'What can my departed soul feel then? Can it see or know what happens to the clay? Can spirits, through any

medium, communicate with living flesh? Can the dead at all revisit those they leave? Can they come in the

'Is it for nothing the wind sounds almost articulately sometimes sings as I have lately heard it sing at night

or passes the casement sobbing, as if for sorrow to come? Does nothing, then, haunt it nothing inspire it?

'Why, it suggested to me words one night: it poured a strain which I could have written down, only I was

'What is that electricity they speak of, whose changes make us well or ill; whose lack or excess blasts; whose

even balance revives? What are all those influences that are about us in the atmosphere, that keep playing

over our nerves like fingers on stringed instruments, and call forth now a sweet note, and now a wailnow an

'Where is the other world? In what will another life consist? Who do I ask? Have I not cause to think that the

hour is hasting but too fast when the veil must be rent for me? Do I not know the Grand Mystery is likely to

burst prematurely on me? Great Spirit! in whose goodness I confide; whom, as my Father, I have petitioned

night and morning from early infancy, help the weak creation of Thy hands! Sustain me through the ordeal I

dread and must undergo! Give me strength! Give me patience! Give me oh! give me FAITH!'

She fell back on her pillow. Mrs. Pryor found means to steal quietly from the room: she reentered it soon

after, apparently as composed as if she had really not overheard this strange soliloquy.

The next day several callers came. It had become known that Miss Helstone was worse. Mr. Hall and his

sister Margaret arrived: both, after they had been in the sickroom, quitted it in tears; they had found the

patient more altered than they expected. Hortense Moore came. Caroline seemed stimulated by her presence:

she assured her, smiling, she was not dangerously ill; she talked to her in a low voice, but cheerfully: during

It was then explained that some police intelligence about the rioters of whom he was in pursuit, had, that

morning, called him away to Birmingham, and probably a fortnight might elapse ere he returned.

'Oh! no. He thought, like me, that she had only a bad cold.' After this visit, Mrs. Pryor took care not to

approach Caroline's couch for above an hour: she heard her weep, and dared not look on her tears.

As evening closed in, she brought her some tea. Caroline, opening her eyes from a moment's slumber, viewed

'I smelt the honeysuckles in the glen this summer morning,' she said, 'as I stood at the countinghouse

Strange words like these from pallid lips pierce a loving listener's heart more poignantly than steel. They

'I went in to call Robert to breakfast: I have been with him in the garden: he asked me to go: a heavy dew has

'I thought it was daylight long after sunrise: it looks dark is the moon now set?'

That moon, lately risen, was gazing full and mild upon her: floating in deep blue space, it watched her

'Then it is not morning? I am not at the cottage? Who is this? I see a shape at my bedside.'

'It is myself it is your friend your nurse your Lean your head on my shoulder collect yourself.' (In

a lower tone.) 'Oh God, take pity! Give her life, and me strength! Send me courage teach me words!'

Some minutes passed in silence. The patient lay mute and passive in the trembling arms on the throbbing

'I am better now,' whispered Caroline at last, 'much better I feel where I am: this is Mrs. Pryor near me: I

was dreaming I talk when I wake up from dreams: people often do in illness. How fast your heart beats,

'It is not fear, child; only a little anxiety, which will pass. I have brought you some tea, Cary; your uncle

made it himself. You know he says he can make a better cup of tea than any housewife can. Taste it. He is

concerned to hear that you eat so little: he would be glad if you had a better appetite.'

'Not later? Oh! I have yet a long night before me: but the tea has made me strong: I will sit up.'

'Thank Heaven! I am not always equally miserable, and ill, and hopeless. The afternoon has been bad since

Hortense went: perhaps the evening may be better. It is a fine night, I think? The moon shines clear.'

'Very fine: a perfect summer night. The old churchtower gleams white almost as silver.'

'Can you see many long weeds and nettles amongst the graves; or do they look turfy and flowery?'

'I see closed daisyheads, gleaming like pearls on some mounds. Thomas has mown down the dockleaves

'I always like that to be done: it soothes one's mind to see the place in order: and, I dare say, within the church

just now that moonlight shines as softly as in my room. It will fall through the east window full on the

Helstone monument. When I close my eyes I seem to see poor papa's epitaph in black letters on white marble.

'William Farren came to look after your flowers this morning: he was afraid, now you cannot tend them

yourself, they would be neglected. He has taken two of your favourite plants home to nurse for you.'

'If I were to make a will, I would leave William all my plants; Shirley my trinkets except one, which must

not be taken off my neck: and you, ma'am, my books.' (After a pause.) 'Mrs. Pryor, I feel a longing wish for

'You know I always delight to hear you sing: sing me a hymn just now: sing that hymn which begins: Our

God, our help in ages past, Our hope for years to come; Our shelter from the stormy blast; Our refuge,

No wonder Caroline liked to hear her sing: her voice, even in speaking, was sweet and silver clear; in song it

was almost divine: neither flute nor dulcimer has tones so pure. But the tone was secondary compared to the

The servants in the kitchen, hearing the strain, stole to the stairfoot to listen: even old Helstone, as he

walked in the garden, pondering over the unaccountable and feeble nature of women, stood still amongst his

borders to catch the mournful melody more distinctly. Why it reminded him of his forgotten dead wife, he

could not tell; nor why it made him more concerned than he had hitherto been for Caroline's fading girlhood.

He was glad to recollect that he had promised to pay Wynne, the magistrate, a visit that evening. Low spirits

and gloomy thoughts were very much his aversions: when they attacked him he usually found means to make

them march in doublequick time. The hymn followed him faintly as he crossed the fields: he hastened his

customary sharp pace, that he might get beyond its reach. Thy word commands our flesh to dust, 'Return,

ye sons of men'; All nations rose from earth at first And turn to earth again. A thousand ages in Thy sight Are

like an evening gone Short as the watch that ends' the night Before the rising sun. Time, like an everrolling

stream, Bears all its sons away; They fly, forgotten, as a dream Dies at the opening day. Like flowery fields,

the nations stand, Fresh in the morning light The flowers beneath the mower's hand Lie withering ere 'tis

night. Our God, our help in ages past, Our hope for years to come; Be Thou our guard while troubles last,

'Now sing a song a Scottish song,' suggested Caroline when the hymn was over, 'Ye banks and braes o'

Again Mrs. Pryor obeyed, or essayed to obey. At the close of the first stanza she stopped: she could get no

'You are weeping at the pathos of the air: come here and I will comfort you,' said Caroline, in a pitying

accent. Mrs. Pryor came: she sat down on the edge of her patient's bed, and allowed the wasted arms to

'You often soothe me, let me soothe you,' murmured the young girl, kissing her cheek. 'I hope,' she added, 'it

'But your mind, Caroline: your mind is crushed: your heart is almost broken, you have been so neglected, so

'I believe grief is, and always has been, my worst ailment. I sometimes think, if an abundant gush of

'Very much, very truly, inexpressibly sometimes: just now I feel as if I could almost grow to your heart.'

Quitting her, she glided to the door, softly turned the key in the lock, ascertained that it was fast, and came

back. She bent over her. She threw back the curtain to admit the moonlight more freely. She gazed intently on

'Then, if you love me,' said she, speaking quickly, with an altered voice: 'if you feel as if to use your own

words you could 'grow to my heart,' it will be neither shock nor pain for you to know that that heart is the

source whence yours was filled: that from my veins issued the tide which flows in yours; that you are mine

'It means that, if I have given you nothing else, I at least gave you life; that I bore you nursed you; that I am

'But Mrs. James Helston but my father's wife, whom I do not remember ever to have seen, she is my

'She is your mother: James Helstone was my husband. I say you are mine. I have proved it. I thought perhaps

you were all his, which would have been a cruel dispensation for me: I find it is not so. God permitted me to

be the parent of my child's mind; it belongs to me: it is my property my right. These features are James's

own. He had a fine face when he was young, and not altered by error. Papa, my darling, gave you your blue

eyes and soft brown hair: he gave you the oval of your face and the regularity of your lineaments; the outside

he conferred; but the heart and the brain are mine: the germs are from me, and they are improved, they are

developed to excellence. I esteem and approve my child as highly as I do most fondly love her.'

'I wish it were as true that the substance and colour of health were restored to your cheek.'

'My own mother! is she one I can be so fond of as I can of you? People generally did not like her, so I have

'They told you that? Well, your mother now tells you, that, not having the gift to please people generally, for

their approbation she does not care: her thoughts are centred in her child: does that child welcome or reject

'But if you are my mother, the world is all changed to me. Surely I can live I should like to recover '

'You must recover. You drew life and strength from my breast when you were a tiny, fair infant, over whose

blue eyes I used to weep, fearing I beheld in your very beauty the sign of qualities that had entered my heart

like iron, and pierced through my soul like a sword. Daughter! we have been long parted: I return now to

She held her to her bosom: she cradled her in her arms: she rocked her softly, as if lulling a young child to

The offspring nestled to the parent; that parent, feeling the endearment and hearing the appeal, gathered her

closer still. She covered her with noiseless kisses: she murmured love over her, like a cushat fostering its

There was silence in the room for a long while. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

'How could it be otherwise? Mr. and Miss Helstone being announced, I was prepared to see my child.'

'You saw nothing, Caroline, I can cover my feelings. You can never tell what an age of strange sensation I

lived, during the two minutes that elapsed between the report of your name and your entrance. You can never

'What will she be like? I had asked myself; and when I saw what you were like, I could have dropped.'

'I trembled in your presence. I said I will never own her; she shall never know me.'

'But I said and did nothing remarkable. I felt a little diffident at the thought of an introduction to strangers,

'I soon saw you were diffident; that was the first thing which reassured me: had you been rustic, clownish,

'I had reason to dread a fair outside, to mistrust a popular bearing, to shudder before distinction, grace, and

courtesy. Beauty and affability had come in my way when I was recluse, desolate, young, and ignorant: a

toilworn governess perishing of uncheered labour, breaking down before her time. These, Caroline, when

they smiled on me, I mistook for angels! I followed them home, and when into their hands I had given

without reserve my whole chance of future happiness, it was my lot to witness a transfiguration on the

domestic hearth: to see the white mask lifted, the bright disguise put away, and opposite me sat down O

'I have suffered! None saw none knew: there was no sympathy no redemption no redress!'

'It is over, and not fruitlessly. I tried to keep the word of His patience: He kept me in the days of my anguish.

I was afraid with terror I was troubled: through great tribulation He brought me through to a salvation

revealed in this last time. My fear had torment He has cast it out: He has given me in its stead perfect love. .

'I charge you, when you next look on your father's monument, to respect the name chiselled there. To you he

did only good. On you he conferred his whole treasure of beauties; nor added to them one dark defect. All

you derived from him is excellent. You owe him gratitude. Leave, between him and me, the settlement of our

mutual account: meddle not: God is the arbiter. This world's laws never came near us never! They were

powerless as a rotten bulrush to protect me! impotent as idiot babblings to restrain him! As you said, it is all

over now: the grave lies between us. There he sleeps in that church! To his dust I say this night, what I have

never said before, 'James, slumber peacefully! See! your terrible debt is cancelled! Look! I wipe out the long,

black account with my own hand! James, your child atones: this living likeness of you this thing with your

perfect features this one good gift you gave me has nestled affectionately to my heart, and tenderly called

'Dearest mother, that is right! Can papa's spirit hear us? Is he comforted to know that we still love him?'

'I said nothing of love: I spoke of forgiveness. Mind the truth, child I said nothing of love! On the threshold

'Oh, child! the human heart can suffer. It can hold more tears than the ocean holds waters. We never know

how deep how wide it is, till misery begins to unbind her clouds, and fill it with rushing blackness.'

'Forget!' she said, with the strangest spectre of a laugh. 'The north pole will rush to the south, and the

And the child lulled the parent, as the parent had erst lulled the child. At last Mrs. Pryor wept: she then grew

calmer. She resumed those tender cares agitation had for a moment suspended. Replacing her daughter on the

couch, she smoothed the pillow, and spread the sheet. The soft hair whose locks were loosened, she

'Mamma, let them bring a candle, that I may see you; and tell my uncle to come into this room byandby: I

want to hear him say that I am your daughter: and, mamma, take your supper here; don't leave me for one

'Oh, Caroline! it is well you are gentle. You will say to me go, and I shall go; come, and I shall come; do this,

and I shall do it. You inherit a certain manner as well as certain features. It will be always 'mamma' prefacing

a mandate: softly spoken though from you, thank God! Well'(she added, under her breath), 'he spoke softly

too, once, like a flute breathing tenderness; and then, when the world was not by to listen, discords that split

'It seems so natural, mamma, to ask you for this and that. I shall want nobody but you to be near me, or to do

'You must not depend on me to check you: you must keep guard over yourself. I have little moral courage:

the want of it is my bane. It is that which has made me an unnatural parent which has kept me apart from

my child during the ten years which have elapsed since my husband's death left me at liberty to claim her: it

was that which first unnerved my arms and permitted the infant I might have retained a while longer to be

'I let you go as a babe, because you were pretty, and I feared your loveliness; deeming it the stamp of

perversity. They sent me your portrait, taken at eight years old; that portrait confirmed my fears. Had it

shown me a sunburnt little rustic a heavy, bluntfeatured, commonplace child I should have hastened to

claim you; but there, under the silver paper, I saw blooming the delicacy of an aristocratic flower 'little

lady' was written on every trait. I had too recently crawled from under the yoke of the fine gentleman

escaped, galled, crushed, paralysed, dying to dare to encounter his still finer and most fairylike

representative. My sweet little lady overwhelmed me with dismay: her air of native elegance froze my very

marrow. In my experience I had not met with truth, modesty, good principle as the concomitants of beauty. A

form so straight and fine, I argued, must conceal a mind warped and cruel. I had little faith in the power of

education to rectify such a mind; or rather, I entirely misdoubted my own ability to influence it. Caroline, I

dared not undertake to rear you: I resolved to leave you in your uncle's hands. Matthewson Helstone I knew,

if an austere, was an upright man. He and all the world thought hardly of me for my strange, unmotherly

'It was a name in my mother's family. I adopted it that I might live unmolested. My married name recalled too

vividly my married life: I could not bear it. Besides, threats were uttered of forcing me to return to bondage:

it could not be; rather a bier for a bed the grave for a home. My new name sheltered me: I resumed under

its screen my old occupation of teaching. At first, it scarcely procured me the means of sustaining life; but

how savoury was hunger when I fasted in peace! How safe seemed the darkness and chill of an unkindled

hearth, when no lurid reflection from terror crimsoned its desolation! How serene was solitude, when I feared

'But, mamma, you have been in this neighbourhood before. How did it happen, that when you reappeared

'I only paid a short visit, as a bride, twenty years ago; and then I was very different to what I am now

slender, almost as slender as my daughter is at this day: my complexion my very features are changed; my

hair, my style of dress everything is altered. You cannot fancy me a slim young person, attired in scanty

drapery of white muslin, with bare arms, bracelets and necklace of beads, and hair disposed in round Grecian

'You must, indeed, have been different. Mamma, I heard the front door open: if it is my uncle coming in, just

ask him to step upstairs, and let me hear his assurance that I am truly awake and collected, and not dreaming

The Rector, of his own accord, was mounting the stairs; and Mrs. Pryor summoned him to his niece's

'Good!' said he, brushing quickly into the room. 'Ha, Cary! how do? Did you drink my cup of tea? I made it

'I drank it every drop, uncle: it did me good it has made me quite alive. I have a wish for company, so I

The respected ecclesiastic looked pleased, and yet embarrassed. He was willing enough to bestow his

company on his sick niece for ten minutes, since it was her whim to wish it; but what means to employ for

'You'll be up in a trice,' he observed, by way of saying something. 'The little weakness will soon pass off; and

then you must drink portwine a pipe, if you can and eat game and oysters: I'll get them for you, if they

are to be had anywhere. Bless me! we'll make you as strong as Samson before we've done with you.'

'I am wandering in a pleasant world,' said Caroline, in a soft, happy voice, 'and I want you to tell me whether

'We must have Dr. Rile again, ma'am, or better still, MacTurk: he's less of a humbug. Thomas must saddle

'No: I don't want a doctor; mamma shall be my only physician. Now, do you understand, uncle?'

Mr. Helstone pushed up his spectacles from his nose to his forehead, handled his snuffbox, and

administered to himself a portion of the contents. Thus fortified, he answered briefly 'I see daylight. You've

'And is it true?' demanded Caroline, rising on her pillow. 'Is she really my mother?'

'Cry? I'd cry if you said No. It would be terrible to be disappointed now. But give her a name: how do you

'I call this stout lady in a quaint black dress, who looks young enough to wear much smarter raiment, if she

would I call her Agnes Helstone: she married my brother James, and is his widow.'

'What a little sceptic it is! Look at her small face, Mrs. Pryor, scarcely larger than the palm of my hand, alive

with acuteness and eagerness.' (To Caroline.) 'She had the trouble of bringing you into the world at any rate:

mind you show your duty to her by quickly getting well, and repairing the waste of these cheeks. Heigho! she

used to be plump: what she has done with it all, I can't, for the life of me, divine.'

'If wishing to get well will help me, I shall not be long sick, This morning, I had no reason and no strength to

'Uncle, if you please, you may send me a little bit of supper anything you like, from your own plate. That is

'It is spoken like a sage, Cary: see if I don't cater for you judiciously. When women are sensible and, above

all, intelligible I can get on with them. It is only the vague, superfine sensations, and extremely wiredrawn

notions, that put me about. Let a woman ask me to give her an edible or a wearable be the same a roc's egg

or the breastplate of Aaron, a share of St. John's locusts and honey or the leathern girdle about his loins I

can, at least, understand the demand: but when they pine for they know not what sympathy sentiment

some of these indefinite abstractions I can't do it: I don't know it; I haven't got it. Madam, accept my arm.'

Mrs. Pryor signified that she should stay with her daughter that evening. Helstone, accordingly, left them

'This is chicken,' he said; 'but we'll have partridge tomorrow. Lift her up, and put a shawl over her. On my

word, I understand nursing. Now, here is the very same little silver fork you used when you first came to the

Rectory: that strikes me as being what you may call a happy thought a delicate attention. Take it, Cary, and

Caroline did her best. Her uncle frowned to see that her powers were so limited: he prophesied, however,

great things for the future; and as she praised the morsel he had brought, and smiled gratefully in his face, he

stooped over her pillow, kissed her, and said, with a broken, rugged accent 'Good night, bairnie! God bless

Caroline enjoyed such peaceful rest that night, circled by her mother's arms, and pillowed on her breast, that

she forgot to wish for any other stay; and though more than one feverish dream came to her in slumber, yet,

when she woke up panting, so happy and contented a feeling returned with returning consciousness, that her

As to the mother, she spent the night like Jacob at Peniel. Till break of day, she wrestled with God in earnest

Not always do those who dare such divine conflict prevail. Night after night the sweat of agony may burst

dark on the forehead; the supplicant may cry for mercy with that soundless voice the soul utters when its

appeal is to the Invisible. 'Spare my beloved,' it may implore. 'Heal my life's life. Rend not from me what

long affection entwines with my whole nature. God of heaven bend hear be clement!' And after this cry

and strife, the sun may rise and see him worsted. That opening morn, which used to salute him with the

whisper of zephyrs, the carol of skylarks, may breathe, as its first accents, from the dear lips which colour and

heat have quitted 'Oh! I have had a suffering night. This morning I am worse. I have tried to rise. I cannot.

Then the watcher approaches the patient's pillow, and sees a new and strange moulding of the familiar

features, feels at once that the insufferable moment draws nigh, knows that it is God's will his idol shall be

broken, and bends his head, and subdues his soul to the sentence he cannot avert, and scarce can bear.

Happy Mrs. Pryor! She was still praying, unconscious that the summer sun hung above the hills, when her

child softly woke in her arms. No piteous, unconscious moaning sound which so wastes our strength that,

even if we have sworn to be firm, a rush of unconquerable tears sweeps away the oath preceded her

waking. No space of deaf apathy followed. The first words spoken were not those of one becoming estranged

from this world, and already permitted to stray at times into realms foreign to the living. Caroline evidently

Mrs. Pryor rose with a start, that her daughter might not see the joyful tears called into her eyes by that

For many days the mother dared rejoice only with trembling. That first revival seemed like the flicker of a

dying lamp: if the flame streamed up bright one moment, the next it sank dim in the socket. Exhaustion

There was always a touching endeavour to appear better, but too often ability refused to second will; too

often the attempt to bear up failed: the effort to eat, to talk, to look cheerful, was unsuccessful. Many an hour

passed, during which Mrs. Pryor feared that the chords of life could never more be strengthened, though the

During this space the mother and daughter seemed left almost alone in the neighbourhood. It was the close of

August: the weather was fine that is to say, it was very dry and very dusty, for an arid wind had been

blowing from the east this month past: very cloudless, too, though a pale haze, stationary in the atmosphere,

seemed to rob of all depth of tone the blue of heaven, of all freshness the verdure of earth, and of all glow the

light of day. Almost every family in Briarfield was absent on an excursion. Miss Keeldar and her friends

were at the seaside; so were Mrs. Yorke's household. Mr. Hall and Louis Moore, between whom a

spontaneous intimacy seemed to have arisen, the result, probably, of harmony of views and temperament,

were gone 'up north' on a pedestrian excursion to the Lakes. Even Hortense, who would fain have stayed at

home and aided Mrs. Pryor in nursing Caroline, had been so earnestly entreated by Miss Mann to accompany

her once more to Wormwood Wells, in the hope of alleviating sufferings greatly aggravated by the

insalubrious weather, that she felt obliged to comply; indeed, it was not in her nature to refuse a request that

at once appealed to her goodness of heart, and by a confession of dependency flattered her

amourpropre. As for Robert, from Birmingham he had gone on to London, where he still sojourned.

So long as the breath of Asiatic deserts parched Caroline's lips and fevered her veins, her physical

convalescence could not keep pace with her returning mental tranquillity: but there came a day when the

wind ceased to sob at the eastern gable of the Rectory, and at the oriel window of the church. A little cloud

like a man's hand arose in the west: gusts from the same quarter drove it on and spread it wide; wet and

tempest prevailed a while. When that was over the sun broke out genially, heaven regained its azure, and

earth its green; the livid choleratint had vanished from the face of nature: the hills rose clear round the

Caroline's youth could now be of some avail to her, and so could her mother's nurture: both crowned by

God's blessing, sent in the pure west wind blowing soft as fresh through the everopen chamber lattice

rekindled her longlanguishing energies. At last Mrs. Pryor saw that it was permitted to hope a genuine,

material convalescence had commenced. It was not merely Caroline's smile which was brighter, or her spirits

which were cheered, but a certain look had passed from her face and eye a look dread and indescribable,

but which will easily be recalled by those who have watched the couch of dangerous disease. Long before the

emaciated outlines of her aspect began to fill, or its departed colour to return, a more subtle change took

place: all grew softer and warmer. Instead of a marble mask and glassy eye, Mrs. Pryor saw laid on the pillow

a face pale and wasted enough, perhaps more haggard than the other appearance, but less awful; for it was a

Now, too, she was not always petitioning to drink. The words 'I am so thirsty' ceased to be her plaint.

Sometimes, when she had swallowed a morsel, she would say it had revived her: all descriptions of food were

no longer equally distasteful; she could be induced, sometimes, to indicate a preference. With what trembling

pleasure and anxious care did not her nurse prepare what was selected! How she watched her as she partook

Nourishment brought strength. She could sit up. Then she longed to breathe the fresh air, to revisit her

flowers, to see how the fruit had ripened. Her uncle, always liberal, had bought a gardenchair for her

express use: he carried her down in his own arms, and placed her in it himself, and William Farren was there

to wheel her round the walks, to show her what he had done amongst her plants, to take her directions for

William and she found plenty to talk about: they had a dozen topics in common; interesting to them,

unimportant to the rest of the world. They took a similar interest in animals, birds, insects, and plants: they

held similar doctrines about humanity to the lower creation; and had a similar turn for minute observation on

points of natural history. The nest and proceedings of some groundbees, which had burrowed in the turf

under an old cherrytree, was one subject of interest: the haunts of certain hedgesparrows, and the welfare

Had Chambers's Journal existed in those days, it would certainly have formed Miss Helstone's and Farren's

favourite periodical. She would have subscribed for it; and to him each number would duly have been lent:

both would have put implicit faith, and found great savour in its marvellous anecdotes of animal sagacity.

This is a digression; but it suffices to explain why Caroline would have no other hand than William's to guide

her chair, and why his society and conversation sufficed to give interest to her gardenairings.

Mrs. Pryor, walking near, wondered how her daughter could be so much at ease with a 'man of the people.'

She found it impossible to speak to him otherwise than stiffly. She felt as if a great gulf lay between her caste

and his; and that to cross it, or meet him halfway, would be to degrade herself. She gently asked Caroline

'Are you not afraid, my dear, to converse with that person so unreservedly? He may presume, and become

'William presume, mamma? You don't know him. He never presumes: he is altogether too proud and

And Mrs. Pryor smiled sceptically at the naove notion of that roughhanded, roughheaded, fustianclad

Farren, for his part, showed Mrs. Pryor only a very sulky brow. He knew when he was misjudged, and was

The evening restored Caroline entirely to her mother, and Mrs. Pryor liked the evening; for then, alone with

her daughter, no human shadow came between her and what she loved. During the day, she would have her

stiff demeanour and cool moments, as was her wont. Between her and Mr. Helstone a very respectful but

most rigidly ceremonious intercourse was kept up: anything like familiarity would have bred contempt at

once in one or both these personages: but by dint of strict civility and wellmaintained distance, they got on

Towards the servants, Mrs. Pryor's bearing was not uncourteous, but shy, freezing, ungenial. Perhaps it was

diffidence rather than pride which made her appear so haughty; but, as was to be expected, Fanny and Eliza

failed to make the distinction, and she was unpopular with them accordingly. She felt the effect produced: it

tendered her at times dissatisfied with herself for faults she could not help; and with all else, dejected, chill,

This mood changed to Caroline's influence, and to that influence alone. The dependent fondness of her

nursling, the natural affection of her child, came over her suavely: her frost fell away; her rigidity unbent: she

grew smiling and pliant. Not that Caroline made any wordy profession of love that would ill have suited

Mrs. Pryor: she would have read therein the proof of insincerity; but she hung on her with easy dependence;

she confided in her with fearless reliance: these things contented the mother's heart.

She liked to hear her daughter say 'Mamma, do this.' 'Please, mamma, fetch me that.' 'Mamma, read to me.'

Nobody else not one living thing had ever so claimed her services, so looked for help at her hand. Other

people were always more or less reserved and stiff with her, as she was reserved and stiff with them; other

people betrayed consciousness of and annoyance at her weak points: Caroline no more showed 'such

wounding sagacity or reproachful sensitiveness now, than she had done when a suckling of three months old.

Yet Caroline could find fault. Blind to the constitutional defects that were incurable, she had her eyes wide

open to the acquired habits that were susceptible of remedy. On certain points she would quite artlessly

lecture her parent; and that parent, instead of being hurt, felt a sensation of pleasure in discovering that the

'Mamma, I am determined you shall not wear that old gown any more; its fashion is not becoming: it is too

strait in the skirt. You shall put on your black silk every afternoon; in that you look nice: it suits you; and you

shall have a black satin dress for Sundays a real satin not a satinet or any of the shams. And, mamma,

'My dear, I thought of the black silk serving me as a best dress for many years yet, and I wished to buy you

'Nonsense, mamma: my uncle gives me cash to get what I want: you know he is generous enough; and I have

set my heart on seeing you in a black satin. Get it soon, and let it be made by a dressmaker of my

recommending: let me choose the pattern. You always want to disguise yourself like a grandmother: you

would persuade one that you are old and ugly, not at all! On the contrary, when well dressed and cheerful,

you are very comely indeed. Your smile is so pleasant, your teeth are so white, your hair is still such a pretty

light colour. And then you speak like a young lady, with such a clear, fine tone, and you sing better than any

young lady I ever heard. Why do you wear such dresses and bonnets, mamma, such as nobody else ever

'Very much: it vexes me even. People say you are miserly; and yet you are not, for you give liberally to the

poor and to religious societies: though your gifts are conveyed so secretly and quietly, that they are known to

few except the receivers. But I will be your maid myself: when I get a little stronger I will set to work, and

And Caroline, sitting near her mother, rearranged her muslin handkerchief, and resmoothed her hair.

'My own mamma,' then she went on, as if pleasing herself with the thought of their relationship, 'who belongs

to me, and to whom I belong! I am a rich girl now: I have something I can love well, and not be afraid of

loving. Mamma, who gave you this little brooch? Let me unpin it and look at it.'

Mrs. Pryor, who usually shrank from meddling fingers and near approach, allowed the license complacently.

'My sister gave it me my only sister, Cary. Would that your aunt Caroline had lived to see her niece!'

'Ah! mamma! you mean your teasing daughter, who will never let you alone; who, when you go into your

room, cannot help running to seek for you; who follows you upstairs and down, like a dog.'

'Whose features still give me such a strange thrill sometimes. I half fear your fair looks yet, child.'

'You don't; you can't. Mamma, I'm sorry papa was not good: I do so wish he had been. Wickedness spoils and

poisons all pleasant things: it kills love. If you and I thought each other wicked, we could not love each other,

'How miserable we should be! Mother, before I knew you, I had an apprehension that you were not good, that

I could not esteem you: that dread damped my wish to see you; and now my heart is elate because I find you

perfect, almost; kind, clever, nice. Your sole fault is that you are oldfashioned, and of that I shall cure you.

Mamma, put your work down: read to me. I like your southern accent: it is so pure, so soft. It has no rugged

burr, no nasal twang, such as almost every one's voice here in the north has. My uncle and Mr. Hall say that

you are a fine reader, mamma. Mr. Hall said he never heard any lady read with such propriety of expression,

'I wish I could reciprocate the compliment, Cary; but really the first time I heard your truly excellent friend

'No: I almost wished you had, as I wished you had looked unpolished. Your father, Caroline, naturally spoke

well; quite otherwise than your worthy uncle: correctly, gently, smoothly. You inherit the gift.'

'Why he was as he was and, happily, of that you, child, can form no conception I cannot tell: it is a deep

'Mamma, you will keep stitching, stitching away: put down the sewing; I am an enemy to it. It cumbers your

lap, and I want it for my head: it engages your eyes, and I want them for a book. Here is your favourite

These importunities were the mother's pleasure. If ever she delayed compliance, it was only to hear them

repeated, and to enjoy her child's soft, halfplayful, halfpetulant urgency. And then, when she yielded,

Caroline would say archly 'You will spoil me, mamma. I always thought I should like to be spoiled, and I

By the time the Fieldhead party returned to Briarfield, Caroline was nearly well. Miss Keeldar, who had

received news by post of her friend's convalescence, hardly suffered an hour to elapse between her arrival at

A shower of rain was falling gently, yet fast, on the late flowers and russet autumn shrubs, when the

gardenwicket was heard to swing open, and Shirley's wellknown form passed the window. On her

entrance, her feelings were evinced in her own peculiar fashion. When deeply moved, by serious fears or

joys, she was not garrulous. The strong emotion was rarely suffered to influence her tongue; and even her eye

refused it more than a furtive and fitful conquest. She took Caroline in her arms, gave her one look, one kiss,

And a minute after 'I see you are safe now, but take care. God grant your health may be called on to sustain

She proceeded to talk fluently about the journey. In the midst of vivacious discourse, her eye still wandered

to Caroline: there spoke in its light a deep solicitude, some trouble, and some amaze.

'She may be better,' it said: 'but how weak she still is! What peril she has come through!'

'May I tell her all?' demanded Caroline of her mother. Leave being signified by a gesture, Shirley was

'I guessed long since the whole business. I have heard somewhat of Mrs. Pryor's history not from herself,

but from others. With every detail of Mr. James Helstone's career and character I was acquainted: an

afternoon's sitting and conversation with Miss Mann had rendered me familiar therewith; also he is one of

Mrs. Yorke's warningexamples one of the bloodred lights she hangs out to scare young ladies from

matrimony. I believe I should have been sceptical about the truth of the portrait traced by such fingers both

these ladies take a dark pleasure in offering to view the dark side of life but I questioned Mr. Yorke on the

subject, and he said 'Shirley, my woman, if you want to know aught about yond' James Helstone, I can only

say he was a mantiger. He was handsome, dissolute, soft, treacherous, courteous, cruel' Don't cry,

'I am not crying, Shirley; or if I am, it is nothing go on: you are no friend if you withhold from me the truth:

'Fortunately, I have said pretty nearly all that I have to say, except that your uncle himself confirmed Mr.

Yorke's words: for he too scorns a lie, and deals in none of those conventional subterfuges that are shabbier

'They should and we will let him alone. Cry away, Cary, it will do you good: it is wrong to check natural

tears; besides, I choose to please myself by sharing an idea that at this moment beams in your mother's eye

while she looks at you: every drop blots out a sin. Weep your tears have the virtue which the rivers of

'Madam,' she continued, addressing Mrs. Pryor, 'did you think I could be daily in the habit of seeing you and

your daughter together marking your marvellous similarity in many points observing, pardon me your

irrepressible emotions in the presence and still more in the absence of your child, and not form my own

conjectures? I formed them, and they are literally correct. I shall begin to think myself shrewd.'

'And you said nothing?' observed Caroline, who soon regained the quiet control of her feelings.

'Nothing. I had no warrant to breathe a word on the subject. My business it was not: I abstained from making

'I may be communicative, yet know where to stop. In showing my treasure, I may withhold a gem or two a

curious unbought, graven stone an amulet, of whose mystic glitter I rarely permit even myself a glimpse.

Caroline thus seemed to get a view of Shirley's character under a novel aspect. Erelong, the prospect was

No sooner had she regained sufficient strength to bear a change of scene the excitement of a little society

than Miss Keeldar sued daily for her presence at Fieldhead. Whether Shirley had become wearied of her

honoured relatives is not known: she did not say she was; but she claimed and retained Caroline with an

eagerness which proved that an addition to that worshipful company was not unwelcome.

The Sympsons were Church people: of course, the Rectors' niece was received by them with courtesy. Mr.

Sympson proved to be a man of spotless respectability, worrying temper, pious principles, and worldly views;

his lady was a very good woman, patient, kind, wellbred. She had been brought up on a narrow system of

views starved on a few prejudices: a mere handful of bitter herbs; a few preferences, soaked till their

natural flavour was extracted, and with no seasoning added in the cooking; some excellent principles, made

up in a stiff raisedcrust of bigotry, difficult to digest: far too submissive was she to complain of this diet, or

The daughters were an example to their sex. They were tall, with a Roman nose apiece. They had been

educated faultlessly. All they did was well done. History, and the most solid books, had cultivated their

minds. Principles and opinions they possessed which could not be mended. More exactlyregulated lives,

feelings, manners, habits, it would have been difficult to find anywhere. They knew by heart a certain

youngladies'schoolroom code of laws on language, demeanour, etc.; themselves never deviated from its

curious little pragmatical provisions; and they regarded with secret, whispered horror, all deviations in others.

The Abomination of Desolation was no mystery to them: they had discovered that unutterable Thing in the

characteristic others call Originality. Quick were they to recognise the signs of this evil; and wherever they

saw its trace whether in look, word, or deed; whether they read it in the fresh vigorous style of a book, or

listened to it in interesting, unhackneyed, pure, expressive language they shuddered they recoiled: danger

was above their heads peril about their steps. What was this strange thing? Being unintelligible, it must be

Henry Sympson the only son, and youngest child of the family was a boy of fifteen. He generally kept

with his tutor; when he left him, he sought his cousin Shirley. This boy differed from his sisters; he was little,

lame, and pale; his large eyes shone somewhat languidly in a wan orbit: they were, indeed, usually rather dim

but they were capable of illumination: at times, they could not only shine, but blaze: inward emotion could

likewise give colour to his cheek and decision to his crippled movements. Henry's mother loved him; she

thought his peculiarities were a mark of election: he was not like other children, she allowed; she believed

him regenerate a new Samuel called of God from his birth: he was to be a clergyman. Mr. and the Misses

Sympson, not understanding the youth, let him much alone. Shirley made him her pet; and he made Shirley

In the midst of this family circle or rather outside it moved the tutor the satellite.

Yes: Louis Moore was a satellite of the house of Sympson: connected, yet apart; ever attendant ever distant.

Each member of that correct family treated him with proper dignity. The father was austerely civil,

sometimes irritable; the mother, being a kind woman, was attentive, but formal; the daughters saw in him an

abstraction, not a man. It seemed, by their manner, that their brother's tutor did not live for them. They were

learned: so was he but not for them. They were accomplished: he had talents too, imperceptible to their

senses. The most spirited sketch from his fingers was a blank to their eyes; the most original observation

from his lips fell unheard on their ears. Nothing could exceed the propriety of their behaviour.

I should have said, nothing could have equalled it; but I remember a fact which strangely astonished Caroline

Helstone. It was to discover that her cousin had absolutely no sympathising friend at Fieldhead: that to

Miss Keeldar he was as much a mere teacher, as little gentleman, as little a man, as to the estimable Misses

What had befallen the kindhearted Shirley that she should be so indifferent to the dreary position of a

fellowcreature thus isolated under her roof? She was not, perhaps, haughty to him, but she never noticed

him: she let him alone. He came and went, spoke or was silent, and she rarely recognised his existence.

As to Louis Moore himself, he had the air of a man used to this life, and who had made up his mind to bear it

for a time. His faculties seemed walled up in him, and were unmurmuring in their captivity. He never

laughed; he seldom smiled; he was uncomplaining. He fulfilled the round of his duties scrupulously. His

pupil loved him; he asked nothing more than civility from the rest of the world. It even appeared that he

would accept nothing more: in that abode at least; for when his cousin Caroline made gentle overtures of

friendship, he did not encourage them; he rather avoided than sought her. One living thing alone, besides his

pale, crippled scholar, he fondled in the house, and that was the ruffianly Tartar; who, sullen and

impracticable to others, acquired a singular partiality for him: a partiality so marked that sometimes, when

Moore, summoned to a meal, entered the room and sat down unwelcomed, Tartar would rise from his lair at

Shirley's feet, and betake himself to the taciturn tutor. Once but once she noticed the desertion; and

holding out her white hand, and speaking softly, tried to coax him back. Tartar looked, slavered, and sighed,

as his manner was, but yet disregarded the invitation, and coolly settled himself on his haunches at Louis

Moore's side. That gentleman drew the dog's big, blackmuzzled head on to his knee, patted him, and smiled

An acute observer might have remarked, in the course of the same evening, that after Tartar had resumed his

allegiance to Shirley, and was once more couched near her footstool, the audacious tutor by one word and

gesture fascinated him again. He pricked up his ears at the word; he started erect at the gesture, and came,

with head lovingly depressed, to receive the expected caress: as it was given, the significant smile again

rippled across Moore's quiet face. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

'Shirley,' said Caroline one day, as they two were sitting alone in the summerhouse, 'did you know that my

cousin Louis was tutor in your uncle's family before the Sympsons came down here?'

Shirley's reply was not so prompt as her responses usually were, but at last she answered 'Yes, of course:

'It seems odd. I cannot account for it. You talk a great deal, you talk freely. How was that circumstance

'You are a singular being!' observed her friend: 'I thought I knew you quite well: I begin to find myself

mistaken. You were silent as the grave about Mrs. Pryor; and now, again, here is another secret. But why you

'I never made it a secret: I had no reason for so doing. If you had asked me who Henry's tutor was, I would

'I am puzzled about more things than one in this matter: you don't like poor Louis, why? Are you impatient

at what you perhaps consider his servile position? Do you wish that Robert's brother were more highly

'Robert's brother, indeed!' was the exclamation, uttered in a tone like the accents of scorn; and, with a

movement of proud impatience, Shirley snatched a rose from a branch peeping through the open lattice.

'Yes,' repeated Caroline, with mild firmness; 'Robert's brother. He is thus closely related to G rard Moore of

the Hollow, though nature has not given him features so handsome, or an air so noble as his kinsman; but his

'Wise, humble, pious Caroline!' exclaimed Shirley ironically. 'Men and angels, hear her! We should not

despise plain features, nor a laborious yet honest occupation, should we? Look at the subject of your

panegyric, he is there in the garden,' she continued, pointing through an aperture in the clustering creepers;

'He is not ugly, Shirley,' pleaded Caroline; 'he is not ignoble; he is sad: silence seals his mind; but I believe

him to be intelligent, and be certain, if he had not something very commendable in his disposition, Mr. Hall

Shirley laughed: she laughed again; each time with a slightly sarcastic sound. 'Well, well,' was her comment.

'On the plea of the man being Cyril Hall's friend and Robert Moore's brother, we'll just tolerate his existence

won't we, Cary? You believe him to be intelligent, do you? Not quite an idiot eh? Something

commendable in his disposition! id est, not an absolute ruffian. Good! Your representations have weight with

He approached the summerhouse: unconscious that it was tenanted, he sat down on the step. Tartar, now his

'Old boy!' said Louis, pulling his tawny ear, or rather the mutilated remains of that organ, torn and chewed in

a hundred battles, 'the autumn sun shines as pleasantly on us as on the fairest and richest. This garden is none

He sat silent, still caressing Tartar, who slobbered with exceeding affection. A faint twittering commenced

among the trees round: something fluttered down as light as leaves: they were little birds, which, lighting on

'The small brown elves actually remember that I fed them the other day,' again soliloquised Louis. 'They want

some more biscuit: today, I forgot to save a fragment. Eager little sprites, I have not a crumb for you.'

She took from her reticule a morsel of sweetcake: for that repository was never destitute of something

available to throw to the chickens, young ducks, or sparrows; she crumbled it, and bending over his shoulder,

'This September afternoon is pleasant,' observed Louis Moore, as not at all discomposed he calmly cast

'You take a sort of harsh, solitary triumph in drawing pleasure out of the elements, and the inanimate and

'Solitary, but not harsh. With animals I feel I am Adam's son: the heir of him to whom dominion was given

over 'every living thing that moveth upon the earth.' Your dog likes and follows me; when I go into that yard,

the pigeons from your dovecot flutter at my feet; your mare in the stable knows me as well as it knows you,

'And,' continued Louis, 'no caprice can withdraw these pleasures from me: they are mine.'

He walked off: Tartar followed him, as if in duty and affection bound, and Shirley remained standing on the

summerhouse step. Caroline saw her face as she looked after the rude tutor: it was pale, as if her pride bled

'You see,' remarked Caroline apologetically, 'his feelings are so often hurt, it makes him morose.'

'You see,' returned Shirley, with ire, 'he is a topic on which you and I shall quarrel if we discuss it often; so

'I suppose he has more than once behaved in this way,' thought Caroline to herself; 'and that renders Shirley

so distant to him: yet I wonder she cannot make allowance for character and circumstances: I wonder the

general modesty, manliness, sincerity of his nature, do not plead with her in his behalf. She is not often so

The verbal testimony of two friends of Caroline's to her cousin's character augmented her favourable opinion

of him. William Farren, whose cottage he had visited in company with Mr. Hall, pronounced him a 'real

gentleman': there was not such another in Briarfield: he William 'could do aught for that man. And then

to see how t' bairns liked him, and how t' wife took to him first minute she saw him: he never went into a

house but t' childer wor about him directly: them little things wor like as if they'd a keener sense nor

Mr. Hall, in answer to a question of Miss Helstone's, as to what he thought of Louis Moore, replied promptly

'Grave! The finest company in the world! Full of odd, quiet, out of the way humour. Never enjoyed an

excursion so much in my life as the one I took with him to the Lakes. His understanding and tastes are so

superior, it does a man good to be within their influence; and as to his temper and nature, I call them fine.'

'At Fieldhead he looks gloomy, and, I believe, has the character of being misanthropical.'

'Oh! I fancy he is rather out of place there in a false position. The Sympsons are most estimable people, but

not the folks to comprehend him: they think a great deal about form and ceremony, which are quite out of

'She doesn't know him she doesn't know him; otherwise, she has sense enough to do justice to his merits.'

'Well, I suppose she doesn't know him,' mused Caroline to herself, and by this hypothesis she endeavoured to

account for what seemed else unaccountable. But such simple solution of the difficulty was not left her long:

she was obliged to refuse Miss Keeldar even this negative excuse for her prejudice.

One day she chanced to be in the schoolroom with Henry Sympson, whose amiable and affectionate

disposition had quickly recommended him to her regard. The boy was busied about some mechanical

contrivance: his lameness made him fond of sedentary occupation: he began to ransack his tutor's desk for a

piece of wax, or twine, necessary to his work. Moore happened to be absent. Mr. Hall, indeed, had called for

him to take a long walk. Henry could not immediately find the object of his search: he rummaged

compartment after compartment; and, at last opening an inner drawer, he came upon not a ball of cord, or a

lump of bees' wax but a little bundle of small marblecoloured cahiers, tied with tape. Henry looked at

them 'What rubbish Mr. Moore stores up in his desk!' he said: 'I hope he won't keep my old exercises so

He threw the bundle to Caroline. The packet looked so neat externally, her curiosity was excited to see its

'Oh! yes; quite freely. Mr. Moore's desk is half mine for he lets me keep all sorts of things in it and I give

On scrutiny they proved to be French compositions, written in a hand peculiar but compact, and exquisitely

clean and clear. The writing was recognisable: she scarcely needed the further evidence of the name signed at

the close of each theme to tell her whose they were. Yet that name astonished her: 'Shirley Keeldar, Sympson

She tied up the packet, and held it in her hand, meditating over it. She half felt as if, in opening it, she had

'She wrote them in my schoolroom at Sympson Grove, when she lived with us there. Mr. Moore taught her

'She was a wild, laughing thing, but pleasant to have in the room: she made lessontime charming. She

learned fast you could hardly tell when or how. French was nothing to her: she spoke it quick quick; as

'She gave plenty of trouble in a way: she was giddy, but I liked her. I'm desperately fond of Shirley.'

'I am desperately fond of her; she is the light of my eyes: I said so to Mr. Moore last night.'

'He didn't. He never reproves and reproves, as girls' governesses do. He was reading, and he only smiled into

his book, and said that if Miss Keeldar was no more than that, she was less than he took her to be; for I was

but a dimeyed, shortsighted little chap. I'm afraid I am a poor unfortunate, Miss Caroline Helstone. I am a

'Never mind, Henry, you are a very nice little fellow; and if God has not given you health and strength, He

'Listen, Henry. Generally, I don't like schoolboys: I have a great horror of them. They seem to me little

ruffians, who take an unnatural delight in killing and tormenting birds, and insects, and kittens, and whatever

is weaker than themselves; but you are so different, I am quite fond of you. You have almost as much sense

as a man (far more, God wot,' she muttered to herself, 'than many men); you are fond of reading, and you can

'Henry,' she said, 'I have brought your lunch here: I shall prepare it for you myself.'

She placed on the table a glass of new milk, a plate of something which looked not unlike leather, and a

'French exercisebooks. Look here! They must be held precious: they are kept carefully.'

She showed the bundle. Shirley snatched it up: 'Did not know one was in existence,' she said. 'I thought the

whole lot had long since lit the kitchenfire, or curled the maid's hair at Sympson Grove. What made you

'It is not my doing: I should not have thought of it: it never entered my head to suppose copybooks of value.

'C'est cela: he forgot them, no doubt,' echoed Shirley. 'They are extremely well written,' she observed

'What a giddy girl you were, Shirley, in those days! I remember you so well: a slim, light creature whom,

though you were so tall, I could lift off the floor. I see you with your long, countless curls on your shoulders,

and your streaming sash. You used to make Mr. Moore lively, that is, at first: I believe you grieved him after

Shirley turned the closelywritten pages and said nothing. Presently she observed, 'That was written one

'I remember,' said Hanry; 'Mr. Moore, when he read it, cried 'Voil le Fran ais gagn !' He said it was well

'Not at all. We were all scolded that day for not coming down to tea when called. I can remember my tutor

sitting at his easel, and you standing behind him, holding the candle, and watching him draw the snowy cliff,

'You should ask him, Shirley; you are shy of him now: you are grown a proud lady to him, I noticed that.'

'Shirley, you are a real enigma,' whispered Caroline in her ear. 'What queer discoveries I make day by day

now! I, who thought I had your confidence. Inexplicable creature! even this boy reproves you.'

'I have forgotten' Auld lang syne, 'you see, Harry,' said Miss Keeldar, answering young Sympson, and not

'Which you never should have done. You don't deserve to be a man's morning star, if you have so short a

'A man's morning star, indeed! and by 'a man' is meant your worshipful self, I suppose? Come, drink your

The young cripple rose and limped towards the fire; he had left his crutch near the mantelpiece.

'Whether do you like me or Mr. Sam Wynne best, Shirley?' inquired the boy, as she settled him in an

'Whereas, as long as you live, Harry, you will never be anything more than a little pale lameter.'

'You need not be sorrowful. Have I not often told you who was almost as little, as pale, as suffering as you,

'Admiral Horatio, Viscount Nelson, and Duke of Bronti; great at heart as a Titan; gallant and heroic as all the

world and age of chivalry; leader of the might of England; commander of her strength on the deep; hurler of

'A great man: but I am not warlike, Shirley: and yet my mind is so restless, I burn day and night for what

'Harry, it is your mind, which is stronger and older than your frame, that troubles you. It is a captive. It lies in

physical bondage. But it will work its own redemption yet. Study carefully, not only books but the world.

You love nature; love her without fear. Be patient wait the course of time. You will not be a soldier or a

sailor, Henry: but, if you live, you will be listen to my prophecy you will be an author perhaps, a poet.'

'An author! It is a flash a flash of light to me! I will I will! I'll write a book that I may dedicate it to you.'

'You will write it, that you may give your soul its natural release. Bless me! what am I saying? more than I

understand, I believe, or can make good. Here, Hal; here is your toasted oatcake eat and live!'

'Willingly!' here cried a voice outside the open window; 'I know that fragrance of meal bread. Miss Keeldar,

'Mr. Hall' (it was Mr. Hall, and with him was Louis Moore, returned from their walk), 'there is a proper

luncheon laid out in the diningroom, and there are proper people seated round it: you may join that society

and share that fare if you please; but if your illregulated tastes lead you to prefer illregulated proceedings,

'I approve the perfume, and therefore shall suffer myself to be led by the nose,' returned Mr. Hall, who

presently entered, accompanied by Louis Moore. That gentleman's eye fell on his desk, pillaged.

'Give it to Shirley and Caroline they did it,' was alleged with more attention to effect than truth.

'Traitor and false witness!' cried both the girls. 'We never laid hands on a thing, except in the spirit of

'Exactly so,' said Moore, with his rare smile. 'And what have you ferreted out, in your 'spirit of laudable

'Here! here!' Caroline hastened to say; and she restored the little packet to its place. He shut it up; he locked it

in with a small key attached to his watchguard; he restored the other papers to order, closed the repository,

'I thought you would have scolded much more, sir,' said Henry. 'The girls deserve reprimand.'

'It accuses them of crimes intended as well as perpetrated, sir. If I had not been here, they would have treated

'And will you have lunch with us?' here interposed Shirley, addressing Moore, and desirous, as it seemed, to

'Va pour le lait frais!' said Louis. 'But for your oatcake!' and he made a grimace.

'He cannot eat it,' said Henry: 'he thinks it is like bran, raised with sour yeast.'

'Come, then, by special dispensation, we will allow him a few cracknels; but nothing less homely.'

The hostess rang the bell and gave her frugal orders, which were presently executed. She herself measured

out the milk, and distributed the bread round the cosy circle now enclosing the bright little schoolroom fire.

She then took the post of toastergeneral; and kneeling on the rug, fork in hand, fulfilled her office with

dexterity. Mr. Hall, who relished any homely innovation on ordinary usages, and to whom the husky oat cake

was from custom suave as manna seemed in his best spirits. He talked and laughed gleefully now with

Caroline, whom he had fixed by his side, now with Shirley, and again with Louis Moore. And Louis met him

in congenial spirit: he did not laugh much, but he uttered in the quietest tone the wittiest things. Gravely

spoken sentences, marked by unexpected turns and a quite fresh flavour and poignancy, fell easily from his

lips. He proved himself to be what Mr. Hall had said he was excellent company. Caroline marvelled at

his humour, but still more at his entire selfpossession. Nobody there present seemed to impose on him a

sensation of unpleasant restraint: nobody seemed a bore a check a chill to him; and yet there was the cool

But Shirley was cool and lofty no longer at least not at this moment. She appeared unconscious of the

humility of her present position or if conscious, it was only to taste a charm in its lowliness. It did not revolt

her pride that the group to whom she voluntarily officiated as handmaid should include her cousin's tutor: it

did not scare her that while she handed the bread and milk to the rest, she had to offer it to him also; and

'You are overheated now,' he said, when she had retained the fork for some time: 'let me relieve you.'

And he took it from her with a sort of quiet authority, to which she submitted passively neither resisting

'I should like to see your pictures, Louis,' said Caroline, when the sumptuous luncheon was discussed. 'Would

'To please you, I should; but, for my own part, I have cut him as an artist. I had enough of him in that

capacity in Cumberland and Westmoreland. Many a wetting we got amongst the mountains because he would

persist in sitting on a campstool, catching effects of rainclouds, gathering mists, fitful sunbeams, and what

'Here is the portfolio,' said Henry, bringing it in one hand, and leaning on his crutch with the other.

Louis took it, but he still sat as if he wanted another to speak. It seemed as if he would not open it unless the

'You understand opening it,' observed Louis, giving her the key. 'You spoiled the lock for me once try now.'

He held it: she opened it; and, monopolising the contents, had the first view of every sketch herself. She

enjoyed the treat if treat it were in silence, without a single comment. Moore stood behind her chair and

looked over her shoulder, and when she had done, and the others were still gazing, he left his post and paced

'There are callers,' she said, 'and I shall be summoned to the room. A pretty figure as they say I am to

receive company: I and Henry have been in the garden gathering fruit half the morning. Oh, for rest under my

own vine and my own figtree! Happy is the slavewife of the Indian chief, in that she has no drawingroom

duty to perform, but can sit at ease weaving mats, and stringing beads, and peacefully flattening her

picaninny's head in an unmolested corner of her wigwam. I'll emigrate to the western woods.'

'To marry a White Cloud or a Big Buffalo; and after wedlock to devote yourself to the tender task of digging

Shirley seemed about to reply, but here the schoolroom door unclosed, admitting Mr. Sympson. That

And evidently from his shocked, scandalised air had he not recognised in one of the party a clergyman he

would have delivered an extempore philippic on the extraordinary habits of his niece: respect for the cloth

'I merely wished to announce,' he proceeded coldly, 'that the family from De Walden Hall, Mr., Mrs., the

She sat still, looking a little contumacious, and very much indisposed to stir. She was flushed with the fire:

her dark hair had been more than once dishevelled by the morning wind that day; her attire was a light,

neatlyfitting, but amply flowing dress of muslin; the shawl she had worn in the garden was still draped in a

careless fold round her. Indolent, wilful, picturesque, and singularly pretty was her aspect prettier than

usual, as if some soft inward emotion stirred who knows how? had given new bloom and expression to

She lifted her eyes, and saw in the glass over the fireplace both Mr. Hall and Louis Moore gazing at her

'If,' she said, with a yielding smile 'if a majority of the present company maintain that the De Walden Hall

people have claims on my civility, I will subdue my inclinations to my duty. Let those who think I ought to

'You must go,' said Mr. Hall, 'and behave courteously, too. You owe many duties to society. It is not

Caroline, approaching her, smoothed her wavy curls, gave to her attire a less artistic and more domestic

grace, and Shirley was put out of the room, protesting still, by a pouting lip, against her dismissal.

'There is a curious charm about her,' observed Mr. Hall, when she was gone. 'And now,' he added, 'I must

'Henry, get your books; it is lessontime,' said Moore, sitting down to his desk.

'A curious charm!' repeated the pupil, when he and his master were left alone. 'True. Is she not a kind of

Mr. Moore looked and spoke sternly sourly. Henry knew this mood: it was a rare one with his tutor; but

Miss Keeldar and her uncle had characters that would not harmonise, that never had harmonised. He was

irritable, and she was spirited: he was despotic, and she liked freedom; he was worldly, and she, perhaps,

Not without purpose had he come down to Yorkshire: his mission was clear, and he intended to discharge it

conscientiously: he anxiously desired to have his niece married; to make for her a suitable match: give her in

The misfortune was, from infancy upwards, Shirley and he had disagreed on the meaning of the words

'suitable' and 'proper.' She never yet had accepted his definition; and it was doubtful whether, in the most

'Decidedly suitable! Most proper!' pronounced Mr. Sympson. 'A fine unencumbered estate: real substance;

He sent for his niece to the oak parlour; he shut himself up there with her alone; he communicated the offer;

'I ask why? I must have a reason. In all respects he is more than worthy of you.'

She stood on the hearth; she was pale as the white marble slab and cornice behind her; her eyes flashed large,

'He has twice your money, twice your common sense; equal connections, equal respectability.'

'He has run a course of despicable, commonplace profligacy. Accept that as the first reason why I spurn him.'

'That conduct alone sinks him in a gulf of immeasurable inferiority. His intellect reaches no standard I can

esteem: there is a second stumblingblock. His views are narrow; his feelings are blunt; his tastes are

'The man is a respectable, wealthy man. To refuse him is presumption on your part.'

'May I ask if you expect some man of title some peer of the realm to demand your hand?'

'Were there insanity in the family, I should believe you mad. Your eccentricity and conceit touch the verge of

'I anticipate no less. Frantic and impracticable girl! Take warning! I dare you to sully our name by a

'God be thanked that you are not! But be on your guard! I will not be trifled with!'

'What, in the name of common law and common sense, would you, or could you do, if my pleasure led me to

'Scrupulous care I will take, Mr. Sympson. Before I marry, I am resolved to esteem to admire to love.'

'To love with my whole heart. I know I speak in an unknown tongue; but I feel indifferent whether I am

'For the scrubby, shabby, whining, I have no taste: for literature and the arts, I have. And there I wonder how

your Fawthrop Wynne would suit me? He cannot write a note without orthographical errors; he reads only a

'Unladylike language! Great God! to what will she come?' He lifted hands and eyes.

'To what will she come? Why are not the laws more stringent, that I might compel her to hear reason?'

'Console yourself, uncle. Were Britain a serfdom, and you the Czar, you could not compel me to this step. I

will write to Mr. Wynne. Give yourself no further trouble on the subject.' . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Fortune is proverbially called changeful, yet her caprice often takes the form of repeating again and again a

similar stroke of luck in the same quarter. It appeared that Miss Keeldar or her fortune had by this time

made a sensation in the district, and produced an impression in quarters by her unthought of. No less than

three offers followed Mr. Wynne's all more or less eligible. All were in succession pressed on her by her

uncle, and all in succession she refused. Yet amongst them was more than one gentleman of unexceptional

character, as well as ample wealth. Many besides her uncle asked what she meant, and whom she expected to

At last, the gossips thought they had found the key to her conduct, and her uncle was sure of it; and, what is

more, the discovery showed his niece to him in quite a new light, and he changed his whole deportment to her

Fieldhead had, of late, been fast growing too hot to hold them both; the suave aunt could not reconcile them;

the daughters froze at the view of their quarrels: Gertrude and Isabella whispered by the hour together in their

dressingroom, and became chilled with decorous dread if they chanced to be left alone with their audacious

cousin. But, as I have said, a change supervened: Mr. Sympson was appeased and his family tranquillised.

The village of Nunnely has been alluded to: its old church, its forest, its monastic ruins. It had also its Hall,

called the Priory an older, a larger, a more lordly abode than any Briarfield or Whinbury owned; and, what

is more, it had its man of title its baronet, which neither Briarfield nor Whinbury could boast. This

possession its proudest and most prized had for years been nominal only: the present baronet, a young

man hitherto resident in a distant province, was unknown on his Yorkshire estate.

During Miss Keeldar's stay at the fashionable wateringplace of Cliffbridge, she and her friends had met with

and been introduced to Sir Philip Nunnely. They encountered him again and again on the sands, the cliffs, in

the various walks, sometimes at the public balls of the place. He seemed solitary; his manner was very

unpretending too simple to be termed affable; rather timid than proud: he did not condescend to their

With any unaffected individual, Shirley could easily and quickly cement an acquaintance. She walked and

talked with Sir Philip; she, her aunt, and cousins, sometimes took a sail in his yacht. She liked him because

she found him kind and modest, and was charmed to feel she had the power to amuse him.

One slight drawback there was where is the friendship without it? Sir Philip had a literary turn: he wrote

poetry, sonnets, stanzas, ballads. Perhaps Miss Keeldar thought him a little too fond of reading and reciting

these compositions; perhaps she wished the rhyme had possessed more accuracy the measure more music

the tropes more freshness the inspiration more fire; at any rate, she always winced when he recurred to the

subject of his poems, and usually did her best to divert the conversation into another channel.

He would beguile her to take moonlight walks with him on the bridge, for the sole purpose, as it seemed, of

pouring into her ear the longest of his ballads: he would lead her away to sequestered rustic seats, whence the

rush of the surf to the sands was heard soft and soothing; and when he had her all to himself, and the sea lay

before them, and the scented shade of gardens spread round, and the tall shelter of cliffs rose behind them, he

would pull out his last batch of sonnets, and read them in a voice tremulous with emotion. He did not seem to

know, that though they might be rhyme, they were not poetry. It appeared by Shirley's downcast eye and

disturbed face that she knew it, and felt heartily mortified by the single foible of this good and amiable

Often she tried, as gently as might be, to wean him from this fanatic worship of the Muses: it was his

monomania on all ordinary subjects he was sensible enough; and fain was she to engage him in ordinary

topics. He questioned her sometimes about his place at Nunnely; she was but too happy to answer his

interrogatories at length: she never wearied of describing the antique Priory, the wild sylvan park, the hoary

church and hamlet; nor did she fail to counsel him to come down and gather his tenantry about him in his

Somewhat to her surprise Sir Philip followed her advice to the letter; and actually, towards the close of

He soon made a call at Fieldhead, and his first visit was not his last: he said when he had achieved the

round of the neighbourhood that under no roof had he found such pleasant shelter as beneath the massive

oak beams of the grey manor house of Briarfield: a cramped, modest dwelling enough, compared with his

Presently, it did not suffice to sit with Shirley in her panelled parlour, where others came and went, and

where he could rarely find a quiet moment to show her the latest production of his fertile muse; he must have

her out amongst the pleasant pastures, and lead her by the still waters. T te t te ramblings she shunned;

so he made parties for her to his own grounds, his glorious forest; to remoter scenes woods severed by the

Such assiduity covered Miss Keeldar with distinction. Her uncle's prophetic soul anticipated a splendid

future: he already scented the time afar off when, with nonchalant air, and left foot nursed on his right knee,

he should be able to make dashinglyfamiliar allusions to his 'nephew the baronet.' Now, his niece dawned

upon him no longer 'a mad girl,' but a 'most sensible woman.' He termed her, in confidential dialogues with

Mrs. Sympson, 'a truly superior person: peculiar, but very clever.' He treated her with exceeding deference;

rose reverently to open and shut doors for her; reddened his face, and gave himself headaches, with stooping

to pick up gloves, handkerchiefs, and other loose property, whereof Shirley usually held but insecure tenure.

He would cut mysterious jokes about the superiority of woman's wit over man's wisdom; commence obscure

apologies for the blundering mistake he had committed respecting the generalship, the tactics, of 'a personage

not a hundred miles from Fieldhead:' in short, he seemed elate as any 'middencock on pattens.'

His niece viewed his manoeuvres, and received his innuendoes, with phlegm: apparently, she did not above

half comprehend to what aim they tended. When plainly charged with being the preferred of the baronet, she

said, she believed he did like her, and for her part she liked him: she had never thought a man of rank the

only son of a proud, fond mother the only brother of doting sisters could have so much goodness, and, on

Time proved, indeed, that Sir Philip liked her. Perhaps he had found in her that 'curious charm' noticed by

Mr. Hall. He sought her presence more and more; and, at last, with a frequency that attested it had become to

him an indispensable stimulus. About this time, strange feelings hovered round Fieldhead; restless hopes and

haggard anxieties haunted some of its rooms. There was an unquiet wandering of some of the inmates among

the still fields round the mansion; there was a sense of expectancy that kept the nerves strained.

One thing seemed clear. Sir Philip was not a man to be despised: he was amiable; if not highly intellectual, he

was intelligent. Miss Keeldar could not affirm of him what she had so bitterly affirmed of Sam Wynne

that his feelings were blunt, his tastes coarse and his manners vulgar There was sensibility in his nature: there

was a very real, if not a very discriminating, love of the arts; there was the English gentleman in all his

deportment: as to his lineage and wealth, both were, of course, far beyond her claims.

His appearance had at first elicited some laughing, though not illnatured, remarks from the merry Shirley. It

was boyish: his features were plain and slight; his hair sandy: his stature insignificant. But she soon checked

her sarcasm on this point; she would even fire up if any one else made uncomplimentary allusion thereto. He

had 'a pleasing countenance,' she affirmed; 'and there was that in his heart which was better than three Roman

noses, than the locks of Absalom, or the proportions of Saul.' A spare and rare shaft she still reserved for his

unfortunate poetic propensity: but, even here, she would tolerate no irony save her own.

In short, matters had reached a point which seemed fully to warrant an observation made about this time by

'Yond' brother Robert of yours seems to me to be either a fool or a madman. Two months ago, I could have

sworn he had the game all in his own hands; and there he runs the country, and quarters himself up in London

for weeks together, and by the time he comes back, he'll find himself checkmated. Louis, 'there is a tide in the

affairs of men, which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; but, once let slip, never returns again.' I'd write

'Robert had views on Miss Keeldar?' inquired Louis, as if the idea were new to him.

'Views I suggested to him myself, and views he might have realised, for she liked him.'

'As more than that. I have seen her change countenance and colour at the mere mention of his name. Write to

the lad, I say, and tell him to come home. He is a finer gentleman than this bit of a baronet, after all.'

'Does it not strike you, Mr. Yorke, that for a mere penniless adventurer to aspire to a rich woman's hand is

'Oh! if you are for high notions, and doublerefined sentiment, I've naught to say. I'm a plain, practical man

myself; and if Robert is willing to give up that royal prize to a ladrival a puling slip of aristocracy I am

quite agreeable. At his age, in his place, with his inducements, I would have acted differently. Neither

baronet, nor duke, nor prince, should have snatched my sweetheart from me without a struggle. But you

tutors are such solemn chaps: it is almost like speaking to a parson to consult with you.' . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Flattered and fawned upon as Shirley was just now, it appeared she was not absolutely spoiled that her

better nature did not quite leave her. Universal report had indeed ceased to couple her name with that of

Moore, and this silence seemed sanctioned by her own apparent oblivion of the absentee; but that she had not

quite forgotten him that she still regarded him, if not with love yet with interest seemed proved by the

increased attention which at this juncture of affairs a sudden attack of illness induced her to show that

tutorbrother of Robert's, to whom she habitually bore herself with strange alternations of cool reserve and

docile respect: now sweeping past him in all the dignity of the moneyed heiress and prospective Lady

Nunnely, and anon accosting him as abashed schoolgirls are wont to accost their stern professors: bridling her

neck of ivory, and curling her lip of carmine, if he encountered her glance, one minute; and the next

submitting to the grave rebuke of his eye, with as much contrition as if he had the power to inflict penalties in

Louis Moore had perhaps caught the fever, which for a few days laid him low, in one of the poor cottages of

the district, which he, his lame pupil, and Mr. Hall, were in the habit of visiting together. At any rate he

sickened, and after opposing to the malady a taciturn resistance for a day or two, was obliged to keep his

He lay tossing on his thorny bed one evening, Henry, who would not quit him, watching faithfully beside

him, when a tap too light to be that of Mrs. Gill or the housemaid summoned young Sympson to the door.

But the speaker stepped in, and Henry, seeing her hesitate on the threshold, took her hand and drew her to the

The shaded light showed Miss Keeldar's form but imperfectly, yet it revealed her in elegant attire. There was

a party assembled below, including Sir Philip Nunnely; the ladies were now in the drawingroom, and their

hostess had stolen from them to visit Henry's tutor. Her pure white dress, her fair arms and neck, the

trembling chainlet of gold circling her throat, and quivering on her breast, glistened strangely amid the

obscurity of the sickroom. Her mien was chastened and pensive: she spoke gently.

'I heard that you complained of thirst: I have brought you some grapes: can you taste one?'

From the rich cluster that filled a small basket held in her hand, she severed a berry and offered it to his lips.

'But what then can I bring you instead? You have no wish for fruit; yet I see that your lips are parched. What

'I hear you often visit the sick in Briarfield, and Nunnely too, with Mr. Hall: you should be on your guard:

'That reminds me, Miss Keeldar, that perhaps you had better not enter this chamber, or come near this couch.

I do not believe my illness is infectious: I scarcely fear' (with a sort of smile) 'you will take it; but why should

'Patience: I will go soon; but I should like to do something for you before I depart any little service '

'They will not linger long: Sir Philip Nunnely is no winebibber, and I hear him just now pass from the

'It is never dull, and the sense seems sharpened at present. Sir Philip was here to tea last night. I heard you

sing to him some song which he had brought you. I heard him, when he took his departure at eleven o'clock,

'No; my chamber is over the hall, the window just above the front door, the sash was a little raised, for I felt

feverish: you stood ten minutes with him on the steps: I heard your discourse, every word, and I heard the

But he half rose to take the glass from young Sympson, and declined her attendance.

'Nothing: for you cannot guarantee me a night's peaceful rest, and it is all I at present want.'

'If I had power, I would lap you in the most placid slumber; quite deep and hushed, without a dream.'

'Miss Keeldar, I suppose you think so: but my character is not, perhaps, quite as legible to you as a page of

'That is possible. . . But this sleep: I should like to woo it to your pillow to win for you its favour. If I took a

'It would not do. I am too feverish and excitable to bear a soft, cooing, vibrating voice close at my ear. You

Possibly Miss Keeldar resented her former teacher's rejection of her courtesy: it is certain she did not repeat

the offer of it. Often as her light step traversed the gallery in the course of a day, it did not again pause at his

door; nor did her 'cooing, vibrating voice' disturb a second time the hush of the sickroom. A sickroom,

indeed, it soon ceased to be; Mr. Moore's good constitution quickly triumphed over his indisposition: in a few

That 'Auld Lang Syne' had still its authority both with preceptor and scholar, was proved by the manner in

which he sometimes promptly passed the distance she usually maintained between them, and put down her

One afternoon the Sympson family were gone out to take a carriage airing. Shirley, never sorry to snatch a

reprieve from their society, had remained behind, detained by business, as she said. The business a little

letterwriting was soon despatched after the yardgates had closed on the carriage: Miss Keeldar betook

It was a peaceful autumn day. The gilding of the Indian summer mellowed the pastures far and wide. The

russet woods stood ripe to be stript, but were yet full of leaf. The purple of heathbloom, faded but not

withered, tinged the hills. The beck wandered down to the Hollow, through a silent district; no wind followed

its course, or haunted its woody borders. Fieldhead gardens bore the seal of gentle decay. On the walks,

swept that morning, yellow leaves had fluttered down again. Its time of flowers, and even of fruits, was over;

but a scantling of apples enriched the trees; only a blossom here and there expanded pale and delicate amidst

These single flowers the last of their race Shirley culled as she wandered thoughtfully amongst the beds.

She was fastening into her girdle a hueless and scentless nosegay, when Henry Sympson called to her as he

'Shirley, Mr. Moore would be glad to see you in the schoolroom and to hear you read a little French, if you

The messenger delivered his commission very simply, as if it were a mere matter of course.

'Certainly: why not? And now, do come, and let us once more be as we were at Sympson Grove. We used to

Miss Keeldar, perhaps, thought that circumstances were changed since then; however, she made no remark,

Entering the schoolroom, she inclined her head with a decent obeisance, as had been her wont in former

times; she removed her bonnet, and hung it up beside Henry's cap. Louis Moore sat at his desk, turning the

leaves of a book, open before him, and marking passages with his pencil; he just moved, in acknowledgment

'You proposed to read to me a few nights ago,' said he. 'I could not hear you then; my attention is now at your

service. A little renewed practice in French may not be unprofitable: your accent, I have observed, begins to

'Here are the posthumous works of St. Pierre. Read a few pages of the Fragments de l'Amazone.'

She accepted the chair which he had placed in readiness near his own the volume lay on his desk there

was but one between them; her sweeping curls drooped so low as to hide the page from him.

For one moment, Shirley looked not quite certain whether she would obey the request or disregard it: a flicker

of her eye beamed furtive on the professor's face; perhaps if he had been looking at her harshly or timidly, or

if one undecided line had marked his countenance, she would have rebelled, and the lesson had ended there

and then; but he was only awaiting her compliance as calm as marble, and as cool. She threw the veil of

tresses behind her ear. It was well her face owned an agreeable outline, and that her cheek possessed the

polish and the roundness of early youth, or, thus robbed of a softening shade, the contours might have lost

their grace. But what mattered that in the present society? Neither Calypso nor Eucharis cared to fascinate

She began to read. The language had become strange to her tongue; it faltered; the lecture flowed unevenly,

He proceeded to recite the following: he gave it in French, but we must translate, on pain of being

unintelligible to some readers. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 'And it came to pass when men began to multiply

on the face of the earth, and daughters were born unto them, that the sons of God saw the daughters of men

This was in the dawn of time, before the morning stars were set, and while they yet sang together.

The epoch is so remote, the mists and dewy grey of matin twilight veil it with so vague an obscurity, that all

distinct feature of custom, all clear line of locality, evade perception and baffle research. It must suffice to

know that the world then existed; that men peopled it; that man's nature, with its passions, sympathies, pains,

A certain tribe colonised a certain spot on the globe; of what race this tribe unknown: in what region that

spot untold. We usually think of the East when we refer to transactions of that date; but who shall declare

that there was no life in the West, the South, the North? What is to disprove that this tribe, instead of camping

under palmgroves in Asia, wandered beneath island oakwoods rooted in our own seas of Europe?

It is no sandy plain, nor any circumscribed and scant oasis I seem to realise. A forest valley, with rocky sides

and brown profundity of shade, formed by tree crowding on tree, descends deep before me. Here, indeed,

dwell human beings, but so few, and in alleys so thick branched and overarched, they are neither heard nor

seen. Are they savage? doubtless. They live by the crook and the bow: half shepherds, half hunters, their

flocks wander wild as their prey. Are they happy? no: not more happy than we are at this day. Are they

good? no: not better than ourselves: their nature is our nature human both. There is one in this tribe too

often miserable a child bereaved of both parents. None cares for this child: she is fed sometimes, but

oftener forgotten: a hut rarely receives her: the hollow tree and chill cavern are her home. Forsaken, lost, and

wandering, she lives more with the wild beast and bird than with her own kind. Hunger and cold are her

comrades: sadness hovers over, and solitude besets her round. Unheeded and unvalued, she should die: but

she both lives and grows: the green wilderness nurses her, and becomes to her a mother: feeds her on juicy

There is something in the air of this clime which fosters life kindly: there must be something, too, in its dews,

which heals with sovereign balm. Its gentle seasons exaggerate no passion, no sense; its temperature tends to

harmony; its breezes, you would say, bring down from heaven the germ of pure thought, and purer feeling.

Not grotesquely fantastic are the forms of cliff and foliage; not violently vivid the colouring of flower and

bird: in all the grandeur of these forests there is repose; in all their freshness there is tenderness.

The gentle charm vouchsafed to flower and tree, bestowed on deer and dove, has not been denied to the

human nursling. All solitary, she has sprung up straight and graceful. Nature cast her features in a fine mould;

they have matured in their pure, accurate first lines, unaltered by the shocks of disease. No fierce dry blast

has dealt rudely with the surface of her frame; no burning sun has crisped or withered her tresses: her form

gleams ivorywhite through the trees; her hair flows plenteous, long, and glossy; her eyes, not dazzled by

vertical fires, beam in the shade large and open, and full and dewy: above those eyes, when the breeze bares

her forehead, shines an expanse fair and ample, a clear, candid page, whereon knowledge, should

knowledge ever come, might write a golden record. You see in the desolate young savage nothing vicious or

vacant; she haunts the wood harmless and thoughtful: though of what one so untaught can think, it is not easy

On the evening of one summer day, before the Flood, being utterly alone for she had lost all trace of her

tribe, who had wandered leagues away, she knew not where, she went up from the vale, to watch Day take

leave and Night arrive. A crag, overspread by a tree, was her station: the oakroots, turfed and mossed, gave

Slow and grand the Day withdrew, passing in purple fire, and parting to the farewell of a wild, low chorus

from the woodlands. Then Night entered, quiet as death: the wind fell, the birds ceased singing. Now every

nest held happy mates, and hart and hind slumbered blissfully safe in their lair.

The girl sat, her body still, her soul astir; occupied, however, rather in feeling than in thinking, in wishing,

than hoping, in imagining, than projecting. She felt the world, the sky, the night, boundlessly mighty. Of all

things, herself seemed to herself the centre, a small, forgotten atom of life, a spark of soul, emitted

inadvertent from the great creative source, and now burning unmarked to waste in the heart of a black hollow.

She asked, was she thus to burn out and perish, her living light doing no good, never seen, never needed, a

star in an else starless firmament, which nor shepherd, nor wanderer, nor sage, nor priest, tracked as a

guide, or read as a prophecy? Could this be, she demanded, when the flame of her intelligence burned so

vivid; when her life beat so true, and real, and potent; when something within her stirred disquieted, and

restlessly asserted a Godgiven strength, for which it insisted she should find exercise?

She gazed abroad on Heaven and Evening: Heaven and Evening gazed back on her. She bent down, searching

bank, hill, river, spread dim below. All she questioned responded by oracles she heard, she was impressed;

but she could not understand. Above her head she raised her hands joined together.

She waited, kneeling, steadfastly looking up. Yonder sky was sealed: the solemn stars shone alien and

At last, one overstretched chord of her agony slacked: she thought Something above relented: she felt as if

Something far round drew nigher: she heard as if Silence spoke. There was no language, no word, only a

Again a fine, full, lofty tone, a deep, soft sound, like a storm whispering, made twilight undulate.

The Evening flushed full of hope: the Air panted; the Moon rising before ascended large, but her light

'Eva, I have brought a living draught from heaven. Daughter of Man, drink of my cup!'

'I drink it is as if sweetest dew visited my lips in a full current. My arid heart revives: my affliction is

lightened: my strait and struggle are gone. And the night changes! the wood, the hill, the moon, the wide sky

'All change, and for ever. I take from thy vision, darkness: I loosen from thy faculties, fetters! I level in thy

path, obstacles: I, with my presence, fill vacancy: I claim as mine the lost atom of life: I take to myself the

'This is a son of God: one who feels himself in the portion of life that stirs you: he is suffered to reclaim his

'Thou only in this land. I saw thee that thou wert fair: I knew thee that thou wert mine. To me it is given to

rescue, to sustain, to cherish, mine own. Acknowledge in me that Seraph on earth, named Genius.'

'My glorious Bridegroom! True Dayspring from on high! All I would have, at last I possess. I receive a

revelation. The dark hint, the obscure whisper, which have haunted me from childhood, are interpreted. Thou

'Unhumbled, I can take what is mine. Did I not give from the altar the very flame which lit Eva's being?

That Presence, invisible, but mighty, gathered her in like a lamb to the fold; that voice, soft, but

allpervading, vibrated through her heart like music. Her eye received no image: and yet a sense visited her

vision and her brain as of the serenity of stainless air, the power of sovereign seas, the majesty of marching

stars, the energy of colliding elements, the rooted endurance of hills wide based, and, above all, as of the

lustre of heroic beauty rushing victorious on the Night, vanquishing its shadows like a diviner sun.

Such was the bridalhour of Genius and Humanity. Who shall rehearse the tale of their afterunion? Who

shall depict its bliss and bale? Who shall tell how He, between whom and the Woman God put enmity, forged

deadly plots to break the bond or defile its purity? Who shall record the long strife between Serpent and

Seraph? How still the Father of Lies insinuated evil into good pride into wisdom grossness into glory

pain into bliss poison into passion? How the 'dreadless Angel' defied, resisted, and repelled? How, again

and again, he refined the polluted cup, exalted the debased emotion, rectified the perverted impulse, detected

the lurking venom, baffled the frontless temptation purified, justified, watched, and withstood? How, by his

patience, by his strength, by that unutterable excellence he held from God his Origin this faithful Seraph

fought for Humanity a good fight through time; and, when Time's course closed, and Death was encountered

at the end, barring with fleshless arms the portals of Eternity, how Genius still held close his dying bride,

sustained her through the agony of the passage, bore her triumphant into his own home Heaven; restored

her, redeemed, to Jehovah her Maker; and at last, before Angel and Archangel, crowned her with the crown

Who shall, of these things, write the chronicle? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

'I never could correct that composition,' observed Shirley, as Moore concluded. 'Your censorpencil scored it

She had taken a crayon from the tutor's desk, and was drawing little leaves, fragments of pillars, broken

'French may be halfforgotten, but the habits of the French lesson are retained, I see,' said Louis: 'my books

would now, as erst, be unsafe with you. My newly bound St. Pierre would soon be like my Racine: Miss

'Tell me what were the faults of that devoir?' she asked. 'Were they grammatical errors, or did you object to

'I never said that the lines I drew were indications of faults at all. You would have it that such was the case,

'Mr. Moore,' cried Henry, 'make Shirley repeat some of the pieces she used to say so well by heart.'

'If I ask for any, it will be Le Cheval Dompt ,' said Moore, trimming with his penknife the pencil Miss

She turned aside her head; the neck, the clear cheek, forsaken by their natural veil, were seen to flush warm.

'Ah! she has not forgotten, you see, sir,' said Henry, exultant. 'She knows how naughty she was.'

A smile, which Shirley would not permit to expand, made her lip tremble; she bent her face, and hid it half

'A rebel!' repeated Henry. 'Yes: you and papa had quarrelled terribly, and you set both him and mamma, and

'And you wanted to leave Sympson Grove directly. You packed your things up, and papa threw them out of

your trunk; mamma cried Mrs. Pryor cried; they both stood wringing their hands begging you to be patient,

and you knelt on the floor with your things and your upturned box before you, looking, Shirley looking

why, in one of your passions. Your features, in such passions, are not distorted; they are fixed, but quite

beautiful: you scarcely look angry, only resolute, and in a certain haste; yet one feels that, at such times, an

obstacle cast across your path would be split as with lightning. Papa lost heart, and called Mr. Moore.'

'No: it is not enough. I hardly know how Mr. Moore managed, except that I recollect he suggested to papa

that agitation would bring on his gout; and then he spoke quietly to the ladies, and got them away; and

afterwards he said to you, Miss Shirley, that it was of no use talking or lecturing now, but that the teathings

were just brought into the schoolroom, and he was very thirsty, and he would be glad if you would leave your

packing for the present and come and make a cup of tea for him and me. You came: you would not talk at

first; but soon you softened and grew cheerful. Mr. Moore began to tell us about the Continent, the war, and

Bonaparte; subjects we were both fond of listening to. After tea he said we should neither of us leave him that

evening: he would not let us stray out of his sight, lest we should again get into mischief. We sat one on each

side of him: we were so happy. I never passed so pleasant an evening. The next day he gave you, missy, a

lecture of an hour, and wound it up by marking you a piece to learn in Bossuet as a punishmentlesson Le

Cheval Dompt . You learned it instead of packing up, Shirley. We heard no more of your running away. Mr.

'She never said a lesson with greater spirit,' subjoined Moore. 'She then, for the first time, gave me the treat of

'She was as sweet as summercherries for a month afterwards,' struck in Henry: 'a good hearty quarrel always

'You talk of me as if I were not present,' observed Miss Keeldar, who had not yet lifted her face.

'Are you sure you are present?' asked Moore: 'there have been moments since my arrival here, when I have

been tempted to inquire of the lady of Fieldhead if she knew what had become of my former pupil?'

'I see her, and humble enough; but I would neither advise Harry, nor others, to believe too implicitly in the

humility which one moment can hide its blushing face like a modest little child, and the next lift it pale and

'One man in times of old, it is said, imparted vitality to the statue he had chiselled. Others may have the

Moore paused on this observation before he replied to it. His look, at once struck and meditative, said, 'A

strange phrase: what may it mean?' He turned it over in his mind, with thought deep and slow, as some

'You mean,' he said at last, 'that some men inspire repugnance, and so chill the kind heart.'

'Ingenious!' responded Shirley. 'If the interpretation pleases you, you are welcome to hold it valid. I don't

And with that she raised her head, lofty in look, and statuelike in hue, as Louis had described it.

'Behold the metamorphosis!' he said: 'scarce imagined ere it is realised: a lowly nymph develops to an

inaccessible goddess. But Henry must not be disappointed of his recitation, and Olympia will deign to oblige

'Which I have not. My memory, if a slow, is a retentive one. I acquire deliberately both knowledge and

liking: the acquisition grows into my brain, and the sentiment into my breast; and it is not as the rapid

springing produce which, having no root in itself, flourishes verdurous enough for a time, but too soon falls

withered away. Attention, Henry! Miss Keeldar consents to favour you. 'Voyez ce Cheval ardent et

'Yet it was quickly learned, "soon gained, soon gone,"' moralised the tutor. He recited the passage

Shirley, by degrees, inclined her ear as he went on. Her face, before turned from him, returned towards him.

When he ceased, she took the word up as if from his lips: she took his very tone; she seized his very accent;

she delivered the periods as he had delivered them: she reproduced his manner, his pronunciation, his

He said it for her; she took it from him; she found lively excitement in the pleasure of making his language

her own: she asked for further indulgence; all the old schoolpieces were revived, and with them Shirley's old

He had gone through some of the best passages of Racine and Corneille, and then had heard the echo of his

own deep tones in the girl's voice, that modulated itself faithfully on his: Le Ch ne et le Roseau, that most

beautiful of La Fontaine's fables, had been recited, well recited by the tutor, and the pupil had animatedly

availed herself of the lesson. Perhaps a simultaneous feeling seized them now, that their enthusiasm had

kindled to a glow, which the slight fuel of French poetry no longer sufficed to feed; perhaps they longed for a

trunk of English oak to be thrown as a Yule log to the devouring flame. Moore observed 'And these are our

And then he smiled and was silent. His whole nature seemed serenely alight: he stood on the hearth, leaning

his elbow on the mantelpiece, musing not unblissfully. Twilight was closing on the diminished autumn day:

the schoolroom windows darkened with creeping plants, from which no high October winds had as yet

swept the sere foliage admitted scarce a gleam of sky; but the fire gave light enough to talk by.

And now Louis Moore addressed his pupil in French; and she answered, at first, with laughing hesitation and

in broken phrase: Moore encouraged while he corrected her; Henry joined in the lesson; the two scholars

stood opposite the master, their arms round each other's waists: Tartar, who long since had craved and

obtained admission, sat sagely in the centre of the rug, staring at the blaze which burst fitful from morsels of

coal among the red cinders: the group were happy enough, but 'Pleasures are like poppies spread; You

seize the flower its bloom is shed.' The dull, rumbling sound of wheels was heard on the pavement in the

'It is the carriage returned,' said Shirley; 'and dinner must he just ready, and I am not dressed.'

A servant came in with Mr. Moore's candle and tea: for the tutor and his pupil usually dined at luncheon time.

'Mr. Sympson and the ladies are returned,' she said, 'and Sir Philip Nunnely is with them.'

'How you did start, and how your hand trembled, Shirley!' said Henry, when the maid had closed the shutter

and was gone. 'But I know why don't you, Mr. Moore? I know what papa intends. He is a little ugly man,

that Sir Philip I wish he had not come: I wish sisters and all of them had stayed at De Walden Hall to dine.

Shirley should once more have made tea for you and me, Mr. Moore, and we would have had a happy

Moore was locking up his desk, and putting away his St. Pierre 'That was your plan was it, my boy?'

'I approve nothing Utopian. Look Life in its iron face: stare Reality out of its brassy countenance. Make the

Shirley probably got on pleasantly with Sir Philip that evening, for the next morning she came down in one of

'Who will take a walk with me?' she asked, after breakfast. 'Isabella and Gertrude will you?'

So rare was such an invitation from Miss Keeldar to her female cousins that they hesitated before they

accepted it. Their mamma, however, signifying acquiescence in the project, they fetched their bonnets, and

It did not suit these three persons to be thrown much together: Miss Keeldar liked the society of few ladies:

indeed, she had a cordial pleasure in that of none except Mrs. Pryor and Caroline Helstone. She was civil,

kind, attentive even to her cousins; but still she usually had little to say to them. In the sunny mood of this

particular morning, she contrived to entertain even the Misses Sympson. Without deviating from her wonted

rule of discussing with them only ordinary themes, she imparted to these themes an extraordinary interest: the

What made her so joyous? All the cause must have been in herself. The day was not bright; it was dim a

pale, waning autumn day: the walks through the dun woods were damp; the atmosphere was heavy, the sky

overcast; and yet, it seemed that in Shirley's heart lived all the light and azure of Italy, as all its fervour

Some directions necessary to be given to her foreman, John, delayed her behind her cousins as they neared

Fieldhead on their return; perhaps an interval of twenty minutes elapsed between her separation from them

and her reentrance into the house: in the meantime she had spoken to John, and then she had lingered in the

lane at the gate. A summons to luncheon called her in: she excused herself from the meal, and went upstairs.

'Is not Shirley coming to luncheon?' asked Isabella: 'she said she was not hungry.'

An hour after, as she did not quit her chamber, one of her cousins went to seek her there. She was found

sitting at the foot of the bed, her head resting on her hand: she looked quite pale, very thoughtful, almost sad.

This change, accounted for only by those three words, explained no otherwise; this change whencesoever

springing, effected in a brief ten minutes passed like no light summer cloud. She talked when she joined her

friends at dinner, talked as usual; she remained with them during the evening; when again questioned

respecting her health, she declared herself perfectly recovered: it had been a mere passing faintness: a

momentary sensation, not worth a thought: yet it was felt there was a difference in Shirley.

The next day the day the week the fortnight after this new and peculiar shadow lingered on the

countenance, in the manner of Miss Keeldar. A strange quietude settled over her look, her movements, her

very voice. The alteration was not so marked as to court or permit frequent questioning, yet it was there, and

it would not pass away: it hung over her like a cloud which no breeze could stir or disperse. Soon it became

evident that to notice this change was to annoy her. First she shrunk from remark; and, if persisted in, she,

with her own peculiar hauteur, repelled it. 'Was she ill?' The reply came with decision.

She scornfully ridiculed the idea. 'What did they mean by spirits? She had no spirits, black or white, blue or

'She supposed she had a right to alter at her ease. She knew she was plainer: if it suited her to grow ugly, why

Then she would make every effort to appear quite gay, and she seemed indignant at herself that she could not

perfectly succeed: brief, selfspurning epithets burst from her lips when alone. 'Fool! coward!' she would

term herself. 'Poltroon!' she would say: 'if you must tremble tremble in secret! Quail where no eye sees

'How dare you' she would ask herself 'how dare you show your weakness and betray your imbecile

And to hide them she did her best. She once more became resolutely lively in company. When weary of effort

and forced to relax, she sought solitude: not the solitude of her chamber she refused to mope, shut up

between four walls but that wilder solitude which lies out of doors, and which she could chase, mounted on

Zo', her mare. She took long rides of half a day. Her uncle disapproved, but he dared not remonstrate: it was

never pleasant to face Shirley's anger, even when she was healthy and gay; but now that her face showed thin,

and her large eye looked hollow, there was something in the darkening of that face and kindling of that eye

To all comparative strangers who, unconscious of the alterations in her spirits, commented on the alteration in

And health, indeed, she must have had, to be able to bear the exposure to the weather she now encountered.

Wet or fair, calm or storm, she took her daily ride over Stilbro' Moor, Tartar keeping up at her side, with his

Twice three times, the eyes of gossips those eyes which are everywhere: in the closet and on the hilltop

noticed that instead of turning on Rushedge, the topridge of Stilbro' Moor, she rode forwards all the way

to the town. Scouts were not wanting to mark her destination there; it was ascertained that she alighted at the

door of one Mr. Pearson Hall, a solicitor, related to the Vicar of Nunnely: this gentleman and his ancestors

had been the agents of the Keeldar family for generations back: some people affirmed that Miss Keeldar was

become involved in business speculations connected with Hollow's Mill; that she had lost money, and was

constrained to mortgage her land: others conjectured that she was going to be married, and that the

Mr. Moore and Henry Sympson were together in the schoolroom: the tutor was waiting for a lesson which the

'The task presents no difficulties, Henry; or, if it does, bring them to me: we will work together.'

Harry limped forward; his tutor placed him in a chair: his lips were quivering, his eyes brimming. He laid his

'This distress is not occasioned by physical pain, you say, Harry? You have a grief tell it me.'

'Sir, I have such a grief as I never had before. I wish it could be relieved in some way: I can hardly bear it.'

'Who knows but, if we talk it over, we may relieve it? What is the cause? Whom does it concern?'

'Not seriously, no. I see no alteration but such as a favourable turn might repair in a few weeks: besides, her

'There it is, sir: as long as she maintained she was well, I believed her. When I was sad out of her sight, I soon

'Well, Harry, now. . .? Has she said anything to you? You and she were together in the garden two hours this

morning: I saw her talking, and you listening. Now, my dear Harry! if Miss Keeldar has said she is ill, and

enjoined you to keep her secret, do not obey her. For her life's sake, avow everything. Speak, my boy!'

'She say she is ill! I believe, sir, if she were dying, she would smile, and aver "Nothing ails me."'

'She told me quite cheerfully: not as an ominous circumstance, which I felt it to be. She said I was the only

person besides her solicitor, Pearson Hall, and Mr. Helstone and Mr. Yorke, who knew anything about it; and

'Because,' she said, looking down on me with her beautiful eyes, oh! they are beautiful, Mr. Moore! I love

them, I love her! She is my star! Heaven must not claim her! She is lovely in this world, and fitted for this

world. Shirley is not an angel; she is a woman, and she shall live with men. Seraphs shall not have her! Mr.

Moore if one of the 'sons of God,' with wings wide and bright as the sky, blue and sounding as the sea,

having seen that she was fair, descended to claim her, his claim should be withstood withstood by me boy

'Because,' she said, 'if I made no will, and died before you, Harry, all my property would go to you; and I do

not intend that it should be so, though your father would like it. But you,' she said, 'will have his whole estate,

which is large larger than Fieldhead; your sisters will have nothing, so I have left them some money:

though I do not love them, both together, half so much as I love one lock of your fair hair.' She said these

words, and she called me her 'darling,' and let me kiss her. She went on to tell me that she had left Caroline

Helstone some money too; that this manorhouse, with its furniture and books, she had bequeathed to me, as

she did not choose to take the old family place from her own blood; and that all the rest of her property,

amounting to about twelve thousand pounds, exclusive of the legacies to my sisters and Miss Helstone, she

had willed, not to me, seeing I was already rich, but to a good man, who would make the best use of it that

any human being could do: a man, she said, that was both gentle and brave, strong and merciful; a man that

might not profess to be pious, but she knew he had the secret of religion pure and undefiled before God. The

spirit of love and peace was with him; he visited the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and kept

himself unspotted from the world. Then she asked, 'Do you approve what I have done, Harry?' I could not

Mr. Moore allowed his pupil a moment to contend with and master his emotion: he then demanded 'What

'When I had signified my full consent to the conditions of her will, she told me I was a generous boy, and she

was proud of me: 'And now,' she added, 'in case anything should happen, you will know what to say to

Malice when she comes whispering hard things in your ear, insinuating that Shirley has wronged you; that

she did not love you. You will know that I did love you, Harry; that no sister could have loved you better, my

own treasure.' Mr. Moore, sir, when I remember her voice, and recall her look, my heart beats as if it would

break its strings. She may go to heaven before me if God commands it, she must; but the rest of my life

and my life will not be long I am glad of that now shall be a straight, quick, thoughtful journey in the path

her step has pressed. I thought to enter the vault of the Keeldars before her: should it be otherwise, lay my

Moore answered him with a weighty calm, that offered a strange contrast to the boy's perturbed enthusiasm.

'You are wrong, both of you you harm each other. If youth once falls under the influence of a shadowy

terror, it imagines there will never be full sunlight again, its first calamity it fancies will last a lifetime. What

'My boy, I am neither nervous, nor poetic, nor inexperienced. I see things as they are: you don't as yet. Tell

'Only, sir, she asked me whether I considered myself most of a Keeldar or a Sympson; and I answered I was

Keeldar to the core of the heart, and to the marrow of the bones. She said she was glad of it; for, besides her, I

'Well, sir, that if I lived to inherit my father's estate, and her house, I was to take the name of Keeldar, and to

make Fieldhead my residence. Henry Shirley Keeldar I said I would be called: and I will. Her name and her

'Come, you are neither of you going to heaven yet. I have the best hopes of you both, with your proud

distinctions a pair of halffledged eaglets. Now, what is your inference from all you have told me? Put it

'Not once; but I assure you she is wasting: her hands are growing quite thin, and so is her cheek.'

'Never. She laughs at them when they question her. Mr. Moore, she is a strange being so fair and girlish:

not a manlike woman at all not an Amazon, and yet lifting her head above both help and sympathy.'

'True: which, however, is no guarantee that she is not at this moment cantering over Rushedge. Of late she

'You remember, Mr. Moore, how wet and stormy it was last Wednesday? so wild, indeed, that she would not

permit Zo' to be saddled; yet the blast she thought too tempestuous for her mare, she herself faced on foot;

that afternoon she walked nearly as far as Nunnely. I asked her, when she came in, if she was not afraid of

taking cold. 'Not I,' she said, 'it would be too much good luck for me. I don't know, Harry; but the best thing

that could happen to me would be to take a good cold and fever, and so pass off like other Christians.' She is

'Reckless indeed! Go and find out where she is; and if you can get an opportunity of speaking to her, without

'Do not deliver the message formally. Word it as, in former days, you would have worded an ordinary

'I can be very cool and very supercilious with Henry,' he said. 'I can seem to make light of his apprehensions,

and look down 'du haut de ma grandeur' on his youthful ardour. To him I can speak as if, in my eyes, they

were both children. Let me see if I can keep up the same r le with her. I have known the moment when I

seemed about to forget it; when Confusion and Submission seemed about to crush me with their soft tyranny;

when my tongue faltered, and I have almost let the mantle drop, and stood in her presence, not master no

but something else. I trust I shall never so play the fool: it is well for a Sir Philip Nunnely to redden when he

meets her eye: he may permit himself the indulgence of submission he may even without disgrace suffer his

hand to tremble when it touches hers; but if one of her farmers were to show himself susceptible and

sentimental, he would merely prove his need of a strait waistcoat. So far I have always done very well. She

has sat near me, and I have not shaken more than my desk. I have encountered her looks and smiles like

why, like a tutor, as I am. Her hand I never yet touched never underwent that test. Her farmer or her

footman I am not no serf nor servant of hers have I ever been: but I am poor, and it behoves me to look to

my selfrespect not to compromise an inch of it. What did she mean by that allusion to the cold people who

petrify flesh to marble? It pleased me I hardly know why I would not permit myself to inquire I never

do indulge in scrutiny either of her language or countenance; for if I did, I should sometimes forget Common

Sense and believe in Romance. A strange, secret ecstasy steals through my veins at moments: I'll not

encourage I'll not remember it. I am resolved, as long as may be, to retain the right to say with Paul 'I am

'Will she come, or will she not come?' he inquired. 'How will she take the message? naively or disdainfully?

'If she comes, what shall I say to her? How account, firstly, for the freedom of the request? Shall I apologise

to her? I could in all humility; but would an apology tend to place us in the positions we ought relatively to

occupy in this matter? I must keep up the professor, otherwise I hear a door ' He waited. Many

She will refuse me. Henry is entreating her to come: she declines. My petition is presumption in her eyes: let

her only come, I can teach her to the contrary. I would rather she were a little perverse it will steel me. I

prefer her, cuirassed in pride, armed with a taunt. Her scorn startles me from my dreams I stand up myself.

A sarcasm from her eyes or lips puts strength into every nerve and sinew I have. Some step approaches, and

The door unclosed; Miss Keeldar came in. The message, it appeared, had found her at her needle: she brought

her work in her hand. That day she had not been riding out: she had evidently passed it quietly. She wore her

neat indoor dress and silk apron. This was no Thalestris from the fields, but a quiet domestic character from

the fireside. Mr. Moore had her at advantage; he should have addressed her at once in solemn accents, and

with rigid mien; perhaps he would, had she looked saucy; but her air never showed less of cr nerie; a soft

kind of youthful shyness depressed her eyelid and mantled on her cheek. The tutor stood silent.

'I ventured, Miss Keeldar, to send for you that is, to ask an interview of a few minutes.'

'Be seated first. The subject I would broach is one of some moment: perhaps I have hardly a right to approach

it: it is possible I ought to frame an apology: it is possible no apology can excuse me. The liberty I have taken

arises from a conversation with Henry. The boy is unhappy about your health: all your friends are unhappy on

'Will you sit down? Formerly, Miss Keeldar, I had some influence with you have I any now? May I feel

'Let me read some French, Mr. Moore, or I will even take a spell at the Latin grammar, and let us proclaim a

'Discuss away, then, but do not choose me for your text; I am a healthy subject.'

'Do you not think it wrong to affirm and reaffirm what is substantially untrue?'

'I can myself,' he said, 'trace no indications of actual disease; but why, then, are you altered?'

'You remember this little ring fastened to my watchchain? It was my mother's, and is too small to pass the

joint of my little finger. You have many a time sportively purloined it: it fitted your forefinger. Try now.'

She permitted the test: the ring dropped from the wasted little hand. Louis picked it up, and reattached it to

the chain. An uneasy flush coloured his brow. Shirley again said 'It is not because I am ill.'

'Not only have you lost sleep, appetite, and flesh,' proceeded Moore, 'but your spirits are always at ebb:

besides, there is a nervous alarm in your eye a nervous disquiet in your manner: these peculiarities were not

'Mr. Moore, we will pause here. You have exactly hit it: I am nervous. Now, talk of something else. What wet

'You nervous? Yes: and if Miss Keeldar is nervous, it is not without a cause. Let me reach it. Let me look

nearer. The ailment is not physical: I have suspected that. It came in one moment. I know the day. I noticed

'When it is exhausted: not till then. Nervous alarms should always be communicated, that they may be

dissipated. I wish I had the gift of persuasion, and could incline you to speak willingly. I believe confession,

'No,' said Shirley abruptly: 'I wish that were at all probable: but I am afraid it is not.'

She suspended her work a moment. She was now seated. Resting her elbow on the table, she leaned her head

on her hand. Mr. Moore looked as if he felt he had at last gained some footing in this difficult path. She was

serious, and in her wish was implied an important admission; after that, she could no longer affirm that

The tutor allowed her some minutes for repose and reflection, ere he returned to the charge: once, his lips

moved to speak; but he thought better of it, and prolonged the pause. Shirley lifted her eye to his: had he

betrayed injudicious emotion, perhaps obstinate persistence in silence would have been the result; but he

'I had better tell you than my aunt,' she said, 'or than my cousins, or my uncle: they would all make such a

bustle and it is that very bustle I dread; the alarm, the flurry, the clat: in short, I never liked to be the

Not a muscle of the man's frame moved, and yet his large heart beat fast in his deep chest. What was she

'Had I thought it right to go to you, I would never have made a secret of the matter one moment,' she

'It might be right I do not mean that; but I could not do it. I seemed to have no title to trouble you: the

mishap concerned me only I wanted to keep it to myself, and people will not let me. I tell you, I hate to be

an object of worrying attention, or a theme for village gossip. Besides, it may pass away without result God

Moore, though tortured with suspense, did not demand a quick explanation; he suffered neither gesture,

glance, nor word, to betray impatience. His tranquillity tranquillised Shirley; his confidence reassured her.

'Great effects may spring from trivial causes,' she remarked, as she loosened a bracelet from her wrist; then,

She showed a mark on her white arm; rather a deep though healedup indentation: something between a burn

'I would not show that to any one in Briarfield but you, because you can take it quietly.'

'Certainly there is nothing in the little mark to shock: its history will explain.'

'Small as it is, it has taken my sleep away, and made me nervous, thin, and foolish; because, on account of

that little mark, I am obliged to look forward to a possibility that has its terrors.'

'Do you know that you try me?' he said, smiling. 'I am a patient sort of man, but my pulse is quickening.'

'Whatever happens, you will befriend me, Mr. Moore. You will give me the benefit of your selfpossession,

'It is a very short tale. I took a walk with Isabella and Gertrude one day, about three weeks ago. They reached

home before me: I stayed behind to speak to John. After leaving him, I pleased myself with lingering in the

lane, where all was very still and shady: I was tired of chattering to the girls, and in no hurry to rejoin them.

As I stood leaning against the gatepillar, thinking some very happy thoughts about my future life for that

morning I imagined that events were beginning to turn as I had long wished them to turn '

'Ah! Nunnely had been with her the evening before!' thought Moore parenthetically.

'I heard a panting sound; a dog came running up the lane. I know most of the dogs in this neighbourhood; it

was Phoebe, one of Mr. Sam Wynne's pointers. The poor creature ran with her head down, her tongue

hanging out; she looked as if bruised and beaten all over. I called her; I meant to coax her into the house, and

give her some water and dinner; I felt sure she had been illused: Mr. Sam often flogs his pointers cruelly.

She was too flurried to know me; and when I attempted to pat her head, she turned and snatched at my arm.

She bit it so as to draw blood, then ran panting on. Directly after, Mr. Wynne's keeper came up, carrying a

'You had better chain up Tartar, ma'am,' he said, 'and tell your people to keep within the house; I am after

Mr. Moore leaned back in his chair, and folded his arms across his chest; Miss Keeldar resumed her square of

'I got as far as the schoolroom door; there my courage failed: I preferred to cushion the matter.'

'Yes: I walked straight into the laundry, where they are ironing most of the week, now that I have so many

guests in the house. While the maid was busy crimping or starching, I took an Italian iron from the fire, and

applied the light scarlet glowing tip to my arm: I bored it well in: it cauterised the little wound. Then I went

'I am sure I don't know. I was very miserable. Not firm or tranquil at all, I think: there was no calm in my

'There was calm in your person. I remember listening the whole time we sat at luncheon, to hear if you

'With your powerful mind, you must feel independent of help, of advice, of society.'

She smiled. She pursued her embroidery carefully and quickly; but her eyelash twinkled, and then it glittered,

'If it is not so,' he asked, with a peculiar, mellow change in his voice, 'how is it, then?'

'Because nobody can give the high price you require for your confidence. Nobody is rich enough to purchase

it. Nobody has the honour, the intellect, the power you demand in your adviser. There is not a shoulder in

England on which you would rest your hand for support far less a bosom which you would permit to pillow

'I can live alone, if need be. But the question is not how to live but how to die alone. That strikes me in a

'You apprehend the effects of the virus? You anticipate an indefinitely threatening, dreadful doom?'

'You are very womanish. If the whole affair were coolly examined and discussed, I feel assured it would turn

'How can it be otherwise than sweet with your endowments and nature? Do you truly expect that you will be

'Nor do I, on your account. I doubt whether the smallest particle of virus mingled with your blood: and if it

did, let me assure you that young, healthy, faultlessly sound as you are no harm will ensue. For the rest, I

'Why should I, when I believe the bite innocuous as a cut of this penknife? Make yourself easy: I am easy,

though I value your life as much as I do my own chance of happiness in eternity. Look up.'

'You know, in case the worst I have feared should happen, they will smother me. You need not smile: they

will they always do. My uncle will be full of horror, weakness, precipitation; and that is the only expedient

which will suggest itself to him. Nobody in the house will be selfpossessed but you: now promise to

befriend me to keep Mr. Sympson away from me not to let Henry come near, lest I should hurt him. Mind

mind that you take care of yourself, too: but I shall not injure you, I know I shall not. Lock the

chamberdoor against the surgeons turn them out, if they get in. Let neither the young nor the old MacTurk

lay a finger on me; nor Mr. Greaves, their colleague; and, lastly, if I give trouble, with your own hand

administer to me a strong narcotic: such a sure dose of laudanum as shall leave no mistake. Promise to do

Moore left his desk, and permitted himself the recreation of one or two turns round the room. Stopping

behind Shirley's chair, he bent over her, and said, in a low emphatic voice 'I promise all you ask without

'If female help is needed, call in my housekeeper, Mrs. Gill: let her lay me out, if I die. She is attached to me.

She wronged me again and again, and again and again I forgave her. She now loves me, and would not

defraud me of a pin: confidence has made her honest; forbearance has made her kindhearted. At this day, I

can trust both her integrity, her courage, and her affection. Call her; but keep my good aunt and my timid

'That is good in you,' she said, looking up at him as he bent over her, and smiling.

'I will be with you I and Mrs. Gill only in any, in every extremity where calm and fidelity are needed. No

'In fact, I am neither so strong, nor have I such pride in my strength, as people think, Mr. Moore; nor am I so

regardless of sympathy; but when I have any grief, I fear to impart it to those I love, lest it should pain them;

and to those whom I view with indifference, I cannot condescend to complain. After all, you should not taunt

me with being childish; for if you were as unhappy as I have been for the last three weeks, you too would

'Yes. . . . Mrs. Pryor is a wise, good woman: she can counsel you when you need counsel.'

'For any righthand defections, there is the Rev. Matthewson Helstone, M.A., to lean upon; for any lefthand

'I never saw Mrs. Yorke so motherly to any young man as she is to you. I don't know how you have won her

heart; but she is more tender to you than she is to her own sons, You have, besides, your sister, Hortense.'

'For my part, I am almost contented just now, and very thankful. Gratitude is a divine emotion: it fills the

heart, but not to bursting: it warms it, but not to fever. I like to taste leisurely of bliss: devoured in haste, I do

Still leaning on the back of Miss Keeldar's chair, Moore watched the rapid motion of her fingers, as the green

and purple garland grew beneath them. After a prolonged pause, he again asked, 'Is the shadow quite gone?'

'Wholly. As I was two hours since, and as I am now, are two different states of existence. I believe, Mr.

'Perhaps, because I am poor, for one reason: poverty and pride often go together.'

'That is such a nice reason: I should be charmed to discover another that would pair with it. Mate that turtle,

'Immediately. What do you think of marrying to sober Poverty manytinted Caprice?'

'I look out at some early hour of the day, and see a fine, perfect rainbow, bright with promise, gloriously

spanning the beclouded welkin of life. An hour afterwards I look again half the arch is gone, and the rest is

faded. Still later, the stern sky denies that it ever wore so benign a symbol of hope.'

'Well, Mr. Moore, you should contend against these changeful humours: they are your besetting sin. One

'Miss Keeldar, I had once for two years a pupil who grew very dear to me. Henry is dear, but she was

dearer. Henry never gives me trouble; she well she did. I think she vexed me twentythree hours out of

'She sometimes spilled the draught from my cup, and stole the food from my plate; and when she had kept me

unfed for a day (and that did not suit me, for I am a man accustomed to take my meals with reasonable relish,

'I know you do. I can tell what sort of dinners you like best perfectly well. I know precisely the dishes you

'She robbed these dishes of flavour, and made a fool of me besides. I like to sleep well. In my quiet days,

when I was my own man, I never quarrelled with the night for being long, nor cursed my bed for its thorns.

'And having taken from me peace of mind, and ease of life, she took from me herself; quite coolly just as if,

when she was gone, the world would be all the same to me. I knew I should see her again at some time. At

the end of two years, it fell out that we encountered again under her own roof, where she was mistress. How

'She received me haughtily: she meted out a wide space between us, and kept me aloof by the reserved

'She was an excellent pupil! Having seen you distant, she at once learned to withdraw. Pray, sir, admire in her

'Conscience, and honour, and the most despotic necessity, dragged me apart from her, and kept me sundered

'Then she was inconsistent: she tantalised as before. When I thought I had made up my mind to seeing in her

only a lofty stranger, she would suddenly show me such a glimpse of loving simplicity she would warm me

with such a beam of reviving sympathy, she would gladden an hour with converse so gentle, gay, and kindly

that I could no more shut my heart on her image, than I could close that door against her presence. Explain

'She could not bear to be quite outcast; and then she would sometimes get a notion into her head, on a cold,

wet day, that the schoolroom was no cheerful place, and feel it incumbent on her to go and see if you and

'I am not mad, most noble Berenice! We may give one day to dreaming, but the next we must awake; and I

shall awake to purpose the morning you are married to Sir Philip Nunnely. The fire shines on you and me,

and shows us very clearly in the glass, Miss Keeldar; and I have been gazing on the picture all the time I have

been talking. Look up! What a difference between your head and mine! I look old for thirty!'

'You are so grave; you have such a square brow; and your face is sallow. I never regard you as a young man,

'Don't you? I thought not. Imagine Robert's clearcut, handsome face looking over my shoulder. Does not the

apparition make vividly manifest the obtuse mould of my heavy traits? There!' (he started) 'I have been

'Mr. Moore,' she said, as she gathered up her silks, 'have you heard from your brother lately? Do you know

'He talks of returning; but what has caused his long absence I cannot tell. To speak the truth, I thought none

'Write to him and urge him to come,' she said. 'I know there has been no impolicy in protracting his absence

thus far: it is good to let the mill stand, while trade is so bad; but he must not abandon the county.'

'I am aware,' said Louis, 'that he had an interview with you the evening before he left, and I saw him quit

Fieldhead afterwards. I read his countenance, or tried to read it. He turned from me. I divined that he would

be long away. Some fine, slight fingers have a wondrous knack at pulverising a man's brittle pride. I suppose

Robert put too much trust in his manly beauty and native gentlemanhood. Those are better off who, being

destitute of advantage, cannot cherish delusion. But I will write, and say you advise his return.'

Louis Moore was used to a quiet life: being a quiet man, he endured it better than most men would: having a

large world of his own in his own head and heart, he tolerated confinement to a small, still corner of the real

How hushed is Fieldhead this evening All but Moore Miss Keeldar, the whole family of the Sympsons,

even Henry are gone to Nunnely. Sir Philip would have them come: he wished to make them acquainted

with his mother and sisters, who are now at the Priory. Kind gentleman as the Baronet is, he asked the tutor

too; but the tutor would much sooner have made an appointment with the ghost of the Earl of Huntingdon to

meet him, and a shadowy ring of his merry men, under the canopy of the thickest, blackest, oldest oak in

Nunnely Forest. Yes, he would rather have appointed tryst with a phantom abbess, or mistpale nun, among

the wet and weedy relics of that ruined sanctuary of theirs, mouldering in the core of the wood. Louis Moore

longs to have something near him tonight: but not the boybaronet, nor his benevolent but stern mother, nor

This night is not calm: the equinox still struggles in its storms. The wild rains of the day are abated: the great

single cloud disparts and rolls away from heaven, not passing and leaving a sea all sapphire, but tossed

buoyant before a continued, longsounding, highrushing moonlight tempest. The Moon reigns glorious,

glad of the gale; as glad as if she gave herself to his fierce caress with love. No Endymion will watch for his

goddess tonight: there are no flocks out on the mountains; and it is well, for tonight she welcomes �olus.

Moore sitting in the schoolroom heard the storm roar round the other gable, and along the hallfront: this

end was sheltered. He wanted no shelter; he desired no subdued sounds or screened position.

He left it, and went where the casements, larger and freer than the branchscreened lattice of his own

apartment, admitted unimpeded the darkblue, the silverfleeced, the stirring and sweeping vision of the

autumn nightsky. He carried no candle: unneeded was lamp or fire: the broad and clear, though cloud

Moore wanders through all the rooms: he seems following a phantom from parlour to parlour. In the

oakroom he stops; this is not chill, and polished, and fireless like the salon: the hearth is hot and ruddy; the

cinders tinkle in the intense heat of their clear glow; near the rug is a little worktable, a desk upon it, a chair

Does the vision Moore has tracked occupy that chair? You would think so, could you see him standing before

it. There is as much interest now in his eye, and as much significance in his face, as if in this household

He makes discoveries. A bag, a small satin bag, hangs on the chairback. The desk is open, the keys are in

the lock; a pretty seal, a silver pen, a crimson berry or two of ripe fruit on a green leaf, a small, clean, delicate

glove these trifles at once decorate and disarrange the stand they strew. Order forbids details in a picture:

'Her mark,' he said: 'here she has been careless, attractive thing! called away in haste, doubtless, and

forgetting to return and put all to rights. Why does she leave fascination in her footprints? Whence did she

acquire the gift to be heedless, and never offend? There is always something to chide in her, and the

reprimand never settles in displeasure on the heart; but, for her lover or her husband, when it had trickled a

while in words, would naturally melt from his lips in a kiss. Better pass halfanhour in remonstrating with

her, than a day in admiring or praising any other woman alive. Am I muttering? soliloquising? Stop that.'

He did stop it. He stood thinking; and then he made an arrangement for his evening's comfort.

He dropped the curtains over the broad window and regal moon: he shut out Sovereign and Court and Starry

Armies; he added fuel to the hot but fastwasting fire; he lit a candle, of which there were a pair on the table;

he placed another chair opposite that near the workstand, and then he sat down. His next movement was to

take from his pocket a small, thick book of blank paper; to produce a pencil; and to begin to write in a cramp,

compact hand. Come near, by all means, reader: do not be shy: stoop over his shoulder fearlessly, and read as

'It is nine o'clock; the carriage will not return before eleven, I am certain. Freedom is mine till then: till then, I

may occupy her room; sit opposite her chair rest my elbow on her table; have her little mementoes about me.

'I used rather to like Solitude to fancy her a somewhat quiet and serious, yet fair nymph; an Oread,

descending to me from lone mountainpasses; something of the blue mist of hills in her array and of their

chill breeze in her breath but much, also, of their solemn beauty in her mien. I once could court her

serenely, and imagine my heart easier when I held her to it all mute, but majestic.

'Since that day I called S. to me in the schoolroom, and she came and sat so near my side; since she opened

the trouble of her mind to me asked my protection appealed to my strength: since that hour I abhor

Solitude. Cold abstraction fleshless skeleton daughter mother and mate of Death!

'It is pleasant to write about what is near and dear as the core of my heart: none can deprive me of this little

book, and through this pencil, I can say to it what I will say what I dare utter to nothing living say what I

'We have scarcely encountered each other since that evening. Once, when I was alone in the drawingroom,

seeking a book of Henry's, she entered, dressed for a concert at Stilbro'. Shyness her shyness, not mine

drew a silver veil between us. Much cant have I heard and read about 'maiden modesty'; but, properly used,

and not hackneyed, the words are good and appropriate words: as she passed to the window, after tacitly but

gracefully recognising me, I could call her nothing in my own mind save 'stainless virgin': to my perception, a

delicate splendour robed her, and the modesty of girlhood was her halo. I may be the most fatuous, as I am

one of the plainest, of men; but, in truth, that shyness of hers touched me exquisitely: it flattered my finest

sensations. I looked a stupid block, I dare say: I was alive with a life of Paradise, as she turned her glance

'I know this is the talk of a dreamer of a rapt, romantic lunatic: I do dream: I will dream now and then; and

'What a child she is sometimes! What an unsophisticated, untaught thing! I see her now, looking up into my

face, and entreating me to prevent them from smothering her, and to be sure and give her a strong narcotic: I

see her confessing that she was not so selfsufficing, so independent of sympathy, as people thought: I see

the secret tear drop quietly from her eyelash. She said I thought her childish and I did. She imagined I

despised her. Despised her! it was unutterably sweet to feel myself at once near her and above her: to be

conscious of a natural right and power to sustain her, as a husband should sustain his wife.

'I worship her perfections; but it is her faults, or at least her foibles, that bring her near to me that nestle her

to my heart that fold her about with my love and that for a most selfish, but deeplynatural reason; these

faults are the steps by which I mount to ascendancy over her. If she rose a trimmed, artificial mound, without

inequality, what vantage would she offer the foot? It is the natural hill, with its mossy breaks and hollows,

'To leave metaphor. It delights my eye to look on her: she suits me: if I were a king, and she the housemaid

that swept my palacestairs across all that space between us my eye would recognise her qualities; a true

pulse would beat for her in my heart, though an unspanned gulf made acquaintance impossible. If I were a

gentleman, and she waited on me as a servant, I could not help liking that Shirley. Take from her her

education take her ornaments, her sumptuous dress all extrinsic advantages take all grace, but such as

the symmetry of her form renders inevitable; present her to me at a cottagedoor, in a stuffgown: let her

offer me there a draught of water, with that smile with that warm goodwill with which she now dispenses

manorial hospitality I should like her. I should wish to stay an hour: I should linger to talk with that rustic. I

should not feel as I now do. I should find in her nothing divine; but whenever I met the young peasant, it

'How culpably careless in her to leave her desk open, where I know she has money! In the lock hang the keys

of all her repositories, of her very jewelcasket. There is a purse in that little satin bag: I see the tassel of

silver beads hanging out. That spectacle would provoke my brother Robert: all her little failings would, I

know, be a source of irritation to him; if they vex me it is a most pleasurable vexation: I delight to find her at

fault, and were I always resident with her, I am aware she would be no niggard in thus ministering to my

enjoyment. She would just give me something to do; to rectify: a theme for my tutorlectures. I never lecture

Henry: never feel disposed to do so: if he does wrong, and that is very seldom, dear excellent lad! a word

suffices: often I do no more than shake my head; but the moment her 'minois mutin' meets my eye,

expostulatory words crowd to my lips: from a taciturn man, I believe she would transform me into a talker.

Whence comes the delight I take in that talk? It puzzles myself sometimes; the more cr�ne, malin, taquin is

her mood, consequently the clearer occasion she gives me for disapprobation, the more I seek her, the better I

like her. She is never wilder than when equipped in her habit and hat: never less manageable than when she

and Zo� come in fiery from a race with the wind on the hills: and I confess it to this mute page I may

confess it I have waited an hour in the court, for the chance of witnessing her return, and for the dearer

chance of receiving her in my arms from the saddle. I have noticed (again, it is to this page only I would

make the remark) that she will never permit any man but myself to render her that assistance. I have seen her

politely decline Sir Philip Nunnely's aid: she is always mighty gentle with her young baronet; mighty tender

of his feelings, forsooth, and of his very thinskinned amourpropre: I have marked her haughtily reject Sam

Wynne's. Now I know my heart knows it, for it has felt it that she resigns herself to me unreluctantly: is

she conscious how my strength rejoices to serve her? I myself am not her slave I declare it, but my

faculties gather to her beauty, like the genii to the glisten of the Lamp. All my knowledge, all my prudence,

all my calm, and all my power, stand in her presence humbly waiting a task. How glad they are when a

'I have called her careless: it is remarkable that her carelessness never compromises her refinement; indeed,

through this very loophole of character, the reality, depth, genuineness of that refinement may be ascertained:

a whole garment sometimes covers meagreness and malformation; through a rent sleeve, a fair round arm

may be revealed. I have seen and handled many of her possessions, because they are frequently astray. I

never saw anything that did not proclaim the lady: nothing sordid, nothing soiled; in one sense she is as

scrupulous as, in another, she is unthinking: as a peasant girl, she would go ever trim and cleanly. Look at the

'What a difference there is between S. and that pearl C. H.! Caroline, I fancy, is the soul of conscientious

punctuality and nice exactitude; she would precisely suit the domestic habits of a certain fastidious kinsman

of mine: so delicate, dexterous, quaint, quick, quiet; all done to a minute, all arranged to a strawbreadth: she

would suit Robert; but what could I do with anything so nearly faultless? She is my equal; poor as myself;

she is certainly pretty: a little Raffaelle head hers; Raffaelle in feature, quite English in expression: all insular

grace and purity; but where is there anything to alter, anything to endure, anything to reprimand, to be

anxious about? There she is, a lily of the valley, untinted, needing no tint. What change could improve her?

What pencil dare to paint? My sweetheart, if I ever have one, must bear nearer affinity to the rose: a sweet,

lively delight guarded with prickly peril. My wife, if I ever marry, must stir my great frame with a sting now

and then; she must furnish use to her husband's vast mass of patience. I was not made so enduring to be

mated with a lamb: I should find more congenial responsibility in the charge of a young lioness or leopardess.

I like few things sweet, but what are likewise pungent; few things bright, but what are likewise hot. I like the

summerday, whose sun makes fruit blush and corn blanch. Beauty is never so beautiful as when, if I tease it,

it wreathes back on me with spirit. Fascination is never so imperial as when, roused and half ireful, she

threatens transformation to fierceness. I fear I should tire of the mute, monotonous innocence of the lamb; I

should erelong feel as burdensome the nestling dove which never stirred in my bosom: but my patience

would exult in stilling the flutterings and training the energies of the restless merlin. In managing the wild

'Oh, my pupil! Oh, Peri! too mutinous for heaven too innocent for hell! never shall I do more than see, and

worship, and wish for thee. Alas! knowing I could make thee happy, will it be my doom to see thee possessed

'However kindly the hand if it is feeble, it cannot bend Shirley; and she must be bent: it cannot curb her;

'Beware! Sir Philip Nunnely! I never see you walking or sitting at her side, and observe her lips compressed,

or her brow knit, in resolute endurance of some trait of your character which she neither admires nor likes; in

determined toleration of some weakness she believes atoned for by a virtue, but which annoys her, despite

that belief: I never mark the grave glow of her face, the unsmiling sparkle of her eye, the slight recoil of her

whole frame when you draw a little too near, and gaze a little too expressively, and whisper a little too

warmly: I never witness these things, but I think of the fable of Semele reversed.

'It is not the daughter of Cadmus I see: nor do I realise her fatal longing to look on Jove in the majesty of his

godhead. It is a priest of Juno that stands before me, watching late and lone at a shrine in an Argive temple.

For years of solitary ministry, he has lived on dreams: there is divine madness upon him: he loves the idol he

serves, and prays day and night that his frenzy may be fed, and that the Oxeyed may smile on her votary.

She has heard; she will be propitious. All Argos slumbers. The doors of the temple are shut: the priest waits

'A shock of heaven and earth is felt not by the slumbering city; only by that lonely watcher, brave and

unshaken in his fanaticism. In the midst of silence, with no preluding sound, he is wrapt in sudden light.

Through the roof through the rent, wideyawning, vast, whiteblazing blue of heaven above, pours a

wondrous descent dread as the downrushing of stars. He has what he asked: withdraw forbear to look

I am blinded. I hear in that fane an unspeakable sound would that I could not hear it! I see an insufferable

'A pious Argive enters to make an early offering in the cool dawn of morning. There was thunder in the night:

the bolt fell here. The shrine is shivered: the marble pavement round, split and blackened. Saturnia's statue

rises chaste, grand, untouched: at her feet, piled ashes lie pale. No priest remains: he who watched will be

'There is the carriage! Let me lock up the desk and pocket the keys: she will be seeking them tomorrow: she

'So she will say, in her clear voice, speaking with reluctance, looking ashamed, conscious that this is the

twentieth time of asking. I will tantalise her: keep her with me, expecting, doubting; and when I do restore

them, it shall not be without a lecture. Here is the bag, too, and the purse; the glove pen seal. She shall

wring them all out of me slowly and separately: only by confession, penitence, entreaty. I never can touch her

hand, or a ringlet of her head, or a ribbon of her dress, but I will make privileges for myself: every feature of

her face, her bright eyes, her lips, shall go through each change they know, for my pleasure: display each

exquisite variety of glance and curve, to delight thrill perhaps, more hopelessly to enchain me. If I must

Everybody said it was high time for Mr. Moore to return home: all Briarfield wondered at his strange

absence, and Whinbury and Nunnely brought each its separate contribution of amazement.

Was it known why he stayed away? Yes: it was known twenty forty times over; there being, at least, forty

plausible reasons adduced to account for the unaccountable circumstance. Business it was not that the

gossips agreed: he had achieved the business on which he departed long ago: his four ringleaders he had soon

scented out and run down: he had attended their trial, heard their conviction and sentence, and seen them

This was known at Briarfield: the newspapers had reported it: the Stilbro' Courier had given every particular,

with amplifications. None applauded his perseverance, or hailed his success; though the millowners were

glad of it, trusting that the terrors of Law vindicated would henceforward paralyse the sinister valour of

disaffection. Disaffection, however, was still heard muttering to himself. He swore ominous oaths over the

One report affirmed that Moore dared not come to Yorkshire; he knew his life was not worth an hour's

'I'll tell him that,' said Mr. Yorke, when his foreman mentioned the rumour; 'and if that does not bring him

Either that or some other motive prevailed, at last, to recall him. He announced to Joe Scott the day he should

arrive at Stilbro', desiring his hackney to be sent to the 'George' for his accommodation; and Joe Scott having

It was marketday: Moore arrived in time to take his usual place at the marketdinner. As something of a

stranger and as a man of note and action the assembled manufacturers received him with a certain

distinction. Some who in public would scarcely have dared to acknowledge his acquaintance, lest a little of

the hate and vengeance laid up in store for him should perchance have fallen on them in private hailed him

as in some sort their champion. When the wine had circulated, their respect would have kindled to

enthusiasm, had not Moore's unshaken nonchalance held it in a damp, low, smouldering state.

Mr. Yorke the permanent president of these dinners witnessed his young friend's bearing with exceeding

complacency. If one thing could stir his temper or excite his contempt more than another, it was to see a man

befooled by flattery, or elate with popularity. If one thing smoothed, soothed, and charmed him especially, it

was the spectacle of a public character incapable of relishing his publicity: incapable, I say; disdain would but

Robert, leaning back in his chair, quiet and almost surly, while the clothiers and blanketmakers vaunted his

prowess and rehearsed his deeds many of them interspersing their flatteries with coarse invectives against

the operative class was a delectable sight for Mr. Yorke. His heart tingled with the pleasing conviction that

these gross eulogiums shamed Moore deeply, and made him halfscorn himself and his work. On abuse, on

reproach, on calumny, it is easy to smile; but painful indeed is the panegyric of those we contemn. Often had

Moore gazed with a brilliant countenance over howling crowds from a hostile hustings: he had breasted the

storm of unpopularity with gallant bearing and soul elate; but he drooped his head under the halfbred

Yorke could not help asking him how he liked his supporters, and whether he did not think they did honour to

his cause. 'But it is a pity, lad,' he added, 'that you did not hang these four samples of the Unwashed. If you

had managed that feat, the gentry here would have riven the horses out of the coach, yoked to a score of

Moore soon forsook the wine, broke from the party, and took the road. In less than five minutes Mr. Yorke

It was early to go home, but yet it was late in the day: the last ray of the sun had already faded from the

cloudedges, and the October night was casting over the moorlands the shadow of her approach.

Mr. York moderately exhilarated with his moderate libations, and not displeased to see young Moore again

in Yorkshire, and to have him for his comrade during the long ride home took the discourse much to

himself. He touched briefly, but scoffingly, on the trials and the conviction: he passed thence to the gossip of

the neighbourhood, and, ere long, he attacked Moore on his own personal concerns.

'Bob, I believe you are worsted; and you deserve it. All was smooth. Fortune had fallen in love with you: she

had decreed you the first prize in her wheel twenty thousand pounds: she only required that you should

hold your hand out and take it. And what did you do? You called for a horse and rode ahunting to

Warwickshire. Your sweetheart Fortune, I mean was perfectly indulgent. She said, 'I'll excuse him: he's

young.' She waited like 'Patience on a monument,' till the chase was over, and the verminprey run down.

She expected you would come back then, and be a good lad: you might still have had her first prize.

'It capped her beyond expression, and me too, to find that, instead of thundering home in a breakneck gallop,

and laying your assizelaurels at her feet, you coolly took coach up to London. What you have done there,

Satan knows: nothing in this world, I believe, but sat and sulked: your face was never lilyfair, but it is

'Only a baronet: that is all. I have not a doubt in my own mind you've lost her: she will be Lady Nunnely

'By every token. By the light of her eyes, the red of her cheeks: red they grew when your name was

'It ought to be; but try: it is worth trying. I call this Sir Philip milk and water. And then he writes verses, they

'Would you advise me to propose, late as it is, Mr. Yorke? at the eleventh hour?'

'You can but make the experiment, Robert. If she has a fancy for you and, on my conscience, I believe she

has, or had she will forgive much. But, my lad, you are laughing: is it at me? You had better grin at your

own perverseness. I see, however, you laugh at the wrong side of your mouth: you have as sour a look at this

'I have so quarrelled with myself, Yorke. I have so kicked against the pricks, and struggled in a strait

waistcoat, and dislocated my wrists with wrenching them in handcuffs, and battered my hard head, by driving

'Ha! I'm glad to hear that. Sharp exercise yon! I hope it has done you good; ta'en some of the selfconceit out

'Selfconceit! What is it? Selfrespect, selftolerance, even, what are they? Do you sell the articles? Do you

know anybody who does? Give an indication: they would find in me a liberal chapman. I would part with my

'Is it so with you, Robert? I find that spicy. I like a man to speak his mind. What has gone wrong?'

'The machinery of all my nature; the whole enginery of this human mill: the boiler, which I take to be the

'That suld be putten i' print: it's striking. It's almost blank verse. Ye'll be jingling into poetry just e'now. If the

afflatus comes, give way, Robert; never heed me: I'll bear it this whet (time).'

'Hideous, abhorrent, base blunder! You may commit in a moment, what you may rue for years what life

'Lad, go on. I call it pie, nuts, sugarcandy. I like the taste uncommonly. Go on: it will do you good to talk:

'I will talk. I am not ashamed to tell. There is a sort of wild cat in my breast, and I choose that you shall hear

'To me it is music. What grand voices you and Louis have! When Louis sings tones off like a soft, deep

bell, I've felt myself tremble again. The night is still: it listens: it is just leaning down to you, like a black

priest to a blacker penitent. Confess, lad: smooth naught down: be candid as a convicted, justified, sanctified

Methody at an experiencemeeting. Make yourself as wicked as Beelzebub: it will ease your mind.'

'As mean as Mammon, you would say. Yorke, if I got off horseback and laid myself down across the road,

would you have the goodness to gallop over me backwards and forwards about twenty times?'

'Wi' all the pleasure in life, if there were no such thing as a coroner's inquest.'

'Hiram Yorke, I certainly believed she loved me. I have seen her eyes sparkle radiantly when she has found

me out in a crowd: she has flushed up crimson when she has offered me her hand, and said, 'How do you do,

'My name had a magical influence over her: when others uttered it, she changed countenance, I know she

did. She pronounced it herself in the most musical of her many musical tones. She was cordial to me; she

took an interest in me; she was anxious about me; she wished me well; she sought, she seized every

opportunity to benefit me. I considered, paused, watched, weighed, wondered: I could come to but one

'I looked at her, Yorke: I saw, in her, youth and a species of beauty. I saw power in her. Her wealth offered

me the redemption of my honour and my standing. I owed her gratitude. She had aided me substantially and

effectually by a loan of five thousand pounds. Could I remember these things? Could I believe she loved me?

Could I hear wisdom urge me to marry her, and disregard every dear advantage, disbelieve every flattering

suggestion, disdain every wellweighed counsel, turn and leave her? Young, graceful, gracious, my

benefactress, attached to me, enamoured of me, I used to say so to myself; dwell on the word; mouth it over

and over again; swell over it with a pleasant, pompous complacency, with an admiration dedicated entirely

to myself, and unimpaired even by esteem for her; indeed, I smiled in deep secrecy at her na�vet� and

simplicity, in being the first to love, and to show it. That whip of yours seems to have a good heavy handle,

Yorke: you can swing it about your head and knock me out of the saddle, if you choose. I should rather relish

'Tak' patience, Robert, till the moon rises, and I can see you. Speak plain out, did you love her or not? I

'Sir . . . Sir I say she is very pretty, in her own style, and very attractive. She has a look, at times, of a

thing made out of fire and air, at which I stand and marvel, without a thought of clasping and kissing it. I felt

in her a powerful magnet to my interest and vanity: I never felt as if nature meant her to be my other and

better self. When a question on that head rushed upon me, I flung it off, saying brutally, I should be rich with

'With this sensible resolve, I walked up to Fieldhead one night last August: it was the very eve of my

departure for Birmingham for you see I wanted to secure fortune's splendid prize: I had previously

despatched a note, requesting a private interview. I found her at home, and alone.

'She received me without embarrassment, for she thought I came on business: I was embarrassed enough, but

determined. I hardly know how I got the operation over; but I went to work in a hard, firm fashion, frightful

enough, I dare say. I sternly offered myself my fine person with my debts, of course, as a settlement.

'It vexed me; it kindled my ire, to find that she neither blushed, trembled, nor looked down. She responded

'And I had to go over the whole proposal twice, and word it as plainly as A B C, before she would fully take

it in. And then, what did she do? Instead of faltering a sweet Yes, or maintaining a soft, confused silence

(which would have been as good) she started up, walked twice fast through the room, in the way that she only

'Yorke, I stood on the hearth, backed by the mantelpiece; against it I leaned, and prepared for anything

everything. I knew my doom, and I knew myself. There was no misunderstanding her aspect and voice. She

'God bless me!' she piteously repeated, in that shocked, indignant, yet saddened accent. 'You have made a

strange proposal strange from you; and if you knew how strangely you worded it, and looked it, you would

be startled at yourself. You spoke like a brigand who demanded my purse, rather than like a lover who asked

'A queer sentence, was it not, Yorke? and I knew, as she uttered it, it was true as queer. Her words were a

'G�rard Moore, you know you don't love Shirley Keeldar.' I might have broken out into false swearing:

vowed that I did love her; but I could not lie in her pure face: I could not perjure myself in her truthful

presence. Besides, such hollow oaths would have been vain as void: she would no more have believed me

than she would have believed the ghost of Judas, had he broken from the night and stood before her. Her

female heart had finer perceptions than to be cheated into mistaking my halfcoarse, halfcold admiration,

'Why, she sat down in the windowseat and cried. She cried passionately: her eyes not only rained, but

lightened. They flashed, open, large, dark, haughty, upon me: they said 'You have pained me: you have

'I did respect I did admire I did like you,' she said: 'yes as much as if you were my brother: and you

you want to make a speculation of me. You would immolate me to that mill your Moloch!'

'I had the common sense to abstain from any word of excuse any attempt at palliation: I stood to be

'Sold to the devil for the time being, I was certainly infatuated: when I did speak, what do you think I said?

'Beautiful! was it not? She sat quite confounded. 'Is it Robert Moore that speaks?' I heard her mutter. 'Is it a

'Do you mean,' she asked aloud 'do you mean you thought I loved you as we love those we wish to marry?'

'You conceived an idea obnoxious to a woman's feelings,' was her answer: 'you have announced it in a

fashion revolting to a woman's soul. You insinuate that all the frank kindness I have shown you has been a

complicated, a bold, and an immodest manoeuvre to ensnare a husband: you imply that at last you come here

out of pity to offer me your hand, because I have courted you. Let me say this: Your sight is jaundiced: you

have seen wrong. Your mind is warped: you have judged wrong. Your tongue betrays you: you now speak

wrong. I never loved you. Be at rest there. My heart is as pure of passion for you as yours is barren of

'Loved you I' she cried. 'Why, I have been as frank with you as a sister never shunned you never feared

you. You cannot,' she affirmed triumphantly 'you cannot make me tremble with your coming, nor

'I alleged that often, when she spoke to me, she blushed, and that the sound of my name moved her.

'Not for your sake!' she declared briefly: I urged explanation, but could get none.

'When I sat beside you at the schoolfeast, did you think I loved you then? When I stopped you in Maythorn

Lane, did you think I loved you then? When I called on you in the countinghouse when I walked with you

'By the Lord! Yorke she rose she grew tall she expanded and refined almost to flame: there was a

trembling all through her, as in live coal, when its vivid vermilion is hottest.

'That is to say, that you have the worst opinion of me: that you deny me the possession of all I value most.

That is to say, that I am a traitor to all my sisters: that I have acted as no woman can act, without degrading

herself and her sex: that I have sought where the incorrupt of my kind naturally scorn and abhor to seek.' She

and I were silent for many a minute. 'Lucifer Star of the Morning!' she went on, 'thou art fallen. You once

high in my esteem are hurled down: you once intimate in my friendship are cast out. Go!'

'I went not: I had heard her voice tremble seen her lip quiver: I knew another storm of tears would fall; and

then, I believed, some calm and some sunshine must come, and I would wait for it.

'As fast, but more quietly than before, the warm rain streamed down: there was another sound in her weeping

a softer, more regretful sound. While I watched, her eyes lifted to me a gaze more reproachful than haughty

'I relieved myself by what should have been a sigh, but it became a groan. A sense of Cainlike desolation

'There has been error in what I have done,' I said, 'and it has won me bitter wages: which I will go and spend

'I took my hat. All the time, I could not have borne to depart so; and I believed she would not let me. Nor

would she, but for the mortal pang I had given her pride, that cowed her compassion and kept her silent.

'I was obliged to turn back of my own accord when I reached the door, to approach her and to say, 'Forgive

'I could, if there was not myself to forgive, too,' was her reply; 'but to mislead a sagacious man so far, I must

'I broke out suddenly with some declamation I do not remember: I know that it was sincere, and that my wish

and aim were to absolve her to herself: in fact, in her case, selfaccusation was a chimera.

'At last, she extended her hand. For the first time I wished to take her in my arms and kiss her. I did kiss her

'Some day we shall be friends again,' she said, 'when you have had time to read my actions and motives in a

true light, and not so horribly to misinterpret them. Time may give you the right key to all: then, perhaps, you

'I am sorry for what has happened deeply sorry,' she sobbed. So was I, God knows! Thus were we severed.'

'I'll do it no more,' vowed his companion: 'never more will I mention marriage to a woman, unless I feel love.

Henceforth, Credit and Commerce may take care of themselves. Bankruptcy may come when it lists. I have

done with slavish fear of disaster. I mean to work diligently, wait patiently, bear steadily. Let the worst come

I will take an axe and an emigrant's berth, and go out with Louis to the West he and I have settled it. No

woman shall ever again look at me as Miss Keeldar looked ever again feel towards me as Miss Keeldar felt:

in no woman's presence will I ever again stand at once such a fool and such a knave such a brute and such a

'Tut!' said the imperturbable Yorke, 'you make too much of it; but still, I say, I am capped: firstly, that she did

not love you; and, secondly, that you did not love her. You are both young; you are both handsome; you are

both well enough for wit, and even for temper take you on the right side: what ailed you, that you could not

'We never have been never could be at home with each other, Yorke. Admire each other as we might at a

distance, still we jarred when we came very near. I have sat at one side of a room and observed her at the

other; perhaps in an excited, genial moment, when she had some of her favourites round her her old beaux,

for instance, yourself and Helstone, with whom she is so playful, pleasant, and eloquent. I have watched her

when she was most natural, most lively, and most lovely: my judgment has pronounced her beautiful:

beautiful she is, at times, when her mood and her array partake of the splendid. I have drawn a little nearer,

feeling that our terms of acquaintance gave me the right of approach; I have joined the circle round her seat,

caught her eye, and mastered her attention; then we have conversed; and others thinking me, perhaps,

peculiarly privileged have withdrawn by degrees, and left us alone. Were we happy thus left? For myself, I

must say, No. Always a feeling of constraint came over me; always I was disposed to be stern and strange.

We talked politics and business: no soft sense of domestic intimacy ever opened our hearts, or thawed our

language, and made it flow easy and limpid. If we had confidences, they were confidences of the

countinghouse, not of the heart. Nothing in her cherished affection in me made me better, gentler: she

only stirred my brain and whetted my acuteness: she never crept into my heart or influenced its pulse; and for

this good reason, no doubt, because I had not the secret of making her love me.'

'Well, lad, it is a queer thing. I might laugh at thee, and reckon to despise thy refinements; but as it is dark

night and we are by ourselves, I don't mind telling thee that thy talk brings back a glimpse of my own past

life. Twentyfive years ago, I tried to persuade a beautiful woman to love me, and she would not. I had not

'But you loved her, Yorke: you worshipped Mary Cave: your conduct, after all, was that of a man never of a

'Ay! I did love her: but then she was beautiful as the moon we do not see tonight; there is nought like her in

'That blackcoated tyrant's niece; that quiet, delicate Miss Helstone. Many a time I have put on my spectacles

to look at the lassie in church, because she has gentle blue een, wi' long lashes; and, when she sits in shadow,

and is very still and very pale, and is, happen, about to fall asleep wi' the length of the sermon and the heat of

'Far grander! Less lasslike and fleshlike. You wondered why she hadn't wings and a crown. She was a

'Not with all I could do; though I prayed Heaven many a time, on my bended knees, to help me.'

'Mary Cave was not what you think her, York I have seen her picture at the Rectory. She is no angel, but a

fair, regularfeatured, taciturnlooking woman rather too white and lifeless for my taste. But supposing

'Robert,' interrupted Yorke, 'I could fell you off your horse at this moment. However, I'll hold my hand.

Reason tells me you are right, and I am wrong. I know well enough that the passion I still have is only the

remnant of an illusion. If Miss Cave had possessed either feeling or sense, she could not have been so

perfectly impassible to my regard as she showed herself she must have preferred me to that copperfaced

'Supposing, Yorke, she had been educated (no women were educated in those days); supposing she had

possessed a thoughtful, original mind) a love of knowledge, a wish for information, which she took an artless

delight in receiving from your lips, and having measured out to her by your hand; supposing her conversation

when she sat at your side was fertile, varied, imbued with a picturesque grace and genial interest, quiet

flowing but clear and bounteous; supposing that when you stood near her by chance, or when you sat near her

by design, comfort at once became your atmosphere, and content your element; supposing that whenever her

face was under your gaze, or her idea filled your thoughts, you gradually ceased to be hard and anxious, and

pure affection, love of home, thirst for sweet discourse, unselfish longing to protect and cherish, replaced the

sordid, cankering calculations of your trade; supposing with all this that many a time, when you had been

so happy as to possess your Mary's little hand, you had felt it tremble as you held it just as a warm little

bird trembles when you take it from its nest; supposing you had noticed her shrink into the background on

your entrance into a room, yet if you sought her in her retreat she welcomed you with the sweetest smile that

ever lit a fair virgin face, and only turned her eyes from the encounter of your own, lest their clearness should

reveal too much; supposing, in short, your Mary had been not cold, but modest; not vacant, but reflective;

not obtuse, but sensitive; not inane, but innocent; not prudish, but pure would you have left her to court

'The moon is up,' was his first not quite relevant remark, pointing with his whip across the moor. 'There she

is, rising into the haze, staring at us wi' a strange red glower. She is no more silver than old Helstone's brow is

ivory. What does she mean by leaning her cheek on Rushedge i' that way, and looking at us wi' a scowl and a

'Yorke, if Mary had loved you silently, yet faithfully chastely, yet fervently as you would wish your wife

'Robert!' he lifted his arm: he held it suspended, and paused. 'Robert! this is a queer world, and men are made

of the queerest dregs that Chaos churned up in her ferment. I might swear sounding oaths oaths that would

make the poachers think there was a bittern booming in Bilberry Moss that, in the case you put, Death only

should have parted me from Mary. But I have lived in the world fiftyfive years; I have been forced to study

human nature; and to speak a dark truth the odds are, if Mary had loved and not scorned me; if I had been

secure of her affection, certain of her constancy, been irritated by no doubts, stung by no humiliations the

odds are' (he let his hand fall heavy on the saddle) 'the odds are, I should have left her!'

They rode side by side in silence. Ere either spoke again, they were on the other side of Rushedge: Briarfield

lights starred the purple skirt of the moor. Robert, being the youngest, and having less of the past to absorb

'I believe I daily find it proved that we can get nothing in this world worth keeping, not so much as a

principle or a conviction, except out of purifying flame, or through strengthening peril. We err; we fall; we

are humbled then we walk more carefully. We greedily eat and drink poison out of the gilded cup of vice,

or from the beggar's wallet of avarice; we are sickened, degraded; everything good in us rebels against us; our

souls rise bitterly indignant against our bodies; there is a period of civil war; if the soul has strength, it

'For my private plans, I'll keep them to myself; which is very easy, as at present I have none: no private life is

permitted a man in my position, a man in debt. For my public plans, my views are a little altered. While I was

in Birmingham, I looked a little into reality, considered closely, and at their source, the causes of the present

troubles of this country; I did the same in London. Unknown, I could go where I pleased, mix with whom I

would. I went where there was want of food, of fuel, of clothing; where there was no occupation and no hope.

I saw some, with naturally elevated tendencies and good feelings, kept down amongst sordid privations and

harassing griefs. I saw many originally low, and to whom lack of education left scarcely anything but animal

wants, disappointed in those wants, ahungered, athirst, and desperate as famished animals: I saw what taught

my brain a new lesson, and filled my breast with fresh feelings. I have no intention to profess more softness

or sentiment than I have hitherto professed; mutiny and ambition I regard as I have always regarded them: I

should resist a riotous mob, just as heretofore; I should open on the scent of a runaway ringleader as eagerly

as ever, and run him down as relentlessly, and follow him up to condign punishment as rigorously; but I

should do it now chiefly for the sake and the security of those he misled. Something there is to look to,

Yorke, beyond a man's personal interest: beyond the advancement of welllaid schemes; beyond even the

discharge of dishonouring debts. To respect himself, a man must believe he renders justice to his

fellowmen. Unless I am more considerate to ignorance, more forbearing to suffering, than I have hitherto

been, I shall scorn myself as grossly unjust. What now?' he said, addressing his horse, which, hearing the

ripple of water, and feeling thirsty, turned to a wayside trough, where the moonbeam was playing in a crystal

Yorke accordingly rode slowly forwards, occupying himself as he advanced, in discriminating, amongst the

many lights now spangling the distance, those of Briarmains. Stilbro' Moor was left behind; plantations rose

dusk on either hand; they were descending the hill; below them lay the valley with its populous parish: they

Surrounded no longer by heath, it was not startling to Mr. Yorke to see a hat rise, and to hear a voice speak

'When the wicked perisheth, there is shouting,' it said; and added, 'As the whirlwind passeth, so is the wicked

no more' (with a deeper growl); 'terrors take hold of him as waters; hell is naked before him. He shall die

A fierce flash and sharp crack violated the calm of night. Yorke, ere he turned, knew the four convicts of

The die was cast. Sir Philip Nunnely knew it: Shirley knew it: Mr. Sympson knew it. That evening, when all

Two or three things conduced to bring the Baronet to a point. He had observed that Miss Keeldar looked

pensive and delicate. This new phase in her demeanour smote him on his weak or poetic side: a spontaneous

sonnet brewed in his brain; and while it was still working there, one of his sisters persuaded his ladylove to

sit down to the piano and sing a ballad one of Sir Philip's own ballads. It was the least elaborate, the least

It chanced that Shirley, the moment before, had been gazing from a window down on the park; she had seen

that stormy moonlight which 'le Professeur Louis' was perhaps at the same instant contemplating from her

own oakparlour lattice; she had seen the isolated trees of the domain broad, strong, spreading oaks, and

hightowering heroic beeches wrestling with the gale. Her ear had caught the full roar of the forest lower

down; the swift rushing of clouds, the moon, to the eye, hasting swifter still, had crossed her vision: she

She sang, as requested. There was much about love in the ballad: faithful love that refused to abandon its

object; love that disaster could not shake; love that, in calamity, waxed fonder, in poverty clung closer. The

words were set to a fine old air in themselves they were simple and sweet: perhaps, when read, they wanted

force; when well sung, they wanted nothing. Shirley sang them well: she breathed into the feeling, softness;

she poured round the passion, force: her voice was fine that evening; its expression dramatic: she impressed

On leaving the instrument, she went to the fire, and sat down on a seat semistool, semicushion: the ladies

were round her none of them spoke. The Misses Sympson and the Misses Nunnely looked upon her, as

quiet poultry might look on an egret, an ibis, or any other strange fowl. What made her sing so? They never

sang so. Was it proper to sing with such expression, with such originality so unlike a schoolgirl?

Decidedly not: it was strange, it was unusual. What was strange must be wrong; what was unusual must be

Moreover, old Lady Nunnely eyed her stonily from her great chair by the fireside: her gaze said 'This

Her son catching the look, read its meaning: he grew alarmed: what he so wished to win, there was danger he

The room they were in had once been a picturegallery. Sir Philip's father Sir Monckton had converted it

into a saloon; but still it had a shadowy, longwithdrawing look. A deep recess with a window a recess that

held one couch, one table, and a fairy cabinet, formed a room within a room. Two persons standing there

might interchange a dialogue, and, so it were neither long nor loud, none be the wiser.

Sir Philip induced two of his sisters to perpetrate a duet; he gave occupation to the Misses Sympson: the elder

ladies were conversing together. He was pleased to remark that, meantime, Shirley rose to look at the

pictures. He had a tale to tell about one ancestress, whose dark beauty seemed as that of a flower of the south:

There were mementos of the same lady in the cabinet adorning the recess; and while Shirley was stooping to

examine the missal and the rosary on the inlaid shelf, and while the Misses Nunnely indulged in a prolonged

screech, guiltless of expression, pure of originality, perfectly conventional and absolutely unmeaning, Sir

Philip stooped too, and whispered a few hurried sentences. At first, Miss Keeldar was struck so still, you

might have fancied that whisper a charm which had changed her to a statue; but she presently looked up and

answered. They parted. Miss Keeldar returned to the fire, and resumed her seat: the Baronet gazed after her,

then went and stood behind his sisters. Mr. Sympson Mr. Sympson only had marked the pantomime.

That gentleman drew his own conclusions. Had he been as acute as he was meddling, as profound as he was

prying, he might have found that in Sir Philip's face whereby to correct his inference. Ever shallow, hasty,

He was not a man that kept secrets well: when elate on a subject, he could not avoid talking about it. The next

morning, having occasion to employ his son's tutor as his secretary, he must needs announce to him, in

mouthing accents, and with much flimsy pomp of manner, that he had better hold himself prepared for a

return to the south, at an early day, as the important business which had detained him (Mr. Sympson) so long

in Yorkshire, was now on the eve of fortunate completion: his anxious and laborious efforts were likely, at

last, to be crowned with the happiest success: a truly eligible addition was about to be made to the family

Whereupon Mr. Sympson treated himself simultaneously to a pinch of snuff and a chuckling laugh, checked

only by a sudden choke of dignity, and an order to the tutor to proceed with business.

For a day or two, Mr. Sympson continued as bland as oil, but also he seemed to sit on pins, and his gait, when

he walked, emulated that of a hen treading a hot gridle. He was for ever looking out of the window, and

listening for chariotwheels: Bluebeard's wife Sisera's mother were nothing to him. He waited when the

matter should be opened in form; when himself should be consulted; when lawyers should be summoned;

when settlement discussions, and all the delicious worldly fuss, should pompously begin.

At last there came a letter: he himself handed it to Miss Keeldar out of the bag: he knew the handwriting; he

knew the crest on the seal. He did not see it opened and read, for Shirley took it to her own room; nor did he

see it answered, for she wrote her reply shut up, and was very long about it, the best part of a day. He

Again he waited waited in silence absolutely not daring to speak: kept mute by something in Shirley's

face, a very awful something inscrutable to him as the writing on the wall to Belshazzar. He was moved

more than once to call Daniel, in the person of Louis Moore, and to ask an interpretation: but his dignity

forbade the familiarity. Daniel himself, perhaps, had his own private difficulties connected with that baffling

bit of translation: he looked like a student for whom grammars are blank, and dictionaries dumb.

Mr. Sympson had been out, to while away an anxious hour in the society of his friends at De Walden Hall.

He returned a little sooner than was expected; his family and Miss Keeldar were assembled in the

oakparlour; addressing the latter, he requested her to step with him into another room: he wished to have

'Very well, sir,' she said in the tone of a determined person, who is informed that the dentist is come to extract

that large double tooth of his, from which he has suffered such a purgatory this month past. She left her

Shut into the drawingroom, the pair took seats, each in an armchair, placed opposite, a few yards between

'I have been to De Walden Hall,' said Mr. Sympson. He paused. Miss Keeldar's eyes were on the pretty white

'I have learned,' he went on slowly, 'I have learned a circumstance which surprises me.'

'It seems that Nunnely Priory is shut up; that the family are gone back to their place in shire. It seems

that the baronet that the baronet that Sir Philip himself has accompanied his mother and sisters.'

'I mean I mean' pursued Mr. Sympson, now fidgeting in his chair, quitting his hitherto brief and tolerably

clear phraseology, and returning to his customary wordy, confused, irritable style; 'I mean to have a thorough

explanation. I will not be put off. I I shall insist on being heard; and on on having my own way. My

questions must be answered. I will have clear, satisfactory replies. I am not to be trifled with. (Silence.)

'It is a strange and an extraordinary thing a very singular a most odd thing! I thought all was right: knew

He drew his chair forward; he pushed it back; he looked perfectly incensed, and perfectly helpless.

'Come, come, now, uncle,' expostulated Shirley, 'do not begin to fret and fume, or we shall make no sense of

the business. Ask me what you want to know: I am as willing to come to an explanation as you: I promise

'I want I demand to know, Miss Keeldar, whether Sir Philip has made you an offer?'

'He proposed in the recess in the room that used to be a picture gallery that Sir Monckton converted into a

'You were both examining a cabinet: I saw it all: my sagacity was not at fault it never is. Subsequently, you

'Once more, uncle, have the kindness to keep to the point. Let us both remain cool. For my part, I do not wish

to get into a passion; but, you know, once drive me beyond certain bounds, I care little what I say: I am not

then soon checked. Listen! You have asked me whether Sir Philip made me an offer: that question is

The poor gentleman bounced from his chair, and first rushed, and then trotted, through the room.

Concession contrition, never do any good with some people. Instead of softening and conciliating, they but

'I disappointed? What is it to me? Have I an interest in it? You would insinuate, perhaps, that I have motives?'

'She accuses me to my face! I that have been a parent to her she charges with bad motives!'

'Mr. Sympson, I advise you not to become insulting: you know I will not bear that.'

'You read French. Your mind is poisoned with French novels. You have imbibed French principles.'

'The ground you are treading now returns a mighty hollow sound under your feet. Beware!'

'Do you assert, sir, that something in which I am concerned will end in infamy?'

'That it will that it will. You said just now you would act as you please. You acknowledge no rules no

'At last, there is another sensible question: I shall be glad to reply to it. Sir Philip is too young for me: I regard

him as a boy: all his relations his mother especially would be annoyed if he married me: such a step

'He is very amiable very excellent truly estimable, but not my master; not in one point. I could not trust

myself with his happiness: I would not undertake the keeping of it for thousands: I will accept no hand which

'When I promise to obey, it shall be under the conviction that I can keep that promise: I could not obey a

youth like Sir Philip. Besides, he would never command me: he would expect me always to rule to guide,

'There is a slight difference: that is certain. And I know full well, any man who wishes to live in decent

'A tyrant would not hold me for a day not for an hour. I would rebel break from him defy him.'

'I might do that with a boy: but it is not my vocation. Did I not say I prefer a master? One in whose presence I

shall feel obliged and disposed to be good. One whose control my impatient temper must acknowledge. A

man whose approbation can reward whose displeasure punish me. A man I shall feel it impossible not to

'What is there to hinder you from doing all this with Sir Philip? He is a baronet; a man of rank, property,

connections, far above yours. If you talk of intellect, he is a poet: he writes verses: which you, I take it,

'Neither his title, wealth, pedigree, nor poetry, avail to invest him with the power I describe. These are

featherweights: they want ballast: a measure of sound, solid practical sense would have stood him in better

'You and Henry rave about poetry! you used to catch fire like tinder on the subject when you were a girl.'

'Oh! uncle, there is nothing really valuable in this world, there is nothing glorious in the world to come, that

'Indeed, uncle, I wanted to do so; and I shall be glad to lead you away with me. Do not let us get out of

'If you mean to insinuate that I am, I consider that you are guilty of impertinence.'

'No levity, miss! This is not a laughing matter. It is an affair I am resolved to probe thoroughly, convinced

that there is mischief at the bottom. You described just now, with far too much freedom for your years and

sex, the sort of individual you would prefer as a husband. Pray, did you paint from the life?'

'I shall have an answer to that question,' affirmed Mr. Sympson, assuming vast courage and consequence on

'To pass over a few centuries, Washington was a plain man, but I liked him: but, to speak of the actual present

'You will make haste about it, if you please; it is near luncheon time, and confess you shall.'

'Confess, I must: my heart is full of the secret; it must be spoken: I only wish you were Mr. Helstone instead

'Madam it is a question of common sense and common prudence, not of sympathy and sentiment, and so

'They positively are rather alike; their very faces are not dissimilar a pair of human falcons and dry,

direct, decided both. But my hero is the mightier of the two: his mind has the clearness of the deep sea, the

'That was well said, uncle. 'Speak, girl!' it is quite tragic. England has howled savagely against this man,

uncle; and she will one day roar exultingly over him. He has been unscared by the howl, and he will be

'This country will change and change again in her demeanour to him: he will never change in his duty to her.

Mr. Sympson rose up furious: he bounced out of the room, but immediately bounced back again, shut the

'Ma'am, you shall tell me this: will your principles permit you to marry a man without money a man below

'Not Mr. Sam Wynne, because I scorn him: not Sir Philip Nunnely, because I only esteem him.'

'What do you mean? There are certain phrases potent to make my blood boil improper influence! What old

'I am a thousand times better: I am an honest woman, and as such I will be treated.'

'Do you know' (leaning mysteriously forward, and speaking with ghastly solemnity), 'do you know the whole

neighbourhood teems with rumours respecting you and a bankrupt tenant of yours the foreigner Moore?'

'He is talented, and venturous, and resolute. Prince is on his brow, and ruler in his bearing.'

'When we speak the name of Moore, shame should be forgotten and fear discarded: the Moores know only

'You have taunted me till my blood is up. You have worried me till I turn again.'

'That Moore is the brother of my son's tutor. Would you let the Usher call you Sister?'

'Mr. Sympson . . . I am sick at heart with all this weak trash: I will bear no more. Your thoughts are not my

thoughts, your aims are not my aims, your gods are not my gods. We do not view things in the same light; we

do not measure them by the same standard; we hardly speak in the same tongue. Let us part.'

'It is not,' she resumed, much excited 'It is not that I hate you; you are a good sort of man: perhaps you

mean well in your way; but we cannot suit: we are ever at variance. You annoy me with small meddling, with

petty tyranny; you exasperate my temper, and make and keep me passionate. As to your small maxims, your

narrow rules, your little prejudices, aversions, dogmas, bundle them off: Mr. Sympson go, offer them a

sacrifice to the deity you worship; I'll none of them: I wash my hands of the lot. I walk by another creed,

'Your god, sir, is the World. In my eyes, you too, if not an infidel, are an idolater. I conceive that you

ignorantly worship: in all things you appear to me too superstitious. Sir, your god, your great Bel, your

fishtailed Dagon, rises before me as a demon. You, and such as you, have raised him to a throne, put on him

a crown, given him a sceptre. Behold how hideously he governs! See him busied at the work he likes best

making marriages. He binds the young to the old, the strong to the imbecile. He stretches out the arm of

Mezentius and fetters the dead to the living. In his realm there is hatred secret hatred: there is disgust

unspoken disgust: there is treachery family treachery: there is vice deep, deadly, domestic vice. In his

dominions, children grow unloving between parents who have never loved: infants are nursed on deception

from their very birth; they are reared in an atmosphere corrupt with lies. Your god rules at the bridal of kings

look at your royal dynasties! your deity is the deity of foreign aristocracies analyse the blue blood of

Spain! Your god is the Hymen of France what is French domestic life? All that surrounds him hastens to

decay: all declines and degenerates under his sceptre. Your god is a masked Death.'

'This language is terrible! My daughters and you must associate no longer, Miss Keeldar: there is danger in

such companionship. Had I known you a little earlier but, extraordinary as I thought you, I could not have

'Now, sir, do you begin to be aware that it is useless to scheme for me? That, in doing so, you but sow the

wind to reap the whirlwind? I sweep your cobweb projects from my path, that I may pass on unsullied. I am

anchored on a resolve you cannot shake. My heart, my conscience shall dispose of my hand they only.

'Never heard such language!' he muttered again and again. 'Never was so addressed in my life never was so

He made his way to the door; he came back for his handkerchief; he dropped his snuffbox; leaving the

contents scattered on the carpet, he stumbled out; Tartar lay outside across the mat Mr. Sympson almost fell

over him: in the climax of his exasperation he hurled an oath at the dog, and a coarse epithet at his mistress.

'Poor Mr. Sympson! He is both feeble and vulgar,' said Shirley to herself. 'My head aches, and I am tired,' she

added; and leaning her head upon a cushion, she softly subsided from excitement to repose. One, entering the

room a quarter of an hour afterwards, found her asleep. When Shirley had been agitated, she generally took

Perhaps his voice harmonised with some dream into which she was passing it did not startle, it hardly

roused her, without opening her eyes, she but turned her head a little, so that her cheek and profile, before

hidden by her arm, became visible: she looked rosy, happy, halfsmiling, but her eyelashes were wet: she had

wept in slumber; or perhaps, before dropping asleep, a few natural tears had fallen after she had heard that

epithet; no man no woman is always strong, always able to bear up against the unjust opinion the

vilifying word: calumny, even from the mouth of a fool, will sometimes cut into unguarded feelings. Shirley

looked like a child that had been naughty and punished, but was now forgiven and at rest.

'Miss Keeldar,' again said the voice: this time it woke her; she looked up and saw at her side Louis Moore

not close at her side, but standing, with arrested step, two or three yards from her.

'Oh, Mr. Moore!' she said; 'I was afraid it was my uncle again: he and I have quarelled.'

'Mr. Sympson should let you alone,' was the reply: 'can he not see that you are yet far from strong?'

'He is about to evacuate Fieldhead so he says. He is now giving orders to his family: he has been in the

schoolroom issuing commands in a manner which, I suppose, was a continuation of that which he has

'I believe, as far as Henry is concerned, that was the tenor of his scarcelyintelligible directions; but he may

change all tomorrow: he is just in that mood when you cannot depend on his consistency for two

consecutive hours: I doubt whether he will leave you for weeks yet. To myself he addressed some words

which will require a little attention and comment byandby, when I have time to bestow on them. At the

moment he came in, I was busied with a note I have got from Mr. Yorke so fully busied that I cut short the

interview with him somewhat abruptly: I left him raving: here is the note I wish you to see it it refers to

'He is come: he is in Yorkshire: Mr. Yorke went yesterday to Stilbro' to meet him.'

'If you turn so pale I shall be sorry I have spoken. It might have been worse: Robert is not dead, but much

Miss Keeldar read the note: it briefly signified that last night Robert Moore had been shot at from behind the

wall of Milldean Plantation, at the foot of the Brow; that he was wounded severely, but it was hoped not

fatally: of the assassin, or assassins, nothing was known they had escaped. 'No doubt,' Mr. Yorke observed,

'it was done in revenge: it was a pity illwill had ever been raised; but that could not be helped now.'

'He is my only brother,' said Louis, as Shirley returned the note. 'I cannot hear unmoved that ruffians have

laid in wait for him, and shot him down like some wild beast from behind a wall.'

Shirley, solicitous to soothe, held her hand over Mr. Moore's, as it lay on the arm of the chair: she just

'Well, give me your hand,' he said; 'it will be for the first time: it is in a moment of calamity give it me.'

'I am going to Briarmains now,' he went on. 'I want you to step over to the Rectory, and tell Caroline

'Immediately,' said Shirley, with docile promptitude. 'Ought I to say that there is no danger?'

'Trust me for watching over Caroline. I will communicate with your sister, too; but, doubtless, she is already

Shirley's fingers were obliged to withdraw from the tutor's: Louis was obliged to relinquish that hand folded,

'I thought I should have had to support her,' he said, as he walked towards Briarmains, 'and it is she who has

made me strong. That look of pity that gentle touch! No down was ever softer no elixir more potent! It

lay like a snowflake: it thrilled like lightning. A thousand times I have longed to possess that hand to have

it in mine. I have possessed it for five minutes I held it. Her fingers and mine can never be strangers more

Briarmains being nearer than the Hollow, Mr. Yorke had conveyed his young comrade there. He had seen

him laid in the best bed of the house, as carefully as if he had been one of his own sons. The sight of his

blood, welling from the treacherouslyinflicted wound, made him indeed the son of the Yorkshire

gentleman's heart. The spectacle of the sudden event: of the tall, straight shape prostrated in its pride across

the road: of the fine southern head laid low in the dust; of that youth in prime flung at once before him pallid,

lifeless, helpless this was the very combination of circumstances to win for the victim Mr. Yorke's liveliest

No other hand was there to raise to aid; no other voice to question kindly; no other brain to concert

measures: he had to do it all himself. This utter dependence of the speechless, bleeding youth (as a youth he

regarded him) on his benevolence, secured that benevolence most effectually. Well did Mr. Yorke like to

have power, and to use it: he had now between his hands power over a fellowcreature's life: it suited him.

No less perfectly did it suit his saturnine betterhalf: the incident was quite in her way, and to her taste. Some

women would have been terrorstruck to see a gory man brought in over their threshold, and laid down in

their hall in the 'howe of the night.' There, you would suppose, was subjectmatter for hysterics. No: Mrs.

Yorke went into hysterics when Jessy would not leave the garden to come to her knitting, or when Martin

proposed starting for Australia, with a view to realise freedom, and escape the tyranny of Matthew; but an

attempted murder near her door a halfmurdered man in her best bed set her straight, cheered her spirits,

Mrs. Yorke was just the woman who, while rendering miserable the drudging life of a simple maidservant,

would nurse like a heroine an hospital full of plague patients. She almost loved Moore: her tough heart

almost yearned towards him, when she found him committed to her charge, left in her arms, as dependent

on her as her youngestborn in the cradle. Had she seen a domestic, or one of her daughters, give him a

draught of water, or smooth his pillow, she would have boxed the intruder's ears. She chased Jessy and Rose

from the upper realm of the house: she forbade the housemaids to set their foot in it.

Now, if the accident had happened at the Rectory gates, and old Helstone had taken in the martyr, neither

Yorke nor his wife would have pitied him: they would have adjudged him right served for his tyranny and

Strange! Louis Moore was permitted to come, to sit down on the edge of the bed, and lean over the pillow,

to hold his brother's hand, and press his pale forehead with his fraternal lips; and Mrs. Yorke bore it well.

She suffered him to stay half the day there; she once suffered him to sit up all night in the chamber; she rose

herself at five o'clock of a wet November morning, and with her own hands lit the kitchen fire, and made the

brothers a breakfast, and served it to them herself. Majestically arrayed in a boundless flannel wrapper, a

shawl, and her nightcap, she sat and watched them eat, as complacently as a hen beholds her chickens feed.

Yet she gave the cook warning that day for venturing to make and carry up to Mr. Moore a basin of

sagogruel; and the housemaid lost her favour because, when Mr. Louis was departing, she brought him his

surtout aired from the kitchen, and, like a 'forward piece,' as she was, helped him on with it, and accepted, in

return, a smile, a 'thank you, my girl,' and a shilling. Two ladies called one day, pale and anxious, and begged

earnestly, humbly, to be allowed to see Mr. Moore one instant: Mrs. Yorke hardened her heart, and sent them

But how was it when Hortense Moore came? Not so bad as might have been expected: the whole family of

the Moores really seemed to suit Mrs. Yorke so as no other family had ever suited her. Hortense and she

possessed an exhaustless mutual theme of conversation in the corrupt propensities of servants. Their views of

this class were similar: they watched them with the same suspicion, and judged them with the same severity.

Hortense, too, from the very first showed no manner of jealousy of Mrs. Yorke's attentions to Robert; she let

her keep the post of nurse with little interference: and, for herself, found ceaseless occupation in fidgeting

about the house, holding the kitchen under surveillance, reporting what passed there, and, in short, making

herself generally useful. Visitors, they both of them agreed in excluding sedulously from the sickroom.

They held the young millowner captive, and hardly let the air breathe or the sun shine on him.

Mr. MacTurk, the surgeon to whom Moore's case had been committed, pronounced his wound of a

dangerous, but, he trusted, not of a hopeless character. At first he wished to place with him a nurse of his own

selection; but this neither Mrs. Yorke nor Hortense would hear of: they promised faithful observance of

Doubtless, they executed the trust to the best of their ability; but something got wrong: the bandages were

displaced, or tampered with; great loss of blood followed. MacTurk, being summoned, came with steed

afoam. He was one of those surgeons whom it is dangerous to vex: abrupt in his best moods; in his worst,

savage. On seeing Moore's state, he relieved his feelings by a little flowery language, with which it is not

necessary to strew the present page. A bouquet or two of the choicest blossoms fell on the unperturbed head

of one Mr. Graves, a stony young assistant he usually carried about with him; with a second nosegay he

gifted another young gentleman in his train an interesting facsimile of himself, being, indeed, his own son;

but the full corbeille of blushing bloom fell to the lot of meddling womankind, en masse.

For the best part of one winter night, himself and satellites were busied about Moore. There, at his bedside,

shut up alone with him in his chamber, they wrought and wrangled over his exhausted frame. They three

were on one side of the bed, and Death on the other. The conflict was sharp: it lasted till day broke, when the

balance between the belligerents seemed so equal that both parties might have claimed the victory.

At dawn, Graves and young MacTurk were left in charge of the patient, while the senior went himself in

search of additional strength, and secured it in the person of Mrs. Horsfall, the best nurse on his staff. To this

woman he gave Moore in charge, with the sternest injunctions respecting the responsibility laid on her

shoulders. She took this responsibility stolidly, as she did also the easy chair at the bedhead. That moment

Mrs. Horsfall had one virtue, orders received from MacTurk she obeyed to the letter: the Ten

Commandments were less binding in her eyes than her surgeon's dictum. In other respects, she was no

woman, but a dragon. Hortense Moore fell effaced before her; Mrs. Yorke withdrew crushed; yet both these

women were personages of some dignity in their own estimation, and of some bulk in the estimation of

others. Perfectly cowed by the breadth, the height, the bone, and the brawn of Mrs. Horsfall, they retreated to

the backparlour. She, for her part, sat upstairs when she liked, and downstairs when she preferred it: she

As to Moore, no one now ventured to inquire about him: Mrs. Horsfall had him at drynurse: it was she who

was to do for him; and the general conjecture now ran that she did for him accordingly.

Morning and evening MacTurk came to see him: his case, thus complicated by a new mischance, was become

one of interest in the surgeon's eyes: he regarded him as a damaged piece of clockwork, which it would be

creditable to his skill to set agoing again. Graves and young MacTurk Moore's sole other visitors

contemplated him in the light in which they were wont to contemplate the occupant for the time being of the

Robert Moore had a pleasant time of it: in pain; in danger; too weak to move; almost too weak to speak; a

sort of giantess his keeper; the three surgeons his sole society. Thus he lay through the diminishing days and

In the commencement of his captivity, Moore used feebly to resist Mrs. Horsfall: he hated the sight of her

rough bulk, and dreaded the contact of her hard hands; but she taught him docility in a trice. She made no

account whatever of his six feet his manly thews and sinews: she turned him in his bed as another woman

would have turned a babe in its cradle. When he was good, she addressed him as 'my dear,' and 'honey'; and

when he was bad, she sometimes shook him. Did he attempt to speak when MacTurk was there, she lifted her

hand and bade him 'hush!' like a nurse checking a forward child. If she had not smoked if she had not taken

gin, it would have been better, he thought; but she did both. Once in her absence he intimated to

'Pooh! my dear sir; they are all so,' was the reply he got for his pains. 'But Horsfall has this virtue,' added the

At length the latter autumn passed; its fogs, its rains withdrew from England their mourning and their tears;

its winds swept on to sigh over lands far away. Behind November came deep winter; clearness, stillness, frost

A calm day had settled into a crystalline evening: the world wore a North Pole colouring: all its lights and

tints looked like the 'reflets' of white, or violet, or pale green gems. The hills wore a lilac blue; the setting sun

had purple in its red; the sky was ice, all silvered azure; when the stars rose, they were of white crystal not

gold; grey, or cerulean, or faint emerald hues cool, pure, and transparent tinged the mass of the landscape.

What is this by itself in a wood no longer green, no longer even russet; a wood, neutral tint this dark blue

moving object? Why, it is a schoolboy a Briarfield grammarschoolboy who has left his companions,

now trudging home by the high road, and is seeking a certain tree, with a certain mossy mound at its root

convenient as a seat. Why is he lingering here? the air is cold, and the time wears late. He sits down: what

is he thinking about? Does be feel the chaste charm Nature wears tonight? A pearlwhite moon smiles

Impossible to say; for he is silent, and his countenance does not speak: as yet, it is no mirror to reflect

sensation, but rather a mask to conceal it. This boy is a stripling of fifteen slight, and tall of his years; in his

face there is as little of amenity as of servility: his eye seems prepared to note any incipient attempt to control

or overreach him, and the rest of his features indicate faculties alert for resistance. Wise ushers avoid

unnecessary interference with that lad. To break him in by severity would be a useless attempt; to win him by

flattery would he an effort worse than useless. He is best let alone. Time will educate, and experience train

Professedly, Martin Yorke (it is a young Yorke, of course) tramples on the name of poetry: talk sentiment to

him, and you would be answered by sarcasm. Here he is, wandering alone, waiting duteously on Nature,

while she unfolds a page of stern, of silent, and of solemn poetry, beneath his attentive gaze.

Being seated, he takes from his satchel a book not the Latin but a contraband volume of fairy tales; there

will be light enough yet for an hour to serve his keen young vision: besides, the moon waits on him her

He reads: he is led into a solitary mountain region; all round him is rude and desolate, shapeless, and almost

colourless. He hears bells tinkle on the wind: forthriding from the formless folds of the mist, dawns on him

the brightest vision a greenrobed lady, on a snowwhite palfrey; he sees her dress, her gems, and her

steed; she arrests him with some mysterious questions: he is spellbound, and must follow her into Fairyland.

A second legend bears him to the seashore: there tumbles in a strong tide, boiling at the base of dizzy cliffs:

it rains and blows. A reef of rocks, black and rough, stretches far into the sea; all along, and among, and

above these crags, dash and flash, sweep and leap, swells, wreaths, drifts of snowy spray. Some lone

wanderer is out on these rocks, treading, with cautious step, the wet, wild seaweed; glancing down into

hollows where the brine lies fathoms deep and emeraldclear, and seeing there wilder and stranger, and huger

vegetation, than is found on land, with treasure of shells some green, some purple, some pearly clustered

in the curls of the snaky plants. He hears a cry. Looking up, and forward, he sees, at the bleak point of the

reef, a tall, pale thing shaped like man, but made of spray transparent, tremulous, awful: it stands not

alone: they are all human figures that wanton in the rocks a crowd of foamwomen a band of white,

Hush: shut the book: hide it in the satchel: Martin hears a tread. He listens: No yes: once more the dead

leaves, lightly crushed, rustle on the woodpath. Martin watches: the trees part, and a woman issues forth.

She is a lady dressed in dark silk, a veil covering her face. Martin never met a lady in this wood before nor

any female, save, now and then, a villagegirl come to gather nuts. Tonight, the apparition does not

displease him. He observes, as she approaches, that she is neither old nor plain, but, on the contrary, very

youthful; and, but that he now recognises her for one whom he has often wilfully pronounced ugly, he would

She passes him, and says nothing. He knew she would: all woman are proud monkeys and he knows no

more conceited doll than that Caroline Helstone. The thought is hardly hatched in his mind, when the lady

retraces those two steps she had got beyond him, and raising her veil, reposes her glance on his face, while

No human evidence would ever have been able to persuade Martin Yorke that he blushed when thus

'I am,' he said bluntly; and encouraged himself to wonder, superciliously, what would come next.

It could not have been more felicitous: it was a simple sentencevery artlessly, a little timidly, pronounced;

but it chimed in harmony to the youth's nature: it stilled him like a note of music.

Martin had a keen sense of his personality: he felt it right and sensible that the girl should discriminate him

from his brothers. Like his father, he hated ceremony: it was acceptable to hear a lady address him as 'Martin,'

and not Mr. Martin or Master Martin, which form would have lost her good graces for ever. Worse, if

possible, than ceremony, was the other extreme of slipshod familiarity: the slight tone of bashfulnessthe

'Are your father and mother well?' (it was lucky she did not say papa and mamma: that would have undone

Martin gave a comic halfsmile and demigroan: the halfsmile was responded to by the lady, who could

'Lost your way in the mighty forest of Briarmains! You deserve never more to find it.'

'I never was here before, and I believe I am trespassing now: you might inform against me if you chose,

'I should think I knew that; but since you are so simple as to lose your way, I will guide you out.'

'You need not: I have got into the track now: I shall be right. Martin' (a little quickly), 'how is Mr. Moore?'

Martin had heard certain rumours: it struck him that it might be amusing to make an experiment.

'To die. All along of the women, my mother and the rest: they did something about his bandages that finished

everything: he would have got better but for them. I am sure they should be arrested, cribbed, tried, and

The questioner, perhaps, did not hear this judgment: she stood motionless. In two minutes, without another

word, she moved forwards: no goodnight, no further inquiry. This was not amusing, nor what Martin had

calculated on: he expected something dramatic and demonstrative: it was hardly worth while to frighten the

'You know nothing about death, Martin: you are too young for me to talk to concerning such a thing.'

'Did you believe me? It's all flummery! Moore eats like three men: they are always making sago or tapioca, or

something good for him: I never go into the kitchen, but there is a saucepan on the fire, cooking him some

dainty. I think I will play the old soldier, and be fed on the fat of the land like him.'

Again she stopped; she leaned against a tree, trembling, shuddering, and as pale as death.

Martin contemplated her with inexpressible curiosity. In one sense it was, as he would have expressed it,

'nuts' to him to see this: it told him so much, and he was beginning to have a great relish for discovering

secrets; in another sense, it reminded him of what he had once felt when he had heard a blackbird lamenting

for her nestlings, which Matthew had crushed with a stone, and that was not a pleasant feeling. Unable to find

anything very appropriate to say, in order to comfort her, he began to cast about in his mind what he could

'Eureka!' he cried. 'I'll set all straight byandby. You are better now, Miss Caroline; walk forward,' he urged.

Not reflecting that it would be more difficult for Miss Helstone than for himself to climb a wall or penetrate a

hedge, he piloted her by a short cut which led to no gate. The consequence was he had to help her over some

formidable obstacles, and, while he railed at her for helplessness, he perfectly liked to feel himself of use.

'Martin, before we separate, assure me seriously, and on your word of honour, that Mr. Moore is better.'

'No but many of his friends may ask me, and I wish to be able to give an authentic answer.'

'You may tell them he is well enough, only idle: you may tell them that he takes muttonchops for dinner,

and the best of arrowroot for supper. I intercepted a basin myself one night on its way upstairs, and ate half of

'Nurses him? the great baby! Why, a woman as round and big as our largest waterbutt a rough,

hardfavoured old girl. I make no doubt she leads him a rich life: nobody else is let near him: he is chiefly in

the dark. It is my belief she knocks him about terribly in that chamber. I listen at the wall sometimes when I

am in bed, and I think I hear her thumping him. You should see her fist: she could hold halfadozen hands

like yours in her one palm. After all, notwithstanding the chops and jellies he gets, I would not be in his

shoes. In fact, it is my private opinion that she eats most of what goes up on the tray to Mr. Moore. I wish she

Profound silence and meditation on Caroline's part, and a sly watchfulness on Martin's.

'Did not you come to our house once with Mrs. Pryor, about five weeks since, to ask after him?' again

'Aye! she declined. I heard it all: she treated you as it is her pleasure to treat visitors now and then: she

'She was not kind; for, you know, Martin, we are relations, and it is natural we should take an interest in Mr.

Martin knew that he had already incurred the penalty of a lecture, and dry bread for his tea. No matter, the

evening had furnished him with an adventure: it was better than muffins and toast.

He walked home with Caroline. On the way he promised to see Mr. Moore, in spite of the dragon who

guarded his chamber, and appointed an hour on the next day, when Caroline was to come to Briarmains

Wood and get tidings of him: he would meet her at a certain tree. The scheme led to nothing: still he liked it.

Having reached home, the dry bread and the lecture were duly administered to him, and he was dismissed to

Ere ascending to his chamber he paid a secret visit to the diningroom, a still, cold, stately apartment, seldom

used; for the family customarily dined in the backparlour. He stood before the mantelpiece, and lifted his

candle to two pictures hung above female heads: one, a type of serene beauty happy and innocent; the

'She looked like that,' he said, gazing on the latter sketch, 'when she sobbed, turned white, and leaned against

'I suppose,' he pursued, when he was in his room, and seated on the edge of his palletbed 'I suppose she is

what they call, 'in love'; yes, in love with that long thing in the next chamber. Whist! is that Horsfall

clattering him? I wonder he does not yell out. It really sounds as if she had fallen on him tooth and nail; but I

suppose she is making the bed. I saw her at it once she hit into the mattresses as if she was boxing. It is

queer, Zillah (they call her Zillah) Zillah Horsfall is a woman, and Caroline Helstone is a woman: they are

two individuals of the same species not much alike though. Is she a pretty girl, that Caroline? I suspect she

is very nice to look at something so clear in her face so soft in her eyes. I approve of her looking at me;

it does me good. She has long eyelashes: their shadow seems to rest where she gazes, and to instil peace and

thought. If she behaves well, and continues to suit me, as she has suited me today, I may do her a good turn.

I rather relish the notion of circumventing my mother and that ogress, old Horsfall. Not that I like humouring

Moore; but whatever I do I'll be paid for, and in coin of my own choosing: I know what reward I will claim

It was necessary to the arrangement of Martin's plan, that he should stay at home that day. Accordingly, he

found no appetite for breakfast; and, just about schooltime, took a severe pain about his heart, which

rendered it advisable that, instead of setting out to the grammarschool with Mark, he should succeed to his

father's armchair by the fireside, and also to his morningpaper. This point being satisfactorily settled, and

Mark being gone to Mr. Summer's class, and Matthew and Mr. Yorke withdrawn to the countinghouse,

The first of these was to realise the breakfast he had not yet tasted, and with which his appetite of fifteen

could ill afford to dispense; the second, third, fourth, to get his mother, Miss Moore and Mrs. Horsfall

The first was, for the present, the most pressing, since the work before him demanded an amount of energy

which the present empty condition of his youthful stomach did not seem likely to supply.

Martin knew the way to the larder; and knowing this way, he took it. The servants were in the kitchen,

breakfasting solemnly with closed doors; his mother and Miss Moore were airing themselves on the lawn,

and discussing the closed doors aforesaid: Martin, safe in the larder, made fastidious selection from its stores.

His breakfast had been delayed he was determined it should be recherch�: it appeared to him that a variety

on his usual somewhat insipid fare of bread and milk was both desirable and advisable: the savoury and the

salutary he thought might be combined. There was store of rosy apples laid in straw upon a shelf; he picked

out three. There was pastry upon a dish; he selected an apricotpuff and a damson tart. On the plain

household bread his eye did not dwell; but he surveyed with favour some currant teacakes, and

condescended to make choice of one. Thanks to his claspknife, he was able to appropriate a wing of fowl

and a slice of ham; a cantlet of cold custardpudding he thought would harmonise with these articles; and

having made this final addition to his booty, he at length sallied forth into the hall.

He was already halfway across three steps more would have anchored him in the harbour of the

backparlour when the front door opened, and there stood Matthew. Better far had it been the Old

Matthew, sceptic and scoffer, had already failed to subscribe a prompt belief in that pain about the heart: he

had muttered some words, amongst which the phrase 'shamming Abraham' had been very distinctly audible;

and the succession to the armchair and newspaper had appeared to affect him with mental spasms: the

spectacle now before him, the apples, the tarts, the teacake, the fowl, ham, and pudding, offered evidence

Martin paused 'interdit' one minute, one instant; the next he knew his ground, and pronounced all well. With

the true perspicacity 'des �mes �lites,' he at once saw how this at first sight untoward event might be

turned to excellent account: he saw how it might be so handled as to secure the accomplishment of his second

task, viz., the disposal of his mother. He knew that a collision between him and Matthew always suggested to

Mrs. Yorke the propriety of a fit of hysterics; he further knew that, on the 'principle of calm succeeding to

storm, after a morning of hysterics his mother was sure to indulge in an afternoon of bed. This would

The collision duly took place in the hall. A dry laugh, an insulting sneer, a contemptuous taunt, met by a

nonchalant but most cutting reply, were, the signals. They rushed at it. Martin, who usually made little noise

on these occasions, made a great deal now. In flew the servants, Mrs. Yorke, Miss Moore: no female hand

'Sons,' said he, 'one of you must leave my roof if this occurs again: I will have no Cain and Abel strife here.'

Martin now allowed himself to be taken off: he had been hurt; he was the youngest and slightest: he was quite

cool, in no passion: he even smiled, content that the most difficult part of the labour he had set himself was

'It is not worth while to bother myself for that Caroline,' he remarked. But, a quarter of an hour afterwards, he

was again in the diningroom, looking at the head with dishevelled tresses, and eyes turbid with despair.

'Yes,' he said, 'I made her sob, shudder, almost faint: I'll see her smile before I've done with her: besides, I

Directly after dinner, Mrs. Yorke fulfilled her son's calculation, by withdrawing to her chamber. Now for

That lady was just comfortably settled to stockingmending in the back parlour, when Martin laying down

a book which, stretched on the sofa (he was still indisposed, according to his own account), he had been

perusing in all the voluptuous ease of a yet callow pacha lazily introduced some discourse about Sarah, the

maid at the Hollow. In the course of much verbal meandering, he insinuated information that this damsel was

JohnofMally'sofHannah'sofDeb's; and that Miss Mann had affirmed she knew for a fact, that, now

the girl was left in sole charge of the cottage, she often had her swains to meals, and entertained them with

It needed no more. Hortense could not have lived another hour without betaking herself to the scene of these

nefarious transactions, and inspecting the state of matters in person. Mrs. Horsfall remained.

Martin, master of the field now, extracted from his mother's workbasket a bunch of keys; with these he

opened the sideboard cupboard, produced thence a black bottle and a small glass, placed them on the table,

'If you please, ma'am, you are invited to step into the backparlour, and take some refreshment: you will not

He watched her down; he watched her in; himself shut the door: he knew she was safe.

The hard work was done; now for the pleasure. He snatched his cap, and away for the wood.

It was yet but halfpast three; it had been a fine morning, but the sky looked dark now: it was beginning to

snow; the wind blew cold; the wood looked dismal; the old tree grim. Yet Martin approved the shadow on his

He had to wait; to and fro he walked, while the flakes fell faster; and the wind, which at first had but moaned,

'She is long in coming,' he muttered, as he glanced along the narrow track. 'I wonder,' he subjoined, 'what I

wish to see her so much for? She is not coming for me. But I have power over her, and I want her to come

'Now,' he resumed, when a further period had elapsed, 'if she fails to come, I shall hate and scorn her.'

It struck four: he heard the churchclock far away. A step so quick, so light, that, but for the rustling of

leaves, it would scarcely have sounded on the woodwalk, checked his impatience. The wind blew fiercely

now, and the thickened white storm waxed bewildering: but on she came, and not dismayed.

'It is queer how she thinks of him,' reflected Martin: 'the blinding snow and bitter cold are nothing to her, I

believe: yet she is but a 'chittyfaced creature,' as my mother would say. I could find in my heart to wish I

'But now it will be so long before I get to know anything certain about him, and I am sick of waiting. Martin,

do see him, and give him Caroline Helstone's regards, and say she wished to know how he was, and if

'No such thing; I am much too delicate to make and keep such appointments in the winter season if you knew

what a pain I had in my chest this morning, and how I went without breakfast, and was knocked down

besides, you'd feel the impropriety of bringing me here in the snow, Come, I say.'

'But, the wall the hedge it. is such hard work climbing, and you are too slender and young to help me

'I can't answer for that. This, however, I promise you; be ruled by me, and you shall see Moore yourself.'

Caroline fell into a long silent fit of musing, but still she walked on with her guide: they came in sight of

'Decide. We are just on the spot. I won't see him that I tell you except to announce your arrival.'

'Martin, you are a strange boy, and this is a strange step; but all I feel is and has been, for a long time, strange.

'Here we are, then. Do not be afraid of passing the parlourwindow: no one will see you. My father and

Matthew are at the mill; Mark is at school; the servants are in the backkitchen; Miss Moore is at the cottage;

my mother in her bed; and Mrs. Horsfall in Paradise. Observe I need not ring: I open the door; the hall is

empty; the staircase quiet; so is the gallery: the whole house and all its inhabitants are under a spell, which I

'You never said a better word. Let me take your shawl: I will shake off the snow and dry it for you. You are

He left his shoes on the mat; mounted the stair unshod; Caroline stole after, with noiseless step: there was a

gallery, and there was a passage; at the end of that passage Martin paused before a door and tapped: he had to

'Mr. Moore, a lady called to inquire after you: none of the women were about: it is washing day, and the

maids are over the crown of the head in soapsuds in the backkitchen; so I asked her to step up.'

'She is there, fit to faint: she is standing on the mat, shocked at your want of filial affection.'

And when Miss Caroline entered, she was encountered in the middle of the chamber by a tall, thin, wasted

'I give you a quarter of an hour,' said Martin as he withdrew: 'no more. Say what you have to say in that time:

till it is past, I will wait in the gallery: nothing shall approach: I'll see you safe away. Should you persist in

He shut the door. In the gallery he was as elate as a king: he had never been engaged in an adventure he liked

so well; for no adventure had ever invested him with so much importance or inspired him with so much

'You are come at last,' said the meagre man, gazing on his visitress with hollow eyes.

'For a month near two months, we have been very near; and I have been in sad pain, and danger, and

'Couldn't you? But the Rectory and Briarmains are very near: not two miles apart.'

There was pain there was pleasure in the girl's face as she listened to these implied reproaches: it was sweet

'When I say I could not come, I mean I could not see you; for I came with mamma the very day we heard

what had happened. Mr. MacTurk then told us it was impossible to admit any stranger.'

'But afterwards every fine afternoon these many weeks past I have waited and listened. Something here,

Cary' (laying his hand on his breast), 'told me it was impossible but that you should think of me. Not that I

'Did you? Come, that is worth hearing: since you came again, we will sit down and talk about it.'

They sat down. Caroline drew her chair up to his. The air was now dark with snow: an Iceland blast was

driving it wildly. This pair neither heard the long 'wuthering' rush, nor saw the white burden it drifted: each

'And Mrs. Yorke did treat us strangely. We asked to see you. 'No,' said she; 'not in my house. I am at present

responsible for his life: it shall not be forfeited for halfan hour's idle gossip.' But I must not tell you all she

said: it was very disagreeable. However, we came yet again mamma, Miss Keeldar, and I. This time we

thought we should conquer, as we were three against one, and Shirley was on our side. But Mrs. Yorke

'Things that astonished us. Shirley laughed at last; I cried; mamma was seriously annoyed we were all three

driven from the field. Since that time I have only walked once a day past the house, just for the satisfaction of

looking up at your window, which I could distinguish by the drawn curtains. I really dared not come in.'

'I did not know that. I never dreamt one instant that you thought of me. If I had but most distantly imagined

'She would not. Stratagem should have been tried, if persuasion failed. I would have come to the

kitchendoor; the servant should have let me in; and I would have walked straight upstairs. In fact, it was far

more the fear of intrusion the fear of yourself, that baffled me, than the fear of Mrs. Yorke.'

'Only last night, I despaired of ever seeing you again. Weakness has wrought terrible depression in me

'I doubt whether I shall live: I see nothing for it, after such exhaustion, but decline.'

'I will alter this: this shall be altered, were there ten Mrs. Yorkes to do battle with.'

'Not so much pain now; but I am hopelessly weak, and the state of my mind is inexpressible dark, barren,

'Altered, yet I should have known you anywhere: but I understand your feelings: I experienced something

'I thought I should die. The tale of my life seemed told. Every night, just at midnight, I used to wake from

awful dreams and the book lay open before me at the last page, where was written 'Finis.' I had strange

'I believed I should never see you again; and I grew so thin as thin as you are now: I could do nothing for

myself neither rise nor lie down; and I could not eat yet, you see I am better.'

'Comforter! sad as sweet: I am too feeble to say what I feel; but, while you speak, I do feel.'

'Here, I am at your side, where I thought never more to be; here I speak to you I see you listen to me

Moore sighed a sigh so deep, it was nearly a groan: he covered his eyes with his hand.

'We will not touch on it now, Cary; unmanned as I am, I have not the power to cope with such a topic. Was

'I have heard: Hortense told me; but that tale, too, I will receive from yourself. Does she add to your

'What! mamma? She is dear to me; how dear I cannot say. I was altogether weary, and she held me up.'

'I deserve to hear that in a moment when I can scarce lift my hand to my head. I deserve it.'

'It is a coal of fire heaped on my head; and so is every word you address to me, and every look that lights

your sweet face. Come still nearer, Lina; and give me your hand if my thin fingers do not scare you.'

She took those thin fingers between her two little hands she bent her head 'et les effleura de ses l�vres' (I

put that in French, because the word 'effleurer' is an exquisite word). Moore was much moved: a large tear or

'I'll keep these things in my heart, Cary; that kiss I will put by, and you shall hear of it again some day.'

'Come out!' cried Martin, opening the door. 'Come away you have had twenty minutes instead of a quarter

'No, she can't,' responded Martin. 'The thing mustn't become customary: I can't be troubled. It's very well for

'Hush! don't vex him we could not have met today but for him: but I will come again, if it is your wish

'Come this minute: my mother has coughed, got up, set her feet on the floor. Let her only catch you on the

stairs, Miss Caroline: you're not to bid him goodbye' (stepping between her and Moore), 'you are to

He made them part: he would suffer no farewell but what could be expressed in looks: he half carried

Caroline down the stairs. In the hall he wrapped her shawl round her, and but that his mother's tread then

creaked in the gallery, and but that a sentiment of diffidence the proper, natural, therefore the noble impulse

of his boy's heart, held him back, he would have claimed his reward he would have said, 'Now, Miss

Caroline, for all this give me one kiss.' But ere the words had passed his lips, she was across the snowy road,

He flattered himself that it was opportunity, not audacity, which had failed him: he misjudged the quality of

Martin, having known the taste of excitement, wanted a second draught; having felt the dignity of power, he

loathed to relinquish it. Miss Helstone that girl he had always called ugly, and whose face was now

perpetually before his eyes, by day and by night, in dark and in sunshine had once come within his sphere:

Though a schoolboy, he was no ordinary schoolboy: he was destined to grow up an original. At a few years

later date, he took great pains to pare and polish himself down to the pattern of the rest of the world, but he

never succeeded: an unique stamp marked him always. He now sat idle at his desk in the grammarschool,

casting about in his mind for the means of adding another chapter to his commenced romance: he did not yet

know how many commenced liferomances are doomed never to get beyond the first or, at most, the

second chapter. His Saturday halfholiday he spent in the wood with his book of fairy legends, and that other

Martin harboured an irreligious reluctance to see the approach of Sunday. His father and mother while

disclaiming community with the Establishment failed not duly, once on the sacred day, to fill their large

pew in Briarfield church with the whole of their blooming family. Theoretically, Mr. Yorke placed all sects

and churches on a level: Mrs. Yorke awarded the palm to Moravians and Quakers, on account of that crown

of humility by these worthies worn: neither of them were ever known, however, to set foot in a conventicle.

Martin, I say, disliked Sunday, because the morning service was long, and the sermon usually little to his

taste: this Saturday afternoon, however, his woodland musings disclosed to him a newfound charm in the

It proved a day of deep snow: so deep, that Mrs. Yorke, during breakfast, announced her conviction that the

children, both boys and girls, would he better at home; and her decision that, instead of going to church, they

should sit silent for two hours in the backparlour, while Rose and Martin alternately read a succession of

sermons John Wesley's Sermons: John Wesley, being a Reformer and an Agitator, had a place both in her

'Rose will do as she pleases,' said Martin, not looking up from the book which, according to his custom then

So her son replied, with the ineffable quietude of a true Yorke, who knows his will and means to have it, and

who, if pushed to the wall, will let himself be crushed to death, provided no way of escape can be found but

No answer: the youth read studiously; he slowly broke his bread and sipped his milk.

'Martin hates to go to church, but he hates still more to obey,' said Mrs. Yorke.

'By a complication of motives; the intricacies of which I should as soon think of explaining to you as I should

'Hear Martin! Hear him!' cried Mr. Yorke. 'I must see and have this lad of mine brought up to the Bar: Nature

meant him to live by his tongue. Hesther, your third son must certainly be a lawyer: he has the stock in trade

'Some bread, Rose, if you please,' requested Martin with intense gravity, serenity, phlegm: the boy had

naturally a low, plaintive voice, which, in his 'dour moods,' rose scarcely above a lady's whisper: the more

inflexibly stubborn the humour, the softer, the sadder the tone. He rang the bell, and gently asked for his

'But, Martin,' urged his sire, 'there is drift all the way a man could hardly wade through it. However, lad,' he

continued, seeing that the boy rose as the churchbell began to toll, 'this is a case wherein I would by no

means balk the obdurate chap of his will. Go to church by all means. There is a pitiless wind, and a sharp,

frozen sleet, besides the depth under foot. Go out into it, since thou prefers it to a warm fireside.'

Martin quietly assumed his cloak, comforter, and cap, and deliberately went out.

'My father has more sense than my mother,' he pronounced. 'How women miss it! They drive the nail into the

'Now, if the weather frightens her (and it is a real December tempest), or if that Mrs. Pryor objects to her

going out, and I should miss her after all, it will vex me: but, tempest or tornado, hail or ice, she ought to

come; and, if she has a mind worthy of her eyes and features, she will come: she will be here for the chance

of seeing me, as I am here for the chance of seeing her: she will want to get a word respecting her confounded

sweetheart, as I want to get another flavour of what I think the essence of life: a taste of existence, with the

spirit preserved in it, and not evaporated. Adventure is to stagnation what champagne is to flat porter.'

He looked round. The church was cold, silent, empty, but for one old woman. As the chimes subsided, and

the single bell tolled slowly, another and another elderly parishioner came dropping in, and took a humble

station in the free sittings. It is always the frailest, the oldest, and the poorest that brave the worst weather, to

prove and maintain their constancy to dear old mother Church: this wild morning not one affluent family

attended, not one carriage party appeared all the lined and cushioned pews were empty; only on the bare

'I'll scorn her, if she doesn't come,' muttered Martin shortly and savagely to himself. The Rector's shovelhat

The bells ceased the readingdesk was filled the doors were closed the service commenced: void stood

'Worthless thing! Vapid thing! Commonplace humbug! Like all other girls weakly, selfish, shallow!'

'She is not like our picture: her eyes are not large and expressive: her nose is not straight, delicate, Hellenic:

her mouth has not that charm I thought it had which, I imagined, could beguile me of sullenness in my

So absorbed was the young cynic, he forgot to rise from his knees at the proper place, and was still in an

exemplary attitude of devotion when the litany over the first hymn was given out. To be so caught did not

contribute to soothe him: he started up red (for he was as sensitive to ridicule as any girl). To make the matter

worse, the churchdoor had reopened, and the aisles were filling: patter, patter, patter, a hundred little feet

trotted in. It was the Sundayscholars. According to Briarfield winter custom, these children had till now

been kept where there was a warm stove, and only led into church just before the Communion and Sermon.

The little ones were settled first, and at last, when the boys and the younger girls were all arranged when

the organ was swelling high, and the choir and congregation were rising to uplift a spiritual song a tall class

of young women came quietly in, closing the procession. Their teacher, having seen them seated, passed into

the Rectorypew. The Frenchgrey cloak and small beaver bonnet were known to Martin: it was the very

costume his eyes had ached to catch. Miss Helstone had not suffered the storm to prove an impediment: after

all, she was come to church. Martin probably whispered his satisfaction to his hymnbook; at any rate, he

Satisfied or not, he had time to get very angry with her again before the sermon was over; she had never once

'If,' he said 'if she takes no notice of me; if she shows I am not in her thoughts, I shall have a worse, a

meaner opinion of her than ever. Most despicable would it be to come for the sake of those sheepfaced

The sermon found an end; the benediction was pronounced; the congregation dispersed: she had not been

Now, indeed, as Martin set his face homeward, he felt that the sleet was sharp, and the east wind cold.

His nearest way lay through some fields: it was a dangerous, because an untrodden way: he did not care; he

would take it. Near the second stile rose a clump of trees: was that an umbrella waiting there? Yes: an

umbrella held with evident difficulty against the blast: behind it fluttered a Frenchgrey cloak. Martin

grinned as he toiled up the steep encumbered field, difficult to the foot as a slope in the upper realms of Etna.

There was an inimitable look in his face when, having gained the stile, he seated himself coolly thereupon,

and thus opened a conference which, for his own part, he was willing to prolong indefinitely.

'I was not sure whether you would come this way, Martin; but I thought I would run the chance: there is no

'Not possible or so inefficient, so careless a mamma I should make a five times better one. You may

laugh: I have no objection to see you laugh: your teeth I hate ugly teeth; but yours are as pretty as a pearl

necklace, and a necklace, of which the pearls are very fair, even, and well matched too.'

'They have not done till this generation; but I feel as if it were my vocation to turn out a new variety of the

Yorke species. I am rather tired of my own ancestors: we have traditions going back for four ages tales of

Hiram, which was the son of Hiram which was the son of Samuel, which was the son of John, which was the

son of Zerubbabel Yorke. All, from Zerubbabel down to the last Hiram, were such as you see my father.

Before that, there was a Godfrey: we have his picture; it hangs in Moore's bedroom: it is like me. Of his

character we know nothing; but I am sure it was different to his descendants: he has long curling dark hair; he

is carefully and cavalierly dressed. Having said that he is like me, I need not add that he is handsome.'

'No; but wait a while: just let me take my time: I mean to begin from this day to cultivate, to polish, and we

'You are a very strange a very unaccountable boy, Martin; but don't imagine you ever will be handsome:

'I mean to try. But we were talking about Mrs. Pryor: she must be the most unnatural mamma in existence,

coolly to let her daughter come out in this weather. Mine was in such a rage, because I would go to church:

'Mamma was very much concerned about me; but I am afraid I was obstinate: I would go.'

'Exactly: I thought of nothing else. I greatly feared the snow would hinder you from coming: you don't know

'I came to fulfil my duty, and set the parish a good example. And so you were obstinate, were you? I should

like to see you obstinate, I should. Wouldn't I have you in good discipline if I owned you? Let me take the

'And so will ours; and we have always a hot dinner on Sundays. Roast goose today, with applepie and

ricepudding. I always contrive to know the bill of fare: well, I like these things uncommonly: but I'll make

'We have a cold dinner: my uncle will allow no unnecessary cooking on the Sabbath. But I must return: the

'So will Briarmains, bless you! I think I hear my father sending out the overlooker and five of the dyers, to

look in six directions for the body of his prodigal son in the snow; and my mother repenting her of her many

'Hang him! he is no worse; but as illused as ever mewed up, kept in solitary confinement. They mean to

make either an idiot or a maniac of him, and take out a commission of lunacy. Horsfall starves him: you saw

'You know that would advance nothing. Well, I shall stick to my point. See him I will. If you won't help me,

'I have no time to reason with you now; but I consider you provoking. Goodmorning.'

'She is not vapid; she is not shallow,' said Martin. 'I shall like to watch, and mark how she will work her way

without help. If the storm were not of snow, but of fire such as came refreshingly down on the cities of the

plain she would go through it to procure five minutes' speech with that Moore. Now, I consider I have had a

pleasant morning: the disappointments got time on: the fears and fits of anger only made that short discourse

pleasanter, when it came at last. She expected to coax me at once: she'll not manage that in one effort: she

shall come again, again, and yet again. It would please me to put her in a passion to make her cry: I want to

discover how far she will go what she will do and dare to get her will. It seems strange and new to find

one human being thinking so much about another as she thinks about Moore. But it is time to go home; my

appetite tells me the hour: won't I walk into that goose? and we'll try whether Matthew or I shall get the

Martin had planned well: he had laid out a dexterously concerted scheme for his private amusement; but older

and wiser schemers than he are often doomed to see their finestspun projects swept to annihilation by the

sudden broom of Fate that fell housewife, whose red arm none can control. In the present instance this

broom was manufactured out of the tough fibres of Moore's own stubborn purpose, bound tight with his will.

He was now resuming his strength, and making strange head against Mrs. Horsfall. Each morning he amazed

that matron with a fresh astonishment. First, he discharged her from her valetduties; he would dress himself.

Then, he refused the coffee she brought him: he would breakfast with the family. Lastly, he forbade her his

chamber. On the same day, amidst the outcries of all the women in the place, he put his head out of doors.

The morning after, he followed Mr. Yorke to his countinghouse, and requested an envoy to fetch a chaise

from the RedHouse Inn. He was resolved, he said, to return home to the Hollow that very afternoon. Mr.

Yorke, instead of opposing, aided and abetted him: the chaise was sent for, though Mrs. Yorke declared the

step would be his death. It came. Moore, little disposed to speak, made his purse do duty for his tongue: he

expressed his gratitude to the servants and to Mrs. Horsfall, by the chink of his coin. The latter personage

approved and understood this language perfectly; it made amends for all previous contumacy: she and her

The kitchen visited and soothed, Moore betook himself to the parlour; he had Mrs. Yorke to appease; not

quite so easy a task as the pacification of her housemaids. There she sat plunged in sullen dudgeon; the

gloomiest speculations on the depths of man's ingratitude absorbing her thoughts. He drew near and bent over

her; she was obliged to look up, if it were only to bid him 'avaunt.' There was beauty still in his pale wasted

features; there was earnestness, and a sort of sweetness for he was smiling in his hollow eyes.

'Goodbye!' he said; and, as he spoke, the smile glittered and melted. He had no iron mastery of his

sensations now: a trifling emotion made itself apparent in his present weak state.

'And what are you going to leave us for?' she asked; 'we will keep you, and do anything in the world for you,

'Goodbye!' he again said: and added, 'you have been a mother to me: give your wilful son one embrace.'

Like a foreigner, as he was, he offered her first one cheek, then the other: she kissed him.

'You are the worst trouble now, headstrong youth!' was the answer. 'I wonder who is to nurse you at Hollow's

Here the little girls came in; Jessy crying, Rose quiet, but grave. Moore took them out into the hall to soothe,

pet, and kiss them. He knew it was not in their mother's nature to bear to see any living thing caressed but

The boys were standing about the chaise as Moore entered it; but for them he had no farewell. To Mr. Yorke

he only said 'You have a good riddance of me: that was an unlucky shot for you, Yorke; it turned

He drew up the glass; the chaise rolled away. In halfanhour he alighted at his own gardenwicket. Having

paid the driver and dismissed the vehicle, he leaned on that wicket an instant, at once to rest and to muse.

'Six months ago I passed out of this gate,' said he, 'a proud, angry, disappointed man: I come back sadder and

wiser: weakly enough, but not worried. A cold, grey, yet quiet world lies around a world where, if I hope

little, I fear nothing. All slavish terrors of embarrassment have left me: let the worst come, I can work, as Joe

Scott does, for an honourable living: in such doom I yet see some hardship, but no degradation. Formerly,

pecuniary ruin was equivalent in my eyes to personal dishonour. It is not so now: I know the difference. Ruin

is an evil; but one for which I am prepared; the day of whose coming I know, for I have calculated. I can yet

put it off six months not an hour longer; if things by that time alter which is not probable; if fetters, which

now seem indissoluble, should be loosened from our trade (of all things the most unlikely to happen) I

might conquer in this long struggle yet I might Good God! what might I not do? But the thought is a

brief madness: let me see things with sane eyes. Ruin will come, lay her axe to my fortune's roots, and hew

them down. I shall snatch a sapling, I shall cross the sea, and plant it in American woods. Louis will go with

It was afternoon, twilight yet out of doors: starless and moonless twilight; for, though keenly freezing with a

dry, black frost, heaven wore a mask of clouds congealed and fastlocked. The milldam too was frozen: the

Hollow was very still: indoors it was already dark. Sarah had lit a good fire in the parlour; she was preparing

'Hortense,' said Moore, as his sister bustled up to help him off with his cloak, 'I am pleased to come home.'

Hortense did not feel the peculiar novelty of this expression coming from her brother, who had never before

called the cottage his home, and to whom its narrow limits had always heretofore seemed rather restrictive

than protective: still, whatever contributed to his happiness pleased her; and she expressed herself to that

He sat down, but soon rose again: he went to the window; he came back to the fire.

'It is true, brother: I have had the whole house thoroughly and scrupulously cleaned in your absence.'

'Sister, I think on this first day of my return home, you ought to have a friend or so to tea; if it were only to

'So you might; but it really is too late to disturb that good lady; and the evening is much too cold for her to

'I want some one today, dear sister; some quiet guest, who would tire neither of us,'

'An excellent person, they say; but she lives too far off. Tell Harry Scott to step up to the Rectory with a

request from you that Caroline Helstone should come and spend the evening with you.'

'I should like her to see the place as it is just now; its brilliant cleanliness and perfect neatness are so much to

'Sarah, delay tea halfanhour.' He then commissioned her to despatch Harry Scott to the Rectory, giving her

a twisted note hastily scribbled in pencil by himself, and addressed 'Miss Helstone.'

Scarcely had Sarah time to get impatient under the fear of damage to her toast already prepared, when the

She entered through the kitchen, quietly tripped up Sarah's stairs to take off her bonnet and furs, and came

down as quietly, with her beautiful curls nicely smoothed; her graceful merino dress and delicate collar all

trim and spotless; her gay little workbag in her hand. She lingered to exchange a few kindly words with

Sarah; and to look at the new tortoiseshell kitten basking on the kitchen hearth; and to speak to the

canarybird, which a sudden blaze from the fire had startled on its perch; and then she betook herself to the

The gentle salutation, the friendly welcome, were interchanged in such tranquil sort as befitted cousins

meeting; a sense of pleasure, subtle and quiet as a perfume, diffused itself through the room; the

newlykindled lamp burnt up bright; the tray and the singing urn were brought in.

They assembled round the table. Hortense chiefly talked. She congratulated Caroline on the evident

improvement in her health: her colour and her plump cheeks were returning, she remarked. It was true. There

was an obvious change in Miss Helstone: all about her seemed elastic; depression, fear, forlornness, were

withdrawn: no longer crushed, and saddened, and slow, and drooping, she looked like one who had tasted the

After tea, Hortense went upstairs: she had not rummaged her drawers for a month past, and the impulse to

perform that operation was now become resistless. During her absence, the talk passed into Caroline's hands:

she took it up with ease; she fell into her best tone of conversation. A pleasing facility and elegance of

language gave fresh charm to familiar topics; a new music in the always soft voice gently surprised and

pleasingly captivated the listener; unwonted shades and lights of expression elevated the young countenance

'Caroline, you look as if you had heard good tidings,' said Moore, after earnestly gazing at her for some

'I sent for you this evening that I might be cheered; but you cheer me more than I had calculated.'

'Truly it is pleasant: I feel it so. And to see health on your cheek, and hope in your eye, is pleasant, Cary; but

what is this hope, and what is the source of this sunshine I perceive about you?'

'For one thing, I am happy in mamma: I love her so much, and she loves me. Long and tenderly she nursed

me; now, when her care has made me well, I can occupy myself for and with her all the day. I say it is my

turn to attend to her; and I do attend to her: I am her waiting woman, as well as her child: I like you would

laugh if you knew what pleasure I have in making dresses and sewing for her. She looks so nice now, Robert:

I will not let her be oldfashioned. And then, she is charming to talk to: full of wisdom; ripe in judgment;

rich in information; exhaustless in stores her observant faculties have quietly amassed. Every day that I live

with her, I like her better; I esteem her more highly; I love her more tenderly.'

'That for one thing, then, Cary: you talk in such a way about 'mamma,' it is enough to make one jealous of the

'Well of the matron. But you said, 'mamma's' affection was one thing that made you happy; now for the

'Cary, some day I mean to tell you a thing about myself that is not to my credit, and, consequently, will not

He bent his ear to her lips: still she would not, or could not, speak clearly to the point. Seeing that Moore

waited, and was resolved to hear something, she at last said 'Miss Keeldar spent a day at the Rectory about

a week since. The evening came on very wintry, and we persuaded her to stay all night.'

'It was not at curlinghair time; so you are not as wise as you think: and besides, she didn't tell me.'

'We occupied the same room and bed. We did not sleep much: we talked the whole night through.'

'I'll be sworn you did! and then it all come out tant pis. I would rather you had heard it from myself.'

'You are quite wrong: she did not tell me what you suspect: she is not the person to proclaim such things; but

yet I inferred something from parts of her discourse: I gathered more from rumour, and I made out the rest by

'But if she did not tell you that I wanted to marry her for the sake of her money, and that she refused me

indignantly and scornfully (you need neither start nor blush; nor yet need you prick your trembling fingers

with your needle: that is the plain truth, whether you like it or not) if such was not the subject of her august

confidences, on what point did they turn? You say you talked the whole night through: what about?'

'About things we never thoroughly discussed before, intimate friends as we have been; but you hardly expect

'Yes, yes, Cary you will tell me: you said we were friends; and friends should always confide in each other.'

'I dare say: I can imagine there are both odd points and grand points about her.'

'I have found her chary in showing her feelings; but when they rush out, riverlike, and pass full and

powerful before you almost without leave from her you gaze, wonder, you admire, and I think love

'Yes: at dead of night; when all the house was silent, and starlight, and the cold reflection from the snow

'Like a shrine, for it was holy; like snow, for it was pure; like flame, for it was warm; like death, for it

'She did not speak in the way you fancy; but I asked her, and I would make her tell me what she thought of

you, or rather, how she felt towards you. I wanted to know: I had long wanted to know.'

'So had I; but let us hear: she thinks meanly she feels contemptuously, doubtless?'

'She thinks of you almost as highly as a woman can think of a man. You know she can be eloquent: I yet feel

'Till you shocked her (she said you had shocked her, but she would not tell me how), she felt as a sister feels

'I'll shock her no more, Cary, for the shock rebounded on myself till I staggered again: but that comparison

about sister and brother is all nonsense: she is too rich and proud to entertain fraternal sentiments for me.'

'You don't know her, Robert; and somehow, I fancy now (I had other ideas formerly), that you cannot know

her: you and she are not so constructed as to be able thoroughly to understand each other.'

'It may be so. I esteem her; I admire her; and yet my impressions concerning her are harsh perhaps

'That she will never marry: I imagine her jealous of compromising her pride, of relinquishing her power) of

'She did hurt it though I had not an emotion of tenderness, not a spark of passion for her.'

'And very mean, my little pastor, my pretty priestess. I never wanted to kiss Miss Keeldar in my life, though

she has fine lips, scarlet and round, as ripe cherries; or, if I did wish it' it was the mere desire of the eye.'

'I doubt, now, whether you are speaking the truth: the grapes or the cherries are sour "hung too high."

'She has a pretty figure, a pretty face, beautiful hair; I acknowledge all her charms and feel none of them; or

only feel them in a way she would disdain. I suppose I was truly tempted, by the mere gilding of the bait.

Caroline, what a noble fellow your Robert is great, good, disinterested, and then so pure!'

'But not perfect: he made a great blunder once, and we will hear no more about it.'

'And shall we think no more about it, Cary? Shall we not despise him in our heart, gentle but just,

'Never! We will remember that with what measure we mete it shall he measured unto us, and so we will give

'Which won't satisfy, I warn you of that. Something besides affection something far stronger, sweeter,

'Be calm, Lina,' said Moore soothingly; 'I have no intention, because I have no right, to perturb your mind

now, nor for months to come: don't look as if you would leave me: we will make no more agitating allusions:

we will resume our gossip. Do not tremble: look me in the face: see what a poor, grim phantom I am more

She looked shyly. 'There is something formidable still, pale as you are,' she said, as her eye fell under his.

'To return to Shirley,' pursued Moore; 'is it your opinion that she is ever likely to marry?'

'I cannot affirm that she said so: no such confession as, I love this man or that, passed her lips.'

'But the feeling made its way in spite of her, and I saw it. She spoke of one man in a strain not to be

misunderstood: her voice alone was sufficient testimony, Having wrung from her an opinion on your

character, I demanded a second opinion of another person about whom I had my conjectures; though they

were the most tangled and puzzled conjectures in the world. I would make her speak: I shook her, I chid her, I

pinched her fingers when she tried to put me off with gibes and jests in her queer, provoking way, and at last,

out it came: the voice, I say, was enough; hardly raised above a whisper, and yet such a soft vehemence in its

tones. There was no confession no confidence in the matter: to these things she cannot condescend but I am

'I charged her with the fact; she did not deny; she did not avow, but looked at me: I saw her eyes by the

'Whatever I am, Shirley is a bondswoman. Lioness! She has found her captor Mistress she may be of all

'I confess nothing, but I say that haughty Shirley is no more free than was Hagar.'

'And who, pray, is the Abraham the hero of a patriarch who has achieved such a conquest?'

'You still speak scornfully and cynically and sorely; but I will make you change your note before I have done

'Then it is some person unworthy of her. I don't know a soul in Briarfield parish her equal.'

'Impossible. I suppose she is under a delusion, and will plunge into some absurdity after all.'

'Then I am puzzled; for the head which owns this bounteous fall of hazel curls is an excellent little thinking

machine, most accurate in its working: it boasts a correct, steady judgment, inherited from 'mamma,' I

'You shall be tantalised: it will do you no harm: you are not so weak as you pretend.'

'I have twice this evening had some thought of falling on the floor at your feet.'

'And worshipping you downright. My mother was a Roman Catholic; you look like the loveliest of her

'Robert, Robert; sit still; don't be absurd: I will go to Hortense, if you commit extravagances.'

'You have stolen my senses: just now nothing will come into my mind but 'les litanies de la sainte Vierge.

'Tour d'ivoire, maison d'or': is not that the jargon? Well, sit down quietly, and guess your riddle.'

'I'll tell you what mamma said when I told her: 'Depend upon it, my dear, such a choice will make the

'I'll guess once, and no more. It is old Helstone. She is going to be your aunt.'

'I'll tell my uncle, I'll tell Shirley!' cried Caroline, laughing gleefully. 'Guess again, Robert; your blunders are

'Yours! Ay! the whole generation of women in Briarfield seem to have made an idol of that priest: I wonder

'Fanny will be here to fetch me, before you have solved the riddle, if you don't make haste.'

'I'll guess no more, I am tired: and then I don't care. Miss Keeldar may marry "le grand Turc" for me.'

'That you must, and quickly: here comes Hortense; come near, a little nearer, my own Lina: I care for the

She whispered: Robert gave a start, a flash of the eye, a brief laugh: Miss Moore entered, and Sarah followed

Robert found a moment to exchange a few more whispered sentences: he was waiting at the foot of the

Caroline looked keenly up, and made a movement towards him, something between the loving and the

'But then she is handsome, peculiarly handsome: hers is a beauty that grows on you: you think her but

graceful, when you first see her; you discover her to be beautiful when you have known her for a year.'

'O Cary, I have no love to give. Were the goddess of beauty to woo me, I could not meet her advances: there

'Why must you always go, Lina, at the very instant when I most want you to stay?'

'As to you, you have been flirting with Miss Mann: she showed me the other day a plant you had given her.

Louis Moore's doubts, respecting the immediate evacuation of Fieldhead by Mr. Sympson, turned out to be

perfectly well founded. The very next day after the grand quarrel about Sir Philip Nunnely, a sort of

reconciliation was patched up between uncle and niece: Shirley, who could never find it in her heart to be or

to seem inhospitable (except in the single instance of Mr. Donne), begged the whole party to stay a little

longer: she begged in such earnest, it was evident she wished it for some reason. They took her at her word:

indeed, the uncle could not bring himself to leave her quite unwatched at full liberty to marry Robert

Moore, as soon as that gentleman should be able (Mr. Sympson piously prayed this might never be the case)

In his first rage against all the house of Moore,.Mr. Sympson had so conducted himself towards Mr. Louis,

that that gentleman patient of labour or suffering, but intolerant of coarse insolence had promptly

resigned his post, and could now be induced to resume and retain it only till such time as the family should

quit Yorkshire: Mrs. Sympson's entreaties prevailed with him thus far; his own attachment to his pupil

constituted an additional motive for concession; and probably he had a third motive, stronger than either of

the other two: probably he would have found it very hard indeed to leave Fieldhead just now.

Things went on, for some time, pretty smoothly; Miss Keeldar's health was reestablished; her spirits

resumed their flow; Moore had found means to relieve her from every nervous apprehension; and, indeed,

from the moment of giving him her confidence, every fear seemed to have taken wing: her heart became as

lightsome, her manner as careless, as those of a little child, that, thoughtless of its own life or death, trusts all

responsibility to its parents. He and William Farren through whose medium he made inquiries concerning

the state of Phoebe agreed in asserting that the dog was not mad: that it was only illusage which had

driven her from home: for it was proved that her master was in the frequent habit of chastising her violently.

Their assertion might, or might not, be true: the groom and gamekeeper affirmed to the contrary; both

asserting that, if hers was not a clear case of hydrophobia, there was no such disease. But to this evidence

Louis Moore turned an incredulous ear: he reported to Shirley only what was encouraging: she believed him:

November passed: December came: the Sympsons were now really departing; it was incumbent on them to

be at home by Christmas; their packages were preparing; they were to leave in a few days. One winter

evening, during the last week of their stay, Louis Moore again took out his little blank book, and discoursed

'She is lovelier than ever. Since that little cloud was dispelled, all the temporary waste and wanness have

vanished. It was marvellous to see how soon the magical energy of youth raised her elastic, and revived her

'After breakfast this morning, when I had seen her, and listened to her, and so to speak felt her, in every

sentient atom of my frame, I passed from her sunny presence into the chill drawingroom. Taking up a little

gilt volume, I found it to contain a selection of lyrics. I read a poem or two: whether the spell was in me or in

the verse, I know not, but my heart filled genially my pulse rose: I glowed, notwithstanding the frost air. I,

too, am young as yet: though she said she never considered me young, I am barely thirty; there are moments

'It was time to go to the schoolroom: I went. That same schoolroom is rather pleasant in a morning; the sun

then shines through the low lattice; the books are in order; there are no papers strewn about; the fire is clear

and clean; no cinders have fallen, no ashes accumulated. I found Henry there, and he had brought with him

'I said she was lovelier than ever: she is. A fine rose, not deep but delicate, opens on her cheek; her eye,

always dark, clear, and speaking, utters now a language I cannot render it is the utterance, seen not heard,

through which angels must have communed when there was 'silence in heaven.' Her hair was always dusk as

night, and fine as silk; her neck was always fair, flexible, polished but both have now a new charm: the

tresses are soft as shadow, the shoulders they fall on wear a goddessgrace. Once I only saw her beauty, now

'Henry was repeating his lesson to her before bringing it to me one of her hands was occupied with the

book, he held the other: that boy gets more than his share of privileges; he dares caress and is caressed. What

indulgence and compassion she shows him! Too much: if this went on, Henry, in a few years, when his soul

'I saw her eyelid flitter when I came in, but she did not look up: now she hardly ever gives me a glance. She

seems to grow silent too to me she rarely speaks, and, when I am present, she says little to others. In my

gloomy moments, I attribute this change to indifference, aversion, what not? In my sunny intervals I give

it another meaning. I say, were I her equal, I could find in this shyness coyness, and in that coyness love.

'This morning I dared, at least, contrive an hour's communion for her and me; I dared not only wish but will

an interview with her: I dared summon solitude to guard us. Very decidedly I called Henry to the door;

without hesitation, I said, 'Go where you will, my boy, but, till I call you, return not here.'

'Henry, I could see, did not like his dismissal: that boy is young, but a thinker; his meditative eye shines on

me strangely sometimes: he half feels what links me to Shirley; he half guesses that there is a dearer delight

in the reserve with which I am treated, than in all the endearments he is allowed. The young, lame,

halfgrown lion would growl at me now and then, because I have tamed his lioness and am her keeper, did

not the habit of discipline and the instinct of affection hold him subdued. Go, Henry; you must learn to take

your share of the bitter of life with all of Adam's race that have gone before, or will come after you; your

destiny can be no exception to the common lot: be grateful that your love is overlooked thus early, before it

can claim any affinity to passion: an hour's fret, a pang of envy, suffice to express what you feel: Jealousy,

hot as the sun above the line, Rage, destructive as the tropic storm, the clime of your sensations ignores as

'I took my usual seat at the desk, quite in my usual way: I am blessed in that power to cover all inward

ebullition with outward calm. No one who looks at my slow face can guess the vortex sometimes whirling in

my heart, and engulfing thought, and wrecking prudence. Pleasant is it to have the gift to proceed peacefully

and powerfully in your course without alarming by one eccentric movement. It was not my present intention

to utter one word of love to her, or to reveal one glimpse of the fire in which I wasted. Presumptuous, I never

have been; presumptuous, I never will be: rather than even seem selfish and interested, I would resolutely

rise, gird my loins, part and leave her, and seek, on the other side of the globe, a new life, cold and barren as

the rock the salt tide daily washes. My design this morning was to take of her a near scrutiny to read a line

in the page of her heart: before I left I determined to know what I was leaving.

'I had some quills to make into pens: most men's hands would have trembled when their hearts were so

stirred; mine went to work steadily, and my voice, when I called it into exercise, was firm.

'I trust the failure of his plans will take from him all inclination to lay new ones.'

'In his way, Mr. Sympson honestly wished you well. All he has done, or intended to do, he believed to be for

'You are kind to undertake the defence of a man who has permitted himself to treat you with so much

'I never feel shocked at, or bear malice for, what is spoken in character; and most perfectly in character was

'I shall be parted from Henry for a while (if he and I live we shall meet again somehow, for we love each

other) and be ousted from the bosom of the Sympson family for ever. Happily this change does not leave

'No change finds you off your guard: I was sure, in your calm way, you would be prepared for sudden

mutation. I always think you stand in the world like a solitary but watchful, thoughtful archer in a wood; and

the quiver on your shoulder holds more arrows than one; your bow is provided with a second string. Such too

is your brother's wont. You two might go forth homeless hunters to the loneliest western wilds; all would be

well with you. The hewn tree would make you a hut, the cleared forest yield you fields from its stripped

bosom, the buffalo would feel your rifleshot, and with lowered horns and hump pay homage at your feet.'

'And any Indian tribe of Blackfeet, or Flatheads, would afford us a bride, perhaps?'

'No' (hesitatingly): 'I think not. The savage is sordid: I think, that is, I hope, you would neither of you

'What suggested the wild West to your mind, Miss Keeldar? Have you been with me in spirit when I did not

see you? Have you entered into my daydreams, and beheld my brain labouring at its scheme of a future?'

'She had separated a slip of paper for lighting papers a spill, as it is called into fragments: she threw

morsel by morsel into the fire, and stood pensively watching them consume. She did not speak.

'Your hazard sounds like divination. A tutor I will never be again: never take a pupil after Henry and

yourself: not again will I sit habitually at another man's table no more be the appendage of a family. I am

now a man of thirty: I have never been free since I was a boy of ten. I have such a thirst for freedom such a

deep passion to know her and call her mine such a daydesire and nightlonging to win her and possess

her, I will not refuse to cross the Atlantic for her sake: her I will follow deep into virgin woods. Mine it shall

not be to accept a savage girl as a slave she could not be a wife. I know no white woman whom I love that

would accompany me; but I am certain Liberty will await me; sitting under a pine: when I call her she will

'She could not hear me speak so unmoved, and she was moved. It was right I meant to move her. She could

not answer me, nor could she look at me: I should have been sorry if she could have done either. Her cheek

glowed as if a crimson flower, through whose petals the sun shone, had cast its light upon it. On the white lid

and dark lashes of her downcast eye, trembled all that is graceful in the sense of halfpainful halfpleasing

'Soon she controlled her emotion, and took all her feelings under command. I saw she had felt insurrection,

and was waking to empire she sat down. There was that in her face which I could read: it said, I see the line

which is my limit nothing shall make me pass it. I feel I know how far I may reveal my feelings, and

when I must clasp the volume. I have advanced to a certain distance, as far as the true and sovereign and

undegraded nature of my kind permits now here I stand rooted. My heart may break if it is baffled: let it

break it shall never dishonour me it shall never dishonour my sisterhood in me. Suffering before

'I, for my part, said, "If she were poor, I would be at her feet. If she were lowly, I would take her in my arms.

Her Gold and her Station are two griffins, that guard her on each side. Love looks and longs, and dares not:

Passion hovers round, and is kept at bay: Truth and Devotion are scared. There is nothing to lose in winning

her no sacrifice to make it is all clear gain, and therefore unimaginably difficult."'

'Difficult or not, something must be done; something must be said. I could not, and would not, sit silent with

all that beauty modestly mute in my presence. I spoke thus; and still I spoke with calm: quiet as my words

'Still, I know I shall be strangely placed with that mountain nymph, Liberty. She is, I suspect, akin to that

Solitude which I once wooed, and from which I now seek a divorce. These Oreads are peculiar: they come

upon you with an unearthly charm, like some starlight evening; they inspire a wild but not warm delight; their

beauty is the beauty of spirits: their grace is not the grace of life, but of seasons or scenes in nature: theirs is

the dewy bloom of morning the languid flush of evening the peace of the moon the changefulness of

clouds. I want and will have something different. This elfish splendour looks chill to my vision, and feels

frozen to my touch. I am not a poet: I cannot live on abstractions. You, Miss Keeldar, have sometimes, in

your laughing satire, called me a material philosopher, and implied that I live sufficiently for the substantial.

Certain I feel material from head to foot; and glorious as Nature is, and deeply as I worship her with the solid

powers of a solid heart, I would rather behold her through the soft human eyes of a loved and lovely wife,

'She could not: but I will tell you who could some young, penniless, friendless orphangirl. I wish I could

find such a one: pretty enough for me to love, with something of the mind and heart suited to my taste: not

uneducated honest and modest. I care nothing for attainments; but I would fain have the germ of those

sweet natural powers which nothing acquired can rival; any temper Fate wills, I can manage the hottest. To

such a creature as this, I should like to be first tutor and then husband. I would teach her my language, my

'Reward her! lord of the creation! Reward her!' ejaculated she, with a curled lip.

'You have stipulated for any temper Fate wills. Compulsion is flint and a blow to the metal of some souls.'

'Advertise; and be sure you add, when you describe the qualifications, she must be a good plain cook.'

'I liked this: I had roused her from the pensive mood in which I had first found her: I would stir her further.

'She charmed me in this mood: waxing disdainful, half insulting, pride, temper, derision, blent in her large

'Accept celibacy!' (and she made a gesture with her hand as if she gave me something) 'take it as your doom!'

'No: you cannot give what I already have. Celibacy has been mine for thirty years. If you wish to offer me a

'I now felt, and looked, and spoke eagerly. I was unwise to quit my sheetanchor of calm even for an instant:

it deprived me of an advantage and transferred it to her. The little spark of temper dissolved in sarcasm, and

'Take a wife that has paid you court to save your modesty, and thrust herself upon you to spare your scruples.'

'Any stout widow that has had a few husbands already, and can manage these things.'

'Never would you have gathered the produce of the goldbearing garden. You have not courage to confront

'And you far haughtier. Yours is the monstrous pride which counterfeits humility.'

'We had reached a critical point now, and we halted and looked at each other. She would not give in, I felt.

Beyond this, I neither felt nor saw. A few moments yet were mine: the end was coming I heard its rush

but not come; I would daily, wait, talk, and when impulse urged, I would act. I am never in a hurry: I never

was in a hurry in my whole life. Hasty people drink the nectar of existence scalding hot: I taste it cool as dew.

I proceeded: 'Apparently, Miss Keeldar, you are as little likely to marry as myself: I know you have refused

three, nay, four advantageous offers, and, I believe, a fifth. Have you rejected Sir Philip Nunnely?'

'Conformity of rank; age; pleasing contrast of temper, for he is mild and amiable; harmony of intellectual

'A beautiful sentence! Let us take it to pieces. 'Conformity of rank.' He is quite above me: compare my

grange with his palace, if you please: I am disdained by his kith and kin. 'Suitability of age.' We were born

in the same year; consequently, he still a boy, while I am a woman: ten years his senior to all intents and

'And you would mate me with a kid the Millennium being yet millions of centuries from mankind; being

yet, indeed, an archangel high in the seventh heaven, uncommissioned to descend ? Unjust barbarian!

'I absolutely shudder at the sight of metre or at the sound of rhyme, whenever I am at the Priory or Sir Philip

at Fieldhead. Harmony, indeed! When did I whip up syllabub sonnets, or string stanzas fragile as fragments

of glass? and when did I betray a belief that those pennybeads were genuine brilliants?'

'You might have the satisfaction of leading him to a higher standard of improving his tastes.'

'Leading and improving! teaching and tutoring! bearing and forbearing! Pah! My husband is not to be my

baby. I am not to set him his daily lesson and see that he learns it, and give him a sugarplum if he is good,

and a patient, pensive, pathetic lecture if he is bad. But it is like a tutor to talk of the 'satisfaction of teaching.'

I suppose you think it the finest employment in the world. I don't I reject it. Improving a husband! No. I

'If you were a woman you would school Monsieur, votre mari, charmingly: it would just suit you; schooling

'May I ask, whether, in your present just and gentle mood, you mean to taunt me with being a tutor?'

'Yes bitterly; and with anything else you please: any defect of which you are painfully conscious.'

'Of course; that will sting you; you are sore about your poverty: you brood over that.'

'With having nothing but a very plain person to offer the woman who may master my heart?'

'Exactly. You have a habit of calling yourself plain. You are sensitive about the cut of your features, because

they are not quite on an Apollopattern. You abuse them more than is needful, in the faint hope that others

may say a word in their behalf which won't happen. Your face is nothing to boast, of certainly: not a pretty

'It looks like a god of Egypt: a great sandburied stone head; or rather I will compare it to nothing so lofty: it

looks like Tartar: you are my mastiff's cousin: I think you as much like him as a man can be like a dog.'

'Tartar is your dear companion. In summer, when you rise early, and run out into the fields to wet your feet

with the dew, and freshen your cheek and uncurl your hair with the breeze, you always call him to follow

you: you call him sometimes with a whistle that you learned from me. In the solitude of your wood, when

you think nobody but Tartar is listening, you whistle the very tunes you imitated from my lips, or sing the

very songs you have caught up by ear from my voice; I do not ask whence flows the feeling which you pour

into these songs, for I know it flows out of your heart, Miss Keeldar. In the winter evenings, Tartar lies at

your feet: you suffer him to rest his head on your perfumed lap; you let him couch on the borders of your

satin raiment: his rough hide is familiar with the contact of your hand; I once saw you kiss him on that

snowwhite beautyspot which stars his broad forehead. It is dangerous to say I am like Tartar; it suggests to

'Perhaps, sir, you can extort as much from your penniless and friendless young orphangirl, when you find

'Oh! could I find her such as I image her. Something to tame first, and teach afterwards: to break in and then

to fondle. To lift the destitute proud thing out of poverty; to establish power over, and then to be indulgent to

the capricious moods that never were influenced and never indulged before; to see her alternately irritated

and subdued about twelve times in the twentyfour hours; and perhaps, eventually, when her training was

accomplished, to behold her the exemplary and patient mother of about a dozen children, only now and then

lending little Louis a cordial cuff by way of paying the interest of the vast debt she owes his father. Oh!' (I

went on) 'my orphangirl would give me many a kiss; she would watch on the threshold for my coming home

of an evening; she would run into my arms; should keep my hearth as bright as she would make it warm. God

'Her eyes emitted an eager flash, her lips opened; but she reclosed them, and impetuously turned away.

'She turned to leave me. Could I now let her part as she had always parted from me? No: I had gone too far

not to finish. I had come too near the end not to drive home to it. All the encumbrance of doubt, all the

rubbish of indecision must be removed at once, and the plain truth must be ascertained. She must take her

'A minute, madam,' I said, keeping my hand on the doorhandle before I opened it. 'We have had a long

conversation this morning, but the last word has not been spoken yet: it is yours to speak it.'

'No. I guard the door. I would almost rather die than let you leave me just now, without speaking the word I

'What I am dying and perishing to hear; what I must and will hear; what you dare not now suppress.'

'I suppose I hardly was like my usual self, for I scared her; that I could see: it was right; she must be scared to

'You do know what I mean, and for the first time I stand before you myself. I have flung off the tutor, and beg

'She trembled. She put her hand to mine as if to remove it from the lock; she might as well have tried to

loosen, by her soft touch, metal welded to metal. She felt she was powerless, and receded; and again she

'What change I underwent I cannot explain; but out of her emotion passed into me a new spirit. I neither was

crushed nor elated by her lands and gold; I thought not of them, cared not for them: they were nothing: dross

that could not dismay me. I saw only herself; her young beautiful form; the grace, the majesty, the modesty of

'I have to tell you, that for four years you have been growing into your tutor's heart, and that you are rooted

there now. I have to declare that you have bewitched me, in spite of sense and experience, and difference of

station and estate: you have so looked, and spoken, and moved; so shown me your faults and your virtues

beauties rather; they are hardly so stern as virtues that I love you love you with my life and strength. It is

'She sought what to say, but could not find a word: she tried to rally, but vainly. I passionately repeated that I

'Well, Mr. Moore, what then?' was the answer I got, uttered in a tone that would have been petulant if it had

'I wonder you dare speak of going at this moment. You go! What! with my heart in your hand, to lay it on

your toilet and pierce it with your pins! From my presence you do not stir; out of my reach you do not stray,

'You ought to know. And where are my keys, Mr. Moore? indeed and truly, I have lost them again; and Mrs.

'She took the coin out of her apronpocket, and showed it in her palm. I could have trifled with her; but it

would not do: life and death were at stake. Mastering at once the sixpence, and the hand that held it, I

'You shall tell me with your own lips, whether you doom me to exile, or call me to hope.'

'Perhaps, I too can bear to leave you: but reply, Shirley, my pupil, my sovereign reply.'

'I am not afraid of you, my leopardess: I dare live for and with you, from this hour till my death. Now, then, I

have you: you are mine: I will never let you go. Wherever my home be, I have chosen my wife. If I stay in

England, in England you will stay; if I cross the Atlantic, you will cross it also: our lives are riveted; our lots

'Will you let me breathe, and not bewilder me? You must not smile at present. The world swims and changes

round me. The sun is a dizzying scarlet blaze, the sky a violet vortex whirling over me.'

'I am a strong man, but I staggered as I spoke. All creation was exaggerated: colour grew more vivid: motion

more rapid; life itself more vital. I hardly saw her for a moment; but I heard her voice pitilessly sweet. She

would not subdue one of her charms in compassion: perhaps she did not know what I felt.

'I am glad I know my keeper, and am used to him. Only his voice will I follow; only his hand shall manage

'I took her back to her seat, and sat down by her side: I wanted to hear her speak again: I could never have

'I don't know half enough: my heart craves to be fed. If you knew how hungry and ferocious it is, you would

'Poor Tartar!' said she, touching and patting my hand: 'poor fellow; stalwart friend; Shirley's pet and

'Dear Louis, be faithful to me: never leave me. I don't care for life, unless I may pass it at your side.'

'Sir!' she said, starting up, 'at your peril you ever again name such sordid things as money, or poverty, or

inequality. It will be absolutely dangerous to torment me with these maddening scruples. I defy you to do it.'

'My face grew hot. I did once more wish I were not so poor, or she were not so rich. She saw the transient

misery; and then, indeed, she caressed me. Blent with torment, I experienced rapture.

'Mr. Moore,' said she, looking up with a sweet, open, earnest countenance, 'teach me and help me to be good.

I do not ask you to take off my shoulders all the cares and duties of property; but I ask you to share the

burden, and to show me how to sustain my part well. Your judgment is well balanced; your heart is kind;

your principles are sound. I know you are wise; I feel you are benevolent; I believe you are conscientious. Be

my companion through life; be my guide where I am ignorant: be my master where I am faulty; be my friend

Yet again, a passage from the blank book, if you like, reader; if you don't like it, pass it over:

'The Sympsons are gone; but not before discovery and explanation. My manner must have betrayed

something, or my looks: I was quiet, but I forgot to be guarded sometimes. I stayed longer in the room than

usual; I could not bear to be out of her presence; I returned to it, and basked in it, like Tartar in the sun. If she

left the oakparlour, instinctively I rose, and left it too. She chid me for this procedure more than once: I did

it with a vague, blundering idea of getting a word with her in the hall or elsewhere. Yesterday towards dusk, I

had her to myself for five minutes, by the hallfire: we stood side by side; she was railing at me, and I was

enjoying the sound of her voice: the young ladies passed, and looked at us; we did not separate: ere long, they

repassed, and again looked. Mrs. Sympson came; we did not move: Mr. Sympson opened the diningroom

door; Shirley flashed him back full payment for his spying gaze: she curled her lip, and tossed her tresses.

The glance she gave was at once explanatory and defiant; it said 'I like Mr. Moore's society, and I dare you

'I do,' said she; 'but I leave the development to chance. There will be a scene. I neither invite it nor fear it

only, you must be present; for I am inexpressibly tired of facing him solus. I don't like to see him in a rage; he

then puts off all his fine proprieties and conventional disguises, and the real human being below is what you

would call 'commun, plat, bas vilain et un peu m�chant.' His ideas are not clean, Mr. Moore; they want

scouring with soft soap and fuller's earth. I think, if he could add his imagination to the contents of Mrs. Gill's

buckingbasket, and let her boil it in her copper, with rainwater and bleachingpowder (I hope you think

'This morning, fancying I heard her descend somewhat early, I was down instantly. I had not been deceived:

there she was, busy at work in the breakfastparlour, of which the housemaid was completing the

arrangement and dusting. She had risen betimes to finish some little keepsake she intended for Henry. I got

only a cool reception; which I accepted till the girl was gone, taking my book to the windowseat very

quietly. Even when we were alone, I was slow to disturb her: to sit with her in sight was happiness, and the

proper happiness, for early morning serene, incomplete, but progressive. Had I been obtrusive, I knew I

should have encountered rebuff. 'Not at home to suitors,' was written on her brow; therefore, I read on stole,

now and then, a look; watched her countenance soften and open, and she felt I respected her mood, and

'The distance between us shrank, and the light hoarfrost thawed insensibly: ere an hour elapsed, I was at her

side, watching her sew, gathering her sweet smiles and her merry words, which fell for me abundantly. We

sat as we had a right to sit, side by side: my arm rested on her chair; I was near enough to count the stitches of

'I believe, if I had just then started from her, she would have despised me: thanks to the phlegm of my nature,

I rarely start. When I am well off, bien, comfortable, I am not soon stirred: bien I was tr�s bien

'Good morning, uncle,' said she, addressing that personage; who paused on the threshold in a state of

'It was at first: I was rather cross, and not civil; but you will perceive that we are now friends.'

'Hardly, sir,' said I: 'we have no disguises. Will you permit me to intimate, that any further observations you

have to make may as well be addressed to me. Henceforward, I stand between Miss Keeldar and all

'Not one word of insult, sir,' interposed she: 'not one syllable of disrespect to Mr. Moore, in this house.'

'She turned to me with a sudden, fond movement, which I met by circling her with my arm. She and I both

'Good Ged!' was the cry from the morninggown standing quivering at the door. Ged, I think, must be the

cognomen of Mr. Sympson's Lares: when hard pressed, he always invokes this idol.

'I dare him to speak! The beggar! the knave! the specious hypocrite! the vile, insinuating, infamous menial!

'She clung to me with energy. 'I am near my future husband,' she said: 'who dares touch him or me?'

'A while ago, you wanted much to know whom I meant to marry: my intention was then formed, but not

mature for communication; now it is ripe, sunmellowed, perfect: take the crimsonpeach take Louis

'She turned white as death: she shook all over: she lost her strength. I laid her down on the sofa: just looked to

ascertain that she had not fainted of which, with a divine smile, she assured me; I kissed her, and then, if I

were to perish, I cannot give a clear account of what happened in the course of the next five minutes: she has

since through tears, laughter, and trembling told me that I turned terrible, and gave myself to the demon;

she says I left her, made one bound across the room that Mr. Sympson vanished through the door as if shot

'Mrs. Gill was still screaming when I came to my senses; I was then in another apartment the oakparlour, I

think: I held Sympson before me crushed into a chair, and my hand was on his cravat: his eyes rolled in his

head I was strangling him, I think: the housekeeper stood wringing her hands, entreating me to desist; I

desisted that moment, and felt at once as cool as stone. But I told Mrs. Gill to fetch the RedHouse Inn chaise

instantly, and informed Mr. Sympson he must depart from Fieldhead the instant it came: though half

frightened out of his wits, he declared he would not. Repeating the former order, I added a commission to

'He threatened prosecution I cared for nothing: I had stood over him once before, not quite so fiercely as

now, but full as austerely. It was one night when burglars attempted the house at Sympson Grove; and in his

wretched cowardice he would have given a vain alarm, without daring to offer defence: I had then been

obliged to protect his family and his abode by mastering himself and I had succeeded. I now remained with

him till the chaise came: I marshalled him to it, he scolding all the way. He was terribly bewildered, as well

as enraged; he would have resisted me, but knew not how: he called for his wife and daughters to come. I said

they should follow him as soon as they could prepare: the smoke, the fume, the fret of his demeanour was

inexpressible, but it was a fury incapable of producing a deed: that man, properly handled, must ever remain

impotent. I know he will never touch me with the law: I know his wife, over whom he tyrannises in trifles,

guides him in matters of importance. I have long since earned her undying mother's gratitude by my devotion

to her boy: in some of Henry's ailments I have nursed him better, she said, than any woman could nurse:

she will never forget that. She and her daughters quitted me today, in mute wrath and consternation but

she respects me. When Henry clung to my neck, as I lifted him into the carriage and placed him by her side

when I arranged her own wrapping to make her warm, though she turned her head from me, I saw the tears

start to her eyes. She will but the more zealously advocate my cause, because she has left me in anger. I am

glad of this: not for my own sake, but for that of my life and idol my Shirley.'

Once again he writes a week after: 'I am now at Stilbro': I have taken up my temporary abode with a friend

a professional man in whose business I can be useful. Every day I ride over to Fieldhead. How long will

it be before I can call that place my home, and its mistress mine? I am not easy not tranquil: I am tantalised

sometimes tortured. To see her now, one would think she had never pressed her cheek to my shoulder, or

clung to me with tenderness or trust. I feel unsafe: she renders me miserable: I am shunned when I visit her:

she withdraws from my reach. Once, this day, I lifted her face, resolved to get a full look down her deep, dark

eyes: difficult to describe what I read there! Pantheress! beautiful forestborn! wily, tameless, peerless

nature! She gnaws her chain: I see the white teeth working at the steel! She has dreams of her wild woods,

and pinings after virgin freedom. I wish Sympson would come again, and oblige her again to entwine her

arms about me. I wish there was danger she should lose me, as there is risk I shall lose her. No: final loss I do

'It is now night midnight. I have spent the afternoon and evening at Fieldhead. Some hours ago she passed

me, coming down the oakstaircase to the hall: she did not know I was standing in the twilight, near the

staircasewindow, looking at the frostbright constellations. How closely she glided against the banisters!

How shyly shone her large eyes upon me I How evanescent, fugitive, fitful, she looked, slim and swift as a

'I followed her into the drawingroom: Mrs. Pryor and Caroline Helstone were both there: she has summoned

them to bear her company awhile. In her white evening dress; with her long hair flowing full and wavy; with

her noiseless step, her pale cheek, her eye full of night and lightning, she looked I thought, spiritlike, a

thing made of an element, the child of a breeze and a flame, the daughter of ray and raindrop, a thing

never to be overtaken, arrested, fixed. I wished I could avoid following her with my gaze, as she moved here

and there, but it was impossible. I talked with the other ladies as well as I could, but still I looked at her. She

was very silent: I think she never spoke to me, not even when she offered me tea. It happened that she was

called out a minute by Mrs. Gill. I passed into the moonlit hall, with the design of getting a word as she

'I may well fear what looks like a great dark goblin meeting me in the moonlight.'

'Do not do not pass! stay with me awhile: let us exchange a few quiet words. It is three days since I spoke

'I have no wish to be cruel,' she responded, softly enough; indeed, there was softness in her whole deportment

in her face, in her voice: but there was also reserve, and an air fleeting, evanishing, intangible.

'You certainly give me pain,' said I. 'It is hardly a week since you called me your future husband, and treated

me as such; now I am once more the tutor for you: I am addressed as Mr. Moore, and Sir; your lips have

'Your voice is very sweet and very low,' I answered, quietly advancing: 'you seem subdued, but still startled.'

'You see I am in a new world, Mr. Moore. I don't know myself, I don't know you: but rise; when you do so,

'I obeyed; it would not have suited me to retain that attitude long. I courted serenity and confidence for her,

'Now, Shirley,' I said, 'you can conceive I am far from happy in my present uncertain, unsettled state.'

'Oh, yes; you are happy!' she cried hastily: 'you don't know how happy you are! any change will be for the

'Happy or not, I cannot bear to go on so much longer: you are too generous to require it.'

'Like me no longer, then, love me instead: fix our marriageday. Think of it tonight, and decide.'

'She breathed a murmur, inarticulate yet expressive: darted or melted from my arms and I lost her.'

Yes, reader, we must settle accounts now. I have only briefly to narrate the final fates of some of the

personages whose acquaintance we have made in this narrative, and then you and I must shake hands, and for

Let us turn to the Curates, to the muchloved, though longneglected. Come forward, modest merit!

Malone, I see, promptly answers the invocation: he knows his own description when he hears it.

No, Peter Augustus, we can have nothing to say to you: it won't do. Impossible to trust ourselves with the

touching tale of your deeds and destinies. Are you not aware, Peter, that a discriminating public has its

crotchets: that the unvarnished truth does not answer; that plain facts will not digest? Do you not know that

the squeak of the real pig is no more relished now than it was in days of yore? Were I to give the catastrophe

of your life and conversation, the public would sweep off in shrieking hysterics, and there would be a wild

cry for salvolatile and burnt feathers. 'Impossible!' would be pronounced here: 'untrue!' would be responded

there, 'Inartistic!' would be solemnly decided. Note well I Whenever you present the actual, simple truth, it is,

somehow, always denounced as a lie: they disown it, cast it off, throw it on the parish; whereas the product of

your own imagination, the mere figment, the sheer fiction, is adopted, petted, termed pretty, proper, sweetly

natural: the little spurious wretch gets all the comfits, the honest, lawful bantling all the cuffs. Such is the

way of the world, Peter; and, as you are the legitimate urchin, rude, unwashed, and naughty, you must stand

Here he comes, with his lady on his arm; the most splendid and the weightiest woman in Yorkshire: Mrs.

Sweeting, formerly Miss Dora Sykes. They were married under the happiest auspices; Mr. Sweeting having

been just inducted to a comfortable living, and Mr. Sykes being in circumstances to give Dora a handsome

portion. They lived long and happily together, beloved by their parishioners and by a numerous circle of

This gentleman turned out admirably: far better than either you or I could possibly have expected, reader. He,

too, married a most sensible, quiet, ladylike little woman: the match was the making of him: he became an

exemplary domestic character, and a truly active parishpriest (as a pastor, he, to his dying day,

conscientiously refused to act). The outside of the cup and platter he burnished up with the best

polishingpowder; the furniture of the altar and temple he looked after with the zeal of an upholsterer the

care of a cabinetmaker. His little school, his little church, his little parsonage, all owed their erection to him;

and they did him credit: each was a model in its way: if uniformity and taste in architecture had been the

same thing as consistency and earnestness in religion, what a shepherd of a Christian flock Mr. Donne would

have made! There was one art in the mastery of which nothing mortal ever surpassed Mr. Donne it was that

of begging. By his own unassisted efforts, he begged all the money for all his erections. In this matter he had

a grasp of plan, a scope of action quite unique: he begged of high and low of the shoeless cottagebrat and

the coroneted duke: he sent out beggingletters far and wide to old Queen Charlotte, to the princesses her

daughters, to her sons the royal dukes, to the Prince Regent, to Lord Castlereagh, to every member of the

Ministry then in office; and, what is more remarkable, he screwed something out of every one of these

personages. It is on record that he got five pounds from the closefisted old lady, Queen Charlotte, and two

guineas from the royal profligate, her eldest son. When Mr. Donne set out on begging expeditions, he armed

himself in a complete suit of brazen mail: that you had given a hundred pounds yesterday, was, with him, no

reason why you should not give two hundred today: he would tell you so to your face, and, ten to one, get

the money out of you: people gave to get rid of him. After all, he did some good with the cash; he was useful

Perhaps I ought to remark, that on the premature and sudden vanishing of Mr. Malone from the stage of

Briarfield parish (you cannot know how it happened, reader; your curiosity must be robbed to pay your

elegant love of the pretty and pleasing), there came as his successor another Irish curate, Mr. Macarthey. I am

happy to be able to inform you, with truth, that this gentleman did as much credit to his country as Malone

had done it discredit: he proved himself as decent, decorous, and conscientious, as Peter was rampant,

boisterous, and (this last epithet I choose to suppress, because it would let the cat out of the bag). He

laboured faithfully in the parish: the schools, both Sunday and dayschools, flourished under his sway like

green baytrees. Being human, of course he had his faults; these, however, were proper, steadygoing,

clerical faults; what many would call virtues: the circumstance of finding himself invited to tea with a

dissenter would unhinge him for a week; the spectacle of a Quaker wearing his hat in the church, the thought

of an unbaptised fellowcreature being interred with Christian rites these things could make strange havoc

in Mr. Macarthey's physical and mental economy; otherwise he was sane and rational, diligent and charitable.

I doubt not a justiceloving public will have remarked, ere this, that I have thus far shown a criminal

remissness in pursuing, catching, and bringing to condign punishment the wouldbe assassin of Mr. Robert

Moore: here was a fine opening to lead my willing readers a dance, at once decorous and exciting: a dance of

law and gospel, of the dungeon, the dock, and the 'deadthraw.' You might have liked it, reader, but I should

not: I and my subject would presently have quarrelled, and then I should have broken down: I was happy to

find that facts perfectly exonerated me from the attempt. The murderer was never punished; for the good

reason that he was never caught; the result of the further circumstance that he was never pursued. The

magistrates made a shuffling, as if they were going to rise and do valiant things; but, since Moore himself,

instead of urging and leading them as heretofore, lay still on his little cottagecouch, laughing in his sleeve

and sneering with every feature of his pale, foreign face, they considered better of it; and, after fulfilling

certain indispensable forms, prudently resolved to let the matter quietly drop, which they did.

Mr. Moore knew who had shot him, and all Briarfield knew; it was no other than Michael Hartley, the

halfcrazed weaver once before alluded to, a frantic Antinomian in religion, and a mad leveller in politics;

the poor soul died of delirium tremens, a year after the attempt on Moore, and Robert gave his wretched

The winter is over and gone: spring has followed with beamy and shadowy, with flowery and showery flight:

It is burning weather: the air is deep azure and red gold: it fits the time; it fits the age; it fits the present spirit

of the nations. The nineteenth century wantons in its giant adolescence: the Titanboy uproots mountains in

his game, and hurls rocks in his wild sport. This summer, Bonaparte is in the saddle: he and his host scour

Russian deserts: he has with him Frenchmen and Poles, Italians and children of the Rhine, six hundred

thousand strong. He marches on old Moscow: under old Moscow's walls the rude Cossack waits him.

Barbarian stoic! he waits without fear of the boundless ruin rolling on. He puts his trust in a snowcloud: the

Wilderness, the Wind, the HailStorm are his refuge: his allies are the elements Air, Fire, Water. And what

are these? Three terrible archangels ever stationed before the throne of Jehovah. They stand clothed in white,

girdled with golden girdles; they uplift vials, brimming with the wrath of God. Their time is the day of

vengeance; their signal, the word of the Lord of Hosts, 'thundering with the voice of His excellency.'

'Hast thou entered into the treasures of the snow? or hast thou seen the treasures of the hail, which I have

It is done: the earth is scorched with fire: the sea becomes 'as the blood of a dead man': the islands flee away;

In this year, Lord Wellington assumed the reins in Spain: they made him Generalissimo, for their own

salvation's sake. In this year, he took Badajos, he fought the field of Vittoria, he captured Pampeluna, he

Men of Manchester! I beg your pardon for this slight r�sum� of warlike facts: but it is of no consequence.

Lord Wellington is, for you, only a decayed old gentleman now: I rather think some of you have called him a

'dotard' you have taunted him with his age, and the loss of his physical vigour. What fine heroes you are

yourselves! Men like you have a right to trample on what is mortal in a demigod. Scoff at your ease your

But come, friends, whether Quakers or Cottonprinters, let us hold a PeaceCongress, and let out our venom

quietly. We have been talking with unseemly zeal about bloody battles and butchering generals; we arrive

now at a triumph in your line. On the 18th of June, 1812, the Orders in Council were repealed, and the

blockaded ports thrown open. You know very well such of you as are old enough to remember you made

Yorkshire and Lancashire shake with your shout on that occasion: the ringers cracked a bell in Briarfield

belfry; it is dissonant to this day. The Association of Merchants and Manufacturers dined together at Stilbro',

and one and all went home in such a plight as their wives would never wish to witness more. Liverpool

started and snorted like a riverhorse roused amongst his reeds by thunder. Some of the American merchants

felt threatenings of apoplexy, and had themselves bled: all, like wise men, at this first moment of prosperity,

prepared to rush into the bowels of speculation, and to delve new difficulties, in whose depths they might lose

themselves at some future day. Stocks, which had been accumulating for years, now went off in a moment, in

the twinkling of an eye; warehouses were lightened, ships were laden; work abounded, wages rose; the good

time seemed come. These prospects might be delusive, but they were brilliant to some they were even true.

When a whole province rejoices, the humblest of its inhabitants tastes a festal feeling: the sound of public

bells rouses the most secluded abode, as if with a call to be gay. And so Caroline Helstone thought, when she

dressed herself more carefully than usual on the day of this trading triumph, and went, attired in her neatest

muslin, to spend the afternoon at Fieldhead, there to superintend certain millinery preparations for a great

event: the last appeal in these matters being reserved for her unimpeachable taste. She decided on the wreath,

the veil, the dress to be worn at the altar: she chose various robes and fashions for more ordinary occasions,

without much reference to the bride's opinion; that lady, indeed, being in a somewhat impracticable mood.

Louis had presaged difficulties, and he had found them: in fact, his mistress had shown herself exquisitely

provoking; putting off her marriage day by day, week by week, month by month. At first coaxing him with

soft pretences of procrastination, and in the end rousing his whole deliberate but determined nature to revolt

It had needed a sort of tempestshock to bring her to the point; but there she was at last, fettered to a fixed

Thus vanquished and restricted, she pined, like any other chained denizen of deserts. Her captor alone could

cheer her; his society only could make amends for the lost privilege of liberty: in his absence, she sat or

She furthered no preparations for her nuptials; Louis was himself obliged to direct all arrangements: he was

virtually master of Fieldhead, weeks before he became so nominally: the least presumptuous, the kindest

master that ever was; but with his lady absolute. She abdicated without a word or a struggle. 'Go to Mr.

Moore; ask Mr. Moore,' was her answer when applied to for orders. Never was wooer of wealthy bride so

thoroughly absolved from the subaltern part; so inevitably compelled to assume a paramount character.

In all this, Miss Keeldar partly yielded to her disposition; but a remark she made a year afterwards proved

that she partly also acted on system. 'Louis,' she said, 'would never have learned to rule, if she had not ceased

to govern: the incapacity of the sovereign had developed the powers of the premier.'

It had been intended that Miss Helstone should act as bridesmaid at the approaching nuptials; but Fortune had

She came home in time to water her plants. She had performed this little task. The last flower attended. to

was a rosetree, which bloomed in a quiet green nook at the back of the house. This plant had received the

refreshing shower: she was now resting a minute. Near the wall stood a fragment of sculptured stone a

monkish relic; once, perhaps, the base of a cross: she mounted it, that she might better command the view.

She had still the wateringpot in one hand; with the other, her pretty dress was held lightly aside, to avoid

trickling drops: she gazed over the wall, along some lonely fields; beyond three dusk trees, rising side by side

against the sky; beyond a solitary thorn, at the head of a solitary lane far off: she surveyed the dusk moors,

where bonfires were kindling: the summerevening was warm; the bellmusic was joyous; the blue smoke of

the fires looked soft; their red flame bright; above them, in the sky whence the sun had vanished, twinkled a

Caroline was not unhappy that evening; far otherwise: but as she gazed she sighed, and as she sighed a hand

circled her, and rested quietly on her waist. Caroline thought she knew who had drawn near: she received the

'I am looking at Venus, mamma: see, she is beautiful. How white her lustre is, compared with the deep red of

The answer was a closer caress; and Caroline turned, and looked, not into Mrs. Pryor's matron face, but up at

a dark manly visage. She dropped her wateringpot, and stepped down from the pedestal.

'I have been sitting with 'mamma' an hour,' said the intruder. 'I have had a long conversation with her. Where,

'To Fieldhead. Shirley is as naughty as ever, Robert: she will neither say Yes nor No to any question put. She

sits alone: I cannot tell whether she is melancholy or nonchalant: if you rouse her, or scold her, she gives you

a look half wistful, half reckless, which sends you away as queer and crazed as herself. What Louis will make

of her, I cannot tell: for my part, if I were a gentleman, I think I would not dare undertake her.'

'Never mind them: they were cut out for each other. Louis, strange to say, likes her all the better for these

freaks: he will manage her, if any one can. She tries him, however: he has had a stormy courtship for such a

calm character; but you see it all ends in victory for him. Caroline, I have sought you to ask an audience.

'For the repeal of your terrible law; the Orders you hate so much. You are pleased, are you not?'

'Yesterday evening at this time, I was packing some books for a seavoyage: they were the only possessions,

except some clothes, seeds, roots, and tools, which I felt free to take with me to Canada. I was going to leave

'Not now not now. Examine my face; yes, look at me well; is the despair of parting legible thereon?'

She looked into an illuminated countenance, whose characters were all beaming, though the page itself was

dusk: this face, potent in the majesty of its traits, shed down on her hope, fondness, delight.

'The repeal of the Orders in Council saves me. Now I shall not turn bankrupt; now I shall not give up

business; now I shall not leave England; now I shall be no longer poor; now I can pay my debts; now all the

cloth I have in my warehouses will be taken off my hands, and commissions given me for much more; this

day lays for my fortunes abroad, firm foundation; on which, for the first time in my life, I can securely build.'

'Now, I can take more workmen; give better wages; lay wiser and more liberal plans; do some good; be less

selfish: now, Caroline, I can have a house a home which I can truly call mine and now'

'Will Caroline, who meekly hopes to be forgiven as she forgives will she pardon all I have made her suffer

all that long pain I have wickedly caused her all that sickness of body and mind she owed to me? Will she

forget what she knows of my poor ambition my sordid schemes? Will she let me expiate these things? Will

she suffer me to prove that, as I once deserted cruelly, trifled wantonly, injured basely, I can now love

'I will prize her: the sense of her value is here, in my heart; the necessity for her society is blended with my

life: not more jealous shall I be of the blood whose flow moves my pulses, than of her happiness and

'Will you take faithful care of me? faithful care! as if that rose should promise to shelter from tempest this

hard, grey stone? But she will care for me, in her way: these hands will be the gentle ministrants of every

comfort I can taste. I know the being I seek to entwine with my own will bring me a solace a charity a

'What flutters my dove?' asked Moore, as she nestled to, and then uneasily shrank from him.

'Tell me what you wish what you would like and I will consider if it is possible to consent; but I cannot

'She was faithful when I was false was she not? I never came near your sickbed, and she watched it

'With us only she will have her own rooms and servant: for this she stipulates herself.'

'You know she has an income, that, with her habits, makes her quite independent?'

'I know her, Cary: but if instead of being the personification of reserve and discretion she were something

'Yet she will be your motherinlaw?' The speaker gave an arch little nod: Moore smiled.

'Louis and I are not of the order of men who fear their mothersinlaw, Cary: our foes never have been, nor

will be, those of our own household. I doubt not, my motherinlaw will make much of me.'

'That she will in her quiet way, you know. She is not demonstrative; and when you see her silent, or even

cool, you must not fancy her displeased it is only a manner she has. Be sure to let me interpret for her,

'Oh, implicitly! Jesting apart, I feel that she and I will suit on ne peut mieux. Hortense, you know, is

exquisitely susceptible in our French sense of the word and not, perhaps, always reasonable in her

requirements; yet dear, honest girl I never painfully wounded her feelings, or had a serious quarrel with

'No: You are most generously considerate indeed, most tenderly indulgent to her; and you will be

considerate with mamma. You are a gentleman all through, to the bone, and nowhere so perfect a gentleman

'An eulogium I like: it is very sweet. I am well pleased my Caroline should view me in this light.'

'She does not want to marry you don't be vain; but she said to me the other day, 'My dear, Mr. Moore has

pleasing manners; he is one of the few gentlemen I have seen who combine politeness with an air of

'Mamma' is rather a misanthropist, is she not? Not the best opinion of the sterner sex?'

'She forbears to judge them as a whole, but she has her exceptions whom she admires. Louis and Mr. Hall,

and, of late yourself. She did not like you once: I knew that because she would never speak of you. But,

'I have: 'mamma' called him into the room. He consents conditionally: if I prove that I can keep a wife, I may

have her; and I can keep her better than he thinks better than I choose to boast.'

'I will do good; you shall tell me how: indeed, I have some schemes of my own, which you and I will talk

about on our own hearth one day. I have seen the necessity of doing good: I have learned the downright folly

of being selfish, Caroline, I foresee what I will now foretell. This war must ere long draw to a close: Trade is

likely to prosper for some years to come: there may be a brief misunderstanding between England and

America, but that will not last. What would you think if, one day perhaps ere another ten years elapse

Louis and I divide Briarfield parish betwixt us? Louis, at any rate, is certain of power and property: he will

not bury his talents: he is a benevolent fellow, and has, besides, an intellect of his own of no trifling calibre.

His mind is slow but strong: it must work: it may work deliberately, but it will work well. He will be made

magistrate of the district Shirley says he shall: she would proceed impetuously and prematurely to obtain

for him this dignity, if he would let her, but he will not; as usual, he will be in no haste: ere he has been

master of Fieldhead a year, all the district will feel his quiet influence, and acknowledge his unassuming

superiority: a magistrate is wanted they will, in time, invest him with the office voluntarily and

unreluctantly. Everybody admires his future wife: and everybody will, in time, like him: he is of the 'p�te'

generally approved, 'bon comme le pain' daily bread for the most fastidious; good for the infant and the

aged, nourishing for the poor, wholesome for the rich. Shirley, in spite of her whims and oddities, her dodges

and delays, has an infatuated fondness for him: she will one day see him as universally beloved as even she

could wish: he will also be universally esteemed, considered, consulted, depended on too much so: his

advice will be always judicious, his help always goodnatured ere long, both will be in inconvenient

request: he will have to impose restrictions. As for me, if I succeed as I intend to do, my success will add to

his and Shirley's income: I can double the value of their millproperty: I can line yonder barren Hollow with

'The copse shall be firewood ere five years elapse: the beautiful wild ravine shall be a smooth descent; the

green natural terrace shall be a paved street: there shall be cottages in the dark ravine, and cottages on the

lonely slopes: the rough pebbled track shall be an even, firm, broad, black, sooty road, bedded with the

cinders from my mill: and my mill, Caroline my mill shall fill its present yard.'

'Horrible You will change our blue hillcountry air into the Stilbro' smoke atmosphere.'

'I will get an act for enclosing Nunnely Common, and parcelling it out into farms.'

'Stilbro' Moor, however, defies you, thank Heaven! What can you grow in Bilberry Moss? What will flourish

'Caroline, the houseless, the starving, the unemployed, shall come to Hollow's Mill from far and near; and Joe

Scott shall give them work, and Louis Moore, Esq., shall let them a tenement, and Mrs. Gill shall mete them a

'Such a Sundayschool as you will have, Cary! such collections as you will get! such a dayschool as you

and Shirley, and Miss Ainley, will have to manage between you! The mill shall find salaries for a master and

She mutely offered a kiss, an offer taken unfair advantage of, to the extortion of about a hundred kisses.

'Extravagant daydreams!' said Moore, with a sigh and smile, 'yet perhaps we may realise some of them.

It is August: the bells clash out again, not only through Yorkshire but through England: from Spain, the voice

of a trumpet has sounded long: it now waxes louder and louder; it proclaims Salamanca won. This night is

Briarfield to be illuminated. On this day the Fieldhead tenantry dine together; the Hollow's Mill workpeople

will be assembled for a like festal purpose; the schools have a grand treat. This morning there were two

marriages solemnised in Briarfield church. Louis G�rard Moore, Esq., late of Antwerp, to Shirley, daughter

of the late Charles Cave Keeldar, Esq., of Fieldhead. Robert G�rard Moore, Esq., of Hollow's Mill, to

The ceremony, in the first instance, was performed by Mr. Helstone; Hiram Yorke, Esq., of Briarmains,

giving the bride away. In the second instance, Mr. Hall, Vicar of Nunnely, officiated. Amongst the bridal

train, the two most noticeable personages were the youthful bridesmen, Henry Sympson, and Martin Yorke.

I suppose Robert Moore's prophecies were, partially, at least, fulfilled. The other day I passed up the Hollow,

which tradition says was once green, and lone, and wild; and there I saw the manufacturer's daydreams

embodied in substantial stone and brick and ashes the cinderblack highway, the cottages, and the cottage

gardens; there I saw a mighty mill, and a chimney, ambitious as the tower of Babel. I told my old

'Ay!' said she; 'this world has queer changes. I can remember the old mill being built the very first it was in

all the district; and then, I can remember it being pulled down, and going with my lakelasses (companions)

to see the foundationstone of the new one laid: the two Mr. Moores made a great stir about it; they were

there, and a deal of fine folk beside, and both their ladies; very bonnie and grand they looked; but Mrs. Louis

was the grandest, she always wore such handsome dresses: Mrs. Robert was quieterlike. Mrs. Louis smiled

when she talked: she had a real, happy, glad, goodnatured look; but she had been that pierced a body

'Different to what it is now; but I can tell of it clean different again: when there was neither mill, nor cot, nor

hall, except Fieldhead, within two miles of it. I can tell, one summer evening, fifty years syne, my mother

coming running in just at the edge of dark, almost fleyed out of her wits, saying she had seen a fairish (fairy)

in Fieldhead Hollow; and that was the last fairish that ever was seen on this country side (though they've been

heard within these forty years). A lonesome spot it was and a bonnie spot full of oak trees and nut trees. It

The story is told. I think I now see the judicious reader putting on his spectacles to look for the moral. It

would be an insult to his sagacity to offer directions. I only say, God speed him in the quest!