CHAPTER VI.

a short conversation took his arm and walked with him to join a country dance which was then forming.

"Who is dat? who is dat ?" she eagerly asked of my grandmother, fixing her eyes upon the lady.

"Do you mean the lady in green velvet, dancing with William? That is Miss Arthur." "Does she know him long ?"

"Oh, yes, they were children together: Marion is not much younger than he is, and at one time, before he went abroad, it seemed probable that it would have been a match."

MAJOR and Mrs. Vere had been at Ingerdyne about three months, when my grandmother's birthday occurred. It was always kept as a festival, and this time there was to be a ball, for the sake of the young people, and all the family friends were bidden to it. Every nook was turned into a dormitory, and beds were contrived in the most extraordinary places. Every thing that was very uncomfortable, and out of the way, was said "to do very well for bachelors," all tolerable contrivances being appropriated to the ladies. For some days previous, the whole house My grandmother spoke without thought of was in commotion; for it was so long since any mischief, for she had not the most remote idea preparations of the kind had been made at Inger- of her daughter-in-law's jealousy; and even had dyne, that the old servants had almost forgotten she been aware of it, she would have considered how to set about them, and required continual it, in this instance, too ridiculous to guard against. assistance and directions. The billiard-room was Not so thought Mrs. William; for her eyes to be appropriated for dancing, and the table flashed as she watched the offending pair minfrom it was to be fixed in the library for the gen-gling in the dance, and heard Miss Arthur's siltlemen's amusement next day, in case any of very laugh in reply to her partner's lively rethem remained. The green-houses, both at marks. home and at Aston, the seat of our nearest When the dance was over, the wife observed neighbor, were emptied of their beauties to her husband's companion say something to him adorn the hall and staircase; which, when deck-in a low tone, which caused him to look round ed for the fête and lighted with colored lamps, looked like a fairy garden.

Mrs. William Vere was in ecstasies, and ran about proclaiming her satisfaction to every body; for no one could make her understand that these preparations were not intended as a welcome to the heir and herself, but were a compliment of love from Mr. Vere to his wife. My father laughed at her absurdity, but my mother was very indignant, and showed her contempt for the Spanish lady in every way she could; happily for our peace, however, the latter was so fully impressed with the idea of her own importance and dignity, that she never perceived these covert insults, but prepared with the greatest selfcomplacency to play her part as the observed of all observers.

and follow with his eyes the direction of hers. Then a few more words appeared to pass, and, with Miss Arthur leaning on his arm, Major Vere crossed the room to introduce her to his wife.

Nothing could exceed the mortified astonishment of both, at the reception they met with from Mrs. William Vere; her black eyes literally blazed with fury, and although she controlled her tongue, fearful of her mother-in-law's observation, yet her choked voice and agitated frame too plainly showed that something was wrong-what it could be, or how she could possibly have offended her, was a mystery to Marion Arthur: not so to the major; who was but too familiar with similar, and even more outrageous exhibitions of jealousy, to doubt what it was that distorted his wife's features so horribly. ForWhen the evening came, at my grandmother's tunately for all parties my grandfather came up, express desire, Philip, Josephine, and I, stood be- and desiring his son to seek a lady, whom he side her when she received her guests. Her named, for his partner in the next dance, took simple dignity impressed us all, and we were as Miss Arthur away to play at chess with him in quiet as statues; never speaking unless address- a corner. I shall never forget Mrs. William ed. Philip's proud eye flashed with pleasure Vere's look of furious passion as they all turned while he listened to the names of the visitors as away; the beautiful fan she held was crushed they were announced, and recognized among the with the vehement pressure of her clenched hand. most distinguished many of whom he had read It was really a terrible sight; and I unconand heard. Even his mother's exaggerated man-sciously caught my grandmother's hand for proner was subdued by the tone of those around her; and, to the evident relief of her husband, she became silent and observant.

The group which most strongly attracted her attention, consisted of an elderly gentleman and lady, with two younger ones, the eldest of whom, though certainly thirty years of age, was by far the most attractive person in the room. She was tall, and slight, with fair complexion, and auburn hair, which, confined with a wide circlet of pearls, fell in ringlets over her shoulders. Her dress was of deep emerald velvet, without trimming or ornament, so that her beautiful figure owed nothing of its grace or elegance to the aid of her milliner. Major Vere approached to pay his compliments to her with the ease and eagerness of one meeting an old friend, and Mrs. William Vere observed with alarm that the lady, previously so pale, suddenly crimsoned, and after

tection as I gazed upon it. No persuasions or
entreaties could induce the Spanish wife to dance,
although she was passionately fond of the amuse-
ment, and really excelled in it; her whole atten-
tion was absorbed in watching her husband, who,
from sad experience of his wife's disposition, was
most careful never even to speak to his old play-
fellow again during that evening. At last she
appeared composed, and went into the supper- ✩
room much in her usual manner, for she saw my
uncle at the lower end of the apartment assidu-
ously attending upon two old ladies, and Miss
Arthur earnestly conversing with a young officer
of hussars, who had taken an ice to her at a side
table.

It had been arranged that my father, uncle, and two or three of the married gentlemen should sleep this night at the lodge, in order that additional beds might be made up for the ladies in

"As she likes," replied my mother; "only, in case of this absurdity being carried further, it will be as well to secure these things. Mr. Comberton, you are a magistrate, I know: will you take charge of this cup; this bottle, from which the powder was taken, and this jug from which Miss Arthur poured the water to mix it? And now, if you do not think it necessary to take us into custody, we had better adjourn the meeting, and permit our friends to retire to bed; from which I do not think this wretched farce is sufficiently interesting to detain them longer.” "There is a spare bed in the nursery, ," said Mrs. Vere; "Marion and Alice can sleep there." "I will go home," said Marion; "I can not stay here, now."

66

No, Marion; we will both go to-morrow; but to-night we must stay here," replied my mother.

"No, no; I can not, indeed."

"Oh! the tale is too ridiculous to drive you away: do not treat us as if you thought we believed it," said several of the company, pressing toward her; for her sweet and gentle manners had made her a general favorite. So eager were all to assure her of their esteem and confidence at this moment, and to mark the disgust they felt at the Spaniard's outrageous charges, that not one seemed to be aware of the strange spectacle each helped to make in that oddly attired assembly.

CHAPTER VII.

No one was surprised the next morning to find that Mrs. William Vere breakfasted in her own room, or that the major spent an hour with his father, closeted in the library, and afterward mounted a horse which he had ordered to be in waiting, and rode off at full speed toward the town.

present assembled here. My wife and children
have enjoyed a most happy home with you and
my mother-in-law for many months, for which
I most heartily thank you. But, as I will not
suffer Alice to be the sport of malice and vul-
garity, so neither can I consent to pain and
embarrass you with the conflicting claims of
your children. My wife, as I said before, is the
youngest, and it is right, in such a case as this,
that she should give way, and be the one to
leave Ingerdyne.'

I could see my grandfather's eyes fixed upon
my father's handsome face with a more cordial
expression than usual; it seemed to say:

"Well, Irishman, I did not expect this from you. I am pleased with you."

For a minute there was a silence; then my
grandfather said:

"You have spoken of this to no one?"
Except Alice, to no one."

"I am glad of it, because there is no necessity to add more pain to that which Major Vere is already suffering. I am obliged to you for the proper and considerate view you have taken of your wife's position, as regards what is due to herself, as well as to her brother and to me. And, looking at the affair as you do, what I am going to say will be no matter of surprise to you: I do not hesitate to declare that it is not more impossible for Alice to live here with that unhappy person, than for me. I have, accordingly, arranged with my son that he shall take a house in London for a few weeks, and thence return to Belgium. It must be infinitely better for all parties that, under such circumstances, they should reside in a foreign land."

My father bowed, silently; for there was an expression of grief and mortification upon the old man's face that forbade any sympathy but that shown by respectful acquiescence.

"You will inform Alice of this, Captain Sackville," continued my grandfather; "and beg her Philip and I wandered about all that uncom- not to speak to her mother or me upon the subfortable day, without being noticed by any one. ject. Be assured that I estimate highly the A sort of feeling that they were in the way, right feeling toward her brother and myself, hung over every body: the last night's scene shown by you both in this affair: but I came to was too vividly present to their minds, with all the resolution I have expressed, without referits ludicrous terrors, to permit them to talk free-ence to her stay. I could not live with so violy upon other subjects; while the respect and sorrow felt for their host restrained every one, even the most thoughtless, from alluding to that. Immediately after luncheon, while Philip and I were sitting in the library, talking over the events of the preceding night, and conjecturing how it would all end, my father and grandfather entered the room, and, not seeing us, closed the door and began to converse.

lent a person as Mrs. William Vere, and I do
not choose to be driven from home by my chil-
dren. Alice will see that I should have acted
precisely as I have done, if she had not been
here."

My father bowed again, simply saying-
"You shall be obeyed, sir. Can I tell my
wife when ?"

My son and his family leave this place to-
morrow morning," answered Mr. Vere abruptly.
Philip and I gazed upon each other in mute
dismay, and when they were gone he started up,
exclaiming-

"I have wished to see you privately, sir," said my father, "to inform you that, after the insult which Mrs. William Vere thought fit to offer last night to my wife, it appears to be my plain duty to remove Mrs. Sackville from this house. It is impossible that she can continue to associate with a woman so regardless of truth and propriety; and, as the youngest child, it is, perhaps, the duty of Alice to withdraw." "Does Alice know of this ?" asked my grand-ing. father.

"I knew how it would be. Nobody can live with my mother. I thought we were too happy for it to last: but I won't go, Florence-I won't."

"Oh, Phil., what can you do?" said I, cry

Do, Flor.? why refuse! And if they try to Yes, it is her own wish. It is but too evi- make me go, I'll run away until they are gone, dent to her that peace can not be preserved in and then come back here, and wait for an opporhouse inhabited by persons of such incompati-tunity of getting to Sir Hugh. I have plenty of ble dispositions and opposing interests as are at money."

B

"But they are your father and mother," I urged with some indistinct idea that his intention was wrong.

"Flor., they sent me away when I was a baby for their own convenience; they forgot me first, I'll forget them now."

It was well for my peace of mind that Philip had told me this; for the next morning, when he was sought for to accompany his parents, he was nowhere to be found. He had not mentioned his determination to any one but me; and I dared not reveal it. The consternation of the whole family was extreme, until the housemaid brought down a note, which she had discovered upon the truant's pillow, addressed to his father. It ran thus: "You have never loved me, and I am miserable with you, so I have determined to go back to Sir Hugh. I have plenty of money for the voyage, and know my road, so do not be uneasy. If you will write in a month's time, your letter will reach me at Sir Hugh's house." It would be difficult to express the various feelings with which the assembled party listened to this audacious epistle. Mrs. William Vere raved furiously, railing against her son for his ingratitude and wickedness; forgetting that she had not taught him better, and that he had learned neglect of duty from her example; while his father threatened him with severe punishment, and predicted all sorts of future evils. Many secretly praised his spirit in escaping from such a home; and a very few grieved over the disobedient and undutiful child, and silently prayed God to pardon him.

I was the only one who really missed him, and bitter was my sorrow at losing Philip's society; for though he had been often domineering and dictatorial, yet, except old Cicely, I had never had any other friend to talk to as a companion; and I felt then, for the first time, that sense of loneliness and desolation of heart which I have experienced so often since.

A week after this event my father returned to Ireland, and soon after Christmas we followed him. I remember how unwilling my mother was to go, and how she put off the journey from day to day, seeming to dread it as much as if she were going to encounter some terrible doom, instead of returning to her husband's home.

between Ingerdyne and Athlone. The disproportioned rooms with their damaged and wornout furniture, ill-fitting doors and starred window-panes; the badly matched and broken crockery, the untidy, quarrelsome and shoeless servants, were each and all in melancholy contrast to the well-appointed household, the comforts and elegances of Ingerdyne. Much of all this might have been improved by a cheerful, loving, and energetic spirit; but, unfortunately, such was not the temper of the presiding genius of the place, who seemed to take a pettish pride in letting things go their own uncomfortable way, and where it was possible, even become worse.

By means of a bribe, the promise of doubling her already handsome wages, my mother had induced her English nurse to come with her to Ireland, declaring that there was no one there, fit to be trusted with her darling Helen. She seemed to have forgotten Cicely, who had been to me so faithful and tender a guardian and friend, and the poor old woman bitterly inveighed against the cold unloving hearts and ungrateful memories of the Saxons.

"It's all as one," she would say, as if I had killed the precious jiwil intirely; and St. Bridget knows I love her as my own. Many's the night I walked about these ould rooms hushowing her to sleep, when the mother's been warm in the bed and now I'm not fit to have care of the other! Oh! but it's the English that have no hearts."

Even I, her nursling and pride, was now not altogether satisfactory to her; for she looked with jealous eyes upon my increased tidiness and love of order, and it worried her to see my "forrin ways," as she called them.

"They'll spile you, my colleen!" said she, pettishly to me one day, "wid their fuss and their puttin's away. It's enough to wear the life out o' one to be forever tidyin' and tidyin', as if the pace of the world was in keeping chairs straight. Besides, it isn't for the likes o' you to be doin' sich work as that, waitin' on yoursel' instead of making them crathurs of English do your biddin.' It brakes my heart intirely to see the change that's come over ye, since ye went to that land o' Cromwell. Oh, Miss Flory This impressed me greatly, and awakened a dear, sure ye'll nivir turn from the ways o' yer strange feeling toward both my parents. I father's fathers to folly the English." could not tell which was wrong, but I felt instinctively that such disunion was a shocking thing; and thus was destroyed, in my very infancy, that reverential affection and devout confidence which is due from children to their parents, and without which the holy ties of filial love do not bind the heart, or restrain the will.

Never was disgust more visible in my mother's face and mauner than when she returned to her Irish home. The slovenly habits and reck less irregularity of the people seemed, to her dissatisfied mind, to have increased a hundredfold during her absence. And although every thing was in just the same state as it had been when, nine years before, she had rushed to her husband's country as to a refuge and a home; yet the charm which had then lent beauty even to its faults was gone, and she looked upon all around as hateful and revolting.

Certainly there was a very striking contrast

Notwithstanding these pathetic appeals, I had seen too much of English comfort to undervalue it; especially now that the want of it was constantly present to me. So, although I still loved Cicely with all my heart, I persevered in the few English ways" I had learned, and went on improving.

66

Meanwhile, my sister grew up a fair, lovely blue-eyed child, the evident darling of my mother, and the admiration of every body. Kept aloof from all contact with the people in whose land she lived, it was my mother's pride that she had no accent in her sweet lisping voice that would have betrayed her country to the nicest car. "No one can ever say that Helen is Irish," was her perpetual boast; and many were the fears she expressed, when my sister and I were playing together, lest she should learn from me the hateful dialect of our father's people.

In time Helen found this out, and when she

1

wished to be mischievous, would try to mimic me; and, if any thing angered her, she would push me from her, calling me "wild Irish," and say that I should teach her to be as bad. Happily for me, I had even then a passionate love of the beautiful, and in my admiration of her loveliness I could not resent her unkindness; and this frail bond kept peace between us, for with all my natural yearning for love, I could not feel a strong or deep affection for a sister who seemed to monopolize my mother's thoughts and fondness, and to look upon me in any light rather than as an object of love. And yet, with all her preference for Helen, my mother loved me in a a degree. She praised my intelligence and powers of mind, foretelling that I should be a clever self-dependent woman, brave in adversity, but ungracious in prosperity. I was too proud, she said, for peace; my atmosphere was strife. How often in after days did I recall this prophesy, and wonder whether the clouds of coming trials had even then been foreshadowed upon my brow.

I had now become by practice a bold and fearless horsewoman, and although so very young and light a weight, was able easily to control the highly-trained animals given me to ride. Often and often my father and I were out to gether for hours, scouring the wild moors and leaping the awkward wall fences of the fields; while I, proud of his hearty praise, stifled every misgiving, checked every impulse of fear, and role at every thing as boldly as he did. I believe I would have faced death itself sooner than have heard him call me coward or laugh at me for a baby, so that his pride in my courage and daring soon became as great as my mother's in Helen's un-Irish tones and lovely face. I have often marveled since, how my mother could trust me upon such high-couraged horses as those I always rode; creatures over whom I could have no control at all, except what their perfect training gave me to whom my weight was as nothing, and mounted upon which, I looked a mere pigmy. Perhaps she placed her faith in my fairy patrons, trusting them to guard me from danger in their own mountains, and in this belief resigned me to my fate.

CHAPTER VIII.

at the sacrifice of self; she talked to me as to
one more woman than child, and told me how
happy she was to be able to make some return
to her parents for the love and care which they
had bestowed upon her infancy and education;
she told me of the happiness of her own home,
and repeated the loving words in which the dear
ones there strove to acknowledge and repay her
labors for them.

But, Florence," she would say, "that does not alter my duty, though it makes it pleasant and light; for even if papa and mamma were harsh and cruel, instead of being good and kind, my duty as their child would be the same: no sternness on their part could change it. We work to God, and not to ourselves, and his laws are unchangeable."

In every way, and at every opportunity she strove to impress this upon me. It has since seemed to me as if she knew that some day I should be called upon to drink to the dregs the bitter but wholesome cup of self-denial, and thus prepared me for it. While I loved her so dearly that her least wish was a law to me, her approbation my greatest reward, and her love my dearest treasure, rebellion against her will was impossible; and seeing this, she often made some kindness to be shown by me to Helen, the payment of my obedience to herself; indeed, half my time was taken up in ministering to my sister's whimsical fancies.

Under her firm and tender rule, I was happy; my lessons were a real pleasure to me, and, much as I loved my rides, I would at any time have given them up to study with Miss Northey. But she was too judicious and right-minded to require this; and, while she strove to confine my equestrian ardor within the bounds of ladylike propriety, she never sought to disgust me with my father's favorite pursuit, nor to set up a contest in my mind between his authority and her own.

For a considerable period after leaving Ingerdyne, I heard nothing of my uncle or cousins, until I one day received a note from Philip, inclosed a letter to my mother from her father. It was dated from Gibraltar, and informed me of his safe arrival there, and the hearty welcome he had received from Sir Hugh; of the correspondence which had passed between that gentleman and his father relative to himself, and the happy termination of the affair, which had resulted in permission for him to remain with his godfather. He told me of the studies he was pursuing, the ALL this time I have made no mention of my feats of horsemanship he could perform, and the governess, who was the daughter of a lieutenant height to which he had grown; and expressed of my father's regiment, and was glad to assist the anxiety he felt to be old enough to receive her parents by devoting some hours daily to my his commission, and the grief it was to him that education. She was a firm, yet gentle creature, he couldn't make all the intervening years go on actuated by high principles and a spirit of pa- side by side together, so that the whole might tient endurance; she commanded my respect be got over in twelve months. He concluded from the first, and soon obtained the whole love by desiring me to write and tell him every thing and obedience of my heart. She it was who that had happened since he left me. first taught me Christianity: not but that I had Oh, the delight of our first letter! The imbeen always taken to church—when it was con-portance it gives us—at least in our own eyes— venient, and the weather was dry; but that prae- the perpetual folding and unfolding it; the intical, self-controlling Christian spirit of which I cessant appeals to every body if there ever was had hitherto known nothing, I learned from Miss any thing so kind and clever before; the happy Northey. She taught me the sin of disobedience, fidgetiness of answering it; the talk about what and the curse which sooner or later visits the shall be said. All this happens but once. The adutiful child; she taught me self-denial, and second letter and the third are as nothing: it is the blessing which follows an act of duty done the first which, with all its circumstances, lives