Helen retired to read her letters, and Thornley, left alone, muttered to himself: "Curse England !-I wish it were sunk to the bottom of the sea!—I wish it were swept from the face of the earth! She will never rest until she drags me there-and then !- But let me not hint my thoughts; everything is buried in my own bosom; may I never be forced to throw off the mask I have thus far successfully assumed!" And, glancing round to make sure that no one had overheard his unwonted soliloquy, he hastened to forget his cares in the busy yet cheerful scene on his estate. Mr. Ludlow had not been pleased with his daughter's choice. Lionel Seymour was the man he had wished her to marry. He had known Lionel from his birth; had been particularly intimate with his father, and it had been a favourite scheme of the friends that the only son of the one and the only daughter of the other should marry when they grew up, and thus unite the contiguous and flourishing properties of which they were the sole heirs. Lionel was but too well inclined to put his deceased father's wishes into execution; but Helen, as has been shown, felt very differently. Her father made no opposition to her choice, however little he approved of it; he was much attached to his daughter, and, moreover, he stood somewhat in awe of her. He therefore merely hinted at the imprudence of joining her fate to that of a stranger, of whose actual situation in the world, of whose birth, parentage, education, and previous life she knew absolutely nothing but what he himself chose to relate. He glanced at the singularity of some of the circumstances attendant on Mr. Thornley's stay in the island; his long residence as a guest at the Mackenzies'; his being so easily induced to become a proprietor in a place which he had at first visited only with the intention of spending a few idle weeks; his never receiving letters from any one in his native country; his seeming to be perfectly isolated in the universe; and his evidently shunning the society of all British strangers. Helen denied that Thornley shunned strangers; it had so happened that he had always been indisposed when British strangers had visited the island; it was hard to blame a man for the dispensations of Providence. He did not correspond with his relations in England because they had used him ill, and he was not on good terms with them. Ilis attachment to herself had induced him to remain so long in the island, and finally to become a West Indian proprietor, she could not quarrel with him for that. And, if he were isolated in the world, if he had no one else to care for, so much the more devoted would be his affection for her. Arguments are seldom wanting when the heart is set on the accomplishment of an object. Helen was determined to marry Thornley, and Mr. Ludlow, making the best of it, purchased Mosquito Bay for his sonin-law elect, and settled a handsome annual allowance upon the young couple. The match gave occasion for a great deal of talking in the island. Many persons-principally gentlemen-wondering how Miss Ludlow could throw herself away upon an unknown adventurer; others-principally young ladies-admiring Miss Ludlow's disinterested conduct, and July-VOL. CXIX. NO. CCCCLXXV. Y praising the agreeable manners of the handsome stranger. Mrs. Temple shook her head, but hoped she might be mistaken in her misgivings about Mr. Thornley. Geraldine felt anxious about her friend, but put great confidence in Helen's penetration and good sense; while Mrs. Montresor renewed her wearisome lectures upon "imprudence," as if her daughter, who was obliged to listen to them, not Helen Ludlow, had been the culprit. Some strangers, however, and absentees had now arrived, whom it was impossible for Thornley to avoid. Among these were Geraldine's two sisters, Georgina and Mary. Georgina and her husband, Mr. Russel, had at length returned from America, and Mary had come for a short visit, while Captain Neville was on a cruise through the islands. After a time, he also came to St. Geraldine was delighted to meet them was, in every all, and much pleased to find that Alicia's account of them respect, correct. It was impossible to be an hour in the company of Captain Neville or Mr. Russel without liking them, though the agreeable qualities of each were very different. Captain Neville was the personification of that very charming character, a pleasant, well-informed, amiable naval officer. There was something of daringness and insouciance about him that well became the wanderer on the trackless deep, the mariner accustomed to brave The battle and the breeze. But, though you saw he had a soul of fire and a frame of iron, he was gentleness itself towards that sex whom sailors seldom treat with disrespect. He had a frank and joyous air, that made him look perhaps younger than he really was, and counteracted the withering effect of exposure to the weather in all climates and all seasons. He was not exactly a handsome man, his features were not regular, and he was rather short, but there was a keen intelligence in his eye, a benevolence in his smile, that were worth all the mere beauty in the world.. Between him and his wife there existed that cordial regard, that perfect friendship which ought always to be the attendants of married life: they did not merely jog on, as many a worthy couple do, in a sort of stupid intimacy arising only from habit; they possessed that sincere and rational affection, which could not fail to increase as they became more and more acquainted with the worth of each other's characters, and more assimilated in feelings and in tastes. Mary was pretty and lively; but her vivacity was not the exuberance of animal spirits alone-a vivacity which soon becomes fatiguing to everybody, and unbearable to sober-minded people. She was sensible, clever, and well educated, therefore her gay conversation seldom failed to amuse; and Captain Neville partook of none of Mrs. Mackenzie's fears that he should be talked to death; on the contrary, he was uxurious enough to confess himself delighted with his wife's constant good spirits. Mr. Russel was in every respect as estimable as Captain Neville, but perhaps he was not so generally praised, for he had not the advantage of being a man o' war buckra." Everybody who has been in the West Indies knows what favourites "men o' war buckras" are in all the islands. He was somewhat stricken in years, but he had none of the peevishness of age about him. He was a cheerful, hale old gentleman, extremely hos pitable, extremely fond of young people, and delighting in promoting their amusements; and his beautiful wife, who looked like his daughter, had her own way in everything, though she never took advantage of his kindness. He never dreamt of jealousy, and Georgina might dance and divert herself as much as she pleased. But though fond of gaiety, she could not be accused of levity in her conduct, nor had she one thought injurious to the indulgent husband, for whom she felt sincere affection. Mrs. Montresor reflected with great satisfaction on the matches made by her three elder daughters, for the domestic unhappiness of one of them never caused her any qualms of conscience. But she was not a little anxious and uneasy about her youngest girl. Was Geraldine—one of the belles of the island-to be the old maid of the family? Mrs. Montresor groaned in spirit at the idea, and could not understand her daughter's apathy on the subject, while Mr. Montresor secretly rejoiced that Geraldine was not in a hurry to leave her home and him. THE MORRIS-DANCERS. By W. CHARLES KENT. A Choral Lyric: commemorative of a Pastime familiar long and long ago among our English Villagers. COME gentle, come simple, haste forth where are seen The rosewood fruit-littered, the maple ring-stained, Around While we bound Ere the ruddy sun sets, While rattle And prattle Our shrill castanets. Fair maid with lawn kerchief and bright cherry bows, Fling open the lattice and lean o'er the sill, Letting sweet eyes and lips there alike drink their fill- Till lips brim with laughter and eyes with delight- As the rout Of our merry mime swells, While tinkle And twinkle Gay ribbons, gay bells. Hail! old gossip Humphry, in apron of jean, While the silver fumes puff jovial chuckles between Your weed if well lit, troth your face seems the same, Gayest streamers that glance. Ho! burly old Roger, the grimy, the grey, Still ringing from anvil the work-chime of day— Now lean on the hammer that rests on the forge, Sweeping grizzled locks back from your brow smirched and warm, Snow-white handkerchiefs stream. Hist! rosy-cheeked Patty, with frank laughing eyes, Tripping fresh from the buttercup mead by the stream, Ringing clear, Where our foot-notes prevail, One alone You can own Love oft lures on that trail. Come striplings, come maidens, troop round in a ring, Old gammer in scarlet cloak brave as a queen, And urchins swept back by the whirl of the thong LITTLE GRAND AND THE MARCHIONESS; OR, OUR MALTESE PEERAGE. PART III. THE rooms were all right again, my Marchioness was en grande tenue, amber silk, black lace, diamonds, and all that sort of style. Fitzhervey and the other men were in evening dress, drinking coffee; there was not a trace of bottled porter anywhere, and it was all brilliant and presentable. The Marchioness St. Julian rose with the warmest effusion, her dazzling white teeth showing in the sunniest of smiles, and both hands outstretched. 66 66 Augustus, bien aimé, you are rather very Late," I suppose she was going to say, but she stopped dead short, her teeth remained parted in a stereotyped smile, a blankness of dismay came over her luminous eyes. She caught sight of Conran, and I imagined I heard a very low-breathed "Curse the fellow!" from courteous Lord Dolph. Conran came forward, however, as if he did not notice it; there was only that queer smile lurking under his moustaches. I introduced him to them, and the Marchioness smiled again, and Fitzhervey almost resumed his wonted extreme urbanity. But they were somehow or other wonderfully ill at ease-wonderfully, for people in such high society; and I was ill at ease, too, from being only able to attribute Eudoxia Adelaida's evident consternation at the sight of Conran to his having been some time or other an old love of hers. "Ah!" thought I, grinding my teeth, "that comes of loving a woman older than oneself. I'd rather fifty times over have Little Grand for a rival than Conran." The Captain, however, seemed the only one who enjoyed himself. The Marchioness was beaming on him graciously, though her ruffled feathers were not quite smoothed down, and he was sitting by her with an intense amusement in his eyes, alternately talking to her about Stars and Garters, whom, by her answers, she did not seem to know so very intimately after all, and chatting with Fitzhervey about hunting, who, for a man that had hunted over every county, according to his own account, seemed to confuse Tom Edge with Tom Smith, the Burton with the Tedworth, a bullfinch with an ox-rail, in queer style, under Conran's cross-questioning. We had been in the room about ten minutes, when a voice, rich, low, sweet, rang out from some inner room, singing the glorious "Inflammatus." How strange it sounded in the Casa di Fiori! Conran started, the dark blood rose over the clear bronze of his cheek. He turned sharply on to the Marchioness. "Good Heaven! whose voice is that ?" "My niece's," she answered, staring at him, and touching a hand-bell. "I will ask her to come and sing to us nearer. She has really a lovely voice." |