********************START OF HEADER******************** This text has been proofread but is not guaranteed to be free from errors. Corrections to the original text have been left in place. Title: The Wife's Trials and Triumphs, an electronic edition Author: Worboise, Emma Jane, 1825-1887 Publisher: Sheldon and Co. Place published: New York Date: 1860 ********************END OF HEADER******************** THEWIFE'S TRIALSANDTRIUMPHS.BY THE AUTHOR OF "GRACE HAMILTON'S SCHOOL-DAYS;" "HEART'S EASE IN THE HOUSE;" "KINGSDOWN LODGE," ETC. ETC."To soothe thy sickness, watch thy healthPartake, but never waste thy wealth,Or stand with smiles unmurmuring by,And lighten half thy poverty;Do all but close thy dying eye,That, may I never live to try; —To this alone my thoughts aspire,More can I give, or thou require?"NEW YORK:SHELDON & CO., 115 NASSAU STREET.BOSTON:GOULD & LINCOLN.1860.Copyright information for Worboise's The Wife's Trials and Triumphs.Table of contents for Worboise's The Wife's Trials and Triumphs.Table of contents for Worboise's The Wife's Trials and Triumphs.THE WIFE'S TRIALS. CHAPTER I.LILIAN GREY.THIS day week!" said Lilian Grey, as she sat with her sister at their chamber window watching the last hues of sunset fade from the wavy hills, that almost encircled the quiet little town of Kirby-Brough; "this day week, at this time, I shall be far, far away."Elizabeth sighed, and tried to thread her needle in the faint light that still radiated from the glowing west; but she made no reply. Lilian went on: "It seems so strange, Elizabeth, to think that after next Tuesday Kirby-Brough will never be, my home again. That Sundays will come, and the bells will ring, and I shall not be sitting between you and Eleanor, where I have sat ever since I first went to church And then the summer—the long, sultry, July days, when I always went into the deep wood yonder, and sat listening to the birds, and the rustling leaves, and dreaming over my book, or thinking perhaps of the very time that is now come, and wondering whether I ever could care about any one so much as to be willing to leave my dear home and go quite away and have new associations, and new relatives, and new duties. Summer Will soon be here again, and you and the children will go there; but I shall not go With you. I shall be Lilian Grey no longer!""You will be Lilian Hope, dearest!" said Elizabeth trying to speak gaily."Yes," said the young girl, shaking back her long, dark, glossy curls, and springing up as she spoke.—"Yes, that is it, Elizabeth. I shall be Basil's wife, and that thought puts away all my sadness. I must be happy while I am with him. It would be dreadful to go amongst strangers if I were not going with my husband, but his mother will be my mother, and his sisters Will be my sisters, and his home and his friends mine also. Oh, Elizabeth, I wish you were as happy as I am! I wish there were two more Basils in the world, one for you and one for Eleanor, when she is Old enough to be married. But I might as well wish for two suns; there could not be another like Basil. I may say so now, Elizabeth dear; I think it is not un-maidenly, for in one little week he will be my Basil, and I shall be his own wife. You, and Eleanor, and the children, and Aunt Dorothy will miss me, I know; but I shall come to see you, and you and Eleanor must pay me long, very long visits, as soon as we. have our own home. And then we can write; oh, what amusing letters I shall send you from town, and from Hopelands-park, and what volumes of news I shall have from Kirby-Brough! You must tell me everything, Elizabeth; try to make me see with your eyes; tell me how the hills look; how the sunlight is slanting on the common; how the shadows of the old castle-ruins fall on the meadows beneath; how the cricket-field looks. You will miss me at first, but you will soon be used to it.""I shall miss you. very much!" said Elizabeth, and her voice sank and trembled as she spoke but I hope, dear, the gain of others will be greater than our loss. I hope you will be very happy. I dare say Basil's mother and sisters will be all you could wish; but, Lilian, my dear, you must not expect to find things henceforth as smooth as they have been. A wife may have deeper happiness and fuller joys, than a young girl in the home of her childhood; but she must inevitably be exposed to greater trials, incur heavier responsibilities, and perhaps meet with stronger temptations to evil than when she lived with her sisters and brothers under the shelter of her father's roof. I admire Basil exceedingly, but I cannot help wishing you were going to marry some one nearer Home, and some one in our own station.""I do not see," interrupted Lilian, proudly, "that there is any such great inequality of station. Basil's family is rich, and boasts a pedigree some centuries in length; but when all is said and done, one can be no more than a lady. The Queen is a lady with extraordinary distinctions; you and I are ladies by habit and education, though without any further distinction than thin which is inseparable from gentle breeding.""I am afraid your visions will be considered too levelling among the aristocratic Hopes," said Elizabeth, this time with a genuine smile. "But, dear Lilian, you must forgive me if I seem to cast a shadow over the bright vista of your coming days; it is that I am so anxious, so fearful lest any—any inadvertence, I will say, should raise a barrier at the first between you and your husband's family. Basil can not be expected to——I hardly knew what I would say, for I am not clever as you are but, Lilian, try to think of yourself henceforward as a Hope; take not only Basil, but all who belong to him to your heart."Elizabeth Grey was nearly twenty-four; she was the eldest of a large family early bereft of a mother's care. A maiden aunt resided with them, but Elizabeth was really the head and mainspring of the household. She was not a beauty, by no means talented, and quite unable at times to comprehend the poetic flights of her brilliant sister Lilian, five years younger than herself, and the pride and beauty of the old-fashioned little town of Kirby-Brough. There was another girl, named Eleanor, just sixteen; Susan, eleven, and George and John coming in between Eleanor and Susan. The eldest brother, Arthur, was in India; he was nearly three years older than Lilian. Mr. Grey, a retired woollen manufacture, died when Elizabeth was twenty, leaving a comfortable provision for his children. Aunt Dorothy continued to reside with her orphan nephews and nieces, in order to give an air of stability to a household whose mistress and members were so extremely juvenile.Nothing particular occurred till Lilian was turned eighteen, and then Basil Hope came into the neighborhood to pay a visit to a college-friend. He met the sisters in their walks, both in the town and the country; and was much struck with Lilian's peculiar style and beauty. Somehow an introduction took place; Basil Hope first admired and then loved the fair girl who seemed to him far lovelier than the loneliest of the high-born daughters of his own caste and station. The quiet, sensible Elizabeth saw the attachment which was growing up between the stranger and her sister, and feared the result; but her misgivings were but slightly communicated. Basil proposed in due and honorable form, and Lilian promised to be his wife.That there was stormy work at Hopelands when the young heir returned to the parental roof, and requested his father's countenance to the marriage which was already arranged, the sisters never knew. Basil only admitted that there had been difficulties, that his parents had entertained other views for him; but that all was settled now. They were to reside at first at Hopelands, and then take up their residence in town, and begin housekeeping for themselves. In process of time, letters reached Kirby-Brough from two of Basil's sisters, Olivia and Harriet; stiff, cold letters they seemed to the young fiancee, written, it would seem, rather in compliance with certain conventionalities, than From a desire to welcome to their domestic circle the young and lovely new sister, who was leaving, for their brother's sake, the happy home of her early years.As the time fixed for Lilia's marriage drew near, Elizabeth's anxieties increased tenfold. She knew Lilian so well; she was such 'a paradoxical creature; so humble and gentle in an atmosphere of love, so proud and uncompromising when she felt or fancied herself wronged; so cold and reserved to those whom she could not respect; so clinging and ingenuous where she encountered goodness and sympathy. Then she was so sensitive, and so quick to hide the disappointment and pain which from tithe to time persons of her temperament are certain to encounter.Yes; Lilian Grey was perilously fashioned: a child in the great world's ways, yet a woman in strength of feeling, and earnestness, and purpose; gifted with that dangerous, and too often fatal, dower of remarkable beauty, with an ardent and poetic temperament, a brilliant imagination, and a very imperfectly developed, but rather alarming, capacity for acute sarcasm.And with regard. to religion? Here Lilian ,was altogether wanting. The light of truth which every day grows clearer and larger, had not yet penetrated to Kirby-Brough. The inhabitants thought they were good, consistent Church-people, because they congregated once or twice every Sunday in the grand old minster-like church of their quiet, respectable town, lived, generally speaking, moral and reputable lives, and responded four times annually to the rector's invitation to come to the sacrament of the Lord's Supper. No controversial questions vexed the good people of Kirby-Brough, no sectarian or party spirit disturbed the even tenor of their way. High Church and Low Church were terms but imperfectly understood, and never discussed. Tractarianism and the Evangelical Alliance were alike unknown. The tide of time actually seemed to stagnate at Kirby-Brough; but the rector gave hood dinners, the wife of the head-master of the grammar-school bare delightful evening parties, and on the high-days and festivals the bells clanged till the old church-tower rocked again, and the breeze from the hills fluttered the silken folds of the parish flag, and displayed the motto of the loyal but undemonstrative Kirby-Broughians, "Church and Queen."The last Sunday of Lilian's maiden life came and went. She repeated mechanically the responses after the drowsy clerk, and listened wearily to the thirty-fourth edition of the rector's sermon on Jacob wrest-ling with the angel. After the evening service, she went to see Alice Rayner, her old school-fellow, who was confined by perpetual indisposition to- her couch.Elizabeth and Eleanor walked home with the children. Aunt Dorothy n ever attended evening service; she read Blair's sermons or "the Week's Preparation" at home; so Lilian went alone up the quiet hill, and along the green lane, to Alice Rayner's cottage-home. The sweet April day had come to its close, the sun had gone down behind the distant hills, leaving on their lonely summits a glorious flush of crimson and golden light; the rush of the river sounded solemnly in the hushed Sabbath twilight, and the young moon and the faint stars gleamed forth in the clear blue sky, that hung so peacefully over the quiet, darkening world.Lilian paused at the top of the hill; her eye rested lovingly on the grey church beneath, and on the silent churchyard, where her father and mother, with some of their infant children, slumbered side by side. Next Sunday she would be far away; and the tears rose unhidden, as she thought of her old home forsaken, her old and tried friends no longer by her side. But Basil, he for whom she was willing to break all the tender ties of her youth, he would be by her side, he would be always with her, her guide, her protector, her best and nearest friend!Slowly she turned along the lane, and reached Alice's cottage. Alice lay as usual on her couch by the fire; the lamp was not lighted, and she was gazing at the silvery stars, as one by one they shone out in the pure ether above."Dear, dear Lilian!" she said, "how kind of you. You have come to have a last quiet talk!""Yes, Alice. I thought there would be so many things to do to-morrow; and Tuesday, you know, Tuesday is to be the day.""Yes, yes! I know. God bless you, Lilian; may he make you very, very happy. You look rather sad; you repent?""Repent. Oh no, Alice. I know I shall be happy; for, after Tuesday morning, Basil's path and mine will be one. I can never know sorrow with him; never suffer while he loves me as he loves me now!""Lilian," said Alice thoughtfully, "do you know I think of many things that would never, perhaps, occur to anyone who was well and able to be about; and I am afraid it is not good to rest one's peace, one's inmost self, on any mortal creature. It seems to me that any one without trust in God is just like a ship on a deceitful sea; as the earth would be, if gravitation were to cease; as the planets would be, if their laws of motion were suddenly suspended.""But I do trust in God, Alice dear. I am not a heathen: all Christian people trust in God, do they not?""All Christian people do, undoubtedly; but oh, Lilian, how hard it is to be a Christian! It is, I am sure, the hardest thing that is not impossible. One has need of so much faith, and so much patience!""Poor Alice!" said Lilian tenderly. "It must indeed require patience to bear so much weakness and pain; to see others entering on a life of happiness, and known that no such change can await yourself.""I Was not thinking of myself, Lilian. I am sheltered here from many trials and temptations that beset others, whose lot seems brilliant compared with mine. I have many comforts in my quiet hours that no one knows of; then I know there will come a time when all this trouble will cease. This poor body will wear out some day, and then the spirit that cannot die will be clothed afresh, and dwell with its Father and King for ever. Ah! it is not I who need so much patience, so much trust, such unwavering hope. It is in the world, in the seat struggle that must be carried on through life, that faith and patience is so much needed. Lilian, you must pray for it; you will need it.""Alice, you talk to me as if I were about to enter upon a world of misery and pain; your words would better suit a pale, careworn child of sorrow, who longs for the rest and quiet of the cloister, than a young bride of nineteen, who is giving her hand and her heart to the man she would have chosen had she been able to select from the whole universe. Why do you talk of patience? With Basil by my side what evil can befall me?""Dear Lilian, Basil is not omnipotent; but I do not wish to sadden you to-night. I do trust you will be very happy. May God make you so, both you and your Basil. May God Almighty bless you both, and make you happy everlastingly!""Amen," said Lilian, solemnly. "I can say Amen to that prayer most earnestly. Alice, dear, I wish I were as good as you are!""A poor wish, Lilian; but may you be as happy in your pleasant path in the world as I am in my lonely chamber.""How did you learn to be happy, Alice? I remember when you were always fretting. Who taught you the secret of perpetual peace and content?"Alice drew forth her little Bible. "No one taught me", she said, "at least, no one on earth. I learnt it here. And, Lilian, I will give you this Bible; it seems a poor wedding-gift, but it is really worth more than all the jewels in the world. Some day you may feel care-laden and weary, and then you, too, may learn the secret."Lilian took the little Bible, and kissed it fervently. It was time to go, and she took leave of her friend with a strange yearning for the calm that reigned on the white brow and in the patient heart of her whose earthly hope had long ago faded never more to revive. She went her way homeward by the silvery sweeping river, watching its swift current, remembering how its bright waves were borne to the great sea; and dimly picturing how like to a stream was mortal life, that sped on and on, never turning back, but reaching at last the great ocean of Eternity.She knew that on the shores of that boundless sea was eternal joy and pleasure for evermore. In her band she held a chart, a way-book, that would lead her safe there—even Alice's little pocket Bible; but her eyes were blinded, and she saw not yet the celestial road. Alice's battle had been with pain, and solitude, and irritability. Lilian's scene of conflict was to be the great world of every-day life.CHAPTER II.THE HONEYMOON.TEN weeks had passed since Lilian Grey bade adieu to Alice Rayner;since, in the Sabbath calm of the sweet spring evening, she had stood watching the swift current of the river Brough, half thinking of its impetuous course from its cradle in the western hills to the smooth meadow-lands beyond the town, and further on to the deep, deep sea, twenty miles away, and half wondering whether the stream of her life would flow in such varied and interrupted channels.Her wedding-day was alternately fine and showery. Now, the sun shone out in as clear a sky as ever arched its glorious dome over this world of flowers and thorns; and now the bright beams faded, and darkness gathered over the landscape's vernal loveliness; and then the clouds rolled away, and the soft, golden rain fell like a veritable Danæan shower on the green, grateful earth.Lilian had hoped for a day of unceasing, cloudless sunshine. The showers disquieted her; she had a superstitious notion that the atmospheric complexion of one's marriage-day is an unerring index to the wedded life which is to follow. Elizabeth cared nothing about the weather after the bridal party re-turned from church; no finery was spoiled, only Eleanor allowed her delicate lilac silk to brush against the long, dripping grass as she crossed the churchyard; and the elder sister, who had no fancies, and never encouraged them in others, strove to combat Lilian's nervous apprehensions, and very sensibly remarked, that those Who had an objection to a chequered state of weather on their wedding-day should certainly es-chew April as the time of its celebration.Eleanor thought little of the sunshine, or of the shower. She believed that Lilian was that day to take out a perpetual patent for unimpeachable happiness. Her sister's marriage seemed to her the most fortunate and promising of human events. She had neither Elizabeth's sober, sensible, tranquil mind, nor Lilian's poetic tendencies and passionate yearnings after the purest and noblest kind of terrestrial enjoyment.To tell the truth, Eleanor had more of the world in her young heart than any one could have imagined. She was ambitious; she had no idea of dreaming out her existence in the sleepy little town of Kirby-Brough; she wanted to be distinguished, and she counted upon Lilian's marriage as a stepping-stone in her uncertain way to fame and fashion.She always wanted to lead. She was not unkind, but domineering was inherent in her nature; and she seldom paused to consider the probable results of any word or action, which, at the moment, seemed essential to the gratification of her passion for power.Such were the two sisters whom Lilian left in "the old house at home." Susan, more properly called Susie, was quite a child, and the boys were an aver-age specimen of their age and sex. I dwell more up-on Eleanor's character and temperament, because in after days the current of her life and Lilian's were strikingly and painfully intermingled.It was the evening of a beautiful midsummer-day. Lilian and her husband were leisurely returning from their afternoon's walk along the St. Cross Meadows, for they were spending several days at Winchester previous to setting out finally for Hopelands, which was not more than sixty miles distant. Lilian was very tired, for they had been rambling on St. Catherine's Hill, crossing the Shawford Downs, and were now retracing their way beneath the shady trees which stud the park-like meadow-lands of the ancient hospital of St. Cross.Now and then the winding path came quite close to the Itchin, and Basil stooped once or twice to pluck some wild flowers which grew on its banks.He presented them to Lilian, who loved wild flowers better than cultivated ones, but of their names and habits she knew nothing; and this rather annoyed Basil, who had been accustomed from childhood to take long botanical rambles with his sisters.Some beautiful forget-me-nots grew on a little boggy islet not far distant from the bank."Oh, Basil!" cried Lilian, "look at those lovely little flowers! Can you not gather them for me? I would rather have them than all the turquoises in the world.""Gather them, indeed," replied Basil, with a tone that seemed to imply he thought her request a most unreasonable one, but with a glance that slowed he was willing to essay the passage of the Hellespont, if only the Hellespont were there, instead of the little fussy, brawling Itchin, and if Lilian herself desired her own true knight to accomplish the feat."Gather them, why not? I could leap the space myself, I have done greater things on the Brough at home; but I suppose it does not comport with my dignity as a married woman to run and jump like an en-franchised school-girl. But, Basil, I must have the forget-me-nots.""If there were any footing on that tiny islet," said the young man, poking across the Water with his walking-stick, "but really, Lilian, it looks like a black sponge. There is no fear of being drowned; but, like you, I hesitate on a point of dignity. It is certainly unbecoming on a married man to get ducked in a muddy stream like an unscrupulous school-boy.""Never mind, then," said Lilian, rather quickly, She knew she was most foolish, most irrational; but she certainly felt annoyed at her husband's hesitation. It Was the first time her expressed—nay, her implied—wish lead not been instantaneously and proudly accorded. She turned away in the direction of the grey pile, that half obscured by the stately trees was very near at hand.In the solemn evening light the ancient church and its dim cloisters, the high square tower, and the gothic ball looked so calm and reverend, that for the moment the impetuous displeasure was stayed.There was something in the silent hoary towers of St. Cross that appealed to her better feelings—rather, something that seemed to appeal; for, after all, the most hallowed associations are little to be relied on where there is no strong and abiding root of principle—simple Christian principle—in the human soul, that is tossed upon the waves, and ebbs and flows with the life-current of this troublous world.Howbeit, at this moment, the glorious red flush on the old walls, and the peaceful aspect of the quiet meadows seemed to reflect somewhat of their sweet calm back on her own perturbed spirit. The petulancy, the regret, the impression made by the hour, and the scene came and went in less than a minute and a half, and Lilian turned again to Basil, who was measuring his distance."No, Basil, clear," she said gently, "you must not go on my foolish errand. There is no fear of a repetition of the flower's legend; the river is neither deep nor rapid, but I cannot let you incur the risk of a plunge-bath for a mere whim of mine."But Basil had seen the beautiful face turn away with a cloud on its expressive loveliness. He had seen the rosy 'lips quiver, and then contract a little; and he had not seen the passing of the mist, and the contrition of heart for the momentary and childish ebullition of impatience. So he heeded not the quiet words of dissuasion, but, falling back a little, prepared to spring. He was light and active, and found himself immediately on the desired spot. The flowers were quickly gathered, and splendid specimens they were; but Basil's return was not at all triumphant. The ground of the little islet was, as lie said, altogether spongy, and it quaked under his elastic footstep as he made ready to leap ashore.He felt his feet almost sliding from under him, and he made a desperate effort to attain the bank, but in vain; he found himself, not on the smooth, green sward, where Lilian awaited him, but in the water, which was much deeper than they had imagined. There was no danger; even Lilian was not frightened, but she felt considerably dismayed. She hurried to the brink, and stretched out her little white hand for her husband's benefit, bewailing both audibly and inaudibly the pertinacity with which she had demanded the flowers.He did not tale it; perhaps lie thought so frail a support worse than none, and in another minute he was safely landed, but dripping wet, bemired and splashed, and his feet entangled with long tendrils of weeds that grew at the bottom of the stream.His hat, too, was swimming merrily down the current, and it needed no small degree of skill and patience to extricate it from its unwonted position. Basil was certainly out of temper, and when we take into account the guise in which he was compelled to walk to his lodgings, the chill which is inseparable from a sudden immersion in cold water, and the annoyance which a young man feels when he has been placed in a ridiculous position, a slight degree of crossness is not to be considered marvellous.The cloud would probably have passed before he had walked many yards, if, in getting over a stile, an, unfortunate impetus had not been given to Lilian's risible nerves. He looked so grave, and at the same time so absurd, as he stood assisting her with all due decorum over the stile, holding in his left hand the saturated hat, which had looked so black and glossy when they set out on their walk, that Lilian, after an ineffectual struggle, burst into such a fit of laughing as had not attacked leer since her school-days.Basil looked his surprise, and, after a moment or two, his displeasure. He saw no cause for merriment, and Lilian's innocent, but perhaps ill-timed mirth, annoyed him almost beyond the possibility of control."What amuses you, Lilian?" he said, at length, as drily as possible."Amuses me? Oh, Basil!" and Lilian began again on a fresh score, and laughed till she was quite exhausted.She saw at length that her risibility displeased him, and she tried to compose herself. She dared not speak, for the demon of laughter once excited was in her case very difficult to quell. When she tried to say something about his walking quickly to avoid taking cold, her voice trembled and quivered so that she was obliged to leave her hopes and wishes only half expressed.They reached their lodgings at last, and Basil, without a word of comment, withdrew to change his clothes. Lilian was vexed at herself, at her irritability, which was more apparent than she had intended it to be, and at her foolish want of control. Yes; she, Lilian Hope, a wife of ten weeks' experience had been pouting like a sulky baby, and laughing like a foolish under-bred child! "I have no patience with myself," she said; "I am not Lilian Grey now, with only my sisters to please, and the good people of Kirby-brough to encounter; I am a married woman, with a position to maintain and a husband to please." And she went on lecturing and scolding herself at a fine rate, till she was rather uncomfortably reminded of her duties as a married woman.Tired and vexed and rather heated, she had been sitting by the open window without thinking of re-moving her walking habiliments, and, worse still, without a thought of inquiry for the tea-things. Lilian lead very dim ideas of housekeeping. Elizabeth, aided by Aunt Dorothy, had supplied every deficiency at home, and she constantly found herself forgetting that eating and drinking cannot be comfortably carried on without some degree of forethought and management, and if she did remember to call up the obsequious landlady without a hint from Basil, and give the requisite orders for dinner, she was sure to make some dismal blunder at tea-time, either putting in too much or too little tea, sometimes omitting the refreshing herb altogether, and then looking in comical dismay at the aqua pura that rapidly dissolved the lumps of sugar she had just, with due matronly importance, deposited in the tea-cups. Sometimes the kettle boiled unheeded, and Lilian totally forgot to add water to the tea, or, worse still, she lost her keys, and the caddy had to be forced open, and the marmalade to be dispensed with altogether.But so far, Basil had never been angry. He had laughed at her mistakes, kissed her for her neglect, and privately rejoiced that his darling Lilian was to have six months' education in her wifely duties at Hopelands, where his mother and his sister Mary were lamed for their superior menage. So far Lilian had never in secret deplored her dear Basil's attachment to creature comforts. She had never moralized, in a lady-like, feminine way, upon the crying weakness of the lords of creation, who unquestionably care a great deal more about a well-spread and thoroughly-served table, than most of the opposite sex. This evening she was to be taught one of those lessons which frequently fall to the lot of young wives when they are not domestically inclined.Basil came down resolved not to be angry with his wife any more, but at the same time composing a suitable exordium. to be addressed to her at a fitting sea-son, on the impropriety and objectionableness of unrepressed laughter, and he opened the door fully disposed to be magnanimous and to enjoy his tea.Alas! there was no sign of tea. Lilian, with her bonnet in her hand, and her mantle slipping from her shoulders, sat where, he had left her a quarter of an hour before, he said nothing, but walked to the window and shut it with rather more noise than was essential; then he rang the bell so violently that the landlady herself replied to the emphatic peal, half expecting her aid to be required on behalf of Mrs. Hope, who might be faint after her long walk in the country."Tea immediately; and this litter cleared away"—pointing to the remains of a dessert of strawberries—said Mr. Hope, in the tone of one who would not be trifled with.Mrs. Glossop obeyed the imperious mandate, and Lilian flew to her chamber and presented herself again in the drawing-room in less time than she usually occupied for taking off her gloves.She infused the tea immediately; but either the quantity was insufficient, or the water did not boil, for the inebriating draught thus produced was anything but agreeable. Basil did not complain, but he was silent and looked displeased. When the tea things were cleared away, and the candles brought, Lilian began to unlock her writing case."What are you going to do?" asked Basil breaking the silence."I am going to finish my letter to Elizabeth; it can go by early post in the morning.""Really you spend every spare moment in writing to Kirby-Brough. I wish you would go to bed now; I cannot have you looking pale and wearied to-morrow when we reach Hopelands."I am not tired; I do not wish to go to bed yet," said Lilian, who rebelled against Basil's tone more than his words."I shall be mortified if I have to present you to my mother and sisters looking jaded and worn from fatigue and want of repose."A voice within said to Lilian, "Yield, yield, it is your womanly heritage," but she put away the better impulse which would have made her close her writing case, and prepare for bed in a cheerful spirit, and she answered coolly, "I have only the conclusion; I prefer writing to-night, but pray go to bed yourself, I see you are wearied, do not wait for me.""I do not wish to be disturbed; therefore, I will wait, if you please," returned Basil, coldly.Lilian wrote on. She felt tired herself, and she had no interest in her occupation; but she did not choose to lay aside her pen, lest Basil should think she was conquered. And so she went on, writing she scarcely knew what to Elizabeth, till having, as she imagined, fully displayed her firmness, she folded her letter, directed and stamped it ready for the morning.When she took up the chamber candle, Basil rose too, and went to his dressing room. He seemed very much annoyed, and Lilian wished he would only scold her; any thing was better than this silence.The summer morning was breaking before Lilian fell asleep. A series of trifles—common trifles—had disturbed her peace, and her husband's also; but she remembered that "trifles make the sum of human things," and she felt vaguely apprehensive.She satisfied herself at last, by firmly resolving that it should not happen again—though what it was that should not happen again, she did not very clearly determine. She fell asleep with an uncomfortable consciousness that the first shadow had risen up between her and the husband whom she so passionately loved.Ah, that first shadow! That hovering shade!—How, as time rolls on, it gathers blackness till all is darkness and misery! till there is cold, silent night, where there ought to be warm, living sunshine, and unbroken communion of heart and soul!CHAPTER III.HOPELANDS.LOOK, Lilian! that is Hopelands!" said Basil Hope, on the following afternoon, as their horses stopped to rest on the summit of a long and tedious hill.Lilian looked up. Her eye glanced quickly over the rugged descent their carriage had still to traverse, to a rich undulating country beyond. Rivers woods, broad sweeps of green, sunny meadowland; picturesque hamlets nestling under the shade of fir-clad slopes; vast clumps of glorious forest trees; fields of waving corn, and tangled dells suggestive of waterfalls, and cool, mossy grots, made up the magnificent landscape to which her attention was called. Her face brightened exceedingly, as the lovely prospect met her view. "Oh, Basil, how exquisite! and we are to live here!" she exclaimed. "This is a thousand times hotter than Kirby-Brough!""My dear Lilian, once for all, never think of comparing Kirby-Brough with Hope-lands and its neighborhood; nothing would annoy my mother and sisters more than such a comparison!""But, my dear Basil, as far as externals are concerned, the comparison must he vastly in favor of Hopelands; it is so natural that I should compare my new home with the one I have just left. How I wish Elizabeth and Eleanor were here to see this view! I suppose, Basil, there will be no chance of my inviting them, till we have an establishment of our own?""Certainly not; my mother has an insuperable aversion to multiplying family connections; she never asks any one to Hopelands who is not in her own set,"There was something in both Basil's last speeches annoying to the young wife. She had begun to fancy lately that he did not care to talk about Kirby-Brough, or to encourage her to talk about it either; and now this allusion to Mrs. Hope's "set" led to cogitations of an uncomfortable character.She wisely, however, kept her misgivings to herself, and asked Basil where Hopelands actually lay."Do you see that piece of red rock crowned with firs?" he asked with animation."Yes, perfectly; it rises up from that crescent-shaped meadow, where there are such beautiful trees.""Well, carry your eye along the stream that bounds that meadow, till far away it readies a wild district of brushwood; all that, on both sides of the water, as far as you can see, belongs to Hopelands. You can catch the chimneys of the house peeping over that little wood to the right; and—yes, look this minute; there is the eastern gable where the swallows' nests are, that I told you of."Lilian looked with as eager an interest as her husband desired. How often he had described to her the scene she now beheld, and how faithfully, her own gratified glances bore witness. Yes! they were at the bottom of the hill now, and they were rolling swiftly along an umbrageous lane, almost carpeted with smooth, green turf, and shut in by bowery hedges where wild roses of every species, luscious honey-suckles, and tall purple foxgloves rivalled the cultured children of the garden and greenhouse.Along that lane Basil always had returned home for the holidays; along that green flowery lane he had rambled with his sisters and their governess in his more juvenile days; and now, as he had often pictured, when they two were wandering on the banks of the Brough, or watching the sunset from Kirby Moor—now he was bringing home his bride to his ancestral dwelling-place; for the Hopes of Hopelands had held all that countryside for many a century, with one short interregnum, when they had been summarily ejected for their attachment to the unpopular dynasty of the Stuarts.But the Restoration set everything to rights as far as the Hopes were concerned; they returned to their ancient possessions, richer and more powerful than ever; and firmly resolved never to receive the patent of nobility which the "merry monarch," or rather his gracious advisers, would fain have conferred upon them.Lilian began to feel very nervous, for Basil announced that the lodge was close at hand; even as he spoke the road took a sudden turn, and the carriage swept round to the open gates which led into a long majestic avenues of elms. Lilian had a foolish fancy that the family, or at least the young ladies, or certainly Basil's favorite sister Harriet, would meet them at this lodge; but no one was present, save a very old woman, who stood at the little garden-wicket of the porter's domain, dropping curtsies in rapid succession, and several little children, too shy to make their appearance, who peeped from the open window at Mr. Basil's new lady. The old lady wore a gown of great amplitude and wonderful stiffness, so that every time she curtsied, the skirt of her garment swelled round her like a balloon in the way which school-girls are wont to describe as "cheeses." Lilian perfectly re-membered this; it was not so very long since she and Eleanor had astonished the Young ladies of Miss Macduff's seminary, at their breaking-up party, by making unparalleled cheeses in their new silk dresses, and the sight of the grave, wrinkled grandam performing the same feat once more roused Lilian's risible propensities.Basil was seriously annoyed. He himself was far more nervous than his bride; she little knew the storm of opposition, the sweeping censures, and the unqualified contempt her marriage had called forth; she little guessed with what pains and perseverance Basil had succeeded in wringing from his parents a tardy, reluctant consent to his objectionable union with "the half bred, half-educated daughter of a vulgar Yorkshire clothier."Most indignantly he had exclaimed against the illiberal harshness of his mother and sisters; most strenuously he had declared that her extraordinary beauty, her grace,and her fascinating manners would make her the pride and glory of Hopelands. Now he was about to justify his choice; to present to his proud, exclusive mother and his consequential sisters, the bride for whose sake he had declared he would live in perpetual celibacy if defrauded of her hand. He knew the eagle eyes that would be upon every movement; the critical ears that would be open to every word; the prejudicial observation with which Lilian's every action would be minutely scanned. The long blissful dream was over. He and his beautiful Lilian had been all in all to each other since the day of their marriage. Till the evening before, no shadow had crossed their golden sunny pathway; now they were to live in the world once more, to join the great human family, to think of conventionalities, to conform to rules, and to male themselves acceptable to those who had it in their power so greatly to mar or brighten their prospects.He looked anxiously at Lilian. Was she really so very,very beautiful? Yes! he felt satisfied there; the fair critics could not impeach his taste; but then her manners, her cultivation! Many times during the last ten weeks lie had referred to things, and persons, whom it was customary to discuss in the home-circle at Hopelands; but of which Lilian was ignorant.And this uncontrolled laughter! Could there be anything more tiresome? True, Lilian's laughter, however excessive, was low and silvery; but still it was not in the fitness of things to give way to such irrepressible demonstrations of feeling, especially in a family where both crying and laughing were almost proscribed.Basil forgot how thoroughly he had enjoyed the merry, unpretending circle in Lilian's old home; how entirely he had entered into their mirth; how he had loved to hear Lilian's sweet musical peals of laughter when there were no censors present to vote it unbecoming and plebeian.She saw how grave he was looking, and she fancied perhaps he thought she was laughing at him again, so she hastened to explain the cause of her merriment. Worse and worse! The idea of Mrs. Basil Hope making "cheeses" in Miss Macduff's omnium gatherum schoolroom, only as far back as Christmas! If Lilian made such revelations to her new family, it was certain they would vote her a hoyden. His carefully educated sisters, Mary, Theresa, Olivia, and Harriet, would as soon think, or have thought of going into the dairy, and making veritable cheeses of milk rennet. And then this laughter—why the old walls of Hopelands would ring again! and—and, oh dear! no one but himself could calculate the long train of disagreeables which must certainly follow. However, it was no time to lecture now—he hated to vex Lilian; besides he might make her shy and awkward, and further still, he was not quite sure about her temper.Presently the house came in view—a large sober family mansion, rebuilt its the youth of the present proprietor—that is to say, a portion of it had been re-built, for some part of the ancient edifice, which was obscured from general view still existed in its pristine grandeur and gloom. The carriage swept up to the stately portico. Where were the sisters? Where the mother, waiting to bless and welcome to her heart the bride of her only son? Echo answered "where," Basil led his wife into the wide solemn-looking hall, and told her that one day she would be mistress of this, her new home.Home! It did not look much like home. She thought what it would be when some day George or John brought home his wife to Kirby-Brough. Not much resembling her reception, that was certain. Then the marble floor, the grim portraits oil the dark walls, the wide staircase, and the rich sombre light, which streamed in through vary-colored glass; how unlike the narrow entrance with its strip of oil-cloth, and its two parlors opening on each side, and its steep oak-painted staircase beyond!Basil began to feel furious. "Where is your mistress? where are the young ladies? where is my father?" he asked excitedly of one of the sleek servants who had come forward to marshal the luggage in safety into the house."My master is at Whitcombe, Mr. Basil; he will return to dinner. My mistress, and Miss Hope, and Miss Harriet are gone out in the carriage. Miss The-resa is at the school, and Miss Olivia, I believe, is in her own apartment," said the obsequious domestic, bowing very low at the conclusion of his speech. "Shall I desire Mrs. Harrop to inform Miss Olivia that Mr. and Mrs. Basil Hope have arrived?""Yes, this moment; tell Harrop to go this minute! This way, Lilian, my love; throw that shawl down; the women will see to your things. This way, my dear. How very unfortunate that they should be out!"So Lilian thought, in one point of view; but as to her personal feelings, she thought it would be rather a relief to encounter a single member of her husband's family, before she was presented to the whole group. Basil led her across the hall, along an arched corridor, till he came to a certain well-known floor."This is the morning-room, Lilian!" he said, as he installed her on the sofa, and rang the bell to enlighten Mrs. Harrop as to the direction in which her young lady would have to steer.Lilian looked timidly round. Everything was so far beyond her previous ideas. She had fancied Hopelands being like Cranbourne-house, where Sir John Metcalf, Knt., and his lady lived, about live miles from Kirby-Brough. Poor Lilian had neither Elizabeth's invaluable composure, nor Eleanor's tact and insouciance, so she felt very nervous and weary, while she expected the advent of her sister-in-law,and answered her husband's anxious inquiries at random.At length, just as Basil's fidgets were becoming unbearable, and Lilian's paleness and gravity had reached its climax, the door opened, and a young lady of rather diminutive stature made her appearance."My dear Basil!" said the graceful brunette; and she received a fraternal embrace with great meekness and submission—"how long have you been here? Do you know papa is at Whitcombe? Did you see anything of mamma on the road? Is this Mrs. Basil Hope? Are you tired? Did you take luncheon at the Red-cross-station?""My dear Olivia," replied Basil, "you have certainly become the patron of a querist's society since you and I parted; but before I give myself to the diffusion of useful knowledge, allow me to introduce my wife. Lilian, my love, this is Olivia, my third sister. Olivia, allow me to introduce to you your new sister, Lilian Hope."Olivia extended her small slender fingers, and curtsied with a better grace than the old woman at the lodge; but Lilian fancied with less amicable intentions."I wish," said Basil, you would take my wife to her own room; the day has been so dusty and hot, I am sure she is anxious to attend to her toilet."Olivia hesitated whether she should go herself, or depute Mrs. Harrop to do the honors of Lilian's dressing-room, but a glance from her brother decided her; and besides, she thought it would be very entertaining to have the bride all to herself, and to find out what she was like before the rest of the family could have an opportunity.So she led the way up the broad staircase, and through galleries and passages till Lilian began to fear she should never find her way back again.The room into which she was ushered would have contained every chamber in the house at Kirby-Brough. Lilian felt like an atom, and a very uncomfortable atom, too. "There will be just time to dress before dinner," said Olivia. "I hear the carriage; mamma is come back, and the dressing-bell will ring in two minutes. Shall I send some one to assist you?""Yes, please," said Lilian, almost piteously, for she felt nearly desperate. She did not dare to help her-self; she would thankfully have unpacked the requisite articles, and attended to her own toilet, but she thought it would not do. Basil had desired her never to do anything that this sisters did not do; and she was pretty sure Miss Olivia would as soon have thought of making a trunk, as of unpacking it. What if she were too late? what if she could not manage her hair?Olivia hastened away when the dressing-bell rang; it was later than she thought, and she was obliged to forego her intention of investigating the state of Lilian's mind and morals for the present.Basil had a short confabulation with his mother, who seemed more dignified than ever. He was proceeding to his own room by a back way, which he had accustomed himself to take when a boy; just as he reached the door which led to his mother''s apartment, he heard congregated voices. He stopped, for his own name struck his ear, and then he heard Olivia say—" a regular school-girl, stupid and shy, but very pretty, certainly; still a mere country beauty, quite uninformed, and, I should think, not at all educated!"Basil bit his lips, and went on his way to Lilian's dressing-room in a state of feud with his clever sister Olivia.CHAPTER IV.GATHERING CLOUDS.THE long formal dinner came at last to a conclusion, the dessert was duly dismissed, and Mrs. Hope gave the ladies signal, by telegraphing to her eldest daughter, and rising with elaborate dignity from the head of the table. Basil and his father were left over the wine. Lilian cast a mournful glance on her husband, as she prepared. to follow her mother-in-law to the drawing-room; she remembered waiting many years ago for the dentist; she recalled the eve of a long past school-examination, when she and the cleverest girl in the establishment were contesting the prize, and her sensations on those momentous occasions were certainly very similar to those which she now experienced. She scarcely knew what she dreaded; but a vague apprehension of something disagreeable frightened and oppressed her, as she crossed the stately hall, and entered the beautiful room, where she was at some future day to reign sole and undisputed mistress.Basil had said little respecting his sisters, but his wife had gathered that Mary was wonderfully domestic and an excellent manager, her supererogatory services rendering the office of housekeeper almost a sinecure; that Theresa was eminently religions, much devoted to schools and inspections of cottages; that Olivia was alarmingly scientific; and that Harriet was the belle and beauty of the family.They were all talented and accomplished, quite above the general run of young ladies, and the Misses Hope of Hopelands, were renowned through the county for their high breeding, their remarkable attainments, and their fascinations in general. Lilian found herself in a pitfall at the very outset. A large circular glass dish stood on one of the tables, and it was filled with wild flowers, most beautifully arranged.What lovely flowers!" she exclaimed, as she took her seat at the window, where they were placed.Harriet was pleased at this spontaneous tribute to her taste and judgment, for it was she who had gathered and arranged them; she drew her chair to Lilian's, and began to extol the beauty of the neighborhood's floral productions, and, somehow, Lilian found herself talking quite comfortably to Harriet; while Mrs. Hope sat cozily on the sofa; Theresa made up the shoe-club accounts; and Mary and Olivia got into a tremendous discussion about the "old red sand- stone." It would have been well for Lilian, had the geographical dispute lasted till tea-time; as it was, the subject was quickly dismissed, and Olivia came to the pleasant recess, where Harriet and Lilian were still admiring and examining the lovely roses, and other wild flowers of the dell."You are a lover of flowers, I perceive, Mrs. Basil," said Olivia, mercilessly depetalizing a fine cluster of speedwell as she spoke."Indeed I am," replied Lilian warmly; "my sisters and I have always been so fond of collecting wild flowers; we have many beautiful kinds in our neighborhood!""You have the trollius," said Olivia affirmatively."I believe it is found only in the northern counties and in Wales. I have never yet been fortunate enough to secure a perfectly healthy specimen for my hortus siccus.""The trollius," said Lilian, musingly, "I do not think I know it.""The Trollius Europeus," continued Olivia, "commonly called the Mountain Globe Flower, very scarce; flowers in elevated woody places, rather affects a moist soil, and the remote vicinity of water; petals a beautiful glossy yellow, folded inwards; class and order, according to Withering, Polyandria, Polygynice: under the natural system, Thalamiflorœ division; family, Ranunculaceœ. The aquilegia, the delphinium, the anemone, and others, you know, are in the same family!"Poor Lilian! she felt fairly suffocated in science. If Miss Hope had spoken of the columbine and the larkspur, instead of the aquilegia and the delphinium, there would have been something for her to lay hold of; but keeping, as she did, strictly to botanical names, the anemone was the only friendly sound in the whole sentence. She did know and love the pretty fragile wood anemones, and the very name brought back tender reminiscences of the bowery lane leading to Alice Rayner's cottage."Do yon patronize the Linnæan or the natural system, Mrs. Basil?" asked Olivia, in the careless tone of one who pre-supposes every rational man and woman to adhere to one or the other botanical system of classification.Lilian colored a little, and then answered quietly, "I am sorry to say I know nothing of either. I am ignorant even of the rudiments of botany.""Is it possible? interposed Mrs. Hope, waking up from her semi-doze among the sofa cushions. "Basil is such a botanist, a perfect enthusiast in the science; he always said his wife should be devoted to the same pursuits.""I am surprised!" echoed Olivia. "Basil is so extremely learned about plants. He is quite an authority respecting the Cryptogamœ and I know no one who understands grasses as he does, unless it be his old friend and lady-love, Fanny Charteris.""His old lady-love!" Lilian did not raise her eyes from the fern-leaves she was pretending to examine, but she felt her cheeks flushing and fading, and she knew that curious glances were upon her. "Who is Miss Charteris?" she ventured at length to inquire, trying to look amused and unconcerned."Our dearest friend!" replied Theresa."The sweetest sweet creature!" replied Harriet."The most perfect of her sex and age!" said Olivia, in a tone of mingled enthusiasm and sadness. "She is, as Theresa affirms, our dearest friend. We have always looked upon her as a sister. She has shared all our studies, our plans and our pursuits, and her refined and cultivated mind is enshrined in a person well worthy of so choice a treasure.""My beautiful Fanny!" said Mrs. Hope, mournfully, as if in soliloquy. "My gifted child! My own fair blossoms are not dearer to me than my poor banished Fanny Charteris!"Why was Miss Charteris banished? That was a question Lilian did not dare to ask. She perfectly comprehended all that was either expressed or supposed by Basil's mother and sisters.Seeing her take up a line shell of the Cyprœa genus, Olivia inquired it' she were a conchologist, informing her for her satisfaction, that Basil and Fanny Charteris had collected and arranged all the shells that were in the Indian cabinet in the morning-room. Then, as the rich sunlight faded, and the first pale stars gleamed out in the grey east—"Had she given much time to astronomy?"Poor ignorant Lilian; she had once learned a compendium of astronomy in Mangnall's Questions, but she had long ago forgotten every word. And yet she loved to watch the bright suns of night, and the radiant planets come forth in the solemn silent sky. If she knew nothing of their relative positions, distances, etc., she was no unmoved beholder of their thrilling far-off beauty. Many a night in the pleasant garden at Kirby-Brough, while Elizabeth was comfortably practising the mysteries of skirt-making, and Eleanor was firing her imagination over the pages of a fifth-rate novel, purporting to delineate fashionable life, Lilian walked alone, or sat in the rude arbour, which the "boys" had built for her special benefit, gazing in unscientific but loving wonder on the starry worlds on high.She thanked Longfellow in her heart for his grand idea that the stars are "the thoughts of God in the heavens."She looked up to the quiet shining skies, and remembered that in the time of our fathers, and in the old time before them, the same lustrous orbs looked down upon a fair but troublous world. She remembered that when the grand work of creation was finished, "all the morning stars sang together for joy;" that the patriarchs walked out in the cool eventide, and gazed on the same bright constellations; that God spake in that ancient time to his servant Job of " the sweet influences of Pleiades, and the bands of Orion;" that in the night journeyings of wandering Israel, amid the fastnesses of Sinai, by the banks of the typical Jordan, beneath the proud walls of the beleaguered cities of Canaan, the same shining host shone out in the deep blue Syrian sky. And her thoughts passed onwards to later, but still far distant times, when holier feet than the patriarchs' trod the hills of Judæa, when the shores of Palestine echoed to strains more hallowed than the rapt utterance of the prophets of old time. Jesus of Nazareth, the Babe of Bethlehem, the Tempted in the desert-wilds, the Man of Sorrows came to dwell awhile with sinful men; and the stars saw the shepherds keeping their night-watch, and the Magi wending their way to the throne of the King whose kingdom was not of this world. They looked down on the young Child and his mother borne into Egypt from the tyrant's cruel wrath; they shone over peak, and rock, and cedar-crowned height, when Jesus went up into a mountain to pray, and was there all night alone; they gleamed through the rustling olive-branches on mournful Gethsemane, and they kept their calm watch over the garden-tomb where the body of the Savior lay at rest.... Another century, and they saw the night-sky red with lurid flames; the martyr on his couch of agony, the children of the Crucified One borne swiftly to their happy home on the wheels of a fiery chariot. And still they shine on, one star differing from another star in glory, burning in the solemn midnight sky, till the day shall come "when the stars of heaven downcast," shall "like red leaves be swept away."Such were Lilian's thoughts when she sat in the old home-garden at Kirby-Brough. Her nature, though intensely poetical, was little cultivated, and the tone of her mind was what is commonly called religious; and if the religious life were nothing more than a succession of enthusiastic impulses, and sweet, dreamy, reverential musings, such a frame of character as Lilian's would certainly be the climax of piety.But her soul was in darkness yet; and when she thought of the sainted feet that trod the faraway Judæan land, ages and ages ago, her emotions were no sleeper than when she read the stirring tale of the crusaders' chivalric achievements.A vague idea that she, like the rest of mankind, was a sinner, and that Christ died for the fallen, embodied all her Christianity. She did not love Him whom she called Lord and Master; she never felt her need of Him. So far, her heart had never ached with the void that comes sooner or later to all who place their chief joy in earthly hopes; who drink only from terrestrial fountains; who take for their strongest support a reed of mortality.When she mused so sweetly on the bright shining stars, she could not say, with swelling heart and tearful eye, "My Father made them all!" She could not soar beyond the glittering hosts to the land where there was there was no night. If she dreamed at all of heaven, it was as the abode of her departed parents, whither she, too, might go when a long happy life in this world was ended.She knew nothing of the inheritance of the children of the kingdom; nothing of the struggle, the joy, the peace, or the warfare of the Christian life!Presently Lilian was again roused from the reverie in which she would have been thankful to indulge, by Theresa saying—"I suppose, Mrs. Basil, you are Evangelical?"For want of a better answer Lilian replied, "Yes.""Because," continued Theresa, "I know Basil has strong objections to Tractarianism, and, on the other side, our family, though strictly Evangelical, eschews anything like Low Church! Mamma, Miss Stevenson has been telling me how very low the new rector of Bishop's-Coombe is.""Dreadfully low, I hear," responded Mrs. Hope. "Well, we must have nothing to do with him.""I wonder they allow low men in the Church," said Lilian, innocently; "a clergyman should always be a gentleman!"The young ladies concealed their amusement, but they continued the conversation, and soon gathered that their sister-in-law was in no danger of annoying them by any opinions of another nature.She believed Roman Catholics were very wicked, and Dissenters very vulgar, and the State Church about right, though there was no knowing what the Establishment might come to if low men were permitted to receive ordination.But Lilian grew very weary as the evening advanced; she was tired, both physically and mentally; her head ached, and she longed to be alone with her husband once more. He was still with his father, and when the solemn serving-man went to summon the gentlemen to tea, he returned to say Mr. Hope and Mr. Basil were gone out; and the ladies were not to wait on any account.Harriet at length noticed poor Lilian's pale cheeks, and suggested that perhaps Mrs. Basil would like to go to her dressing-room. Lilian thankfully took the opportunity to escape, and, with a feeling of exquisite relief, she found herself alone in the luxurious apartment devoted to her use.Elizabeth might leave commented on its extraordinary conveniences. Eleanor would probably have exulted over the costly bijouterie of the toilet-table, and, at another time, Lilian would not have been insensible to the splendor around her, still less to the beauty without, which the shades of the summer's night could not conceal; but now, wearied and saddened, she sat by the window, resting her aching head on her hand, and half-wondering what it was that made her so unhappy.She never knew till that evening, how very imperfect was her education; she was absolutely frightened at the amount of erudition displayed by Basil's sisters, and Basil himself. He had doubtless been accustomed all his life to such cleverness; when the novelty of his new position had worn away, he would weary of the companion he had chosen for life. And Fanny Charteris!—Lilian had never heard her name before. No wonder, since she had once been more to Basil than any one. True, she herself was preferred to Miss Charteris, but it pained her excessively to know that another had once been taken to basil's Heart; and might he not, at some future time, curse the infatuation of the hour which led him to descend from his sphere, and unite; himself with a simple, uncultivated country belle?She looked little like a belle now, the poor lilly of Kirby-Brough, with her white cheeks, her heavy eyes, her loose uncurled hair, and her drooping figure. And where was Basil? Why did he not come home? Even as she irritably asked the useless question, she saw him cross the terrace, and enter one of the lover rooms by a French window. He was in the house, then! The next moment he would come to see if she were seriously indisposed, to hiss the quivering lips, to smooth the heavy straightened tresses, to soothe the discomfited spirits of his bride. But minutes sped on, and no step like his trod the corridor; she was left to loneliness and self-torture. Already he was beginning; to tire of her. She sat long at the window, unconsciously watching the dusky landscape; then, fearing; lest he should come and find her still up, and think she had been waiting and wishing for him she hurriedly undressed and flung herself, weary, angry, and dejected, on her bed.Several hours passed, and then Basil came. Lilian expected apologies, which she intended to meet with a cold silence, but none were spoken. "What, Lily!" he cried, "awake yet! They told me you were tired, and had the headache, so I thought you should have a good long nap before there was a chance of disturbing; yon. I am sorry you went to bed, we have had a delightful evening; Mary and Theresa have been giving me such music, it was a treat to hear their voices in Norma and Anna Bolena once more, and I have beaten Olivia at chess, clean beaten her—checkmated her before she knew she was in danger. There's some glory in beating Olivia, I can tell you. What! sleepy do you say? Oh, very well. Good night."CHAPTER V.A STORM.THREE months had passed away, and Hopelands, in all its autumnal beauty, was resting in the calm September sunshine. It was a glorious afternoon, rich lights were falling on wood and rock and glade; the bright flowers of the parterre were spreading their gorgeous petals beneath the cloudless sky, as if dark days of storm and tempest were far, far away. The woodlands were arrayed once more in their royal robes of crimson and gold; the dart fir reared his formal boughs against the pale early-fading leaves of the ash; the copper beech rustled his dark branches beneath the rich brown foliage of the stately elm; and the graceful birch rested lovingly in the shadow of the mountain ash, whose coral berries wore their softest, richest line in the radiant light of the autumnal sun.All things were at rest round Hopelands; the light wind scarcely fanned the tresses of the silver birch; the river flowed calmly through the green pastures, where the quiet herds fed in the shadow of the tall trees; only the hum of an insect or the twitter of a bird broke the dreamy stillness of the beautiful evening.Among the flowers walked Lilian. Her step was clouded, and her little hands nervously crushed as sweet a spray of heliotrope as was ever gathered. She was alone; the dahlias and the china-asters were the only witnesses of the fair young matron's discomfiture.It had been a weary three months for Lilian; one perpetual straggle against the influences surrounding her. Mary would have initiated her into the mysteries of housekeeping but she refused the instruction which, indeed was not presented in a very alluring form. Then, again, Miss Hope was extremely partial to giving advice, and, worse still, she expected every one to follow it. She would say to Lilian, whom she found in the greenhouse devouring "Jane Eyre," my dear Mrs. Basil, excuse me, but really this kind of reading enervates the mind and fevers the imagination; and—you must forgive me—but if visitors should arrive and you bad to make your appearance in so neglected a toilet, unpleasant remarks would certainly be the result, which could not fail to annoy your husband."Theresa besought Lilian to take a class in her Sunday-school, and she consented. Basil was annoyed. He wanted his wife himself on Sunday, He exclaimed; but Theresa and Olivia united in declaring that Lilian's duty called her to the Sabbath-school.How Lilian repented her compliance cannot be told. What she suffered on burning, sultry afternoons, in a shall close room, crowded with weary children, can be better imagined than described. The heat, the hum, the monotony was overpowering.Her class was as stupid as a class can be. The staple instruction was the Church Catechism, and the Unlucky girls and their equally unlucky teacher, had just reached the question—"What desirest thou of God in this prayer?"Lilian remembered what hard work it had been to commit to memory that portion of the catechism; it had cost her many a tear, and many a weary Sunday afternoon, before she could fluently reply to her catechizer, "but to impart it to these stupid, tired country-girls," seemed a far worse undertaking.Lilian's class did not improve. Theresa begged her not to wear rings at the Sunday-school and wished she would hide her gold chain and its glittering appendages beneath her mantle—such vanities took off the children's attention. At length, one sultry afternoon, when the August sun was blazing on the close stifling school-room, Lilian created a sensation by falling from her chair to the floor, where she lay in a dead faint, that long resisted all the ordinary restoratives in cases of syncope. Basil was very angry when Lilian came home, looking as white as her dress, and evidently unable to sit up during the evening. Theresa angrily insisted that the heated atmosphere of the school-room had nothing to do with Lilian's indisposition, inasmuch as she and her sisters endured the same inconvenience year after year, without fronting, but she quite agreed with Basil, that she had better give up her class; she had proved herself a very inefficient teacher, and her heart was evidently not in the work.Henceforth Theresa ceased to invite Lilian to accompany her on her charitable expeditions; and she contented herself with placing in her way what she considered suitable literature for so worldly a person. Lilian was constantly, finding on her toilette, or between her novels, tracts of an awakening nature. One day she found "An Alarm to Sinners" lying on her dressing-case; the next "A Word to the Unconverted" dropped from the pages of her beloved Longfellow;—very good little books in themselves, and calculated, under God's blessing, to touch the heart of the slumbering sinner; but altogether inefficacious when administered in the Pharisee-spirit of Theresa Hope. Lilian never read the tracts, but she com-plained to Basil that she was treated like a heathen. He only laughed, and said it was Tessie's hobby; she fancied her mission was to convert the world, and the obnoxious tracts were intended for himself as much as for her.Olivia's good intentions were even more objectionable than Theresa's laudable endeavors. Basil was imprudent enough to confess that Lilian was very imperfectly educated, and to hint that as she was so young, she might, with pleasure to herself, devote a little time to study, under the superintendence of Olivia. A more unfortunate idea could not have been started. Olivia, though certainly a talented woman, was no better an instructress than Theresa was an evangelist. She and her sister-in-law quarrelled at the outset. Lilian naturally resisted, when Olivia attempted to treat her like a school-girl; she coolly swept away all the grammars and compendiums, of science which Olivia had zealously collected for her special behoof, and stood so determinedly on her dignity as a married woman, that the discomfited professoress was fain to give up her cherished hope of educating poor dear basil's ignorant, silly child-wife; but she never forgave Lilian.No day passed but Lilian suffered some mortification. There was a diurnal combat, and defeat, as the result; Basil was appealed to by both parties. He had been so accustomed to the superiority of his sisters, that he could not but imagine Lilian in fault, Her temper was the chief source of complaint, acid as time passed on, many altercations occurred between husband and wife. Harassed and fretted, and far from well, Lilian scarcely looked like the same beautiful girl we saw sitting in the calm Sabbath eve by Alice Rayner's conch of suffering. Basil went fishing, and grouse and partridge shooting, and Lilian was left much to herself, and to the uncongenial society of her new relatives.On this particular evening there had been a scene. Mrs. Hope had reproved her daughter-in-law for what she considered disrespect towards herself, and unsisterly behavior to Theresa. Lilian had retorted; calm but cutting words replied to her agitated sentences. Basil was passionately appealed to, and he, like many men, had an insuperable horror of being involved in women's quarrels, so he answered in an irritable tone, that it was disgraceful for relatives to disagree about trifles; and he did wish Lilian would learn to control her temper; her fretfulness and touchiness were a real infliction to them all, himself in particular; he was weary of it, and he rose from the table and left the room, leaving Lilian sobbing like an injured child.Mary treated her for hysterics; but the unhappy girl turned away with a gesture of scorn and disgust from the proffered remedies."You have been cruel to me ever since I came to this horrible place," sobbed Lilian; "you have all tried to make me miserable, and now you are turning my husband against me!" and she rushed from the room, for she felt that she could bear Olivia's smile and Mrs. Hope's composure no longer."I forgive you, Lilian," cried Theresa, as the young wife left the room; and Mrs. Hope clasped her hands and ejaculated, "What a temper! how greatly Basil is to be pitied!"Lilian found the stillness of her own room so oppressive that she left for the flower-garden. There the formal walks seemed to fetter her rapid movements; the low hedge-rows of roses, still vivid with many autumn varieties, seemed to cage her impatience; the calm tranquillity of the lovely evening was oppressive to an unendurable degree. So she left the cultivated domain, passed by a wicket-gate into the shrubbery, and from thence through the park into a woody district that bore the name of "the Forest;" a grand chase of olden time.On she sped, tearing her flowing dress, and wounding her feet against the knotted roots of trees, which impeded her way. For nearly an hour she hurried on, taking no note of time, nor regarding the darkness that was gradually stealing upon her.Suddenly a wild gust swept through the wood, the tree-tops were swayed backwards and forwards, and she saw dark clouds drifting across the evening sky. A storm was at hand; it was past sunset and she had lost her way. There was a cottage, or rather a hut, in the distance, and hither she bent her steps. She knocked; a feeble voice bade her enter. No one was visible at first, but, the same weak voice bidding her be seated, she discerned in a sort of recess, stretched upon a rude couch, the figure of a woman. She was not old, but her frame was worn to attenuation, her face was haggard and discolored, as if from cruel blows, and her breathing was short and hard. There was scarcely any furniture in the wretched abode, and very little light, for the only window was half-concealed by ivy. Lilian inquired the way to Hopelands, and found to her infinite relief that she had been making a circuit, and had reached almost the point from whence she commenced her ramble. A few steps would lead her to the south lodge, so her anxiety was dispelled, and she lingered to ask the woman if she were very ill."Very ill, my lady," said the poor creature; "but it won't last much longer now. I shall soon be in a better place; the doctor says I shall be gone before the winter sets in."Lilian looked compassionately on the white, pain-worn face. "What is your name?" she asked gently."Mary Mills."Then Lilian remembered a tale of woe she had heard soon after her arrival. The husband of this woman was a bad man, a poacher, a drunkard—some hinted a murderer! He treated his hapless wife in the most brutal manner, and worn out with cruel usage, sorrow, starvation, and toil, she was sinking now into an early grave.Lilian looked around her, first at the destitution so painfully visible, then at the dying woman. The tears rose in her eyes. "I am very sorry for you," she said. "I ought to have come to see you, but I did not know you lived so near Hopelands."The sweet voice, and the kind, pitying glance, brought a smile of content to the faded lips, and poor Mary replied—"Thank you, my lady, it is very comforting to hear kind words again; but this isn't a fit place for you to come into."Lilian answered by sitting down on the one crazy chair the apartment boasted. "How unhappy you must be!" she said, in a tone of the deepest compassion."Oh no, ma'am!" exclaimed the sufferer, with sudden animation, "I've no call to be unhappy; God has been so good to me. He has sent me many com-forts, and now He is going to take me away from pain and sorrow, to dwell with Him for ever and ever."Lilian gazed with awe on the lustrous eyes, and on the holy calm that overspread Mary's wasted features."You are not afraid to die?" said Lilian, after a little hesitation."Oh no! not now. Once I was thoughtless and did not love my Saviour. I cared only to be well off in this life, and to enjoy myself, as I thought; so He sent trouble to wean me from it, like, and after a time I took to read my Bible, thinking perhaps I might find some comfort in it, and there I found all I wanted. I saw how He loved me, and died for me; and somehow I couldn't help but love Him back again, though in a poor way. Many a weary day and night that love has held me up, and kept me patient, and now I am going to see Him face to face. I shall know there why all this trouble came upon me. I shall see it all then. I can only believe now!"Lilian would fain have lingered, but the gloom was deepening, and the storm fast approaching; so she bade poor Mary "good night," and promised to come and see her again very soon.She did not escape a wetting, for the rain came down in torrents, ere she could gain shelter; she reached home drenched, and sinking with fatigue. She went to bed immediately, after sending a cheerful message to the fancily.Olivia, however, interpreted her retirement as a fit of sulks, and Mrs. Hope lamented her babyish disposition, which led her to play pranks like a school-girl. "Really, Basil," she said, at last, "I beg you will lecture your wife severely; she may, perhaps, hear you without flying in a passion. There is no knowing what mischief might ensue from these wild, rash expeditions, so undignified, so improper, for a married woman, and that woman my son's wife! Pray talk to her very seriously."CHAPTER VI.EXPLANATIONS.SIX weeks longer, and the Hopelands woods were shorn of their autumnal beauty. The garden was bright no more with rainbow lines; verbenas and fuchsias were safely housed for the winter, the lest china-aster and the last of the dahlias had lifted their pale, marred faced in a valedictory gaze on the sun; the clear azure slay was as though it bad never been, and dusky, leaden clouds shut out every lingering ray of the sweet, fading sunshine.On a wild rainy afternoon, Lilian sat alone in her dressing-room. The wind howled mournfully through the long passages; and shook the door in the uppermost story; the rain fell heavily, now pouring in steady torrents on the vet leaf-strewn turf in the park; now dashing against the window-panes, and sweeping across the dreary landscape like waves of a misty sea. Lilian sat close to the fire; an unfinished letter to Eleanor lay on the table before her, a book of poems was near at hand, and some delicate needle work was piled in pretty satin-lined basket before her. She had tried various occupations; but not one of them yielded the slightest satisfaction; so now she was sitting, with her eves fixed on the fire, her hands listlessly crossed in her lap, and her mind laden with many conflicting emotions.A step, and a movement on the handle of the door, roused her from her dreaming reverie. Basil came in and threw himself into the chair which stood opposite Lilian."Well, it's all settled, Lily!" was his exclamation, as he seized the poker, and began vigorously to settle the fire."What is all settled?" she asked, languidly."Why, our own affairs, to be sure. How can you ask, Lilian? My father has at length settled the income he is to allow me, and I must say, considering I am the heir and the only son, it is preposterously small. You will have to be very careful, I can tell you, and very managing, for we must live in some sort of style, and we shall have about half as much as we shall want."Lilian looked up in dismay from the sewing she had taken, when her husband began to talk."Only half as much, Basil! What are we to do for the other half?""Do without! Some people have to do without the whole. Some people begin life with considerably less than nothing.""Nonsense, Basil! That sounds very much like ten minutes less than no time. Every thing has its limit, and nothing is exactly nothing.""Very logical! But, my dear, I have no idea of limits; on the contrary, I feel as though every thing was illimitable.""Basil, did you come here to talk nonsense?""I did not, but if I prefer nonsense to rationality, I suppose there is no reason why I should not gratify myself.""Every reason, when you come to concert plans with your wife for your future establishment.""You mistake me; I came to impart plans—by no means to concert them. All that trouble has been happily taken off our hands. My father signifies that he has business to transact with me, and mamma and the young ladies discreetly retire. Then our respected Pater-familias informs me that in consequence of great diversity of disposition between my wife and my sisters, and by reason of the many domestic tempests which have latterly disturbed the once placid atmosphere of Hopelands, it is proposed by the heads of the house, both jointly and severally, that we, the younger and interloping branches, should be forthwith ejected from the parent nest, and turned on the world to shift for ourselves. Next it is imparted to me, that I am to receive a certain annual income, subject to increase, should I in my turn become Pater-familias; also, that a certain house in London is to be given immediately into my possession; and, finally, that we had better lose no time in effecting the transfer of all our goods and chattels, and of our more valuable selves."Lilian's hands trembled so violently that she was obliged to lay down her sewing. "And you could hear your wife spoken of in this way!" she exclaimed passionately," you could hear this and make no rejoinder! You are content to remove her to an establishment of her own, in order that your family may be freed from the obnoxious member, who has so unwillingly continued their guest!""Lilian!" said the young man, gravely, but without the slightest manifestation of temper, "remember it is you, not I, who so interpret my words. That we have been very uncomfortable together, as a family, is obvious; that you have been far from happy, I know, and, therefore, I hailed with joy the prospect of placing you at the head of an establishment of your own. I came here expecting to afford pleas-ure; I thought you would be glad to know that very soon you would be placed beyond the animadversions of those whom you have so unfortunately prejudiced. But, Lilian, in those happy weeks after our marriage, I little foresaw the painful disappointment in store for me. I had so fondly hoped that you and my sisters would be drawn together by closer ties than those of mere relationship.""Knowing your sisters, as of course you did, and knowing me also," replied Lilian, "you must have been a very romantic person to cherish such ill-founded hopes. I and my sisters-in-law have scarcely an idea in common. They met me with no kindly emotions; prejudice began even before I was your wife; they have called forth, and then laughed at my educational deficiencies; they have estranged themselves from me in every possible way, and of late have treated me more as a miserable dependent, than as their brother's wife, and the future mistress of Hopelands!""Hush, Lilian," replied Basil. "Had you striven at the first to conciliate the affections of those whom I love so dearly, this unnatural estrangement would never have been. Yes, I have been romantic! I thought, Lilian, when I wooed you from your quiet home at Kirby-Brough, that I could make you happy. You seemed so gentle, so loving, so clinging then. I thought if my sisters had unfounded prejudices, traceable to their position and education, the sight of one so good, and pure, and beautiful must instantly dispel them. Since we came home all things have been contrary to my expectations.""And most contrary to mine," bitterly rejoined Lilian. "Basil, God knows I came here hoping to be received as a child, and as a sister. The love I once gave to my dead father and mother, I had treasured up to bestow on the living parents of my husband. I meant to forget, to a certain extent, my old home; I wished to lay aside old habits, and old feelings, and to be in heart, as well as in name, a Hope! Basil, you know how my kindly feelings were wronged; you know, too, how cold you were, in comparison with those happy days both before and after our marriage; how satisfied you seemed in their society; how careless of my happiness! Oh, Alice Earner was very right when she said that I should need patience; she said well when she warned me not to rest my happiness on any mortal creature. Oh, that I were still the bright, joyous girl I used to be in old times! I wish you had never seen me, then we should never have loved each other; then you would have married some one in your own station and acceptable to your family, and I should have lived quietly, but happily with my sisters and brothers at Kirby-Brough.""Do you really wish that, Lilian?" said Basil, sternly. "Do you really regret your marriage? Then, indeed, have I been miserably deceived. Come what will, I shall never wish the past otherwise than it has been. Whatever may betide, I am glad that I found you, and sought you to be my wife. Can it be possible that, after six months of married life, you deplore your lost freedom?""No, no, Basil! I was wild when I said so; but I have been so unhappy, and I thought you were growing cool. If you love me still, I am content to bear all things. Only say you love me as you once did, and I shall never wish myself again at Kirby-Brough; never desire any other lot than that which has befallen me!""Lilian, I love you dearly! I have been to blame; I have not shielded you from the storm, as I ought to have done. Having placed my flower in an ungenial atmosphere, I ought to have tended it more carefully, and bearded it from heat and tempest, to which it was unaccustomed. But, dearest, a new life is before us; a few weeks longer—a very few, for we will hasten our arrangements—and you will be freed from the trials which now beset you. In your own home things will be so different; you will be the sunshine of our dwelling, and we shall go back again to the dear old times of last summer. We will forget the painful episode, my Lily, or remember it only as naughty children remember a punishment lesson. I will try to think myself the bridegroom of tell weeks, instead of the careless husband of six months. We will turn over a new life, and be very good, and, par consequence, very happy. Now, dry your eyes, for it is getting near dinner-time; and, Lilian dear, put on that pretty blue dress I bought you at Exeter, and braid your hair a little lower, and come down looking as mild, and bright, and bonnie as when you were Lilian Grey."The promise was readily given, and a loving kiss sealed the compact of the new life that was to begin from that day.The evening passed pleasantly. Lilian played some duets with Olivia, and managed to keep time and accent delightfully; she helped Theresa with her everlasting club-accounts, and she assisted Harriet in deciding upon the dress she was to wear at a ball some eight weeks in perspective. The customary tray with biscuits and wine and water made its appearance before Lilian had suppressed one yawn, or Olivia had achieved one sarcasm.The next morning the weather was brighter, and a little before noon Lilian set out for the forest, in order to visit poor Mary Mills, who was now in the latest stage of her lingering disease. Lilian was no fine lady, so she donned her cloak and goloshes, and traversed, without a fear, the wet pathways of the leaf-strewn wood; but the soil was so drenched, and the drippings from the bare branches so continuous, that she was glad to reach the cottage.All was silent as usual, but, as Lilian raised the latch of the door, a tall, ill-looking man made his appearance from a shed near the entrance.He looked at the young lady with a sullen defiant air, and a scowl that would have shaken stouter nerves than Lilian's. But Lilian recognized in him the cruel, wicked husband of her poor pensioner, and she was about to speak, when he muttered, "You've no call to come here any more—she's dead."The brutal indifference of the wretched man, shocked Lilian more than the actual news. She hesitated, and then said, "I should like to see her once more—may I enter?" There was no answer; Mills walked away towards the thick of the forest, and Lilian ventured in.There, on her humble bed, made, however, more comfortable by Lilian's kind care, lay the mortal remains of poor Mary. The worn, haggard look was gone; the freshness of youth seemed to have returned to the thin wasted features; and peace, such as this world giveth not, rested on the white brow of the dead.The battle was over, the stern discipline past, the rest won. She, the obscure, humble woman, known only as the wife of the worst of characters, had gained the end of life, as gloriously as though she had been a crowned queen. Through Jesus Christ, alone, she had fought the good fight, and gained the victory. She was gone from earth one more of those hidden gems, whom the Lord will remember in that day when He makes up His jewels.And Lilian gazed long and earnestly on the dead face, that told so eloquently of trial and triumph; and her heart yearned to know the mystery through which pain, poverty, and misery unspeakable were brought into peace, abundance, and joy—the secret alchemy which changed the aspect of every earthly thing, tinging all with a lustre that is brighter than any temporal sunshine, and glorifying even death itself.CHAPTER VII.HOME.A NEW life was before Lilian, and it was wonderful how pleasant anticipations of the future sweetened the little bitterness which almost every day was presented in one form or another. The certainty of freedom of action and freedom of speech was an unspeakable boon; she had lived so long in a state of comparative vassalage, that a perspective of social liberty seemed sufficient to compensate for the long series of annoyances and persecutions which she had sustained during, her residence at Hopelands.Whether the end which their sojourn under the parental roof was intended to reach was really attained or not, remained somewhat problematical. Lilian when she left Hopelands, knew more of the formalities of the well-appointed establishment, more of the conventionalities and luxuries of high life, than she had hitherto dreamed of; she smiled quietly to herself, when she thought what absurd notions Eleanor and she lead formed of the manners and habits of persons of family. She was fain to confess that second and third-rate novels were very incorrect informants, and by no means to be relied upon as authority respecting the daily life and speech of the upper classes of society. But though she had advanced so far, though she had learned somewhat of etiquette, and was in no danger of shocking her husband by any solecism of good breeding, she was almost as ignorant of the mysteries of housekeeping as when she forgot to order dinner, and lost the key of the tea-caddy, in the blissful days of her bridal tour.She was going to make a great experiment—the greatest, perhaps, that women in her social position can make. She was going to govern a little kingdom of her own—to order, conduct,: beautify, and replenish the said little kingdom to the best of her ability; she was going to organize home to ensure a husband's happiness, and to take her place among the matrons of the land, to occupy that position in society which befitted the wife of Mr. Basil Hope, the heir of beautiful ancient, time-honored Hopelands! When Basil told Lilian flow much she might spend in her house-keeping, and how much she might devote to her personal requirements, she thought the sum immense."Why, my dear," she exclaimed, "you told me our income would not be nearly sufficient; you said we had just half as much as we wanted. I shall never be able to spend so much money, either in my house keeping or on myself; I am afraid you are retaining nothing for yourself."Basil smiled. "Never fear, Lily, I have taken excellent care of myself, and of my menus plaisirs.""But, Basil, I made Elizabeth give me her last year's housekeeping book, just that I might see what I ought to order, and how much I ought to give for things; for Aunt Dorothy says the London trades-people are sure to impose upon one if they can; and the whole year's expenditure, taking in the boys' schooling, and the charitable subscriptions, and the doctor's bill that went on for four years, because Mr. Thwaites never would send it in, does not amount to half the sum you are giving me for the next six months' expenses.""Lilian, my love, how can you be so absurd as to draw a parallel between my establishment, and that quiet household of women and children in the fastnesses of the North Riding of Yorkshire?""Do you mean on account of numbers?" asked Lilian, half guessing, however, at his meaning."No Lilian, numbers have nothing whatever to do with the question; I referred to position, habits, to everything, in short, which places Mrs. Basil hope in a totally different state of existence from that which she occupied as Miss Lilian Grey. Pray, let Elizabeth's ledger, or whatever it may be called, let it be returned to her forthwith; your sister's expenditure can be no guide for yours. I do not want you to go about asking the price of vegetables and paying your butcher's bills in propria persona; your servants will take all that off your hands; but be sure you keep an exact account of everything; examine all your bills and keep your receipts, for though my mother's intimate friend, Lady Grace Granby, found you your cook and your Housemaid, and I dare say they are honest, and all that, it is well for the mistress of the house to be particular in money matters. And, besides, Lilian dear, immense as you now think your allowance, I assure you it is but barely sufficient for the purpose to which it is to be devoted. Without care and economy we shall be in difficulties, and I tell you candidly I had almost as soon turn tradesman, and gain my living over the counter, as apply to my father for further assistance.""One word more," cried Lilian. Basil was going to the room dedicated to his special use, which he had christened his den, and which his wife and, servants called his study. There a few books were arranged in order, and many newspapers were strewn about; there were fishing-rods, landing-nets, hooks, materials for artificial fly-making; guns, choice revolvers, and other murderous weapons. Basil turned back. "Now we are settled dear, in our own house, I should like to ask Eleanor to come and pay me a long visit. It would be such a pleasure to her to come to town, and such an advantage to her to go into really good society; then she would be here to attend to your comforts when I am ill, and she could write notes and answer inquiries for me."Basil bit his lips, and looked impatient as Lilian proceeded. He had an instantaneous vision of Miss Eleanor Grey, with her rosy cheeks and her overpowering vivacity; he had a vivid recollection of her extraordinary theories of fashionable life, and he fancied her sitting in his drawing-room attired in the latest Kirby-Brough fashion, with her feet in the first position, uttering sundry trifles of small-talk in indifferent English, interlarded with anti-Parisian French. He saw Lilian's color rising, and the light shining in her beautiful dark eyes, that always kindled there when she began to be angry."My dear, I am afraid we should do Eleanor no real kindness, by unfitting her for the position which she will doubtless occupy. Can you not see that she has a morbid desire to cast aside the trammels of the class in which she was born. Has she not an insane craving to bring round herself the fetters of fashionable society? Eleanor is ambitions, Lilian; she is not like my own pure, graceful Lily; she wants to make you a stepping-stone in her perilous course; she will never achieve her end; she may become the stylish wife of some excellent retired tradesman, or she may even figure as the squire's lady, and lead the fashion and govern all the votaries of dissipation in a country town or village; but she will never establish herself within the charmed circle which those only can reach who are——"Basil did not conclude; while he hesitated for a fitting expression, Lillian burst forth—"I see how it it, you despise my family; you despise me, because my father gained his money instead of inheriting it; because my ancestors were nameless and obscure, while yours led the melee in the old strife between Saxon and Norman, fought gallantly in the wars of the Roses, held command when Elizabeth Tudor, speechified at Tilbury Fort, and well-nigh ruined themselves in maintaining the cause of the treacherous, luckless Stuarts. Because of this you hold my sisters in disdain, and you despise me!""God forbid, Lilian, that I should despise my own wife. I am not aware that I despise any one—east of all your kindred!""My kindred! are they not also yours?""Legally and conventionally speaking, to a certain extent they are; and at one time I intended myself to ask Elizabeth to be here in February. I have a great respect for Miss Grey, and I shall always be happy to receive her under my roof. I thought, if she were here, you would not be anxious about domestic concerns, and you would be better cared for than if trusted to the sole care of a hireling nurse. Eleanor, Young, inexperienced, and fond of excitement, would be no suitable companion for a young mother in her first trial. I intended, I say, to beg Miss Gray to come to you; but your temper convinces me that such a step would be inexpedient. I have no wish to make my domestic esclandres the talk of Brough-Dale; it is unfortunate that you and my mother cannot agree better, but I have no doubt we shall find some kind, matronly friend who will be more serviceable than either of your sisters, and who will be so good as to afford the benefit of her experience when needful."Lilian had felt all the morning rather unwell; her new arrangements had wearied her, and, apart from her present delicate health, the annoyance and harass of her six months' probation at Hopelands had not improved her constitution; and now, this fresh vexa-tion, this thwarting of a scheme which she had long nursed in silence, and which had been the subject of correspondence between herself and Eleanor, ever since Mr. Hope had desired that she should be mistress of her own house, was more than her equanimity could sustain.She burst into a flood of passionate tears; and Basil, like the majority of his set, hated to see his wife cry, especially when she was out of temper, so he walked out of the room, and out of the house to his club.When he returned to dinner, Lilian's little maid met him on the staircase, and with many tears told him that her mistress had been in dreadful hysterics, and then had become so faint and strange, that cook, and Mary, and herself had wanted to find him, but no one knew where he was; and so they fetched the doctor of themselves, and he said it was a dangerous attack, and Mrs. Basil must be kept very quiet.Basil was stricken with remorse. "What a barbarian he was not to consider her delicate health. What a wretch he had been to drive her into fits, and then leave her to servants." He went very gently to the room where he had left her; she was not there, and he proceeded to hen bed-room. She was lying on the bed, and she had fallen asleep. He sat down at a distance lest he should awake her, and he gazed long and earnestly at the young pale face, still bearing the trace of tears, and almost as colorless as the white pillow to which it was pressed.Was that the bright, beautiful Lilian of a year ago—the lovely "Lily of Kirby-Brough?"She was white now as her spotless namesake, and looked nearly as fragile; might she not be as short-lived? Yes, a few weeks more, and the transplanted Lily might be seen no longer; the little one whom he longed to take to his heart and bosom, might never know its fair young mother, never gaze on the fatal beauty which had caused her removal from the scenes and joys of her youth, from the home where she had been so peaceful and happy.There was agony in the thought. Basil did not know till that moment low precious his wife was. Large tears fell unheeded from his eyes as he continued to gaze on the sweet pale features of the sleeper. He would yield everything; give up family, position, all, so that her dear life was spared; she should have Kirby-Brough itself if it were possible!The fire crackled, and Lilian awoke. Her husband flew to her side, and folded her in his arms. Even his tenderness was too much for her exhausted system, and she began to sob again, to his infinite terror."Lilian, darling!" he cried, "if you love me, do not weep any more; you will kill yourself; your heart flutters like a wild bird in a cane. You shall have Eleanor, dearest. I will write to her to-night; she shall come by express train forthwith. Elizabeth shall come too, if' you wish it; only keep well and be happy, and you shall have all that I can give you. Forgive me, my Lily, for grieving you."Lilian grew calmer as Basil spoke; she kissed and thanked him, and there was a tender little scene between the wedded lovers, and Lilian rejoiced that she was in her own house and not at Hopelands, or she would never have gained the victory. She never imagined Basil would yield so readily; he was vulnerable, then, like other men. She thanked him so prettily for his compliance that he thought himself ten times a wretch for refusing her request.It was settled, however, that only Eleanor should pay the first visit, and that the invitation should be posted on the following day. Lilian spent a very happy evening, lying on the sofa, petted and read to by her husband. And so the first storm of their new life came and passed.CHAPTER VIII.SISTERS IN COUNCIL.ELEANOR had been domesticated several weeks with her sister, and thanks to her quickness of perception, and her earnest desire to comport herself worthily as a relative of the Hopes, in very few instances had Basil been annoyed by the trifles which betray the incongruities of birth and breeding, with present position.They had, moreover, been very quiet. Lilian's health demanded repose, and there were not many opportunities for the display of those peculiarities which Basil so extremely disliked. Eleanor had even begun to find it rather dull; there was the morning call to be sure, and the daily airing when the weather permitted, but February is proverbially an unfavorable month as regards open-air walking or driving; but then the long evenings, when Basil sometimes read to his wife, but more frequently went away to his club, for Lilian he thought could not be lonely, now that her favorite sister was by her side—that was unendurable. Very wearisome those evenings were to Eleanor, worse than those at Kirby-Brough, when the hours between tea and supper were frequently enlivened by the chance visit of a chatty friend, whose bean or brother was sure to arrive in time to join the latter meal before he escorted the lady home.Now, with amusements of every kind going on around her, she found herself very much in the position of Tantalus, permitted almost to contemplate the scenes of gaiety which her heart desired, and yet compelled to forego them. Lilian's drawing-room was profusely furnished with literature; the best serials of the day, the newest novels, and all her favorite poets lay about in graceful confusion. The little book-tray was laden with gems of poetry and prose, but Eleanor cared for none of these things. The novels, even, were not to her taste—they were of too high a stamp; and as for Tennyson, Browning, Longfellow, Mrs. Hemans, and others, in whose exquisite pages Lilian's whole soul revelled, they were mere dross to Eleanor.She had come to town expecting, in spite of Elizabeth's more sensible predictions, to be the gayest of the gay; she had promised her beloved friend and confidante, Flora Milner, that she would keep a regular journal of all her brilliant expeditions and inevitable triumphs, and that her most vivid impressions of fashionable life should be duly registered for Flora's sole benefit and delight; and so far, all was vanity and vexation of spirit.One morning when Eleanor sauntered down at a late hour to the breakfast-room, she found Basil pacing up and down in the very extreme of agitation, and the usually quiet household in thorough confusion.In vain Eleanor poured out Basil's coffee, and tried to tempt his appetite with every delicacy that the table or sideboard afforded; he would not even sit down, and he manifested a strong desire to free himself from the restraint of her presence. It was a weary day; the pitiless rain deluged the streets, the wind howled and moaned, and the darkness was so great, that at noonday lights were needed in the lower regions of the house. Basil did not leave home; he roamed about like an unquiet spirit, and Eleanor had no word of comfort that availed anything. As he occasionally met her in his wanderings from room to room, he instinctively turned to her for at least a mite of that consolation which the proudest man will at. times deign to seek from woman; but her words were so commonplace, her sympathy so coldly expressed, that ere long these encounters chafed him, and he turned away with mingled weariness and irritation whenever the rustling of her dress announced her approach. From that day the indifference with which Basil had regarded his wife's sister was converted into dislike.Late in the evening Basil was called to Lilian's side. There she lay faint, and worn, and white as a veritable lily; but yet, so far as human science could discern, safe! and on her arm was laid the tiny blossom whose little life had so nearly costlier her own."The finest young gentleman, sir, I ever had the pleasure of dressing!" said the consequential nurse, gazing approvingly on the little red creature, almost shrouded in his delicate raiment as he lay by his mamma's side, taking his first view of mortal existence.Basil was mite willing to take Mrs. Nurses representations on trust. She assured him that his son was a remarkably fine child, and of course she ought to know. The doctor, too, had confirmed her statement, when he announced the birth of a fine healthy boy; but the little senseless bundle on which poor Lilian, despite her weakness, gazed with such unquestionable pride, was not quite his idea of a beautiful child."Yes; I dare say it is a very nice, strong baby," said Basil, in reply to his wife's whispered request that he would look at its tiny face, and see if the features were not jest like his owls; "but Lilian, dearest, I have you safe at last. I began to despair; and what would the world be to me without my Lily?"Lilian's recovery was slow; but as her strength gradually returned, she and Basil spent many happy hours in the retirement of her dressing-room. Eleanor was content not to interrupt these matrimonial tete-a-tetes. She spent a great deal of time writing to her friend Miss Milner; and a lady who lived opposite, and was on visiting terms with Lilian, offered to chaperone her occasionally, and tale her to drive in the Park; so, during Lilian's confinement, Eleanor began to enjoy a little of that life she had so long and so ardently desired.Never, since the first few weeks of her married life, had Lilian been so happy. Basil was soon won to admire his baby, and ere it was a month old, the fatherly instinct was strong in his heart. After satisfying himself that Lilian was progressing, his first thought was for his boy, and he was soon heard boasting to his friends of the remarkable size, beauty, and intelligence of his son and heir.Lilian was almost sorry when the doctor advised her migration to the drawing room; it seemed a breaking up of the quiet, happy life she had led since the birth of her little one. The drawing-room was open ground; any one might come there. Basil would never care to sit reading and chatting and petting her by the hour together, when they were every moment liable to interruption.But still the effort must be made, and accordingly one morning Lilian found herself established on the sofa, in her old quarters, with the baby in his berceaunette on the other side the fire, and her favorite volumes arranged on a little table dedicated to her especial service. The morning passed happily. Eleanor practised some new polkas, and Basil read the papers, communicating small scraps of intelligence to his wife, as he imagined her feminine intellect could appreciate them.But after dinner he took his hat, and told Lilian that now She was nearly well again he must just look in at his club and see what the fellows were doing there; he should not be late; but they had better not Wait tea.Lilian saw him depart with tolerable composure, but it required all her stock of fortitude to refrain from tears, as she saw him disappear.She hated that club; She could not understand why men must have a gathering-place apart from the social circle. If Basil went there, sonic fascination seemed to chain him to the spot, for he never returned at the time he specified; and when he dill, his talk was of the moors, or the debate, or the Derby, and he hinted his intentions of joining certain men, whose very names were Lilian's abhorrence, in an excursion to Norway for salmon fishing, and afterwards to some unpronounceable castle in the Highlands for grouse shooting."Why could he not be content to stay at home, and watch the baby grow and prosper, and read the new books? or if change were requisite, as indeed it was, why not take her and the baby for a tour in North Wales, or a visit to the south-coast of Devon?" She knew now he would never take her to Kirby-Brough for change of air!"Lilian," said Eleanor, when she came in from a long gossip with her new friend, Mrs. Howard, "how very dull you are; where is Basil?""Basil is bone to his club," said. Lilian, mournfully."And you are fretting because he has left you!—My dear Lilian, do you know you are very silly and unreasonable? All men in Basil's rank of life go to their club. You were always romantic—do just take a practical view of life. You and Basil are old married people now; the son and heir has made his appearance, and all the sensation you and he very naturally created has as naturally worn itself out. Men need amusement; they must have a certain amount of excitement, and that apart from their own firesides. Of course, now, Basil will return to his old haunts, or perhaps seek new ones; for he had hardly tune to establish himself comfortably before you were taken ill. Well, you cannot find fault with that; and as Basil forms his circle, why not form yours?""I scarcely understand you, Eleanor.""Why not enter into society yourself? You were moped to death at that stupid Hopelands, and when you came at last to town, your health prevented you from issuing or accepting general invitations. Why, Lilian, with half your beauty, half your income, and not a third of your position, I would become the fashion I would never have an evening disengaged. The season will soon commence, and I would commence too in good earnest. Make Basil proud of his wife, compel that stiff old dowager at Hopelands, and her detestable daughters, to yield to your supremacy. Let Mrs. Hope the younger fully eclipse Mrs. Hope the elder, and all her tribe. Try this hind of life, Lilian, and give it one real, determined trial; begin at once. Let me aid you. I was born for better things than helping Elizabeth to keep house at home. I have genius, I know; I only want scope and opportunity; and how call I use my talents more laudably, than in ensuring the happiness of my sister?""But, Eleanor! shall I be happy? Something tells me I too was born for higher and better ends than those I have all my life pursued. And yet—I hardly know what I mean, dear; there is another life even in this world, of which you and I know nothing. Alice Rayner spoke of it. Eleanor, what makes Mice happy?""I am sure I do not know; perhaps she is not really happy.""Yes, she is really and truly happy. If you talk with her for ten minutes you cannot doubt it; and yet, Eleanor, see how she suffers, with no prospect of anything like recovery.""I cannot imagine," returned Eleanor, "what is the secret of her content; she is an actual puzzle to me.""Perhaps it is," said Lilian, in a low voice, "that the life of the world to come is so beautiful, so glorious, and so sure, that the troubles of the way are no more to her than hindrances to a traveller who is sure to reach his home before night.""Yes, she is very religious," answered Eleanor, drily."That hardly seems the right term to apply to Alice. I have known many people who were what is called 'very religious,' but they were quite unlike her—as impatient and discontented as yon or I could ever be.""It seems, then, there are two kinds of religion.""I suppose there is but one real hind, and all the rest are imitations, more or less resembling the true sort.""But how are we to know the true from the base coin?""I don't know, Eleanor. Sometimes I Wish I did; everything seems so hollow, so unsatisfactory. Difficulties spring up, where one least expects them; just when one feels securest, something gives way, and the future looks dark and unpromising. If I did but know Alice's secret!""Ask her," said Eleanor, shortly, for this serious conversation annoyed her."I have asked her often, and she has told me, and to a certain extent I understand her; but, Eleanor, the knowledge only reaches my comprehension—it does not come into my heart, and I think and think till I am weary. I am sometimes afraid I shall live to find my life a burden to me. Even this little darling that God Himself has given me, will not always fill the void I often feel. One feels as much alone sometimes, as if one were solitary on earth, without ties or kindred.""Lilian, dear, you are low-spirited to-night," said Eleanor, soothingly. "Coming into the drawing-room has wearied you; remember you are not strong yet, and Basil's defection has put you. about. You shall go to bed now, and think about my recipe for happiness. I am sure Basil will approve it. As soon as ever you are quite well, you. must give a large party, though Basil and Mrs. Howard both say there will be nobody in town till after Easter; still I dare say you may put down as many names on your list as you wish at beginning."Wearied and dispirited, Lilian went to bed. She lay awake, expecting Basil would come home and visit her chamber, as he always did the last thing. But the hours wore on, and she fell into an uneasy slumber, and dreamed that she and Eleanor were dancing at a crowded ball, and that Basil turned away from her, reproaching her as he went. And she too turned away from the gay scene, full of bitterness and anguish of heart; and she saw Alice Rayner far off, no longer worn with suffering, but radiant and beautiful as an angel. She strove to reach her, but there was a dark, deep sea between them, and she was left quite alone in the world. She awoke, her whole frame shaking with bitter sobs, and all was still; she was in her own chamber, the baby sleeping peacefully by her side and the night-lamp burning low in the socket.CHAPTER IX.THE GAY WORLD.MORE than a year had passed since the conversation thus recorded. It was a beautiful summer, and the height of the London season; and while the woods and dells of old England were donning their loveliest array, and wooing the passer-by to tarry among their greed fragrant depths; while roses and woodbine were wreathing the hedgerows in the bowery lanes, and while the restless sea was lifting up his softest voice, and breaking in deep-toned murmurs on the rock and the shingle, or quietly rippling on the cool firm sand, the votaries of the great world were thronging concert and ball-rooms, or taking the air in the dusty ring of the Park, caring little or nothing for the blue sweeping streams, the breezy commons, and the sweet leafy nooks that were far away from the hot, bustling, noisy town.It was past noon, and a broiling midsummer day. Lilian lay rather carelessly attired on a couch, in her dressing-room. Eleanor lounged on a luxurious fauteuil. The breakfast things were on a small table between them.Lilian's beauty was now thoroughly matured. She had become an extremely beautiful woman—mare perfect grace and loveliness were not to be found amid the fairy-like forms who nightly thronged the dazzling haunts of gaiety. Yet, there was something gone from the sweet brow, and the deep, earnest eye, that, in other days, gave Lilian's expressive features their chief loveliness.The "Lily of Brough-dale" was a flower of fashion now. She was changed since those innocent girlish days, when she poetized under the shadow of the apple-trees in the old garden at home; and still more changed from the clinging, shrinking bride, who had almost withered in the dry atmosphere and sapless soil of Hopelands.Lilian and her husband had never been to Hopelands since they ceased to be residents there, but Mrs. Hope and three of her daughters were now in town. Theresa was no longer "an evangelical Sunday-school teacher"—that is to say, she no longer called herself one. Destiny, in the shape of a high-born white-handed, Puseyite curate met her one day; and straightway she was seen embroidering altar-cloths, and working at extraordinary vestments. which she called by names unheard of before, save in Olivia's stores of erudition. Then she took to walking three miles to the daily service at Brandscoombe; and, finally, Mr. Hope was one clay almost electrified by the apparition of the Honorable and Rev. Ambrose Shrewsbury appearing in his library, and demanding, according to form, the hand of his third daughter, Theresa Margaretta!Mr. Hope was so thoroughly taken by surprise, that he consented on the spot, although he cordially detested this clerical sprig of the aristocracy, and had already settled in his own mind that, if he were indeed a legitimate successor of the apostles, it must be from Judas Iscariot that his line of descent was traceable. Nevertheless, Mr. Hope would not retract his hastily-pledged word; and there is no doubt that, had he dared to do so, his son-in-law elect would have anathematized him there and then. Mrs. Hope fretted; Miss Hope, was annoyed—she had a superstitious dread of a Puseyite, as of a Jesuit in disguise, and expected to be converted or perverted by storm, and forced to take the veil in the nearest convent. Olivia liked the connexion, and began to read the tracts for herself. Harriet cared nothing about it; and so, in due time, Mr. Shrewsbury was preferred to an excel-lent living in the diocese of Exeter, and Theresa Hope became his wife—and, as Basil laughingly said, a "priestess." One or two pungent witticisms on that most vulnerable subject, Tractarianism, caused him to be excluded from his sister's wedding; so he revenged himself by sending, as his nuptial gift,a crucifix, a rosary, and a missal, to be ready as soon as they should be needed! To his profound astonishment, they came not back again.And now, having accounted for Mrs. Hope's presence in town, with a trio instead of a quartette of daughters, we will go back to Lilian.She and her mother-in-law managed matters better than heretofore. Mrs. Basil Hope had learnt self-control to a certain extent, and she stood upon her own dignity, and compelled Mrs. Hope the elder to pay her at least some outward respect. But when Basil and his, wife were spoken of and their doings and sayings commented on, Mrs.Hope shook her head oracularly, and uttered a few mysterious sentences, which might be vulgarly translated into the old adage, that "the proof of the pudding is in the eating."Lilian and Eleanor, as they sat over their late breakfast, looked rather wearied; and no wonder, for they had not returned home till five o'clock that morning. Eleanor, too, seemed more thoughtful than usual; and well she might, for she had the day before refused an excellent offer from a worthy young man in her own town, and the brilliant match on which she had set her whole heart seemed quite as much in perspective as ever."Is it not vexatious this illness of Elizabeth's?" said Eleanor, as she sipped her coffee. "I cannot endure the thought of returning to Kirby-Brough now; though young Robinson will probably go away, it would be very awkward; besides, leaving town just when we have so many delightful plans, would be too cruel!""It would be a dreadful nuisance," returned Lilian; "but what can little Susan do? It is rather too much for a girl of fourteen to be housekeeper and head-nurse at once. What could possess Aunt Dorothy to go to Ireland, I cannot think.""Oh, she said Elizabeth was quite old enough to be sole head of her own household; and, as for steadiness, you know, Lilian, she is as grave as a judge; she might pass for fifty, with her bonnet on; and then, Aunt always thought of those poor, wild, motherless, children in county Kerry. Their mamma, you know, was her friend, and their father is a dreadful man. However, I wish she had stayed till the autumn. I shall be provoked if I have to go home now!""And I am sure I cannot tell what I shall do without you'' sighed Lilian. "Basil is colder and crosser than ever; he told me yesterday I had quite a rakish look, and was dreadfully gone off in my appearance; but I know better than that. Surely I have a right to amuse myself, when he is seeking his own pleasure from morning till night.""And from night to morning, very often," said Eleanor, maliciously. "Eleanor, you are a tame little thing to take it so quietly. I would know where he spends his time.""I am not curious," replied her sister, coldly, though a rosy flush spread over her face as she spoke; "and whatever reason I may feel to be annoyed at Basil's conduct, believe me, I have perfect, unwavering trust in his good faith towards myself."Eleanor saw that on this point Lilian was invulnerable, and she turned the subject. "I suppose we shall have cards for this breakfast at Richmond?""We have them," replied Lilian; "they came yesterday, and I forgot to tell you; but, can you imagine it? Basil says I must not go, and you are better away—it is only putting you out of your station.""I am sure I am much obliged to Mr. Basil Hope," rejoined Eleanor, bitterly, and turning scarlet with anger as she spoke. "And pray why are you to be precluded from accepting Mrs. Carrisforth's invitation?""He says, the child looks pale and heavy, and I am to go to Rhyl or Llandudno with him and the nurse.""Go to Llandudno, indeed, in the midst of the season, how barbarous! And where is my lord to bestow himself in the meantime?""He talks of going to Norway with Captain Leavers; and oh, Eleanor, I dare not tell him what a mess I am in about those bills. Really, Madame sent her account in the other day, and it was something stupendous! and what have I had?—just a dress or two, and a few gloves, and a bonnet. I am sure I never bought half the things she has put down, and Basil has no idea I owe her five pounds. You cannot think how disagreeable he is if I only hint at wanting a little money.""Ah!" said Eleanor, carelessly, "that's easily accounted for; that disagreeable Major Holmes told me the other day he had lent money to Basil; and if he wins sometimes, no doubt he often loses, and those debts of honor are troublesome things.""Debts of honor, Eleanor! What do you mean? Do you think Basil gambles?""Every one but yourself knows he does; it is no secret, and it is no kindness keeping you in the dark. Basil is generally supposed to play pretty deep; at least, that seems to be the received impression. Peo-ple, you know, my dear, who would not give you a hint, speak plainly to me."Lilian was speechless with indignation. "I understand it all now," she exclaimed, after a long silence. "I see why he is so anxious about retrenching. I am to economize in Wales, in order to meet his gambling debts. He talked of letting the house, but I thought that was only to plague me; now I see it all. Everything is to be sacrificed to his extravagances. And this talk about horses. I am more than half afraid Basil is involved there.""I know some one who met at Tattersall's," said Eleanor, "and they do say he was on the losing side of Ascot, the other day."They were interrupted by the appearance of the subject of their discourse. Basil threw himself into a chair, and contemplate the two ladies, who quietly finished their breakfast, but did not address him.Eleanor did not go away, as he would have done some months since, on Basil's entrance into his wife's dressing-room. She began a diligent inspection of her tablets, and Lilian settled herself on the couch, as if for a comfortable doze."Lilian!" said Basil at length, "if you are not quite asleep, I shall be glad to know your plans. When do you go to Llandudno?""Not at all, or not for three months, certainly," replied Lilian, coldly, and with the most provoking composure. "As for my plans they are scarcely settled yet; I have various little schemes in contemplation, but they are quite apart from your pursuits, and I do not think the detail would interest you in the least.""Is going to Mrs. Carisforth's breakfast one of the 'little schemes' you mention?""Certainly! Who would miss that? All the world will be there!""All the world—by which I suppose you mean all the world of fashion—being there, Mrs. Carrisforth can perfectly well dispense with Mrs. Basil Hope.""I do not intend that she should. Eleanor and I have already arranged our dresses.""I am sorry that you have taken such unnecessary trouble. Eleanor, of course, returns immediately to Yorkshire. Elizabeth's illness promises to be of a tedious nature, and she must require the constant attendance of her sister.""Susan is a very good child," said Eleanor, apologetically; she makes herself very useful, and she is so thoughtful of her age; besides, Elizabeth would be worried at the idea of having shortened my visit.""Still," returned Basil, "a child under fourteen must be a very inefficient, manager in a time of sickness.""It will teach her to rely upon herself," said Lilian."It will make her a conceited little goose," answer-ed Basil. "Never tell me! I detest your premature small women, ordering the next day's dinner when they ought to have said their prayers, put the doll to sleep, and gone to bed themselves; or flirting with schoolboys while they are in short frocks, and wear their hair in a crop!"At another time, Lilian would have laughed, but she merely observed, "Your illustrations are too ridiculous; what do you know of little girls?""Not much, I confess; but one thing I know, Lilian: this day fortnight you will be in Wales, and the nursery paraphernalia along with you, and Eleanor will be at Kirby-Brough, attending to the preserves, and nursing Miss Grey, and letting little Susy play the gipsy in the woods for a while. Good morning, I have business to attend to. I shall dine at my club, and make the final arrangements about Norway, if Captain Leavers is there. Good morning,"CHAPTER X.THE NIGHT WATCH.THE afternoon post brought Eleanor letters from home. Elizabeth was no better; and though there was not any real ground of alarm, it seemed certain that some weeks must elapse before there could be a chance of decided convalescence; and, in the meantime, little Susan was quite inadequate to the onerous duties devolving upon her.There was no mistaking the appeal. The child wrote at Elizabeth's instance, setting forth, in her own simple language, the urgency of Eleanor's return, and, at the same time, regretting the need which called her so suddenly from her scenes of enjoyment.There was not an alternative. Lilian, though she dreaded losing Eleanor's companionship, decided that she could not do otherwise than prepare for an immediate departure; and even Eleanor, though feeling herself a very unfortunate and injured person could not but acquiesce in the arrangement."I never was so mortified in my life," said Eleanor as she irritably rose from the table where she had been sitting and in her excitement and vexation began to pace up and down the room. "It is enough to provoke a saint! Just as we have settled everything so admirably—just as everything seems turning in my favor—Elizabeth who never had an ache or pain in her life, that, I remember, falls ill, and requires my services as nurse!"Any one who saw the young lady at that moment would have pitied the unfortunate elder sister, who was to be dependent on her tender mercies for comfort and sympathy. Eleanor seemed about as fit to preside in a sick-room as to ascend the throne of Queen Victoria.And the generous-hearted, but spirited boys—the elder now almost a young man—and the gentle, docile Susan—one would not have given much for their chance of domestic peace under the rule of their disappointed, pleasure-seeking sister."And all my dresses, and my new pink crape bonnet!" continued Eleanor, growing more exasperated as she thought of the glories of her ward-robe.For Kirby-Brough now was to Eleanor Grey no bet-ter than a howling wilderness, and the respectable in habitants, with whom she had associated all her life, had become such utter nonentities, that her roses and hawthorn, and her matchless lilies might well be said to waste their perfection, unseen and unappreciated.In a very, very ill-humor Eleanor sat clown to answer her little sister's letter; and Lilian withdrew to her dressing-room to make arrangements for her evening toilet.While she was trying on wreath after wreath, quite absorbed in her occupation, her husband entered the room.How changed was the beautiful "Lily of Kirby-Brough!" A year ago, and her sweet face would have brightened like a sylvan landscape suddenly illuminated by the sun, at the unexpected presence of him she loved so well. The frivolous cares of the toilet would have been forgotten, while he was speaking and sitting near her.Now, as she saw his reflection in the mirror, she neither turned round nor manifested any recognition of his presence; but she proceeded to lay one garland apart from the rest, and arrange the others carefully in a box. Her face was still, and calm, and cold; every feature was tranquil and composed, but there was a resolution in the glance, and a fixedness of pur-pose in the delicate lines round the mouth, that did not escape Basil's regard.Her mien, too, wore a dignity that, a few months before, would have been sought for in vain."Lilian!" said Basil in a grace tone, when he saw his wife still intent on the arrangement of her flowers, "Lilian, I wish to speak to you."She turned round immediately, and sat down opposite to him, not a muscle of her proud, still face moving—not a motion betraying the most incipient of residence is so self-evident, that I am certain you must have observed it.""The child is not so rosy and merry as he was some few days since, I grant," returned Lilian; "but there is no cause for anxiety on his account; his teeth are troublesome, and that is sufficient explanation of his fretfulness and change of looks. Are there no other reasons for my leaving town?""MANY! since you will have them!" replied Basil in a voice that startled Lilian from her unnatural composure. "You shall bear. We are well-nigh ruined; your expenses are tremendous; we are living far beyond our income; your extravagances for the last twelve months may well account for premature retirement from the gaieties of the season, and the child's health will be a sufficient reason to give to our friends.—Friends, indeed!" and he spoke in a tone of intensest bitterness. I wonder how many of those who flatter us, and throng our rooms, and invite us to theirs in return, would stretch out a hand to save us, if we were sinking in the restless tide of misfortune. Not one! I know them—the hollow, false, deceitful men and women, who call themselves and whom we publicly call, our friends. Yes; your extravagance calls for timely withdrawal; there is no alternative!""My extravagance?" said Lilian, pointedly "I may have been somewhat too profuse in my expenditure; what then? It is no uncommon case. I know much more has been spent than was intended when we began housekeeping, but not sufficient to warrant an apprehension of ruin. Mr. Hope, I will try to be wiser. I am, in fact, growing wiser already. Only to-day, I learned the nature of debts of honor!"Basil looked keenly at his wife as she spoke. For one moment he imagined she might be speaking at random; but a glance at her pale defiant face convinced him that she was really in possession of that which he had so solicitously withheld from her cognizance. He made no answer, and Lilian poured forth a flood of bitter reproach. She accused him of every possible misdemeanor, in the excitement of her anger, charging him with errors she knew in her inmost heart he had not even dreamed of committing. The words had scarcely died on her lips when she repented having uttered them. But there was no time for softening the acerbity of her language, for Basil, exasperated to the utmost, left her presence without another word; and, in five minutes, Lilian heard the house-door bang with a violence that shook the windows to the roof.Exhausted with her late agitation, she was in no state to join a brilliant party; nevertheless, she kept her appointment. But her presence among the bril-liant throng who surrounded her yielded no satisfaction. Her heart was weary as her limbs, and ached even more painfully than her head. She longed to be alone, to be free from the observation of others, to be able to cast off the mask of gaiety which regard for appearances compelled her to wear.She went home very early, leaving Eleanor (as it was her last evening) under the chaperonage of an elderly friend.When she returned, Basil was still absent, and she told the servants to go to bed, saying that she would sit up for Miss Grey, and by that time their master would also probably come home.And so she was left to solitude. She attempted no occupation, neither could she compose herself sufficiently to lie down; but she paced and re-paced the dreary drawing-room with the step of one whose heart is gnawed by consuming thoughts. Eleanor came in earlier than she expected, for her chaperone had suddenly grown weary, and ordered her carriage. She scarcely spoke, and went straight to her room, leaving Lilian once more to her lonely night-watch.Her memory was busy retracing the past; she went back to the Sunday night before her marriage; word by word she recalled Alice Rayner's gentle admonition, "that it was not good, not safe to rest one's peace, one's inmost self on any mortal creature." She re-membered her own confidence, how she pitied that pale, pain-worn Alice, and believed that her hours of solitude and suffering lead caused leer to look on life with a somewhat prejudiced eye. Was it so, indeed? Lilian knew now the world needs more faith and patience, than the Christian's chamber of sickness and seclusion. There are worse pains than those which. torture the body, more subduing weakness than that of the perishable frame.In the stillness of the night, Lilian wept and communed with herself. A great darkness was upon her soul; she felt that every spring of earthly happiness was dried up. Love! had she not given her purest, her deepest, and it had failed her! Pleasure! had she not sought it under every shape and guise—and the phantom only mocked her, and allured her to her confusion and disappointment! All was hollow, empty, vain!"Oh! for peace, for content!" murmured Lilian, as she sat down at last, worn out with her weary pacing to and fro. "All my life I have so longed to be happy. I thought when I married Basil I should be so. Soon the illusion faded; I found thorns on every rose; and now, oh! God help me, now he cares for me no longer, all his love is gone, gone quite away! The world, my books, my home, my child fail to satisfy me. I understand now why miserable people call for death. I cannot bear this craving, this thirst, this yearning after joy that is never, never to be attained! Oh! for the quiet of the grave; there at least I shall be at rest; this poor heart will throb no longer, this weary bosom feel no more its pain, its void!"Would it indeed be so? Would she lie down, "life's fitful fever" over, and rest well? Was this miserable existence all, and the dark, silent grave its close? A voice, that would be heard, seemed to ask these solemn questions, and conscience answered, "No! it is not all; death is but the portal to another life. The boundary once passed, it is bliss unspeakable or anguish unknown!"And so she mused, and in her blind agony fiercely questioned of the great Disposer of all things, why she was selected to pluck the bitter fruit of utter vanity and vexation of spirit? "Why was she so tried, why could not happiness be hers?"And the brief summer night passed; the candles expired in their sockets, and the first rosy flush of dawn gleamed into the silent room. Lilian rose, and opened one of the windows; a light breeze fanned her aching temples, and she looked up to the clear, serene sky, and there shone the morning star, calm and beautiful, in its pure but fading lustre, as a spirit of the "Better Land." The cool air, the quiet shining star, stilled Lilian's great agony; but there was no hope in her heart, and she lay down on the couch, with a sort of passive, almost sullen, resignation to her fate.The glorious sun arose; already the red beams were on the window-pane, and still no Basil.Another hour, and Lilian was falling into a troubled doze, when the door-bell rang loudly and long, as if pulled by an impatient hand. She slipped out on the balcony, and looked down into the street—it was Basil and he was leaning heavily against the area-railings; he was ill then; and Lilian flew down, in her nervousness forgetting the secret of a certain patent-bolt, and so detaining him a somewhat unreasonable time. She opened the door at last. He stared, but expressed no surprise at seeing her instead of a servant, and slowly, and with uncertain steps, he came into the hall. There he sank into a chair, and sat looking at her with a strange vacant smile on his heavy face—a kind of idiotic leer that terrified her exceedingly."Basil!" she said, at length, "come to bed, the servants will be stirring directly. Are you ill?" He rose then, and tried to gain the staircase, and she saw it all!The fumes of wine were strong as she approached him, and how she guided hint up those weary stairs, step after step, she never knew. She saw him laid on his bed at last—their bed. She saw him lie there a senseless, degraded, defaced being. She covered him tenderly, parted the damp hair from his hot forehead, and then turned away to her own dressing-room, and wept such tears of anguish unspeakable, as, thank God, we shed not often in this life of chequered sunshine and darkness.CHAPTER XI.ELEANOR'S DEPARTURE.LILIAN slept at last. She was weary as a little child, and leer slumber, when it stole upon her, was sleep and undisturbed. Far into the brilliant summer morning—even till the sun was near the meridian—she lay in that sound, quiet sleep; and she awoke at last, after a confused impression that some one was knocking at the door, to see Eleanor standing by her side and eyeing her with undisguised curiosity and surprise. It must be confessed, Lilian's appearance and position afforded no small ground for wonder and conjecture.She lay on the sofa, in the same dress that she had worn the preceding evening, when her sister left her for the night; her hair was unbound, and hung in heavy lustreless masses round her pale, sad face; her eyes were heavy and dim, with long passionate weeping; the lids were purple and swollen, and the traces of tears were still discernible on her pallid cheeks.She sat up when she saw Eleanor with a dull weight of something terrible on her mind, but an imperfect recollection of the circumstances under which she had fallen asleep. Her faculties, however, were quickened by Eleanor's rapid and unceremonious questions."Why, Lilian, what on earth is the matter? What brings yon here? Are you ill? Have you been in hysterics? Have you had bad news? Where is Basil? Why are you not in your own bed?"These interrogations recalled Lilian to the perfect possession of her senses. Whatever Eleanor might think, she must, she should know nothing of Basil's humiliation. No mortal eye but leers had seen him enter his own house in that miserable state of degraded humanity, and the secret must be guarded as though it were a matter of life and death."Hush!" she said, quickly. "Speak lower, Eleanor! Basil is in bed, asleep; he came home rather poorly last night; he must not be disturbed.""And, like a devoted wife, you are sleeping on this uncomfortable couch, lest haply you should disturb his slumbers?" replied Eleanor, in a tone of satirical interrogation. "Or," she continued, in the same annoying strain—"or is he so displeased at your reasonable objections to leaving town that he has, by way of punishment, sentenced you to temporary banishment from his bed and board? Have a care, my dear! His next movement may be to lock you up like a per-verse child, till you say you are sorry, and promise to do as you are bid.""Do be quiet, Eleanor; what foolish nonsense you are talking!" exclaimed poor Lilian, her little stock of patience and endurance almost exhausted. "I tell you Basil is unwell. He does not know I am here. I was weary with watching, and somehow fell asleep.""Watching your husband! Was he really so ill that you judged it necessary to sit up with him?" persisted Eleanor."Watching for him, I mean. He was late, and I was tired. Really, Eleanor, how tiresome you are! My headache is almost unendurable. I wish you would tell Mary to make me a cup of strong tea immediately.""Very well. I am going away in a minute; but perhaps you have forgotten I am returning to Kirby-Brough early to-morrow morning. I naturally wished to enjoy as much of your company as possible for the short remainder of my stay.""I really had forgotten; but Eleanor, dear, forgive me. I am scarcely awake, and my head is distracting. Leave me now, and go on with your packing; when I have had some tea, and made something of a toilet, I shall be quite another creature. We will have a quiet, comfortable afternoon together. I shall not go to Mrs. Pendleton's soiree."Eleanor went away to her own quarters, quite certain, however, that something unusual had occurred, which her sister did not intend to communicate.When she was gone, Lilian went into the adjoining bed-chamber. Basil was still sleeping heavily, though his thick breathing and uneasy posture testified to the unrefreshing nature of his slumbers.His wife bent over him, and laid her cool hand on his burning forehead. He dill not awake, but moved irritably, and began to mutter something about "eleven to two," and the "odds" against one of the favorites of the race-course. Then there was an execration that made Lilian tremble. He exclaimed that he had been duped, betrayed; that there had been foul play; and that some one, whose name was inaudible, was concerned in it.Poor Lilian! heavy was her sore heart; heavy her aching head; and heavy, with watching and weeping, her dim, weary eyes.She dreaded his waking; they had parted in unseemly anger, to meet again under circumstances that overwhelmed her with terror and shame. She wondered what he would say, how he would act when he awoke; and she sat still a long time, debating with herself whether she should pass over the affair in magnanimous silence, or whether she should reason with him, and implore him to renounce society that led to such degrading results.While she was still undecided, he awoke; and, before he was aware of her presence, he began furiously to ring the bell.Lilian advanced, and came to his side, quietly desiring to know what he needed. Had he answered kindly; had he but spoken to his wife with something like contrition, something approaching affection in his words or tones, all might have been well between them. But he felt ill and angry; the effects of the previous night`s excess were now most painfully experienced; and he remembered too well the unjust charges, and the burst of passion, which the evening before had driven him to seek the companionship of those those society he knew was fast leading him towards the paths of ruin and misery. He did not see the white weary face, and the mute, imploring glance which timidly and anxiously sought his; he saw only the Lilian of the preceding day, with her rosy lip curled in disdain, her dark eyes flashing fire, and her 'voice uttering words that seemed almost too violent) too bitter, to fall from a woman's tongue. He knew nothing of the long night-watch, of the love that laid him to rest, helpless and revolting as he was; nothing of the wifely instinct that so jealously guarded the disgraceful secret; he knew only that Lilian was extravagant, dissipated, neglected her child, and caballed with her detestable sister against his lawful authority; that her temper was violent, her reproaches unscrupulous, and her heart—yes, he tried to convince himself that he believed that also—that her heart had grown vain and cold, and utterly alienated from all home affections.So he lay still in sullen silence, and replied nothing to her gentle inquiry, and when the domestic appeared, summoned by his impetuous ringing, he gave orders for dry toast and a cup of very strong green tea, adding that in case any one called, and asked to see him, it was to be said that he was out of town, but would return the following day.Disappointed, indignant, and chilled, Lilian went away; and after a time she sought Eleanor, who was still busy devising the best means of conveying her finery uninjured into banishment. Eleanor was in very low spirits, and by no means in an amiable frame of mind; and for some time she replied to her sister's conversation in monosyllables, or in the curtest and driest of phrases.At length, when her arrangements were finally concluded, her taciturnity gave way, and she began to sift Lilian, in order to discover what had passed between her and Basil on his return home. That there had been a very serious quarrel she never doubted; the truth of the case did not occur to her."Lilian," she said, when they were both sitting in the drawing-room, striving with very indifferent success to connect two separate pages of 'Bradshaw,' "it is for you, as much as for myself, that I regret my sudden departure. Though you will not confess it, I know that there was a terrible scene when he re-turned last night, or rather this morning." Lilian faintly uttered a denial. Eleanor continued—" Why do you try to deceive me, Lilian? I know you are miserable—I know Basil, with his dissipated habits, his coldness, and his tyranny, is breaking your heart. Now I see it is in your mind to submit, to yield yourself passively to your fate. Trust me, it will be most unwise to do so; you must check, at every opportunity—not minister to the natural imperiousness of your husband's temper. Let him see that you are not a child, to go where you are bidden, and do this, and do that, according to his lordly will and pleasure. Once gain a certain position, and he will feel convinced that you are not, and never can be, the slave of his behests; but hesitate now, let him gain the ascendancy now, and all is lost! you will never be mistress of your own establishment. Whatever betide, you mustgo to Mrs. Carrisforth's breakfast, and you must not go to Llandudno, or to Rhyl, or to any place more distant than Richmond or Chiswick, for at least two months to come!""I will not go to Llandudno! I will not leave town during the season!—of that I am determined," replied Lilian. "I will not be banished at his pleasure, moved like an automaton to suit his arbitrary purposes. Nay, you need not smile incredulously, Eleanor, I will be true to myself; I will stay here and know where and how my husband spends the hours that are certainly not spent in general society, and most certainly not given to his own home!""Indeed, Lilian, I did not smile from incredulity, but from satisfaction to think that you really will vindicate your proper position, and you will succeed, though the struggle may be long and severe. And as to happiness!—why the happiness, the romantic sentimentality that you have brooded over since you were a little thing in the nursery, can very well be dispensed with."These words brought back too many sad reminiscences. Lilian melted into tears, and exclaimed:—"But, Eleanor, I loved him! I loved him dearly, dearly! All my life long, I had yearned for that deep, unchangeable love, Which I once thought I had found in my husband. His love was so precious to me, such a glorious treasure and all my own! And now—now it is all the same as though we had never loved each other; he is so cold, so careless; he cares nothing about my society; he never seeks it; and when unavoidably we arc left alone together, he either reproaches and lectures me, or takes refuge in silence. Oh, Eleanor, never love, never marry!""I never could, would, or should love in your strange irrational style. I shall marry if I can do so eligibly; and I dare say, at first, shall be fond of my husband, and we shall agree charmingly, and be called a happy couple; after a time, no doubt, we shall quarrel and dispute, like other married people, till at last we shall learn wisdom, and become considerate of each other's frailties, and observe a distant, well-bred politeness, each one going his or her own way, and then we shall become a really happy couple. You and Basil set out with extravagant fondness, and novel-like devotion; but you have now reached the turbulent act of the drama; you will end, as I said, in mutual indifference, and consequent tranquility!""Never, never!" said Lilian, passionately. "I would rather die than live such a hollow, joyless life. Eleanor, you and I are very different; but take care; you, too may miss your aim, and your worldly ambition may bring you no better reward than my foolish idolatry has brought me!""Nous verrons!" was Eleanor's only reply, She did see: long, long afterwards, she was filled with the reward of her own doings.The sisters saw nothing of Basil that day. Lilian did not again proffer her rejected services, though she hoped in her heart he would relent, and send for her, or come to the drawing-room himself; she spoke of him only with coldness and displeasure.Early the next morning Eleanor Grey departed. Basil formally bade her adieu, and politely wished her a prosperous journey. He sent a kind message, too, to Elizabeth and Susan, but he uttered no syllable that could be construed into the expression of a hope that at some future time, her visit, so unhappily curtailed, might be resumed.Eleanor went her way, and Lilian and Basil were left alone once more. Every hour seemed to increase their estrangement—when and how would it all end?CHAPTER XII.A DAY-DREAM OF BETTER THINGS.WHEN Lilian paid her customary visit to the nursery, on the morning of Eleanor's departure, the heavy looks and feverish skin of the little boy seemed to betoken something more than ordinary indisposition. She took him from the nurse, who was vainly endeavoring to still his weak, fretful wailing, and began to walk up and down with him in her arms. The change seemed to please him, and his crying soon ceased, and as he was evidently drowsy, Lilian commenced singing, in a low sweet voice, one of the old Yorkshire ditties which, years ago, had often soothed her own childish cares and sorrows.Presently, the little head lay quietly on her arm, the sobs and starts were less frequent, the hot flush faded, and the baby-invalid was sound asleep, on his sweetest and best earthly resting place—his mother's bosom! As soon as Lilian saw that he was fairly slumbering, she sat down on the rocking-chair, and laid the child gently on her knees. The nurse had occupation downstairs, so the mother and babe were left alone. He had been from his birth a remarkably fine, healthy infant; at six months old he was one of those wonder-children, whose beauty and precocity is the untiring theme of female relations and nurses. He was an intelligent child, too, and began to speak at a very early age; and now at sixteen months, he was just beginning to run alone, and chatter his fascinating gibberish in the prettiest style imaginable, when he suddenly manifested signs of illness, he began to be fretful and heavy, grew pale and Weak, and would scarcely tale necessary food. It was clearly a case of teething, and as it is an ordeal through which all children must pass, and in which all suffer more or less, his mother felt little or no alarm on his account.She felt happier than she bad done for some time, as she sat there in the lonely nursery, with her boy slumbering on her lap while she rocked, and crooned the fragment of an old Brough-dale song. If she had attempted to analyze her feelings, she might have discovered that her cheerfulness sprang from the spontaneous discharge of one of her sweetest and holiest duties, and she might have traced the clue a little further, and discovered that in the tranquil and due performance of daily duty is an inexhaustible source of happiness and content.While she sat thus, she heard steps on the staircase without. It was not nurse's heavy tread, or the housemaid's quick, brisk trip; the cook was gone to market, and the page had been despatched on an errand that would employ him the whole morning. Who could it be?Presently, he door was gently opened, and, to Lilian's extreme astonishment, her husband entered the room. He seemed not a whit less surprised than herself, and he was going to spear, when she laid her finger on her lips, and pointed significantly to the little sleeper on her knee. He nodded and kept silence; but he remained standing opposite to her, as if contemplating with pleasure the unexpected tableau he had discovered in the nursery.It was, indeed, a lovely picture; the fair child in his tranquil sleep on the lap of his beautiful young mother—he with his innocent baby-face, his pretty light curls, and his dimpled arms and tiny hands; she in all the flower of her extreme loveliness, with the mother's soul beaming forth from the clear, radiant eyes, and the matron's sweet gravity on her pure perfect features.Basil lingered a little while, and thought of the lines he had once read with Lilian:"And more and more smiled IsabelTo see the baby sleep so well."But he remembered the close of Mrs. Browning's exquisite poem, and he turned shudderingly away. Though Basil had woven for himself a dark web of sin and sorrow since his little son first learned to know his voice, he still dearly loved his wife, and clung with all a youthful father's tenacity to the promise of his firstborn child.If Lilian had but known how her husband`s heart beat with affection towards them both!—if she had but guessed how pride alone prevented him from stooping to kiss the lips that had lulled the baby to his peaceful rest!—but she neither knew, nor guessed aught of this: she too felt proud and injured, and thought the first steps of reconciliation should be taken by him who had so provoked her to anger. Besides, she had made one effort, and she had been ungraciously repulsed, so that she felt herself more grievously estranged than before.At last Basil went away as silently as he came, his heart softened but not melted towards his wife, and Lilian remained alone, watching the quiet sleep of her boy.As she sat thus, and heard his soft regular breath-ing and noted how greatly he was changed from the rosy, sturdy little fellow, whose shouts and laughter were wont to make the nursery ring again, she felt herself drawls towards her child and her husband, and loosed, as it were, from the bonds of worldly pleasure-seeking and dissipation, which for the last year had so completely enthralled her.With Eleanor seemed to depart also much of the vanity, much of the love of excitement, which her pernicious influence had grafted on Lilian's purer and better nature. Left alone she began to think this plan of going to Llandudno was by no means so unreasonable. If Basil were in difficulties, it was certainly his wife's duty to assist him in every possible way to retrieve his position; and then conscience whispered, there were her own pecuniary entanglements—there was Madame's bill! It made her turn faint to think about it, In the early days of her married life, when she and Basil were all the world to each other, it would have been difficult to confess her embarrassment; but now that a wall of separation had risen up between them, now that icy coldness kept them apart, it seemed impossible to lay the case before him. How cheerfully she would have worked, had she been able, to gain money wherewith to discharge this terrible bill; and then there were others not yet sent in; she trembled to think what their amount might be. Partly induced by Eleanor's evil and specious counsel, and partly tempted by the bland and insinuating representations of tradesmen themselves, Lilian had opened many accounts of which Basil was in profoundest ignorance; and as she herself had kept no register of items of expenditure, she. had no idea what the sum-total might amount to. But she feared greatly, and her whole soul sickened when she reflected, that perhaps Madame's horrible array of figures was only one of a host of such cruel spectres, whose visitations she was fated to endure. And then she had made herself responsible for many of Eleanor's extravagances. The pale pink crape bonnet, with its exquisite French flowers, the costly silk dinner-dress, and the sylphide Parisian barege, that had never made their appearance on their destined arena, but were decreed to dazzle the dull optics of the unsophisticated Kirby-Broughians—these, and a whole host of trifles—and, clear female friends, you do know flow the "little things" mount up, till you are certain the obsequious tradesman has made a mistake!—these were, one and all, entered under the name of Mrs. Basil Hope, and the modiste would not send in her bill till the end of the season.So Lilian took counsel with herself, and resolved that she would no longer refuse to leave town, the child's health affording ample reasons for so unprece-dented a step; but that she would preserve her own dignity, and assert her rights, by firmly holding to her intention of being present at Mrs. Carisforth's breakfast. That should be her final appearance in the gay world, for the season at least—that over, and it was only twelve days hence, she would set off for Llandudno, devote herself to her boy, and once more revel in her old enjoyment of country rambles, and poetical musings in the green woodland paths, and by the mountain-streams of the beautiful Principality.It seemed quite a relief to get away from the hot dusty town, the glare of blazing ball-rooms, the din of the orchestra, and the cramped rurality of flower-shows. She saw herself book in hand, sitting on the pebbly shore at Llandudno, watching the clear green waves roll up to her feet, and then break into a silvery crescent of white foam; she saw the red sunset lighting up the fissures and the weather-scars of the little Orme's Head; and the great Orme's Head rising dark and grand against the crimson flushings of the evening sky. She saw her little Basil stumbling among the small smooth pebbles of the beach, shouting with glee as the thunder of the great waves broke around him, and looking rosy and strong, the admiration and the envy of all the young mammas whom they encountered in their daily rambles!It was a pleasant picture, and the longer Lilian gazed on its vivid tints the more it delighted her imagination. The splendors of town gaiety paled in consequence. What were the exotics of the most brilliant fete, compared with the wild roses, the tall, gorgeous fox-gloves, the cerulean veronica, the graceful bindweed of the far-off, cool, flowering woodland! And Basil too would perhaps come, and the gulf which had opened between them might be closed up for ever.Yet, notwithstanding, between Lilian and the fairyland, which she might have entered in eight-and-forty hours, had she so willed it, stood, firm and unassailable, the barrier of Mrs. Carisforth's breakfast!She had pledged leer word to attend it; she had covenanted with herself to will that one point; yield in all but that! She knew Basil was resolute even to obstinacy, but she could be resolved, too; and, after the fatal disclosure of his own great weakness, surely he would not wish to assert his authority with the stringency he had threatened.For several days all things went on calmly; Lilian was much in the nursery, and little Basil spent a great deal of time in the drawing-room.He improved leis health; his fretful cries were seldom heard; and, though there was a transparency, a fragility about him that made experienced matrons shake their heads, and say all was not right with him, he seemed to be regaining his strength and growing more robust day by day.It was the day before the breakfast. Lilian's snowy dress lay ready for wearing; her simple white bonnet, with its pure lily-wreath, became her to admiration; the fall of her lace mantle, the perfect fit of her gloves, the delicate tint of her parasol were all sources of self-gratulation.It was her last appearance for the season, and she had determined to gratify to the utmost her own exquisite taste, and her maid's penchant for seeing her lady arrayed in fresh and faultless costume.Basil had never again mentioned the breakfast; he had been absent from home for several days, but Lilian judged the Norway expedition was not abandoned, for the litter in the STUDY was greatly augmented. The table was strewn with gaudy flies, new reels, salmon lines, and artificial bait. There were parcels coming in from "Farlow's," and huge, clumsy water-proof boots from "Cording's." These were evidently preparations, but Basil had not again spoken of his northern tour, so Lilian argued, that if he chose to be reserved in his own designs, she was completely exonerated from imparting to him her plans and resolutions.But this morning, as he was preparing to go out, he said, "Lilian, are you ready for Llandudno? I can take you to-morrow.""The day after I shall be ready," she replied, calmly. "To-morrow, you know, is Mrs. Carisforth's fete.""Confound Mrs. Carisforth and her fete!" he burst forth. "I have said my wife shall not appear at Chirk Villa; and, by Heaven, she shall not! I insist on being obeyed. Lilian, you go to this breakfast at your peril!""You are very rude!" was Lilian's answer. "I never interfere with your pleasures, though, as your wife, I were well justified in doing so. Allow me the same liberty. I shall never disgrace you! Or, at least, give your reasons for this arbitrary prohibition.""I will give no reasons; it is enough that they exist: I forbade you, and I forbid you again, to leave this house to-morrow for Mrs.Carisforth's villa. I repeat it, I am ready to escort you to Llandudno.""And I repeat that I am not ready to accompany you; the day after, my arrangements will be complete. I have pledged my word to go to this breakfast, and I shall keep it. If you treated me as your wife, and condescended to explain your motives, and veil your commands under the garb of wishes, I might be enabled to listen to your representations; as it is you seek to coerce me like a child, and my soul revolts from such unqualified tyranny, I will not bear it!""You need not," he returned. You take your path, I will take mine. I will never tyrannize over you more!""He was gone before Lilian could answer. What could he mean? What did he purpose doing? It was evident that a crisis had arrived; but anything was better than the frozen stagnation of their late intercourse.Strange to say, Lilian felt strong and nerved for the unnatural warfare that lay before her.CHAPTER XIII.THE FETE.ALL that day Lilian felt restless and uneasy. Basil's ambiguous speech did not frighten her, but it perplexed and irritated her greatly, and it was a great relief to her when some friends dropped in during the afternoon—which, of course, is included in a fashionable morning—and talked over the coming glories of the fete. Lilian mentioned her intended departure, for she fully resolved that with Basil, or without him, she would keep the child in London no longer; and she met, as she had expected, with a host of objections, dissuasions, and raillery. But she held firm to her purpose; the light words of her gay acquaintances were powerless as summer-spray against a rock. Eleanor, only, was able to sway her determinations from good to evil.She was engaged to a select dinner-party in the next street, but she went late and returned early, and busied herself till late at night in seeing that her maid and the nurse had made all due preparations for the Cambrian journey."Had Mr. Hope been home?" she asked, the last thing. The reply was in the affirmative; he had returned about seven o'clock, apparently to inspect some rods and a landing-net that had just arrived from "Farlow's," and he had left word with Tom, the page, that he should probably not be at home till the following noon, and that, consequently, no one was to sit up."Oh, very well!" said Lilian, quietly, as she dismissed Tom to his own regions; but her heart swelled within. her. It was enough that he absented himself without explanation the whole night, but the insult of communicating with her by a verbal arrangement with the servants was altogether intolerable. It was not a message even; she gathered that her name was not mentioned. Tom was the only person to whom Mr. Hope chose to reveal his movements.The morning rose clear and shining. It was the very day for Mrs. Carisforth's rural breakfast. The sky quite cloudless, and yet a cool breeze to temper the fervent rays of the sun. While Lilian was idling over the Morning Post and her cup of coffee, nurse came knocking for admittance."Well, nurse!" said Lilian, cheerfully, "how is your charge this beautiful morning?—you had better take him into the square-garden; but first bring him here; he always likes to see mamma before he goes out.""Please, ma'am," said the functionary of the. nursery, with a grave face, "little master is very poorly again this morning; I have had a shocking night with him. I have been carrying him in my arms nearly ever since I undressed myself. I could not he five minutes together, be screamed so, the poor dear lamb! I'm sure, ma'am, there are no end of teeth shooting and working in his poor little gums; perhaps they ought to be lanced. I think Mr. Parker had better see him at once. I'm afraid of the responsibility. Why, bless you, ma'am, I've known lots of children took off like nothing with their teeth. All brisk in the morning, and dead at night, pretty lambs!""Hush, hush, nurse!" said Lilian, imploringly. "Send Tom for Mr. Parker this minute; and I will go to the nursery at once!"She found the little boy in the housemaid's arms, for he was too fretful to he in his cot; and he certainly looked ill enough to justify nurse's alarm. He stretched out his arms, and cried "Mamma" most piteously; and Lilian sat down and began to rock him, and sing to him, as him as she had done on the morning when Basil surprised her in the nursery. Her low musical song seemed to have a magical effect, for again the pitiful wailing ceased, the little bands were quietly folded, and the heavy eyelids closed on the flushed, feverish cheek. Baby was fast asleep when Mr. Parker came. He would not disturb him by examining his mouth; he would come again, he said, in a couple of hours; in the meantime felt his pulse, looked at his skin, and asked nurse all necessary questions."I will prepare some medicine immediately," he said, when all his interrogations were satisfied. "He must have it as soon as he awakes; he is very unwell, poor little fellow!""Is there danger?" asked Lilian."There is always danger with young children," said the doctor; the thread of their little lives is so frail, so uncertain! yet there is an elasticity in the infant constitution that often astonishes us medical men, and there is a resistance against the strength of disease that is truly marvellous in such tender things!""But in this case" urged Lilian—"in my boy's case—is there any danger?""My dear lady," replied Mr. Parker, " there is no danger at this moment. You have no cause to alarm yourself as things now are; but if certain symptoms were to supervene, if convulsions were to appear, there would be the most imminent peril. I cannot say there is no reason to dread this; but I hope it may not be so. In the meantime keep him cool and quiet. Give him the medicine I shall send, without fail, and watch him carefully through the day."Mr. Parker bade Lilian good morning. She was in a state of most uncomfortable perplexity. She would willingly have foregone this unfortunate breakfast. She had very little hankering after the gay scenes that awaited her. But then Basil would triumph. He would never believe that solicitude for the child had kept her at home. He would attribute it all to his own firmness and unswerving decision.And yet, if the baby should be worse! if he should die during her absence! if, in his agony and weariness, he should cry "Mamma" again in those piteous accents, and no mother should be within reach to comfort and soothe him! It was a struggle, and sometimes it seemed as if Lilian's better feelings would prevail.But the child awoke, took the prescribed medicine, and went to sleep again in his cot. The doctor did not arrive at the time he mentioned; he had been suddenly summoned to attend a dangerous and urgent case, and his assistant, who came to report progress, declared that the young gentleman was going on very favorably. He must take another powder about four o'clock, and be placed in a warm bath at night.So Lilian went again to the room where her snowy floating robes were duly spread out by her maid. There seemed no reason why she should stay at home, and give Basil so great a triumph. Nurse was careful, and far more experienced than herself; the cook, too, was a widow, and had been a mother, and knew all about teething, and she and nurse got on famously together.An arrangement was made, that if the child manifested any of the unfavorable symptoms described by Mr. Parker, Tom was instantly to be despatched to Chirk Villa, and she would return home at once. At all events, she meant to leave very early; she did not mean to stay for the ball at night—she never intended that; she would be in her own house again before ten o'clock. The breakfast was fixed for four!No Basil made his appearance. Lilian dressed, and looked "beautiful exceedingly;" but there was a shade on her face that neither sunshine, flowers, nor flattery could banish.Chirk Villa was reached at last. The grounds were thronged with all the elite of the fashionable world, for Mrs. Carisforth and her dejeuners-champetre were the rage just then.How brightly the sun shone! how cool were the verdurous alleys of umbrageous elms! how glittering were the fountains, and the mimic lake, on whose crystal bosom reposed the stately swans and the lovely water-lilies! And the flowers in green-house, hothouse and garden were all in perfection; exotics of gorgeous coloring and startling magnificence seemed indigenous to the soil in which they grew; unheard-of plants were clambering the lofty trellis-work of the grand conservatory; globules of snow, bells of richest rose-hue, wax-like petals of all delicate tints, leaves glossy as satin, met the eye at every glance, while the more ordinary beauties of the green-house and of the parterre were smiling in boundless profusion and perfection of bloom.The dejeuner was spread in a large marquee, and many tents scattered among the trees, and the miniature temple, all brilliant with flowers and wreaths and Parian statuary, were thronged with guests. Lilian was welcomed by many to whom she was known, and joining a party composed of her most intimate acquaintances, she rambled over the fairy-like haunts to which she was led, with mingled wonder and delight.It was an unanimous verdict that Mrs. Carisforth's fete was decidedly the fete of the season! Nothing had been seen like it! an imitation would be an absurdity! an impossibility!At first Lilian felt her spirits rise to gaiety; but in a little while a shade seemed to steal over the beautiful flowers, the green sequestered glades, and the sparkling waters. The sun still shone in the calm western sky; golden lights were streaming through the thickets, and between the trunks of the tall trees; the fountains still rose and fell with their musical murmur, and the gay throng were waxing every hour more joyous and more mirthful!The shadow was at Lilian's own heart. She had gained her end; she was at Chirk Villa, where she had declared, in spite of her husband's tyranny, she would be. But now a dark dread of his displeasure came upon her. Suppose he left her, never cared to see her face again; such might be the meaning of his words! Suppose the child were even now worse—dying—and his unnatural mother was enjoying herself at a brilliant fete!Her superstitions became fears; her fears presentiments; agony blanched her check, and hushed her voice. She was the centre of a gay circle; some of the first men of the day paid their devoirs to the beautiful and graceful women who composed it. Her fascinating hostess was by her side, rallying her on her silence and abstraction; when on a little mound, not far off, as if seeking some one out from the throng, stood the familiar form of Tom, and with him one of Mrs. Carisforth's servants. "There is my page," cried Lilian, impetuously—" oh, my child She sprang up, and rushed like a mad creature through the crowd, that parted instinctively at her approach.One of her friends, a kind, elderly gentleman, offered his arm, but she burst away: she could not be trammelled now with the shadow of ceremony or etiquette. She reached the mound, and stood before Tom, panting and unable to speak; but clasping her hands in mute supplication to hear the worst immediately."The child was much worse, in violent convulsions; Mr. Parker was there, and he said missis must be sent for that minute!"Lilian's carriage was not at hand; she would have sped away on foot; but the page had driven down in a cab, and it was still at the gate. They drove home at a dangerous speed; but Lilian thought the delays were innumerable, and the pace a snail's creep. At last the cab drew up. Lilian was at her own threshold; and now her heart throbbed as if she were a convicted criminal, and she feared to enter, knowing not what might greet her. The hall-door was open, and slowly, tremblingly she ascended the stairs. On the nursery landing she paused to listen, but no sound met her ear. She could bear no more suspense; she entered the room. She never forgot the scene she beheld there—the group that were gathered round her old seat, the rocking chair. The nurse had the child in her arms; he had just been lifted from the little bath. Basil stood opposite, his face white and rigid as marble, and his eyes bent in unutterable anguish on his dying child. The cook knelt by the nurse; she was chafing the cold feet of the little sufferer, and the housemaid was weeping by the cradle. Mr. Parker stood somewhat apart, near the window; his sad looks, his passive inaction, showed that human skill was vain. Lilian came forward, and the cook sprang to her feet to make way for her mistress, and the miserable mother bent down to take her child in her arms once more. But Basil resolutely held her back, and Mr. Parker interposed. "Do not," he said, "the movement would be too much."So she knelt down, and gently took the tiny damp hand in hers. The convulsions were over now; but life was fast ebbing; and in the fading twilight they watched the faint irregular breathing, and the changing face of the little one. At last, the, whole frame quivered; the eyes opened as if in bewilderment and surprise; the lips trembled, the white lids fluttered, and then closed. A little sob—a half drawn sigh—add there was one angel more before the throne of God!CHAPTER XIV.THE DAWN OF DAY.AND the little child was laid to rest, in the dim, old Chapel at Hopelands, where, for nearly three centuries, the Hopes had been gathered to their fathers.Basil stood by the open vault, while the white-robed rector solemnly read the appointed burial service for the dead, and by his side were his father and mother, and his sisters, Mary and Harriet; but Lilian was not there. Ever since the night of the child's death, she had lain like one in a waking trance. In after years, she said she could never describe her sensations—never understand the strange, fearful torpor that seemed to envelope leer faculties. She knew her boy was dead, but she felt none of those maternal agonies, that might have been looked for in a woman so sensi-tive, so impetuous as Lilian. There was a void in her Heart, a weight dull and heavy on her spirits, and a languor on her physical frame that frightened her attendants. She endured none of those sharp intolerable pangs, the offspring of mingled brief and remorse, which sometimes mares reason totter on her throne; but a settled pain lay always, wearingly and consumingly, on her heart; she never tried to employ herself, she never spoke save to answer necessary questions in the briefest manner, and she seldom moved. Her hands hung listlessly by her side, her eyes, always tearless, sought no one's face, turned to no familiar object; it seemed as if the bodily form alone lay on the curtained bed in that quiet room, while the spirit slumbered or wandered far away into the shadowy regions of an unknown worldBasil never came to comfort his wife; he began to loathe the woman who had left her sick infant, to go to a gay party of pleasure; he turned indignantly from the vain, heartless mother; and the hour that should have drawn those alienated hearts once more into conjugal sympathy and tenderness passed away, leaving the gulf wider and deeper than ever.After Basil returned from the funeral of his little son he resolved to remain no longer under his own roof. His friend, Captain Leavers, was impatient to set out on his fishing expedition, and he fretted at every day's delay. He would hear of no companion save Basil, and he would not go alone; and so, loosed from all home affections, and importuned almost hourly by Leavers, he suddenly made up his mind to go the next day, and betake himself to salmon-fishing on the Norwegian lakes and rivers for the ensuing weeks.He bade Lilian a formal adieu, and she was left alone in her solitary chamber, with no friend, no more loving attendant than her own maid.One evening, after a day of storm and wind, the sun broke forth, the rain-clouds rolled heavily away, and before nightfall the soft blue of the summer sky spread itself over the populous haunts of the noisy city, and the aristocratic precincts of the West End. Lilian rose from her bed, and, without ringing for her maid, tremulously arrayed herself in the first garments that she could find. The astonishment of the girl was extreme, when she returned from her gossip in the kitchen, and found her mistress sitting by the empty grate, exhausted almost to fainting by the exertion of dressing, and yet more by the revulsion of feeling that almost overpowered her, as she put on the garments of every-day life once more. Lilian ordered her maid to bring her some tea, and when she had taken it, she felt stronger and considerably revived. The long torpor was over, and she began to feel restless, and oh! so sore-hearted.Feebly she made her way to the drawing-room; that room that had witnessed her pride, her vanity, her agony of spirit through the dreary night-watches—and now her loneliness, her desertion, her utter hopelessness. She sat down in her accustomed place, listlessly gazing at the blue sky, so vivid after the rain, and flecked with bright white clouds, driving swiftly to the south. The street was very still; there seemed a lull in the hurry and bustle of London life, and the house, too, was silent as the grave. No sound of baby-laughter, no voice of childish pain or passion broke on the perfect quietude of the upper rooms; no hasty ringing of bells, no quick, manly tread ascending from the study—all was hushed as night or death.The stillness became to Lilian awful, then unbearable, and the tranquility of the outer world seemed to force on her a strange unnatural composure; for, while she leaned back in her large chair, gazing at the soft blue evening sky, her breast was thrilled with anguish, her soul died within her for very bitterness and despair, and yet she kept back the burning tears that swelled under her heavy eyelids, and drove down the sobs and sighs that were longing to escape into audible life. It was a relief when the postman's sharp double knock thundered far down the street. Nearer and nearer it came, and Lilian was sure he was bring-ing her a letter, though she guessed not, and cared not, from whom.Yes, there were the two characteristic strokes at the hall-door, and a minute afterwards the page brought a letter on a salver. It was from Eleanor, a long epistle of condolence and consolation; but Lilian never tried to read it. Even the sight of that hand-writing sharpened her pain; she could not bear to think of Eleanor. As she was folding up the letter, her eyes fell on a once dear and familiar name—Alice Rayner. "Do you know," ran Eleanor's epistle, "they say here that Alice Rayner is dying; and what is very strange, she is not at Kirby-Brough, nor has been this long time. In the spring she became much worse, and that old uncle who keeps one of the royal lodges in Windsor Park, would have her up to London for the best advice. You know he is her mother's brother, this Mr. Brookes, and he has often and often begged Alice to come and live with him; but she never could make up her mind to leave Yorkshire. Now, however, it seems, his only daughter and child has married, and gone to Canada or Australia, I forget which, and he spoke so much of his loneliness, and dwelt so strongly on some new hind of medical treatment that has been very successful in cases like hers, that she thought it best to yield to leis wishes. And so the old gentleman actually came here, all the way from Windsor, and took Alice borne with him. At first, they say, she was better, and went out a great deal in a little donkey-carriage they keep, but when the hot weather came she drooped and faded, and now the doctors—and Mr. Brookes has spared no expense, but consulted the very best authorities—say she is dying, and cannot live many weeks. How strange that Alice has been in town, so near us, and we did not know it; but if we had known, she was quite out of our circle; and even now she is within twenty miles of you, and you could go and see her if you liked; but I would advise you not, you have already had too much to endure, and your poor nerves need no further shock." Here followed more condolences, but Lilian did not read any more.Alice dying! Alice in town, without letting her know, or calling! But then she remembered how she lead neglected Alice, by leaving her letters unanswered, and by writing short formal epistles, when tardy conscience at length forced her to tale up her pen. Ever since her marriage, this had been snore or less the case, and it was not probable that Alice, during her brief visits to town, would be in a condition to pay visits, even to an old friend, and that friend, one who had so cruelly and coldly neglected her. "And yet," said Lilian to herself, "it was not that; all my neglect, all my heartlessness, could not estrange Alice; she was too good, too noble-minded, and she is so still. She was unable to come to nee, or I know well I should have seen her; but why did she not write just a little note—a line to say where she was staying, and to ask me to go to her?"Then a thought flashed across Lilian's mind, and she rose, with all her old impetuosity, to seek what she wanted, but it would not do; her head swam, and she tottered, and almost fell, before she crossed the room. She sat down before a china bowl, placed in an obscure corner—she drew it towards her, and began to examine its contents.They seemed miscellaneous enough—invitation notes, visiting cards, small bills, paid and unpaid, memoranda, dried rose-leaves, and lavender, and old letters and circulars. Many of the latter, and even some of the former, were unopened. Lilian had grown terribly careless of late, and if a note were brought to her at an inopportune moment, she had accustomed herself to toss it into the china bowl, there to await her leisure, or be forgotten, as the case might be; and she feared that Mice had written, and that, leaving flailed to recognize the writing, the missive had been consigned to this receptacle of stray documents. It was so; at the very bottom, half buried in pot-pourri, lay a tiny note from Alice, begging Lilian to come to her at her lodgings at Pentonville, or, if otherwise engaged, to write to her at her new address in Windsor Park. It was not too late for the host, and Lilian at once began to write. Her letter was very short:—"DEAREST ALICE,—Till this evening I did not know you had left Kirby-Brough. I have but just read your note; I will explain when I see you. Alice, dear, all is changed with me; my child is in his little grave; my husband is far away, and I—I have no hope. I would fain go to my boy, but I cannot; his bright home will never, never be mine. Let me come to you. I will tell you all, and you will forgive.—Your miserable LILIAN."From that hour, Lilian nursed herself, and took nourishing food, that she might be strong enough for her twenty miles' journey. How could she have neglected Alice so long? For now Alice seemed all the comfort that remained to her upon earth; the thought of Alice was hope in despair, light in darkness, a gleam of heaven's sunshine, riving the low dense thunder-clouds of grief and hopelessness. Poor Lilian! how pertinaciously she clung to reeds of earth! Even now, in her great and lonely sorrow, she never thought of lifting her eyes to the everlasting bills, whence cometh strength and peace.By return of host, Lilian's letter was answered. Two or three crooked lines, in characters that she never would Dave known as Alice's small, delicate hand-writing, were all. They bade Lilian come immediately, "for the time was short."It was still early morning; indeed, Lilian had not yet risen, and there was abundance of time to make all needful arrangements, and depart that very afternoon.She rang for her maid; told her that she was suddenly called to visit a sick—perhaps, a dying—friend, and that her trunk must be packed forthwith. She despatched the page for a "Bradshaw," and then she lay back in her bed, thinking of all the old time—of Alice in her bright, joyous youth, and in her first serious illness; of Alice, patient and calm on her couch of suffering, through many a sunshiny spring and glorious summer, through many a golden autumn, and happy, festive winter; of the last Sabbath evening, when she had taken her farewell of Alice, and received from her the little, worn Bible, that had been lies solace and companion day and night all that long, weary season of pain and isolation from the world. That little, precious Bible, with its dark morocco binding, its faded, tarnished gilt edges, and its soiled, pencilled pages—where was it?It was long since Lilian had seen it; but she fancied it was in a drawer with other disused articles; so she rose and sought it in the dressing-room, and there it was, with many other things that reminded Lilian of the days that were no more.She went back with the little volume in her hand, and opened it. The leaves naturally fell apart at one place, where they had often remained filed for hours, when Alice needed strength and comfort. The first words that met Lilian's gaze were the opening verses of the fourteenth chapter of St. John's Gospel—" Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God; believe also in Ate. In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to pre-pare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive yon unto my-self, that where I am, there ye may be also." The sacred words thrilled Lilian's heavy, aching heart; they awoke an echo in her soul, that had never before sounded in its darkened depths. "Let not your heart be troubled!—I go to prepare a place for you!"Further on, Lilian read those blessed words that have been life, and light, and joy for more than eighteen centuries; ever since the blaster spoke them to his beloved ones, on the eve of his awful agony and woe. "I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life!"Still further in the beautiful, precious chapter!—"If ye shall ask anything in my name, I will do it And towards the close—" Peace I leave with you; my peace I give unto you; not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid!"And a mighty cry went up from that troubled human soul—"O God! O Father Almighty! give to me that peace—that peace which the world knoweth not. O Lamb of God, that taketh away the sins of the world, grant me thy peace!"The spirit of God moved on the face of the waters, and God said, "Let there be light!" and, as in the old time, when brightness and beauty arose out of chaos, so was there light in that fallen, sinful, world-worn soul! Not the perfect day—not even the full beams of the morning—but a streak of heaven's own radiance, hire though faint; eternal and unfading, though far, far away on the montain-tops.But as the dawn grows brighter and brighter—as the glorious sun rises, and illuminates even the lowly valleys of this earth; so that light, which comes straight from the Great Fountain of Light himself, shines in the unrenewed heart of man, and brightens more and more unto the perfect day; ay, even unto that day, where the eternal noon is never dimmed by cloud—where shadows of evening never fall—fur they (the redeemed) shall see his face, and "there shall be no night there."CHAPTER XV.ALICE.SUMMER sunset on the stately towers of Windsor, on the dark turrets of classic Eton, on the green Clew-fields on the royal river winding his broad silvery way through many a tract of goodly meadow-land!Sunset on hill and dale, on earth and sky! The whole landscape was bathed in that rich soft light that glorifies the fall of night, in the warm, ripe, glowing month of August.Lilian gazed on the fair scene with something of awe; it was so calmly, grandly beautiful. True, there were no mighty peaks piercing the azure air; no snow-clad altitudes, to be transmuted by sunset's wonderous alchemy into visions of celestial glory; no broad sea, heaving his smooth bosom beneath the burning radi-ance of the evening skies; no foaming cataract waking the echoes of wild pine-shaded ravines; but there was a sweep of undulating fertile country bounded by wavy hills; and the regal Thames, like a scroll of pure silver, or in some curves like molten gold, sweeping over the free, fair land. There was the grandeur of kingly towers and cloistered shades; there were the noble forest-trees, and all resting so tranquilly, wearing such an aspect of settled calm and peace, in the rosy light of the August afternoon!Lilian ended leer railway journey at the South Western station; and here she easily procured a carriage to take her to the remote corner of the park, where Mr. Brookes' lodge was situated. The sun had touched the horizon when she reached her destination. It was a roomy cottage, standing in a well-kept garden, and surrounded by sylvan scenery of the loveliest description. An old man was stooping down near the gate, busied with his verbenas and picotees, that were the pride and glory of his heart. He raised his Lead as the carriage approached, and seeing that it stopped at his house, he stepped forth, with all the race of a gentleman of the old regime, to offer his services to the lady in alighting.A few words explained who Lilian was, though Mr. Brookes lead not been slow to conjecture; but they had not expected their guest till the following day, or even later still.The carriage dismissed, Lilian stood with Mr. Brookes in the bright flowery garden. She trembled to ask how Alice was: she was living, certainly, for the little casements were flung wide open to the evening air; there was no sign of death about the quiet secluded house; but neither was there any appearance of the invalid herself. The sound of wheels had called no one to the window—no one sat there inhaling the sweet, cool breeze, so refreshing after the sultry beat of the day—no one was gazing at the large red orb slowly sinking westward, between the boles of the ancient forest-trees.At last she summoned courage. "Mr. Brookes, how is Alice? is she better?""Alice is going home," said the old man, sadly, but so calmly, that Lilian did not understand him."Going home!" echoed Lilian, in extreme surprise. "I thought for the future she intended residing with you."Mr. Brookes pointed to the blue cloudless slay above. "Alice is going there!—to her Father's home on high—to the house not made with hands!""To one of the 'many mansions,' to the place that is prepared for her," returned Lilian, softly, thinking of the chapter she lead read so many times since the morning. "Mr. Brookes, may I go to Alice now?""Wait a little, dear lady," replied the old gentle-man. "Bridget! come here, Bridget. Mrs. Hope is come; go gently, and tell Miss Alice."In five minutes Lilian was standing by Alice's side. She lay on a couch, in a roomy parlor, at the back of the house. The window was completely wreathed With roses and clematis, and. opened upon a view of one of the forest glades, a scene of surpassing loveliness. Alice was little altered since Lilian last saw her. She was scarcely thinner, no paler, and her dark brown eyes were lustrous as ever; but she was weaker; the white, attenuated hand could scarcely clasp Lilian's, and her voice was very low; so low, that it needed close proximity to distinguish every word."Alice! Alice! oh, Alice!" was all that Lilian could say, as she knelt by her friend's sofa, and kissed the meek, fading face, that was so soon to behold the King in his beauty, in the land that is very far off. "Oh, Alice! I am come back to you once more, like a wounded bird, that can never, never plume itself for flight again.""Not for the old flight, perhaps," murmured Alice, "but for the heavenward journey. Lilian, dearest, you will start afresh, will you not?—you will meet me in yonder bright world?""If I might, oh! if I only might!" cried Lilian, passionately. "And, Alice, my child, my little child, that I neglected; and yet I did love it; indeed I did; my boy is there; and he will, I fear me, never see his miserable mother again.""Not so Lilian, the portals of heaven stand wide open; it needs only that one should present himself in his Master's name. 'There is no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh, but after the spirit.'"But it was too late that night to converse further. The agitation of Lilian's arrival had sadly exhausted Alice; and ere long Mr. Brookes came to carry her into the adjoining room, which had once been his own sleeping-chamber, but was now given up to the invalid. Bridget, who seemed to be both faithful servant and humble friend, begged Mrs. Hope to leave Alice for the night; and Lilian herself wearied, and still weak, was thankful to find her bed ready, and all things prepared for her repose. And that night she knelt not down to repeat a mere formula, but to beseech Him, who ever waits to revive the spirit of the humble, and the heart to the contrite ones, to bring her out of darkness into His marvellous light, and to lead her into the way of life everlasting. Like a little child, she asked to be taught, to be guided, to be governed!—and the Lord heard, and gave her an answer of peace.In the morning she awoke refreshed and calmed, and the sun was shining brightly on the dewy flowers, and lighting up the mossy depths of the dark wood. The small household had long been astir, and Lilian, on descending, found breakfast awaiting her; but Alice was not brought to her sofa till nearly noon.Mr. Brookes was gone on business to Frogmore; Bridget was busy in the kitchen; so Alice and Lilian were left alone to commune with their own hearts, and with each other.Seen in the dull light of day, Lilian perceived how fragile Alice had become, and she saw, what she had failed to see in the dusky twilight of the preceding evening, an expression on the Worn, white face, of such calm, such peace as might have graced the brows of the glorified spirits before the throne. Lilian looked long on the quiet countenance, and she read in its aspect the token of departure. It was even as if the lights from the windows of her Father's house were already. Shining on the mortal features; as if the yearning spirit beheld some faint glimpses of the glory to be revealed on the other side Jordan."Lilian!" said Alice, opening her eyes, and gazing tenderly on her friend, "the world has dealt hardly with you since you and I parted more than two years ago."Lilian could only lay down her work, and weep."Tell me all," was Alice's request.And Lilian told all without reserve. She did not spare herself, though she spared Basil. She told how great had been her pride, her self-will, her neglect of her highest and sweetest duties; how she had lived without God in the world, caring only for the things of time; walking not after the spirit, but after the flesh; how she had sought for happiness; how she had craved peace and content; and how she had failed utterly in her search after all three, till the heavy hand of God was laid upon her, and her child was snatched from her embrace, and her husband estranged—it might be for ever."And now," continued Lilian, "now, in my great need and affliction, I have found a ray of hope. I have been reading of that peace which the world giveth not, and, in seeking it, some little of its sweet influence has fallen upon me. Weary and heavy-laden I come to Him, who calls such as I am to hear and follow Him, and be blessed for evermore:—surely He will give me rest.""He giveth rest to the weary," said Alice. "He will take from you the burden of your sins; He will give you rest, and satisfy the deepest cravings of your soul. He has led me forth by a path that I knew not; He has been with me in fours of pain and weariness; He has long given me rest from vain struggles after health and intercourse with the world; now, He is going to give me the rest that remaineth for the children of God. This poor shattered frame will lie down in the dust, and sleep there in undisturbed repose till the morning of the resurrection; then it will be clothed anew, changed and fashioned like unto His glorious body. Oh! Lilian, who can tell, who can know the love of Christ, which passeth knowledge?""Alice, you said well, when long ago you told me there were bitterer things to endure than the body's sickness. Sometimes, lately, I have envied you, I have thought it would be far easier to lie down for years on a couch of pain and weariness, especially when there is the hope of heaven coming every clay nearer and nearer, than to live a short life of disapointment in an evil, unsatisfying, mocking world. Oh, Alice! you have been spared much; you have never known what it is to make shipwreck of your most precious things. You have never loved with all the intensity of woman's love, only to have that love flung back upon your heart, as a worthless thing. You have never been misunderstood, wilfully misconstrued, as I have been. You have never been a deserted wife—a childless mother.""No," returned Alice; "but, Lilian I will tell you now what no one knows. I have loved truly and well, and I believed that I was loved again. Perhaps I wrongly interpreted words and glances, that seemed to me to speak volumes. I cannot tell, it does not matter now; but my accident came, I was laid aside for a whole lifetime, and even had the love been mutual, which I never knew, it must have been relinquished. The sweetest of human ties was not for me, I could never be wife and mother; but it was long ere I entirely gave up the Hope of recovery, and longer still ere I bowed my head in resignation to the Almighty will, saying from my inmost heart, 'Thy will be done.'""Alice! how could you ever say it?""I never could say it, so long as I strove in my own strength. I told myself that I was weak, that I was wrong, that reason and wisdom bade me submit unmurmuringly; but it was in vain. The wound was only hidden, not healed, and even when I thought I had attained something of composure, the pain broke out afresh, and I writhed in helplessness, longing for peace, and crying out for repose, Oh, Lilian! the physical suffering, the dreary days, the long wakeful nights, were easy to bear, in comparison with the bitter strife within. For months and years my soul was always "'Seeking rest, and finding none,'""But rest came at last. How, Alice?""One who, in old times, ruled the kinds and the waves, saw the tempests of my heart, and said to the rebellious will and the proud self reliance, 'Peace, be still,' and immediately there was a great calm! I learned to know Him in whom alone is eternal life; I learned to love Him who first loved me and have Himself for me; and in that knowledge, that love, I found peace and joy; my couch of pain became a pleasant resting-place; and I knew ere long that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed. I tried to think I was a child at school, learning the lessons that were needful, and undergoing useful discipline, to train me for the home where at last I should surely make my abode; and the more I thought of the end of the journey, the smoother seemed the way—the longer I mused on the brightness of the unseen world, the lighter seemed the gloom of the present hour.""And after that, Alice, did no regrets ever arise, no yearnings for the sweet happiness that might have been?""Often, often! but God gave me strength and comfort, and I had His word, with many a blessed promise, many an assurance that all things must work together for my good, and always the hope, the anticipation of the bliss beyond the confines of mortality.""And how does it seem now? Do you feel that all has been for the best, Alice?""For the very best, Lilian! The loving child sees but dimly the reasons of parental restraint and correction; lie is fain to take it on trust, and wait for maturity to explain the why and wherefore of much that has been irksome, perhaps painful; so I am content to be sure it was a Father's hand that inflicted the chastisement; and what I know not now, I shall know hereafter, for then I shall know, even as I am known—and so soon—a very few days it may be!"Lilian looked tenderly at the patient face that wore even then somewhat of the solemn beauty of an angel, and gladly would she have lain down in Alice's place, looking back in thankfulness on the past, and waiting joyfully the coining of the celestial messenger.It was a slothful wish, the desire of one who longed for the crown and palm, but who shrank from the cross, and the long pilgrimage of toil and warfare.Alice understood her friend's half-implied wish, and she replied by pointing to a verse in a book that lay open before her:—"Thine image, Lord, bestow,Thy presence and Thy love;I ask to serve Thee here below, Then reign with Thee above."CHAPTER XVI.GOING HOME.IN the evening Lilian went to walk in the park alone. The sun had gone down, but the rich flashing light yet lingered in the slay, and poured down a new beauty on the old kingly trees, the undulating green sward, and the shining watercourses. It was all hour for self-communion and meditation on the mysteries of the Unseen world; an hour to think solemnly on the past, with its errors and its follies, to gather fresh strength and hope for the untrodden paths of temporal futurity, and to muse quietly and prayerfully on the evening time of life, when God has promised light to all who put their trust in Him. Lilian had always loved the beautiful sunset hour; she had been wont from childhood to seek solitude when the shadows deepened, and the first stars stole out in the twilight sky, there to dream away the time in poetic reverie and pleased contemplation of Nature's majestic calm. Now the peaceful hour was inexpressibly soothing; but her thoughts had found a new and wondrous channel, and fancy was no longer free to wing its fair, discursive flight; for reality, with all its present hopes, and fears, and cares, was weighing heavily on her spirit.She thought of Basil, far away amid icy mountains, and dark pine-forests, and wild, impetuous streams; would he ever return to her? would he ever be the same as in happy, bygone days? She thought he would; but it might be very long before he could be won back again to the side and heart of her who, despite of all folly, all temper, loved him so dearly. A long, trying estrangement from her husband might be her punishment for the wilful errors of the past; and Lilian reverently bent her bead, saying, "I will bear the indignation of the Lord, because I have sinned against Him."Till the sunlight had quite faded, and the large moon was shining serenely through the trees, she lingered in the little wood, where she had found a seat on a rustic bench; then she walked slowly to the lodge, wondering within herself whether she might gaze on that glorious, solemn beauty around her—woodland and dewy glade—bright summer moon and pale, glittering stars—and venture to say, "My Father made them all."It was rather late when she reached the lodge, and Mr. Brookes came out to meet her. Alice was already settled for the night, and Lilian thought she seemed comfortable and inclined to sleep. She would have liked to stay with her friend, but Bridget would not hear of it."Mrs. Hope looked white and weak enough already," she said, without having her rest broken; and she was used to it, and rather liked it than otherwise."So Lilian went away to the sitting-room and read the evening chapter to Mr. Brookes; for the old man's eyes were growing dim, and, even with spectacles, he had to pore painfully over the large print of his well-used Bible. He looked very pleased when the young lady asked him if she might read what he wished aloud, and he thanked her gratefully, and bade her choose for herself. She selected her favorite fourteenth of John; and once more her heart burned within her, as she read the words of peace and consolation—"Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid."And as she read, she comprehended how the children of the heavenly King might stand secure amidst the wildest earthly storms, fearing nothing, because the Master was at the helm.The next day was not so sultry as the preceding ones had been; the air was cool, bright, and clear; and Mice, on her couch near the window, seemed invigorated by the pleasant breeze, bearing with it the breath of many flowers and fragrant leaves.Lilian sat all the morning by Alice's side, sometimes working, sometimes conversing; then Mr. Brookes came into his dinner, and then followed the quiet afternoon hour, when the breeze died away and not a leaf stirred, not a bud or blade fluttered in the still, clear air."I am very tired," said Alice, faintly, when Lilian bent over her to arrange her pillow. I feel as if sleep were coming. What if it be the sleep from which one wakens on the other side of the grave! What if my weary eyelids are going to close for ever on the things of time!"Lilian looked into the dark, quiet eyes; but they shone with all their native lustre; the hollow check was not thinner or whiter than it had long been, and the features wore their old expression of almost saint-like calm; yet, nevertheless, there was a change—that change that comes but once—that is more easily imagined than described—that, once beheld, is never forgotten by the awed beholder.It was the aspect that no mortal face may wear till the worn-out garment of the flesh is dropping from the redeemed soul on the banks of the river of Death; the light that conies not from any radiance of earth, but is the faint reflection of the glory that beams from the celestial city—the city of the Great ring! Intuitively Lilian recognized the presence of that dark shadow that haunts all thresholds, from the monarch's to the peasant's; but here the dread angel came in his fairest, softest guise, like a dewy sleep to a weary hatcher—like the unbarring of a cage to a long-imprisoned bird.Lilian knew that the time of departure was at hand, and she summoned Bridget who immediately sent some one to seek her master, and bring him home. It was long ere he came, for the messenger knew not where to seek him; and meanwhile Lilian and Bridget sat watching the fast ebbing tide of that failing human life. The evening wore oil and there was no farther change; but suddenly, just as the sunset rays were gilding the forest boughs, Alice rallied, and asked to be lifted on her pillows. "Lilian!" she said, "dear Lilian! you, too, will tread the way to Mount Zion will you not! You, too, will be of those who serve Him, doing His will here on earth, and at last joining with that multitude before the throne in the song of the redeemed?""God helping me, I will," answered Lilian, solemnly. "Here, by your side, Alice, before you go to God, I renounce the vain shadows which all my wasted life I have unceasingly pursued. I trust in the mercy of Jesus Christ, my Lord and Saviour, for the remission of my sins, and for the blissful assurance of everlasting life; henceforward I desire to be His in thought, word, and action. But I am very weak, very ignorant.""His grace is sufficient for the frailest and the simplest," returned Alice. "I am content, Lilian; God has answered all my prayers, and given me the desire of my heart. I longed to see you striving for the best things—the things that make your everlasting peace."Then after a pause, Alice said, "Is is growing dark, Lilian?""Yes; it is rather dusk. The sun has gone down, but the red light is still on the tree-tops.""It is the light of dawn," said Alice feebly, but clearly.Lilian thought her senses wandered; but it was not so. Alice went on, but now her voice had sunk to a mere whisper—"Lilian, I do not see the sunset light on the trees. I see the dawn of eternal day. The darkness is passing away, the radiance brightens; no more shadows, no more night!""You will see my boy," said Lilian. "Oh Alice, tell him I loved him, and I trust to come to him when God sees fit to call me away. I am glad now he is there; so safe, so happy, in the bosom of Him who loved the little children.""I will tell him," replied Alice, "if the ministering spirits who do their mission between heaven and earth have not already told him. Is my uncle come?"He had just arrived, and he came in to speak the last words of love and farewell to her he had taken to his heart as his own child. He bent over her, and took her chilly hand in his, while he tenderly kissed the pallid lips; and she murmured, "God our Father bless you, dear uncle, and bring you safe home!""A day's march nearer home he returned: "it will be so every evening. I am an old man; ere long the Master will come and call for me; and then may I, by his grace, be enabled to say, 'I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith.' Alice, my precious one, my own sister's child! I hoped you and I might be permitted to spend a few years, or at least a few months together; but it may not be. It is best so; all is for the best. Our Father in heaven knows what is fittest. He is so good, so merciful. Good-bye, Alice; I yield you to One who loves you far better than I. Into his hands I commit your departing spirit."Alice smiled faintly, and then all was still.Bridget whispered to her master that she would bring in the lights."Better not; better not," he said. "She must not be disturbed. She is going where they need no candle, neither light of the sun nor moon: she will never look on earthly things again."It was even so. Alice was passing away. Darkness and light were both alike to her; she knew not whether it was evening-time or morning; she knew not that Mr. Brookes and Lilian were kneeling beside her, that Bridget was weeping at the foot of the sofa; very, very faintly flickered the last pale flame of mortal life; and all was silence in the darkening room. They seemed to be waiting to catch the first rustling of the wings of the angel."Hush!" said Alice, suddenly; and the whispered word sounded clearly in the stillness of that solemn hour."What is it?" said Mr. Brookes. He bent his head to catch the next words. Slowly, but distinctly, they came—" the sound of many waters; the angels' song!"That which had been Alice lay cold and still for evermore. The poor clay that had suffered so much, so long, so patiently, rested at last. The ransomed soul was gone to God.An hour afterwards, Lilian went out into the gar-den. The solemn moon shed its chastened, serene light on the turf, and on the lovely flowers; the sky above was cloudless, and the zenith glittered with many stars; all was beautiful—holy, it seemed to Lilian, in that subdued radiance, with the innocent flowers, the relics of a lost Eden, at her feet; and the long avenues of the wood, stretching away like the dine aisles of sonic mighty cathedral; and in the house behind) the visible presence of Death."Death, death!" she repeated to herself it is a great mystery! One moment a partaker of the joys and sorrows of mortality, the neat an inhabitant of the eternal world! What is the subtle thing we call life? what is the chain that the last enemy rends asunder? The last enemy!——""Yes, the last enemy to the children of the kingdom!" said Mr. Brookes, who came out at that moment, and joined Lilian. "And why he should be called an enemy to them I know not; for to those whom he finds at his coming with their loins girded, and their lights burning, as servants who wait for their Lord, he is rather the herald of the Bridegroom himself!""'The wages of sin is death;' 'the sting of death;' 'the sting of death is sin,'" said Lilian, thoughtfully—almost fearfully.But her companion broke forth triumphantly—"'Thanks be to God, who giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.' 'For now is Christ risen from the dead, and become the first-fruits of them that slept. Death is swallowed up in victory: O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?'"They went back to the house; and when the lamp was lit, the old man opened his large Bible, and taping Lilian's white fingers into the warm clasp of his own broad, brown hand, he said—"Dear lady, read to me the description of the heavenly Jerusalem, where our Mice is gone to dwell."Lilian turned to the end of the Book, and read that glorious revelation of the city with the golden streets, and the gates of pure pearl, given by John, the be-loved, in the lonely isle of Pathos.And then they knelt down, and Mr. Brookes thanked God, who had that day, for his dear Son's sake, gathered another soul to unite with angels and arch-angels, and all the glorious company of heaven, in singing the praises of Him whose unspeakable love brought them safely to the end of the journey. And with an earnest petition, that in the fulness of time they might also depart in like manner, and be for ever with the Lord, they rose from their knees, and gravely, but not sadly, parted for the night.A few more quiet days, and Alice was laid to rest in a sunny little churchyard, a mile or two distant from the lodge. It was a calm, secluded spot, where the birds Sang all day long, and the turf was fragrant with wild thyme. Mr. Brookes, Lilian, and Bridget paid the last mournful duties to the beloved remains. They heard, as they entered the old grey church, the voice of the venerable pastor commencing the appointed service for the "Burial of the Dead"—"I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord. . . . I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that He shall stand at the latter day upon the earth."Then they saw the coffin borne past the font, where, twenty-seven years ago, Mice had received baptism; up the narrow, dusky, north-aisle, and past the marriage altar, where Providence had ordained she should never stand; past the table of the Lord, whence for long years the heavy hand of sickness had detained her; past all these, as if to intimate that even the holiest things of earth were nothing now to her who had gone to where there is neither creed, nor rite, nor ceremony; into the land wherein there is no temple, "for the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb are the temple of it."They heard, again, that note of holy triumph—"O death, where is thy sting? O brave, where is thy victory?" and the words of celestial consolation—"Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord, even so saith the Spirit, for they rest from their labor."Lastly, the blessing of peace; and then the mourners turned away from the open grave, and, in the Sweet, sunny day, walked slowly home. And the wild bees hummed in the purple heather; the birds fluttered from tree to tree; the wayside flowers lifted up their sweet, Bumble heads, as if rejoicing in the clear summer light; but Lilian thought only of her whose mortal frame they had committed to darkness and decay, till the resurrection morning, and of the little one who had once been her own, but was now one of the countless myriads of glorified spirits in the world beyond the grave.CHAPTER XVII.OLD FACES.THERE was nothing now to detain Lilian at Windsor: Alice lay in her peaceful resting-place, and she herself was stronger and better; yet still she lingered. Alas! she had no home ties. An empty nursery; silent rooms, where once she had lived happily and lovingly with Basil—at least, it seemed so now in comparison with the utter alienation that had now come between them—a lonely life in the dull town, far away from the blithe green-wood, and the pure, bracing, country air;—tliese were no tempting inducements to leave the kindly roof, under which she had now sojourned for a fortnight, and go back to her solitary, deserted home. She had given orders for all letters to be forwarded to her, without loss of time; and many came. Countless letters of sympathy and condolence, from her town friends more or less genuine in spirit; and also a large number of tradesmen's accounts, who, finding out that Mr. and Mrs. Hope had both left town, thought it was time to send in their claims without further delay but there was no word from Basil; he had been absent almost a month, and not one line had Lilian received to certify her of his safety, to inquire of her own shattered health, or to give notice of his whereabouts, so that. any letter of appeal, or penitence, might find him on his travels.One day, she accompanied Mr. Brookes to Windsor. He had business in the Castle, and, while he was absent, Lilian, who was executing some commissions for Bridget, in Thames Street, Beard the chapel-bell begin to toll for afternoon service. She hastened to complete her purchases, and managed to enter the choir, just as the service was beginning. In the stall before her sat two ladies in mourning, and, from time to time, Lilian fancied she perceived something familiar in their figure and carriage. The prayers were over, and Lilian, as Mr. Brookes had advised her, sought out some one who would take her over the chapel. She had nearly made the circuit of the nave, and was advancing reverently to a royal tomb, just before her, when the ladies, whom she had before noticed, came towards her. They also were being shown over the Chapel Royal, and were evidently strangers. Lilian had lifted her veil, in order the better to observe the exquisite monument of the Princess Charlotte, and, as for the moment she turned her full gaze on the visitors and their guide, she started to recognize them, They Were Mrs. Hope and Olivia. Lilian halted, waiting to be accosted, Wishing, yet not daring, to stretch forth her hand; but the mother and daughter—Basil's mother and sister—passed on, with only a stately bend. Mrs. Hope, indeed, looked at her, with a face of grave, almost indignant surprise; but Olivia scarcely honored her with a glance: she merely acknowledged her sister-in-law; that was all.When they Were gone, Lilian had lost all her interest in tombs and shrines, She listened, but received no impression, while the verger informed her, that, under a certain stone in the middle of the choir, lay the remains of the fierce Harry Tudor, his third wife, the Lady Jane Seymour, the unfortunate Charles I., and an infant child of Queen Anne. She heard him make some explanations respecting the knightly banners that hung over the dark, carved stalls, but her mind failed to grasp the sense of his observations. She was thinking all the while of Mrs. Hope's displeased gravity, and Olivia's scornful indifference. Had she dishonored the venerated name of Hope, this treatment of her could scarcely have been more contemptuous—more decidedly frigid.She left St. George's Chapel, and went to the hotel, where she had ordered tea, not without many misgivings that she should again encounter her offended relatives.As Mr. Brookes did not appear, she quitted the inn, leaving word that she would be found on the terrace, or in the cloisters, if the hour of closing the gates arrived before he came to seek her. She thought she heard Olivia's voice in the adjoining room, and she was most anxious to be out of the house, skrinking as she did from any further meeting with her husband's hostile kindred. She believed that Mrs. hope and her daughter avoided her, as a disobedient wife, an unnatural mother, and a frivolous, pleasure-seeking, vain woman of the world. They did so, certainly; but she, in her dejection and innocence, little guessed how scandalized they were at meeting her, thus walking abroad, in so public a place as Windsor, without attendance; and when many persons knew, or suspected, that some kind of separation had taken place between her and her husband; when the fact of her being at Mrs. Carisforth's fete, against the express command of Mr. Basil, and while her child was actually dying, had somehow become patent in certain circles.She little thought—poor, subdued Lilian!—that that very night, a letter went forth to Norway, by the Windsor post, containing this paragraph:—"Windsor is very gay, but Olivia and I keep our-selves secluded, as we in-List needs do, considering the recent death of your little boy, and your own unfortunate domestic position, which, unhappily, is not quite a secret among ourselves. You will be astonished to hear that, this afternoon, we met your wife amusing herself within the precincts of the Castle. She looks very well, and in good spirits, and was altogether unattended; even her maid was not with her. Of course, we did not speak; Olivia merely bowed. I endeavored to convey into the expression of my countenance as severe a rebuke as if I had fully uttered my surprise and indignation in words."Then came maternal condolences, not unmixed with reproaches, for his having married a person so unworthy of the station she was called to fill. Alas! poor Lilian!It was rather late before Mr. Brookes concluded his business, and he found Lilian walking gravely and wearily by Cardinal Wolsey's tomb-house."Kings and queens lie here," said the old man, as they stood at the eastern end of St. George's chapel; they dwelt in palaces, and wore regal robes, and all men did them reverence; lout they are equal now with the meanest of their subjects. Those of them who have passed into the mansions of the redeemed are not more blessed, more glorious, than my Mice in her crown of righteousness and her spotless garments: for there all are kings and priests to God!"Thoughts of Alice filled both their hearts, and, as they drove home in the twilight to the lodge, little conversation passed between them. They were seated at the supper-table, when Mr. Brookes exclaimed—"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Hope, I have a letter for you. I found it at the post-office, when I went to in-quire for my own."Lilian stretched forth her band, rattier impatiently; she hoped, nay, she half fancied, it was from Basil; this long, relentless silence of his was becoming an intolerable pain; and she would have welcomed the most reproachful sarcasms, the bitterest vituperations, from his pen, rather than continue to endure this dreary blank—this weary, weary void. She even began to enter Into poor Desdemona's adjuration—"Oh! stay with me, and curse me!"She was disappointed; the direction was in a delicate female hand and the postmark was London, not Christiansand.Slowly and indifferently she opened it: but when she saw its contents, her color rose, and her eyes ran eagerly down the paper; when they came to the bottom she uttered a faint shriek, and turned so pale, that Mr. Brookes feared she was going to faint. He poured out a glass of wine, and placed it before her, begging her to drink."Don't!" she replied, in a hoarse, tremulous voice."Thank you, I cannot; I ant sick! What shall I do?""Forgive me, Mrs. Hope," respectfully interposed her companion, "but can I serve you in any way?"She shook her head, and, after a moment's hesitation, laid before him the paper, which he had already perceived to be a bill.It was the one that Lilian dreaded: the bill from one of the first modisstes in town, for all Eleanor's extravagances, and very many of her own. The sum total was large—large even for a fashionable lady; to the unsophisticated Mr. Brookes, who had thought himself very liberal when he gave from time to time, a five pound note to his daughter, for her private expenses, it seemed tremendous and ruinous. He looked up inquiringly, and rather bashfully, at his guest."This is one of many," she said, despairingly; "but this is the largest.""Mr. Hope must pay them," said Mr. Brookes, gravely; "he, as other men, is answerable for his wife's——" he, hesitated for a moment—"for his wife's debts.""I am aware of that," replied Lilian; "but I dare not let him know it: he would never forgive me; be-sides all is wrong between us now.""What is wrong between you, Mrs. Hope," said Mr. Brookes, kindly. "Dear lady, 1 am an old man. I have seen much of the world and its entanglements. Perhaps if I knew where the difficulty lies, I could advise you; but you must tell nee candidly whether the greater blame is with you or with Mr. Hope?""It is I who and most to blame," replied Lilian; and then she told Air. Brookes the whole history of her married life, ending with the final misunderstanding between herself and her husband; not attempting in the least to justify her misconduct, or to extenuate her absence from her child, by any force of circumstances.Mr. Brookes was silent. He was no sage—no diplomatist; but he was an upright Christian man, possessed of excellent sense, fine discrimination, and a measure of delicacy and refinement, that seemed almost inconsistent with his station in society."What must I do?" asked Lilian, imploringly; for she intuitively recognized his sound judgment, and the clearness of his perceptions; and she feared his silence intimated the hopelessness of her case."My dear!"—he spoke as if it were his own child he were counselling—"you must win back your husband's heart.""But how—how?" asked Lilian, earnestly. I have no influence with him; he thinks me worse than I am; he misunderstands me; he prejudges me continually; and there are those who do their utmost to widen the breach between us. How can I, under these adverse circumstances, will back my husband's heart?""My dear, may I speak plainly to you, as I should speak to my own Catherine, if she were in England, and if (which God forbid!) she stood in the same unhappy position as yourself?""Say what you please; act like the surgeon, who probes the festering wound to the core, and heeds not the shrinking of the patient, whose life he is saving.""You must win back his heart, I said: but it can-not be clone by tears, and lamentations; mere professions of contrition will avail nothing; melancholy and pining will be ineffectual: you can only win back the inestimable blessing of your husband's affection by patient, unwearing continuance in duty First, you must solemnly covenant with yourself that, neat to your spiritual interests, you will resolutely, unflinchingly pursue the path which, under God's blessing, will bring you once more side by side, and heart in heart, with him who is bone of your bone, and flesh of your flesh. Having so purposed, you must humbly ask of God wisdom, and strength, and patience; you must go to your own home; you must live there or wherever he may see fit to fit your abode, gravely, prudently, and blamelessly. No duty must be slighted; the voice of conscience must be always heeded; the past must be remembered only as a warning; the present must be the day of action, in which no opportunity of good, no work of love and mercy may be neglected; and the future you must leave in the hands of your heavenly Father, in whose care and guidance you must fully confide. And through all things love always; never let your heart grow cold towards your husband; he will try your affection hardly. I think he has already done so; but you must keep a pure, true loving wife's heart in your bosom; and, above all, fear the Lord, and walk in His ways; and in His own good time, your Father in heaven will give you the desire of your soul.""But the debts," urged Lilian, piteously. How can I tell him? He will despise me more than ever: he will feel more and more estranged from me. Thus, at the very outset of my undertaking, new barriers will be raised, that years may be ineffectual to demolish."Trust in God, and do what is right, my dear! A Christian cannot be in debt—a Christian cannot be disingenuous. You must start on the race without any Hindrances from insincerity and concealment. You must face the worst at once: it may not be so bad as you fear, after all."Lilian shook her head.Mr. Brookes went on:—"And you have chosen the better part, so my Alice told me before she went to rest; and you must remember that, in little things as well as in great things, you leave God to please and to glorify. Your every-day life, your common duties, are as important in his eyes as works of brayer and praise. You must not think that religion consists only in singing hymns, and reading the Bible, and going often to church or chapel. God has sent you into the world to work in it, to perform your part therein worthily, to do common things, and associate with common people, in such a way that all may see you are influenced by something higher and stronger than any mere earthly motive. One cannot live always in an atmosphere of poetry; we must not always be thinking of the crown and the palm, and the heavenly city, and so forget to take up the cross, and do battle with our foes in the wilderness. Where would be the wisdom of sitting down in the morning, with a hard day's work before you, thinking only of the joys of sunset?""Thank you, thank you," said Lilian, quickly, "I need your admonition more than you can tell. Far too well I have loved the romance, the flowers, the day-dreams of life, and still the old temperament is up-on me. Perhaps I shall have rough work to do that will make me steady and practical"Rough work for you I doubt not there will be. You may not be called to scrub, and wash, and bake, like some of your poorer sisters (though it may come to that if you go on being so extravagant,) but you will have many a struggle, many a weary hour, before you have finished the great work before you—the regaining of your husband!""I wish I were obliged to work," exclaimed Lilian. "I would joyfully wash, and cook, and make Basil's shirts, and clean his shoes, if only he would love me as he did when he tool: me from my old home.""A little temporal adversity would do neither of you any Liam," returned Mr. Brookes, smiling; "but I fancy you would find housewifely duties, of the kind you mention, by no means pleasant or easy. And now I must send you away to bed, you look sadly pale and worn; to-morrow I will take you again to the churchyard, and across the forest, that you may see our Alice's quiet resting-place before you go; and then you must think of returning, that the new life may be begun heartily and at once."CHAPTER XVIII.FACING DIFFICULTIES.THE next day Lilian stood in the quiet churchyard where Alice slept in peace. It was a bright autumnal afternoon; the leaves were just timed with a golden brown hue, and the last roses of summer were fading on their drooping steins. The wild bees hummed dreamily amid the leafy boughs, and on one grey, moss-covered headstone a robin sat pouring out his melodious lay, that tells us ever how summer days are waning, and how the green earth is putting on her glorious robes of autumnal splendor.Calm, fair, and sunny was the pleasant September day; calmly stood the time-worn church beneath the clear sapphire slay; calmly lay the lonely churchyard, the "God's acre" of the forest with its verdant graves, and low ivy-mantled wall girdled round with dark trees, and washed by a shining little stream, that went singing over its pebbly bed past the silent congregation of the dead.And Lilian stood by that newly-covered grave, and read again and a gain the few words engraven on the simple stone—"Sacred to the memory of Alice Rayner, who died August 3, 185—, aged 27. 'Found in Him,' Phil. iii. 9."Yes! Alice had lived in Christ and died in Christ, and now her unbound spirit was with Him for evermore.Lilian saw now, and felt, and that is more than seeing, that there was no other way to the shores of the heavenly land—no other guide across the dangerous desert of this world, save Him who said in old time, "I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life!" And now, by Mice's brave, she again reviewed the past. She communed with her own Heart, and poured it out in prayer to God that her sins might be pardoned, that strength might be given for days to come, and that at last, when life with its toils and trials came to an end, she also might he down in peace, her mortal frame resting from the heat and burden of the day, and waiting the coming of the Master, to rise to ever-lasting joy and glory. And as Lilian thought of the end, it seemed sweet beyond conception:—the sunset of life's long day; the grave's untroubled repose; the lying-down to sleep, as the night of death spread round the mortal tabernacle its dark impervious curtain, shutting out the world, stilling the noises and the bustle, and laying a cool hand on the burning brow and the weary eyelids; and the waking-up on the other side of Jordan; the first glimpse of the hills of Canaan, the towers of the City of the great King; the first beams of the morning that knows no storms, no cloud, no night! It seemed so fair, so blissful in anticipation, that Lilian wept as She thought of the years that probably lay between her and the rest and joy of her inheritance, and she said in her heart, "Oh, that I had wings like a dove, for then would I fly away and be at rest."She was musing still, when Mr. Brookes came up; he had left her awhile, for he knew she would like best to be there alone, and he saw the traces of tears yet recent on her face."Why should you weep for Alice?" he said, ,gently she is gone where God himself has wiped away all tears!""I know it," was Lilian's answer. "I was not weeping for her; it was for myself I mourned, because I must go back to the world, and wait, it may be for many years, before I can rest like her, from the labors of the way.""What would you say to your servant, Mrs. Hope, who sat down in the forenoon, bewailing the hours that must intervene before night, and anxious to leave undone the work you had committed to him?""I should remonstrate, be displeased; perhaps, if my words were of no avail, I should dismiss him. Oh, Mr. Brookes! I understand; I am the slothful unprofitable servant, and I would fain put aside the work my Master will give me to do.""But He will not let you, clear lady; if you are His, your allotted task must be performed, your appointed discipline borne. He will be your refine and your portion in the land of the living."They went home across the forest, still talking of the Christian life, the believer's hope, and the treasure laid up where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt. They spoke of the few Scripture words on Alice's tombstone. Lilian knew they had been her own choice, for they had spoken on the subject long ago at Kirby-Brough, and She told Mr. Brookes of their conversation, and ended by saying—"Mr. Brookes, what do you think I used to say I would Mare inscribed on my monument, when I died?""Indeed, I cannot guess; some favorite verse of poetry, perhaps!""Not exactly. It was the single word 'Resurgam!' It is Latin you know, and means, 'I shall rise again!' Not that I understand Latin, but I lead seen it on hatchments and in churches, and some one was kind enough to translate it for Inc. I thought a good deal of the life to cone in those earl days; but my heaven was little better than a Pagan Elysium: it was a dream of beauty and angels, and eternal bliss, but the Saviour was not there. Now, I think, if I were to die, there is nothing I should like to be put after my name and age so well as that text—'The blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin!""And so our feelings and affections change, as the truth breaks in upon our hearts; old things pass away, and all things become new," replied Mr. Brookes.That evening seemed to Lilian like a boundary line between her and the new stern life that was to be in to-morrow. Wistfully she looked at the quiet, pleasant garden where she had spent so many peaceful hours; and at the room where light had overpowered the darkness of death; where in sorrow and humiliation her heart had found its endless rest. And now this episode of her history was ended; Alice was gone home; Mr. Brookes and Bridget must be left; the season of rest was over; and the old struggle with the world must begin afresh.The morning rose gray and lowering, and beneath a Sultry, sunless sky, Lilian set off on her journey. Mr. Brookes left her at the South Western Station. He bade her adieu, with fatherly kindness, and blessed her, and wished her God speed. And just before the train began to move, he came back again, and said, in a low voice, so that Lilian's fellow-travellers could not hear, "Mrs. Hope! if you ever want a friend, if you are ever in difficulty, and you think a plain man like myself may be of service to you, never scruple to send to me; in Alice's name, I tender my humble services.""And in Alice's name, I accept your great, your valued kindness!" replied Lilian, warmly.He went away; and the train started, and Lilian watched the royal towers of Windsor till they faded in the distance. Then she leaned back in the carriage, musing so deeply, that she scarcely knew when the train stopped at a station; and when she roused herself from her reverie, the dingy atmosphere of London was around her. Then the terminus was reached; and Lilian, in her cab, was driven through the interminable streets of the busy metropolis, till at length she stood before her own door, and in another minute she was sitting in the drawing-room, where she had been on the night she received Eleanor's letter about Alice's illness. What a dream the last few weeks appeared! When she had taken tea, all in solitary state, she desired to know what letters there were. There were none save those which she had found in the drawer of her work-table, and which she had not yet found courage to open, for she knew that nearly all were bills; and slowly and sadly she drew her desk towards her, and prepared to make an inspection of her liabilities.She was very tired, and the tempter whispered, "Leave it till to-morrow; sleep this night in peace." But conscience answered, "Do it now; face the difficulty; begin the new life without a moment's delay." And just as she had almost decided to set to work on the spot, a voice seemed to say to her, "Fight the good fight!" and she remembered how Mr. Brookes had told her that every little common duty, when fulfilled from a right Godfearing motive, became religion as fully as prayer and praise. With a sigh she opened paper after paper—nearly all were far more than she had anticipated. Then she took a large sheet of paper and copied thereon every item. They made a very formidable array, and poor Lilian's heart failed her as she began to add up the various amounts. She gasped for breath when she found the sum total—it was so much more than she had dreaded—so much beyond her worst fears. She went over it again and again, with the vain hope of finding some tremendous error; but no, Lilian was a good arithmetician, and the entries and the addition were right to a halfpenny. There they were, those horrible figures! real, tangible, obstinate truths! She owed more than she would receive from Basil for nearly nine months to come. If she gave her creditors every penny of her next half year's allowance, now due, a third of the claims upon her would be still unsatisfied, and nothing would be left for current expenses. And Basil now was always behind hand with her housekeeping money, and he grumbled sorely from time to time at the ruinous expenses of their menage. He often hinted that things would be different, if they were better looked after; that expenses would be considerably lessened, if the lady of the house was less ignorant, and more domestically inclined! And now! oh, what would he say, when this accumulation of debt was laid before him?There was one bill that pressed heavily on Lilian's conscience; and that was not the terrible account with her milliner—not the startling sum due for bouquets and flowering plants, but a few pounds which she owed to a poor widow for plain sewing. There was a note, too, from the unfortunate sempstress, entreating Mrs. Hope to delay payment no longer, for her son was dangerously ill, and she herself had been laid by a whole month from sickness: and even while Lilian was hopelessly reading for the third time this mournful appeal, and racking her brains to devise means of obtaining money, she was told that Mrs. Lee wished to see her."Ask her to walk up," said Lilian; and in another minute the widow was standing before her. From her appearance, it was evident she had made no exaggerated complaints; she was sadly altered since she received Lilian's last orders; her eyes were heavy with weeping and constant sewing, her cheeks were hollow, and her whole frame emaciated."Sit down,'' said Lilian, kindly, yet nervously. The poor woman almost sank into a chair, for she had walked a weary three miles to see if the lady would pay her. "You are come about the account I owe you," began Lilian, tremulously; and her heart beat fearfully fast as she marked the eager look, the nervous twitching of the mouth, and the anxious aspect of her poor creditor. "I am so sorry I have not the money to-night; I am only just come home, and Mr. Hope it still out of town, but I hope"——and Lilian stopped confusedly as she remembered her mass of debt, and inability to liquidate any portion of it."It has been owing so long!" said the poor petitioner, imploringly; "those muslin skirts were done a year ago, and every one took me three good days, from sunrise till after dark; and oh, madam, if you knew, if you could see my boy! he has outgrown his strength, and he has worked too hard, my dear, good son; and now he is dying, but he might be saved, if only I had a little money; if he only could have a room out of the close town; if he only could have a little wine, a little nourishing food, such as rich people think nothing of, but such as I can no more get for him than I can make myself queen of England. Oh, madam, surely you can pay me half of what you owe me?"Lilian was horror-stricken: the woman looked starved and dying herself; she would have given worlds to empty a purseful of gold into her lap, and she had not five pounds at her own disposal. She thought a few minutes, and then her brow cleared, her resolution was taken. "I cannot give you the money now," she said in a steadier voice, "but in three days I promise you shall have it. Give me your address, I will bring it to you; and in the meantime here is a sovereign. If I have not money, I have wine. What will you have? Madeira will be best; my sister is ordered to drink Madeira."Mrs. Lee could not doubt the sincerity of that sweet ingenuous face; she thankfully accepted the wine, and received with gratitude the promise of full payment in three days' time.As soon as she was left alone, she wrote a few hurried lines to Mr. Brookes, telling him she had need already of the aid he had proffered that very afternoon, and begging to see him immediately.Then, wearied and sorrowful, yet calm and hopeful, she went to her solitary chamber; and musing, hoping, fearing, and praying, unconsciousness stole over her, and she slept the quiet, dreamless sleep of childhood.CHAPTER XIX.AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR.ON the afternoon of the following day, as Lilian sat at her work—not in the Grand, dreary drawing-room, but in her own snug boudoir—Mr. Brookes Was announced. She went down to receive him, and found him in Basil's study, wonderingly contemplating the many devices for gratifying the taste and spending money which he saw scattered there in such boundless profusion. "So soon!" said Lilian, as she strecthed out her hand. "Oh! Mr. Brookes, how kind of you to answer my summons so quickly!""And in what can I serve you, dear lady? Do not hesitate to command me."Lilian paused a moment, and then commenced her tale. She told her friend how, on the preceding evening, she had reduced her accounts to something like order; how she had collected her bills, and courageously faced the difficulties by which she was surrounded; and how the comparatively small sum due to the poor widow pressed more heavily on her conscience than all the larger amounts claimed by fashionable milliners or florists. She told him how Mrs. Lee had come to her, walking a weary three miles on the mere strength of finding her returned, and at liberty to pay the money; how she had spoken of her son dying for want of better air and food; and how she had looked herself like an accusing spirit risen from the grave, whither labor and starvation had conducted her. "And so you see," continued Lilian, "I could not bear it; I saw in what a horrible position my carelessness and extravagance had placed me. I might be virtually a murderess even! I dare say there are others who are equally cruel to the poor women; but that does not lessen my guilt. It is too heavy to be borne. And so, when I felt myself the most shameful and degraded creature upon earth, I tried to think what I could do, and then it occurred to me to sell something. For some time, even after I had passed my word that she should have the money in three days, I could not imagine how I should redeem the pledge. It flashed across me quite suddenly that I had nothing of my very own that was worth selling. I felt I had no more right to sell the jewels my husband bought for me without his approbation, than I had to dispose of the plate and furniture without his knowledge; so that, in repairing the consequences of one fault, I was in danger of committing another. I felt quite in despair, till it occurred to me that I had some ornaments that were mine while I was yet Lilian Grey. They are not worth much, I am afraid; and yet I have been told that this chain is of rare workmanship. My godmother gave it to me the day I was sixteen; and these bracelets were the gift I of another friend. I have a right to dispose of them, have I not? They belonged to me before I ever saw Mr. Hope.""I think you have; indeed, under the circumstances, I am sure you have," replied Mr. Brookes. "But you were quite right in hesitating about the disposal of anything that became yours as the wife of Mr. Hope. This chain, if I know anything of ornaments, is worth some pounds. I think it will bring you more than the amount you need; so you may keep the bracelets in your jewel-box.""No, no!" returned Lilian; "let them go with the chain. I can pay another little bill with the proceeds. Every settled account will be a weight off my mind, and a step towards the straight path. Besides, I wan t to dismiss my maid, and pay her her wages; she is impertinent, and I can do very well without her. I was always used to wait upon myself till my marriage, and it will be a retrenchment in our expenses.""Quite right. But, my dear Mrs. Hope, will your husband approve of this step? I know that a personal attendant is considered absolutely necessary among ladies of your rank.""My husband will not object, I think; even if he do, I can replace Hobson at any time, if he should insist upon it; but I am sure he will not: he cares nothing about me now. He will detest me when he sees the account I drew up last night, and for which he is legally liable.""I hope not," said Mr. Brookes, gravely; "but the day is wearing on; would you like me to dispose of these trinkets for you?""Oh, if you would be so very good! I scarcely liked to ask you to take so much trouble, and yet I do not know where to go, or how to sell them; and I have lived in London too long not to be aware of the endless impositions practised upon ignorant persons; and even if I knew I were being imposed upon, I might not have courage to speak, or prudence to prevent the fraud. If you will transact the business for me, I shall be so very thankful.""I will go immediately. In an hour hence, I shall return without your pretty things, and with the money you need.""Oh, thank you! you are so kind!"But he was gone ere Lilian could conclude her speech; and greatly comforted, she sat down again to her sewing. In less than the stipulated time Mr. Brookes returned. He had been successful. The ornaments realized several pounds more than he had dared to expect; and Lilian, to her unspeakable relief, found herself in possession of the needful sum to liquidate her debt to poor Mrs. Lee.Her eyes sparkled with somewhat of their old, sweet gaiety, as Mr. Brookes told out the sovereigns on her little work-table; and she exclaimed, "Oh, I need not wait for the stipulated three days. I will go this evening, and take her the money.""Go where, Mrs. Hope? it is dark already.""To——to where Mrs. Lee lives. I have her address. Look, that is it.""Excuse me, you cannot go there; it is one of the worst streets in London. Your husband would, I am sure, be seriously displeased were he to hear of your visiting such a place, and at night, too. I will go for you; it is not far out of the road to the Waterloo station, and I shall be in time for the last Windsor train."How kind you are. But I should like to see this poor Mrs. Lee again. I want to give her some more wine; and I thought of taking some eggs and arrowroot for her son.""If you will allow me, I will joyfully become your almoner; then I shall see this sick youth, and perhaps his mother and I may be able to devise some plan for removing him into a purer atmosphere. Stay! I do not like the idea of taking my watch into such a locality; may I leave it with you? In two or three days I will see you again, and then I can bring you news of your pensioners, and resume my own property.""But, Mr. Brookes, do you not incur personal risk by going yourself? I had no idea it was a dangerous neighborhood.""Not at all. I shall button my coat tight, and slouch my hat over my eyes, and look as disreputable as possible. No one will molest me; still I had rather leave my valuables behind. The money for Mrs. Lee I will stow away quite safely, and the provisions you give me I will make up into a bundle. I shall run no risk of being taken for a genteel person."And he departed, scarcely waiting for thanks, and leaving Lilian lighter of heart than she had been for many a day. And yet, in the desk on which her elbow rested, lay that miserable memorandum of debts and perplexities.In the morning she took it out again, to subtract from it the money paid to Mrs. Lee. Alas! those few pounds made very little difference in the sum total. She gazed with tearful eyes on those terrible rows of figures, and at last she laid down her head on the desk, and fairly cried.Her tears were checked by a rap at the door, that sounded, oh! so like Basil's knock! She started to her feet, thrust the dreadful paper away, and hastily arranged her dishevelled hair at the glass. Steps were ascending the stairs; they, too, were not unlike Basil's. Oh! how her heart beat, and she had to cling to the mantelpiece for support, when the servant threw open the door and announced Mr. Hope.She looked up: it was not her husband, but his father, Mr. Hope, senior. Mr. Hope had not seen Lilian for many months, and he was startled at the change which so short a time had wrought. She was thin and pale; her dark eyes were heavy; and there was a sorrowful expression about her mouth that struck him very forcibly. Her black dress, too, made a difference; and that morning she wore the plainest she possessed, without any adjuncts of lace or muslin by way of ornament."Mrs. Basil," said Mr. Hope, when he was fairly seated, "I am come to have a little conversation with you about your husband and his affairs."Lilian colored, and thought of her own affairs. She almost fancied he could see within the leaves of her blotting-book, where she had placed the record of her unthinking extravagance."Do you know where he is?" was Mr. Hope's first question."Yes; that is, I know he is in Norway. He was at Christiansand at first; but I suppose he is not there now.""No, indeed; he is in Scotland, grouse-shooting."Lilian turned scarlet, and then white. To be ignorant of her husband's locality seemed not only painful but humiliating; it told more plainly than words how completely their union had ceased save in the eyes of the law."Mrs. Basil," continued Mr. Hope, "there is some grand error among us. The marriage, to which I most reluctantly gave my consent, has not prospered. Basil has not found the happiness he foolishly expected; and you too, if I mistake not, are equally disappointed. With all this, however, I have nothing to do. I have no wish to interfere in my son's domestic concerns; but when his name becomes notorious at a gaming table, at Tattersall's and elsewhere, I find it is time to bestir myself. The allowance Basil receives from me is ample, but it is altogether insufficient to carry him clear through excesses such as he has lately run into. He must be in debt! Now, what do you know about it? The name of Hope must not be dishonored while I live.""I know nothing," replied Lilian sadly. "Basil and I have long since ceased to confer on our mutual interests, but I have reason to believe—that is, I am afraid he is very much involved." She paused a minute, then, gathering courage, resumed: "Mr. Hope, if Basil has done wrong I am principally to blame. He loved me dearly once, but I was pettish and wilful. I was determined not to yield to my husband. I had no more control over my temper than a petted child; I did not make his home happy. I cultivated intimacies he disliked. When he was angry, and a soft word would have turned away wrath, I gave him only bitterness and sarcastic retorts. And finally, when I knew, or rather guessed, the dangerous path he was treading, I had no patience to win him back by gentleness; I reproached him and defied him. Then came the death of our child, and the alienation was complete; do not be angry with Basil; it is I who deserve your reproaches.""Not altogether," returned Mr. Hope, considerably softened towards Lilian by her self-condemnation and her evident contrition. He had never before had to deal with her alone: there was no one now to misconstrue her words and exasperate her feelings, and he was surprised to find her so gentle and sensible. "I do not doubt you are very much to blame; but Basil was the stronger, and he ought to have kept you right. If he really is in debt to the tremendous amount that is whispered about, he must suffer for it. I hear of Jews, post-obit bonds, and all the abominable machinery whereby profligate young heirs ruin themselves, and come to an impoverished estate, and perhaps outlawry. No son of mine shall run this career with impunity. But I must see Basil, and learn from himself how matters really stand. You are sure, child, you cannot help me to the information I seek?""Quite sure; and if I could"—and Lilian stopped too confused to finish her speech."Well, go on; do not be afraid; I like candor," said Mr. Hope. "You were going to say if you could you would not.""Not exactly, sir. But I was thinking that I should have no right to violate my husband's confidence, even in favor of his father.""Right!" said Mr. Hope. "You have a better view of things than I expected, so I will not press you further; only, perhaps, you will not object to tell me how you manage your own expenditure. What does Basil place in your hands for housekeeping and personal expenses?"Lilian told him unhesitatingly."Well! that ought to be enough, or nearly so. My wife kept house with less than that in my father's lifetime, and we had several little ones around us. Do you find it, or rather do you make it sufficient?""I have not done so hitherto," said Lilian, in a troubled voice, and with such a blush of shame on her pale face."Then am I to conclude that you too are in debt?""Yes," said Lilian, her head sinking lower, and her eyes overflowing with tears."How much? Tell me the truth, and the whole truth."Lilian rose, and placed in his hands that miserable paper. She thought he would never have done wiping and settling his spectacles; and she waited tremblingly for the burst of indignation she expected to fall upon her erring head. He read every item, and finally, the total."Who was this prepared for?" he asked, presently with an inquisitive, almost suspicious glance"For myself," she replied, meekly. "I thought the first step towards reformation was to look my difficulties in the face.""And you wish to reform; you wish to become a reasonable woman, and an exemplary wife?""God knows I wish it," replied Lilian, earnestly.He looked at her wonderingly, and then said, "Well, I have known worse results than this long array of figures proceed from a young wife's first season; but it must be set straight. I think you will be wiser another time. I am going to the Bank, and I will return to luncheon, and bring you the money you want. Next Monday I shall expect to see all your tradesmen's accounts duly receipted and filed, in order that you may begin your reformation without the shackles and impediments that so often drag one back into the wrong way. Good morning for the present; let luncheon be ready exactly at two."CHAPTER XX.BASIL'S RETURN.NEARLY a week had passed since Mr. Hope's visit. Lilian had spent the time very quietly with her needle and her books, not confining her attention as heretofore to one or two branches of literature. She had been wont to peruse nothing but poetry, and the highest kinds of fiction. To do her justice, she never read a common novel, but selected uniformly something of undoubted merit. Charlotte Bronte, Mrs. Marsh, Mrs. Gaskell, and Mrs. Muloch, were her favorite writers in the world of prose; and for poetry, she luxuriated in the pure and nobly beautiful pages of Mrs. He-mans, and poor L. E. L.'s sweet mournful numbers. She liked both Longfellow and Tennyson; but failed to enter into the spirit of the one, or comprehend the other; and she could not read Wordsworth, though she had thrice began the "Excursion," and once listened to "Peter Bell." Now Lilian began to perceive that the human mind and soul cannot be nourished exclusively on poetry and first-class novels, any more than the physical nature can be sustained on choice wines and confectionery, without more ordinary aliment. From that auspicious evening, when she sought Alice's Bible, and read the 14th chapter of St. John, she had learned to love and to study the best of books, and many happy hours she spent now in her lonely room, forgetting those things which were behind; forgetting the present, with its load of regret and care, "and reaching forth unto those things which were before."And from study of the Divine Word, she came to relish human writings of a solid character; and she hunted down from their obscurity, on an upper shelf, Hervey's "Theron and Aspasia," and John Newton's inestimable letters and sermons.One evening, when the silvery chime of the timepiece had told the hour of ten, she was sitting by the fire, musing on what she had read, wearily wondering when she should hear something of Basil, and abstractedly listening to the moaning of the wind, and the dashing of the rain against the window-panes, when a cab drove up to the door, and bell and knocker were immediately put in violent motion.Ere the rapping and tintinnabulation had ceased, Lilian was standing on the landing, anxiously listening to catch the tones of that voice she so ardently longed to hear. Very quickly she was gratified; for, the moment the door was opened, she heard Basil speaking very imperatively to Tom, and bidding him haste to disencumber the cabman of his load of luggage. Then various packages were dragged into the hall; the fare was settled and discharged, and Basil asked if there were lights in the study.Thither he went to poor Lilian's intense disappointment. She was yearning to see his face, to speak to him, to hold his hand in hers, if no dearer embrace might be permitted; and she would have given much had he sought her, or even encountered her, instead of leaving her to go to him, and perhaps, as he might consider it, intruding upon his privacy. She felt that no time must be lost—that if she did not at once meet him with a wifely welcome, the icy barrier between them must needs be strengthened. He must see, and that immediately, that she, on her part, harbored no displeasure, no lingering resentment; and yet she hesitated; her breath came hard and irregularly; her limbs trembled, and she felt certain that if, at that instant, she encountered him, she must burst into one of those passions of tears which had long been Basil's extreme aversion. There was eau-de-cologne on the mantel-piece, and water and a glass on the chiffoniere. She mingled some, and drank it, and then sat down to collect her thoughts, and to ask the Giver of all wisdom to assist her with strength and wisdom for the interview, which had suddenly become so momentous.Lost in thought and prayer, she might have continued there too long, but the chiming quarters of the clock roused her, and she rose and resolutely left the room."Alas!" she murmured to herself, "that to meet my husband should require such an effort; that I should have lived to fear Basil—my own dear Basil!"She passed down the stairs, and stood before the study door. It was half-open, and she saw him, with a bronzed and bearded face, very different from that he had carried away with him, standing by the table, reading letters. She could not delay; she felt her courage fast failing her, and with a noiseless step she entered the room. He did not hear her, and he tossed away the letter in his hand, with an exclamation of annoyance, and proceeded to break the seal of another, which Lilian shrewdly conjectured was Farlow's bill! He looked up as she came close to him, saying, almost in a whisper, "dear Basil!" and taking his sun-browned hand in her own cold, damp fingers. He looked rather surprised, but he slightly returned the pressure, and bestowed on her a kiss, such as Plato might have given his most intimate female friend if he had one. Then he began to speak quickly and indifferently, as though he had left her but an hour before."Are you better?—I thought you were not at home—a most miserable night!—equinoctial gales I suppose, but rather early!—Is there a fire anywhere?""Yes!—there is something of a fire in the drawing-room, but it has gone low; I was thinking of going to bed when you drove up, but I will order it renewed; and she rang the bell for that purpose. "And you would like some tea, would you not, and something substantial with it?" she added; "there is cold fowl In the house, and excellent ham, that can be broiled directly.""No!" he answered, shortly, as lie threw down Farlow's bill, with a grimace; "I shall smoke a cigar, and have some brandy-and-water.""There is a very fine lobster!" Lilian ventured to say; "you used to be fond of lobster. Will you not have it with a cup of tea? I can make some in a minute.""I hate tea! Women think a cup of tea is the true elixir vitœ, I believe."He condescended, however, to comply with Lilian's entreaties that he would come to the fire; for the room, long disused, felt positively vault-like in the chilly autumnal evening. She began to mix his brandy-and-water, as she had been used to do in those comparatively happy days, when it was a new thing to keep the keys and preside over an establishment, but he abruptly took the decanter from her hands, and pettishly asked her if she expected him to drink cat-lap, no better than her milk-and-water tea. Lilian silently yielded; he was rather surprised that she said nothing; but he guessed from her grave face, how horrified she felt at seeing the contents of the decanter so visibly diminished, and the crystal water-jug still filled to the brim. He lighted a cigar, and began puffing away. Never before had Lilian tamely submitted to the defilement of her pretty carpet and window draperies; no curling wreath of smoke had ever yet risen to that snowy, daintily-moulded ceiling; but now Basil was unrebuked, for his wife's mind was filled with far deeper sources of disquiet. Presently he began—"Lilian! have you seen my father?""Yes, he lunched here last week.""Well?" and he turned upon her a suspicious and inquisitive look."He told me you were in Scotland, and no longer in Norway, as I imagined; and"——she hesitated and colored deeply——"he asked me about our affairs.""Oh! Then I may thank you, I suppose, for the grand epistle I received several days ago, informing me that my iniquities were brought to light, and that I must instantly return home, present myself at Hope-lands, and receive sentence according to my transgressions. What were you pleased to say about our affairs! I did not know we had any remaining, in common."It was hard to keep back the hot tears and the hysterical sobs that were rising in her throat, with a painful choking sensation, and Lilian had never been accustomed to self-control. But she strove hard now; another strength than her own was given her, and she was able to say, with all outward composure, "I told him of my own household matters. I could not, as you know, tell him anything about you, for I was more ignorant than himself, and had I been in your confidence, I should not have betrayed it, even to your father.""Well, some one has been kind enough to give him an idea that there are under-currents of whose existence he was blissfully ignorant. Some exemplary individual has opened his eyes to certain proceedings of his heir, that exasperate him beyond all limits; and I am threatened with I know not what penalties, unless I make a clear statement of things in general; and with still worse if, upon examination, I am found guilty of certain practices; I suppose I must go down to Hopelands to-morrow. What have you done for money? I have none for you, but you have next to no expenses now!""Mr. Hope gave me some money: he was very kind, very kind, indeed.""Ah! I understand! You have been playing the wronged, deserted wife; left to struggle with fashionable poverty, while her spendthrift rascal of a husband is enjoying all the luxuries and amenities that life can afford—yes, I understand.""Indeed, Basil," said Lilian, striving hard not to be angry, and battling more than ever with the tears that would rise, and the choking sensation that would not be exercised, "indeed you do not understand. I should not have spoken about money at all, had not Mr. Hope asked me if I kept all my accounts settled regularly; and when I had answered him, he wished to know if I had received from you my half-year's allowance, as the usual sum had been placed to your account three months ago."I confessed to him that I had not kept clear of entanglements; that for me I was deeply in debt—debt incurred through the foolish extravagance of the last year, and he was so kind as to give me a sufficient sum to pay all my bills, and set me at ease until you returned home again!""Ah! I thought once or twice it was a question whether all those fine things were paid for. I fancy if Miss Eleanor had paid her share of your milliner's bills they would have been somewhat lessened. However, as the governor has obligingly settled the matter, I don't care a pin about it. I dare say you wish now you had had twice as many, and twice as costly things!""No indeed!" replied Lilian, much shocked, and really astonished at the tone her husband had taken."I was overwhelmed with shame when he put the money in my hand, and I made a solemn covenant with myself never, from that moment, to buy or order a single thin; for which I had not the money to pay.""You will buy very few things then, I can tell you, Unless, indeed, Mr. Hope should make you a separate allowance; for I fully expect when he knows, as he must know, the full extent of my pecadilloes, he will put me upon short commons; he has already hinted, in that nice paternal epistle I spoke of, at all ungovernable beast being stinted in his provender."Lilian was silent. Basil's tone and reckless manner distressed her exceedingly. There was a sort of vogue la galere air about him, that boded the very reverse of peace, comfort, and confidence; and she feared the result of his interview with his inflexible and displeased parent, for it was evident there would be no leaning towards compromise on either side."How stupid you look!" said Basil, as he poured out a further supply of brandy, and very slightly diluted it with aqua pura; "why don't you go to bed? You are as white as Mrs. Eve up there, under the glass case. I shall smoke half-a-dozen cigars yet; don't think of waiting for me—I can do very well without company; and you really do not seem to have any valuable suggestions to offer, so I shall give myself up to solitary meditation, on the best way of shirking or encountering the tempest that is brewing at Hopelands."Lilian rose to go; but before she left the room, she remarked that she supposed he had done with the brandy, and she had better lock it up."Never mind that," he replied, laughing loudly; 'I will take care no temptation is left in the way of the servants; if there is any remaining, I will stow it away; so go to bed in peace, Mrs. Thrifty!""Any remaining! Oh, Basil! if you drink all the brandy in that decanter, it will kill you!""Kill me!"—I am not so easily killed, I assure You; why, you silly creature, there is not more than a wine-glassful left.""That is because you have already taken so much; you are not yourself now; there is more than you say, and you shall not have it. Forgive me, Basil; but I love you too dearly to let you commit suicide, or, if not that, to disgrace yourself the very first night of your return; you will be glad to-morrow that I would not let you do it.""You would not let me do it. Things are come to a pretty pass when a man is obliged to submit to his wife's government. You are strangely altered, Lilian, since I went away.""I am altered, thank God," said Lilian, sadly, taking up the decanter as she spoke. Basil gazed at her in stupid wonder; he did not attempt to hinder her; perhaps he could not, his large potations were beginning to take effect. He watched her out of the room, and then closed his eyes and fell into a heavy slumber. He did not awake till the morning light was shining with a sickly yellow gleam upon his face. His head ached, his hands burned, his throat and tongue were parched as with fever, and his memory was confused. He was in no enviable condition, and quite unfitted for his journey to Hopelands. To go to bed was out of the question, and he really thought if he could be privately pumped upon, it would be a very refreshing operation.CHAPTER XXI.SUNDAY AND MONDAY.AGAIN Lilian was left alone, and the repose which, from the time of Alice's death, had insensibly stolen over her was roughly broken. She had thought that her principal trial would be the loss of her husband's affections; she had expected to meet with coolness, indifference, and it might be with contempt, but she was not prepared to find that husband abasing himself, and acting the part of the prodigal son, without his contrition. Stormy days were before her—difficulties were encompassing her path. The "roughing it," of which Mr. Brookes had spoken, seemed near at hand; the sobering process which she herself had predicted, appeared likely to be realized in its fullest sense; and Lilian felt that all her courage, all her constancy, would be required in the struggle that lay before her.All the while that Basil was away at Hopelands— "The days were dark and dreary:It rained, and the wind was never weary." It was cold, too, and Lilian was glad to draw her chair to the fire, and turn away from the window, where she saw only the inky, storm-swept slay, the deluged street, and. the opposite houses black and dripping with the interminable rain. Sunday came, and she could not go to church, and the bells sounded drearily through the thick, chilly air, as they summoned together the scanty worshippers who dared to brave the fury of the elements; but, notwithstanding that she was hindered from going up to the courts of the Lord—notwithstanding that she spent the long dismal day with no other companion than Mice's little Bible, the hours glided by, and Lilian's humbled heart was lifted in loving confidence to Him who heareth prayer, even the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.She was not gathered with the great congregation; she was not joining with two or three met together in their Master's name; but she knew that the single sighing of a contrite soul would rise up from the care-laden world, and find entrance into the presence-chamber of the King of kings.And as in he solitude she prayed, she felt herself drawn towards all those who, on sea or shore, in sanctuary or alone, beneath old minster roofs, or in unadorned simplicity, without ritual or outward beauty, lifted up clean hands and fervent hearts to the great Head of the Holy Catholic Church. She had often repeated that clause of the beautiful Nicene Creed; now it came with new meaning, new force and sublimity. "I believe in the Holy Catholic Church!" the Church militant here upon earth, gathered from all climes, and from all the corners of the earth, and numbering among its members all who love the Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity and truth; and the Church triumphant, wearing her spotless garments, and joining in the eternal song of thanksgiving, on the other side the narrow river of death. And all one, all united in One! Some fighting the good fight, and keeping the faith—some wearing their crowns of victory, and resting from their labors—some dwelling in palaces, and walking in the high places of the earth, and clothed in fine linen and purple—sonic toiling in dismal alleys and dark courts for their scanty meal and insufficient raiment—some, wise and learned, burning with poetic fire, and filled with the glorious light of genius, and some plain in speech, rude in manners, and ignorant of all but the one great know-ledge that Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners; but all treading one path, holding one faith, rejoicing in one Hope, and made perfect in one love!—all members of one Head, and inheritors of one kingdom; for He, who, in leis infinite love and mercy, gathered and still gathers the Church of the firstborn, even from the foundation of the world, said to his Father on the eve of mortal separation from his little flock, "That they all may be one; as Thou, Father, art in Me, and I in Thee, that they also may be one in us: that the world may believe that Thou. hast sent Me. And the glory which Thou gayest Me, I have given them, that they may be one, even as we are one—I in them, and Thou in me, that they may be made perfect in one; and that the world may know that Thou hast sent Me, and hast loved them, as Thou least loved Me. Father, I will that they, also, whom Thou least given He, be with Me where I am; that they may behold My glory, which Thou hast given Me."And so, as Lilian prayed and read these blessed words, she realized how she, too, had become one of the Church; the Church that stands upon the Rock of Ages—the Church that will tower above all the wrecks of time, when sun and moon, and all that this world contains, shall have passed away for ever.The bells began to toll for evening service—and when the last sounds of their iron tongues died away, the wind lulled and the rain ceased. One bright gleans gilded the western sky; the sun had gone down, but a soft crimson light flushed, for a few minutes, the domes and spires of the mighty city—a lovely type of the light that God has promised to his children when they come to "evening-time.""At evening time there shall be light," said Lilian, as she stood at her window and watched the beautiful radiance slowly fade. "What matters the clay of storms and rain, so that the evening is calm and bright. Oh, if I may but endure to the end!"That aspiration was a prayer, and with its unuttered ascent came the full blessedness of the promise, "My grace is sufficient for thee."—"Being confident of this very thing, that He which hath begun a hood work in you will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ."And so passed that happy, solitary Sunday.The next clay brought its cares and perplexities.About one o'clock Basil came back, but not alone, for his father was with him. Lilian saw that her husband was fearfully incensed, and that he did not even pretend to treat Mr. Hope with any show of deference and civility. He scarcely spoke to his wife, scolded the servants for having disarranged his letters, and finally shut himself lip in his study, and haughtily desired, in a tone loud enough to reach Mr. Hope and Lilian in the drawing-room, that no one, on any pretence, should disturb him."Lilian," said Mr. Hope, bravely, "do you know why I am here?" Of course she did not."I must tell you, then; but it will be painful to you to hear, and to me to speak it. Basil has deeply, irremediably offended me; if I could, if Hopelands were not entailed, I would disown him for ever; not one Shilling of mine should he ever possess. He has been living for some months a life of extreme dissipation; the liberal allowance I made him has been long squandered; he has had recourse to Jews, to infamous usurers; he has given post-obit bonds; he has raised money at fifty per cent interest on the little money that will come to him from his mother; and, added to this, he has been insolent to the last degree. Had he been humble, had he owned his faults, and shown any desire to lead a new life, I might, I don't quite know, but I think I might have forgiven him; he is my son, my only one. But as I tell you, he defied me; he told over his debts, his engagements, and his entanglements, with a coolness I never saw surpassed. Why, Lilian, the interest he has to pay for his borrowed Money is more than his annual income. Did you know he has taken to the turf? He lost a little fortune at the last Derby, it seems; and but for an accident, none of us would have been the wiser for many a day. Well! the name of Hope must not be dishonored; while I live, men shall, in some sort, bold it in reverence. I will pay Basil's debts—pay off his Jews, as he lovingly calls them, and pay his debts of honor—satisfy his clamorous tradesmen; I will liquidate the claim of every creditor to the uttermost farthing!"Lilian began to thank him; to be free from debt seemed to her just then like deliverance from hopeless slavery; but he stopped her. "No! no thanks; you do not know the conditions; I have determined them, and my decision is unalterable. I shall no longer allow Basil the income which his position as my heir demands. I must impoverish the estate, take from the portions of his sisters, and inconvenience myself; in order to keep my good naive pure and unsuspected: it is meet that he who has wrought the evil should suffer; and he must and shall suffer. For your sake, I will not leave him without the means of subsistence; you shall have a settled income; but it will be so small, that without economy you will be again reduced to difficulties. You must live in strict retirement; you must lead a simple country life; and if you have children, you must nurse and educate them yourself. Basil proposed your living on the Continent, but I would not bear of that; he, with his tendencies and weaknesses, must not be exposed to the chicaneries of those of his countrymen whom misconduct and disgrace have driven from their native shorts. There are plenty of out-of-the-way places without crossing the seas, and I told him so. This furniture, and all these fine knick-knackeries, must be sold; but I, as sole creditor, give you permission to take What you Will or your own use, and for the embellishment of your cottage home. I trust to your own good sense to select what is consistent."Lilian calmly assented; and Mr. Hope, with a manifestation of surprise he could not entirely suppress, said, "Well the prospect of living in a cottage and renouncing your present position does not seem to fill you with dismay. Olivia was remarking that you would be broken-hearted at being forced to retire from the scene of your conquests.""Say rather, the scene of my defeats," replied Lilian, gravely, I trust the conquests are still to come; and they can be gained more easily in seclusion than in the haunts of gaiety. It is little to me to give up a grandeur to which I Was not born. I thought once to find happiness in rank, wealth, and society, but I know now that true happiness is, to a certain extent, independent of circumstances.""Perhaps you leave pastoral notions of love in a cottage, and fancy a thatched roof must cover a domestic paradise"No, indeed," replied Lilian; "I think as much disquiet may prevail in a but as in a palace. If our Heart be not at peace we must carry with us, wherever we go, an unfailing source of disturbance and disappointment.""Very true; but I cannot stay to moralize now.""You will stay and dine with us, sir?""No! My son and I are not on those terms which would render it agreeable to either of us. Lilian, understand, once for all, that all intercourse is about to cease. Basil himself would not submit to be forgiven; he is sullen and resentful, as well as bitter and reckless. He professes his ability to do without any assistance at all; he hints that he means to become an author, and win a fortune, of course. What kind of books he will write I cannot divine, unless he give the world 'Confessions of a Profligate,' 'The Autobiography of a Spendthrift,' or 'The Road to Ruin,' by one who has trodden it."Then, telling Lilian that he would arrange matters as speedily as possible, he took his departure, very much to her relief; for the bitter and sarcastic tone in which he spoke of his erring son by no means made amends to the true-hearted wife for the coldness and indifference to which she herself had been subjected, and she cared little for the approval of her own conduct, which he once or twice expressed, while her husband was alienated from the heart of his father and exiled from the home of his youth.Henceforth Lilian had two brand aims. The one, as we have seen, was to win back the love and confidence of her husband, the other was to restore Basil to his father's heart and home. In the present aspect of affairs, both these desires seemed most difficult of realization. There were prejudices to be removed, hardships to be endured, consistency to be maintained, strong will to be curbed as with a silken chain, and inflexible tempers to be softened and subdued. Still Lilian hoped, and resolved to bear on bravely and patiently, trusting to Almighty grace for the necessary wisdom, love, and fortitudeCHAPTER XXII.NORTH WALES.WHAT station is this, Bridget?""It's Colwyn station, ma'am. I think a train never did go so slow before! Here it is five O'clock, and we ought to have been at Penmaenmawr by 4.32. It will be fair dark before we get to—to—1 can't say the name, it's so hard.""To Bryndyffryn. Yes! I am afraid we shall be very late. Now we are going on again. I am sorry we lave lost sight of the sea; but we shall have it again presently. How dark it grows!""Yes, ma'am; and it seems a strange, outlandish country hereabouts. It feels like coming into foreign parts. I hope Bron-duffering will be a little bit snugger than this.""Bryndyffryn is very lonely, Bridget, I am afraid; but it overlooks the sea. I fear, however, that will not make amends to you for the loss of the royal park and the forest glades of Windsor; some people do not care about coast scenery.""I like it very much in summer, ma'am; but to my thinking it is very cold-looking in winter, and the mountains do look so chilly and bleak.""But, Bridget, I hope you will be able to make yourself comfortable at Bryndyffryn. It was very kind—more than kind—of dear Mr. Brookes to offer to lend you to me for a season, that you may help me to make our new home comfortable, and teach me the many things I ought to have learnt long ago; but if you are not happy in being lent I shall be very sorry that I was tempted to take advantage of his goodness.""I am happy in being lent, ma'am. I should have fretted ever so if you had not borrowed me, as you say. I couldn't abear the thought of my dear Miss Alice's dearest friend coming all alone to a desolate, out-of-the-way place, where the people can't even speak any language but gibberish. Don't fear, ma'am, I make myself right comfortable everywhere, and we shall have enough to do to-morrow, without as much as thinking whether we are going to be happy or not."Presently the train slackened its pace beneath the grand old towers of Conway Castle. There it stood, the glorious ruin of old time, robed in all the beauty of mantling ivy, while the last gleam of red light flushed and faded on the grey crumbling turrets, like the shadowy waving of a royal banner. It was full tide, and the waves of the Conway were breaking tumultuously on the castle rock and on the buttresses of the tubular bridge, while far away, over the green. hills that embosomed the picturesque and walled town, stretched the dark, shadowy range of mountains that shits in the lonely lynx of the Ogwen and the Idwal.Lilian's eyes flashed with pleasure. Her new home was not so far distant but that she might come sometimes and roans about the deserted halls and bowers of the beautiful ruined castle, and sail up the broad river that wandered away into the very heart of the kingly mountain.At the Penmaenmawr station Lilian and her attendant alighted. There was a woeful confusion in and about the luggage-van, and Mrs. Hope's trunks and packages seemed not to be forthcoming. The stationmaster grew impatient, and the porters were inclined to be uncivil; but Bridget, having seen her mistress into the waiting-room, took possession of the guard, and sternly ordered the subordinates to attend to their duty; and so impressed were the underlings of the Chester and Holyhead Railway Company with the authority of the tall, gaunt Englishwoman who had planted herself so resolutely on the platform, that they made another and more methodical research, and one by one Lilian's packages were handed out of a very chaos of luggage bound for Kingstown, and clutched by Bridget, who allowed no one to touch them till their number was complete, and she had compared them with the list which she held in her hand. Then she intimated to the guard that it was her pleasure the train should forthwith continue its journey; and as the last carriage disappeared with a terrific yell at the entrance of the next tunnel, she had seen every box safely heaped on the trucks, and in a fair Way to be wheeled out of the precincts of the station."A carriage directly, to go to Bron-duffering," said Bridget, as soon as the luggage was fairly off her mind. The man to whom the order was given did not, however, stir; and she reiterated her commands in a louder tone. "Dym saesneq," was the sturdy reply. "WHAT?" screamed Bridget, impatiently. What, indeed! There burst upon her such a storm of noisy gutturals, that she turned away in mute despair, in search, as she said, of some one who could speak life a Christian. The station-master, however, had in the meantime politely inquired of Lilian whether she expected any equipage, and, being answered in the negative, volunteered to supply one; and in a few minutes, a jolting vehicle, drawn by a rough, bony horse, made its appearance. The luggage was consigned to a cart; and Lilian and her factotum were at last fairly en route for Bryndyffryn.It was a mild October evening, and there was sufficient light to discern the outlines of the wild, grand scenery around then. Bridget shivered and shuddered when the car stopped for the opening of agate, and the profound stillness was only broken by the sighing of the wind in the mountain ravines, and by the deep booming of the waves on the shore. But Lilian's heart felt lighter as the glorious musk rolled onward through the lonely, silent nightfall; and as she caught glimpses of rocky heights and dark glens, just revealed beneath the pale, faint light of the setting moon, tears filled her eyes, and she thought how good God had been in making so beautiful the solitudes of the earth.The road was rough and hilly; they had turned off the well-beaten track leading to Aber, and were slowly winding up a narrow, rocky ascent, that seemed, as bridge said, to lead right up to the top of a mountain. However, when they had attained a certain elevation, they came down again, greatly to the good servant's indignation, and she inveighed stoutly against the Stupidity of the Welsh for making their roads in such wild, out-of-the-way places, and for going up a hill for the sheer purpose of coming down on the other side.The darkness increased fast, for the moon had gone down behind the distant line of the Anglesea coast; and when at length their uneasy vehicle stopped before a small white bate, nothing could be discerned save the gravel path, which showed obscurely, as it appeared to lead upwards into a world of blackness. But while Lilian began to grope her way, and Bridget was once more absorbed in luggage cares, a light shone from the front door, and ail elderly lady came down the path, shading a candle with her hands, and peering about for the travellers."Ah! any dear madam," said a sweet voice, in a pure English accent, "we had given you up, we thought it was too late to expect you any longer."Lilian was extremely surprised; she had had no doubt the candle was carried by the rough little Welsh girl, whom her father-in-law told her he had engaged to clean the house, and receive the furniture, prior to her own arrival. She began to fancy she had made a mistake, and alighted at the house of one of her new neighbors; so she replied to the kindly voice, "Is this Bryndyffryn? I fear we are wrong.""All right ma'am," returned the lady, "this is Bryndyffryn, there is no other house within a quarter of a mile. I am Miss Williams, my brother is the clergyman of this village, and he thought and I thought it would be very miserable for you to stay all night in a dreary unfurnished house, so I came to ask you to go with me to the vicarage, and remain till to-morrow morning. I hope you will excuse the liberty I have taken; but my brother knows Mr. hope, senior, very well; indeed he consulted him by letter, on the eligibility of Bryndyffryn as a residence for yourself; and it seemed unfriendly, though rather unceremonious not to come here and offer you some kind of hospitality on your arrival; so I do hope you will come down with me to the vicarage and have some tea. There is a room quite ready for you, and my brother is expecting you this minute."Had Lilian been an unmitigated fine lady, she would have been alike confounded and disgusted by hiss Williams' kind-hearted attentions; but two years of artificial life had by no means changed her original nature, and a franker, truer-hearted maiden than Lilian Gray, had never trodden the moors of Yorkshire; so she responded gratefully to the simple, earnest kindness that welcomed her on the threshold of her new home.The house certainly looked uninviting; some attempts had been made at rendering one of the parlors habitable; but piles of unpacked furniture, carpetless floors, and uncurtained windows, looked wretched enough by candle-light, and after the fatigue of a long weary journey. So Lilian thankfully accepted her new friend's offer, and in a few minutes she and Bridget were again in the open air.The quarter of a mile did not seem very long, and the exercise rather refreshed Lilian, who was perfectly weary of sitting still; nevertheless, the warm bright parlour at the vicarage, the cheerful face of Dr. Williams, and the table set for a bountiful dinner-tea, wore an aspect at once home-like and inviting.Lilian passed a delightful evening with her new friends. Dr. Williams was about fifty years of age; his sister, Winifred, perhaps ten years younger. They were charmed with the lady-like simplicity of their beautiful young finest, and. deeply interested in certain little traits of character, which, in the course of an animated conversation, could not fail to be developed.When she had retired for the night, the sister and brother remained together over the dying fire, and, in that pleasing season of unrestrained and confidential intercourse, it was only natural to revert to Lilian."Is she not lovely?" asked Miss Williams, admiringly, as soon as the object of her innocent enthusiasm was fairly out of hearing."Most beautiful!" replied the doctor, emphatically. "Winifred! do you know Mrs. Hope reminds me of my poor Maria; she has just the same shadowy eyes, and the same expression about the mouth. My poor Maria! she would have been an elderly woman now—older than you are, Winifred. That was the great trial of my early manhood; not only the sorrow, the loss, the void that never, never could be filled oil earth, but there was the temptation to question the goodness of the dispensation which snatched away so fair and pure a creature. I used to say to myself, why was she taken?—what had I done to be so severely disciplined? She would have been the teacher and guide of the young, the stay of the abed, the comfort of the afflicted; in all ways she would have been a helpmeet for the minister of God, and, like the flower of the field, she gladdened us all with the sweet promise of her unfulfilled goodness and beauty, and then was seen no more."The good clergyman's voice sunk almost to a whisper. Nearly thirty years had passed since the betrothed of his youth had been carried to her maiden grave, but the remembrance of her sweetness and loveliness was still fresh in his memory. Her image was always there in the loving, faithful heart; its beauty never dimmed by contact with the corroding cares of this world, never changing, never growing old, but young, bright, and devoted, as in those days of the past, when they roamed together over the green bills, and along the wild shores of their native country."But you understand it now," said Winifred, caressing her brother's band as she spoke.He turned round quickly. "No, Winifred, I do not understand it; but I am content to trust. I know now how good and faithful a Master I serve. I do not doubt the wisdom and the love that bade me renounce my sweet terrestrial paradise; but I wait till he shall say to me, 'Come up higher.' Then I shall understand. I shall know, even as I am known, and all that has seemed mysterious will be clear; it is only to be patient a little while longer. Thirty years have passed since lily great sorrow came upon me. I think it will not be thirty years more."There was a silence. Then Miss Williams said, "Brother, do you know I am afraid this pretty young creature has known a great deal of trouble, there is such a sad look in her face when she is not speaking; and did you hear how she sighed once or twice when you and I were talking together?""Yes, I think she has had, or is, perhaps, even now enduring some heavy trial. I think, too, it would have been more considerate of her husband to come clown here with her, instead of leaving her to prepare the house for his reception, to make things comfortable, as she said herself. From what I could gather from Mr. Hope's letters, his son had been extravagant, and was obliged to come here to economize, and to be out of the way of evil companions—a sort of banishment, I fancy. I fear it will scarcely answer, transplanting a fashionable, extravagant young man, fresh from the gaieties of the metropolis, to a lonely Welsh village. It will need something more to effect even the first principles of reformation.""Well, brother, I am glad they have come here instead of elsewhere; perhaps we shall be able to do something for them. I shall try to be very intimate with Mrs. Hope; and you, on your part, must cultivate the husband as soon as he makes his appearance. Now, good night; it is almost morning."CHAPTER XXIII.THE PAST AND THE FUTURE.FOR the next and for several succeeding days, Lilian was busily occupied. She not only gave necessary orders to Bridget and to the little Welsh maiden, who were to compose her domestic staff through the winter, but she performed with her own hands many little offices to which they had been long unaccustomed. When Saturday evening came she was very tired; but her work was done, and she looked round her new abode with thorough satisfaction in the fruit of her labors.The house stood high, at some distance from the sea—midway it seemed between the waves and the mountains. It was roomy, but old-fashioned, the ceilings were low, the passages dark, the staircase winding, and the chimney-pieces were, one and all, lofty, and elaborately ornamented in the old-fashioned style of carving and plaster decorations. On the regular sitting-room, Lilian and Miss Williams had expended their united taste, and their most strenuous exertions. It had looked so gloomy on the night of Mrs. Hope's arrival, that she had despaired of ever imparting to the wide, cheerless apartment, an aspect of warmth and comfort; and she dreaded Basil's first introduction to the dull, lonely mansion, of which he was doomed to be the master.But it is astonishing what two feminine minds can effect. Busy heads and active hands have, ere now, made the most desolate abodes dwelling-places of brightness, comfort, and even of elegance and luxury; and woman, in her own undoubted sphere, her true and rightful kingdom—home!—may, if she be only gifted with a true-loving heart, and an energetic temperament, accomplish almost anything!—that is, if her efforts be prompted by the pure desire of ministering to the comfort and happiness of those, whom it is her duty and her joy to make her first earthly consideration.Doing one's utmost for the comfort, gratification, and well-being of one's family, is a very different thing from straining every nerve, occupying every waking moment, and submitting to every kind of shift in the vain endeavor to male a better show in society than one's position and circumstances naturally allow. Such efforts are always in the end unsuccessful; they are as futile as the weary labors of the Danaides of classic lore, and they must surely be as weary, as mocking, and as miserable. Standing on tip-toe is an unnatural, and therefore a very painful position, though it does seem to add an inch or two to one's height; walking on stilts also elevates one far above the vulgar crowd, but it is an inconvenient mode of pedestrianization; and yet there are people who stand on tip-toe, or stalk about on stilts (which are sure to give their patrons many a stumble and many a fall) all their lives long. How painful, how wearying, how unsatisfactory it must be!Very different were Lilian's feelings when, on Saturday evening, she and Miss Williams sat down to a late tea in the room that had been garnished and "redd up" with such exceeding pains. A blazing fire cast a rich glow on the crimson curtains; on the gilt frames of some engravings that had adorned Lilian's own boudoir in her wealthier days, and which were now hung up to make a show, and to enliven the dark panneled walls of the low-ceiled room; and on the dahlias and china-asters which were liberally bestowed in every spare nook. A china-plate of flowers occupied the centre of the tea-table, flanked by bread and butter and dry toast; flowers ornamented the high, antique mantel-piece; vases of flowers were on the piano-forte—the small cottage piano, which Mr. Hope had substituted for the grand "Collard and Collard," which had been the pride of poor Lilian's heart; and flowers smiled on distant tables, in the deep window-seats, and everywhere, in short, where they could be comfortably accommodated.Miss Williams was to remain all night with Lilian; this was the first time of her sleeping in her new abode, and she was not yet accustomed to the idea of three women keeping sole watch and ward in a lonely house, where the roar of the sea and the moan of the mountain wind kept up a continual murmur the night through!Miss Williams, who would walk anywhere, under any circumstances, and at any hour between dusk and dawn, seemed to Lilian a host in herself; and though Bridget volunteered to clean and load an old gun she saw in the vicarage-pantry, and to shoot any marauder who might make his appearance, her mistress felt greatly relieved when Miss Williams offered herself as companion and body-guard for the Saturday and Sunday nights. On Monday Basil was expected, and every one knows what a sense of protection is afforded by the mere presence of the master of the house.In the meantime Lilian and Winifred Williams had become very intimate; there is nothing like working together for setting people at their ease, and making them understand each other; a week's co-operation in useful hearty labor, is worth more than a year's chatting, dancing, and visiting, for the purpose of bringing heart to heart, those who are to become friends, in the real sense of the word. Lilian had told Miss Williams many of her own errors and shortcomings; she had explained to her that she was no longer the petted, idolized wife of her once devoted husband, but she never blamed Basil, she never said anything that could throw a reflection on his conduct, and she gave herself entire credit for the sad, bitter alienation from him, whom she still loved as passionately and undividedly as on the day when she had plighted to him her maiden faith in the dear old church at Kirby-Brough.Miss Williams was deeply interested in the sorrowful young wife, and she cried bitterly over the recital of little Basil's death, which Lilian gave with quivering voice and whitened lips and cheeks, never sparing herself, never saying one word in extenuation of her own temper, vanity, and wilfulness, but ending ever with—"I deserved it! I was not fit to train my child: I was a careless, thoughtless, worldly mother, and God took him from me, to dwell among the angels.""Yes! among the angels," said Miss Williams, wiping away her tears. "In years to come, when perhaps you may be brooding anxiously and painfully over the prospects of other children, the thought of this your 'first-born blessing,' safe in the arms of Him who loved the little ones with a great Almighty love, safe from the snares of the world, from the contamination of evil example, from all that darkens the path of so many who are spared to years of maturity the thought of your darling landed safe on the heavenly shore, will give you peace and comfort.""And when all things here seem so dark," said Lilian, "when fears and cares press heavily upon me, I think of my boy, and Alice, to whom no sorrow, no suspense can evermore come. I think of then in their bright glorious home, standing forever in the presence of their Saviour, and mingling and communing with angels and archangels, and the spirits of just men made perfect; and in looking onward to the time when I—I hope it may be so—when I, too, shall join them in that world of joy; and the way seems shorter and less dreary. Yes! it is a blessed tiling to have some loved ones already in heaven.""It is," replied Miss Williams; and her thoughts wandered far away, to the last hours of some who were dearer to her than her own life; and now that the pain was past, the yearning void mercifully filled, she felt that it was indeed a blessing to know that of her most precious treasures, nearly all were shining like the bright stars of heaven, around the throne of Him Who loved them and gave himself for them. And Lilian murmured half to herself, half to her musing companion;—''Tis sweet, as year by year we loseFriends out of sight, in faith to muse,How grows in Paradise our store!""Do you know those lines, hiss Williams?""I know them well, and I feel the full force of their beauty; the whole poem is replete with strength and sweetness; the last verse is as remarkable for its vigor, as the preceding ones for their soft yet high-toned melody:—"'Then cheerly to your work again,With hearts new-braced and set,To run untired love's blessed race,As meet for those who, face to face,Over the grave their Lord have met.'""Love's blessed race!" On that course Lilian had set out; the first trembling steps were taken, and ever and anon, even already, came a transient glimpse of the bright and distant goal. She hoped, she knew, as she advanced on the rough but blessed path, that the glorious towers of her inheritance would rise higher, and show clearer and clearer through the mists of worldly cares and earth-born entanglements. There was but one thing to do; to go forwards, always forwards, doing the day's work with a cheerful heart, gathering the wayside flowers with a thankful spirit, and looking ever to Him whose love and mercy first brought her wandering feet into the heavenly road."Yes!" she said, turning suddenly to Miss Williams; "I see it all now, I understand that the spiritual life is a conflict, not a hymn, as some French author remarks. I see that heaven is to be won, not dreamed about. He who gave us the grace, the pardon, the remission of our sins, gave us also the work He would have us to do."I was reading yesterday the 15th chapter of 1st Corinthians, and I was struck with its conclusion. After a long argument on the resurrection of the body, the Apostle breaks out into a strain of holy triumph—`O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?' But he winds up in the solemn, serene tones which are fittest for a Christian who knows that a task lies before him to be faithfully performed at the bidding, and to the honor and glory of his Master's name—'Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye stedfast, unmoveable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, forasmuch as ye know that your labor is not in vain in the Lord."'Again they were silent, and Lilian sat gazing fixedly into the glowing embers of the fire. "I am think-ing of Monday," she said, at length. "What will Basil think of our new home? Oh, I am afraid—so afraid.""Do not be afraid, he may take to his altered way of life more kindly than you anticipate. He may—indeed I believe he will—come to bless the day that led him, though unwillingly, to his Welsh home.""I wish"—and again Lilian stopped."You wish what, my dear?""I wish, I do earnestly wish I were a better companion for Basil. I think if I lead been different he would not have—he would have cared more about home, he would never have sought these gay companions, whom his father so dislikes. You see I had a curious kind of education. I had some talent, and I learned a little of many things, and because I had read a great many tales, and could quote a great deal of poetry, I thought I possessed a cultivated mind. I found out my mistake when I went to Hopelands. Basil's sisters seemed to know about everything. I soon came to see that he loved literature, the study of languages and science as well as they did; and oh, how mortified, how angry I was, when sometimes he left me to my novels while he and Olivia talked about plants, and sea-weeds, and mosses, and the strata of the earth! And sometimes they talked about old times and old heroes, and they would fetch great, heavy books out of the library, and search for what they wanted for hours, and all they talked about was Greek to me, though it did seem very entertaining—and if ever I put in a remark, I was sure to say something absurd, and Olivia would turn to Basil with such a smile and such a look of compassion. Oh, those times were torture to me; but I know I was not patient.""How old are you, my dear?""I shall soon be twenty-two.""Young enough to do a great deal in the way of mental culture. Suppose you do something in the way of self-education. There are books enough at the vicarage, and you will have sufficient time on your hands after you have attended on your domestic duties. I think study will do you good in every way; do not quite lay aside healthy fiction and poetry, but take it as a dessert to a substantial repast. I know something of botany; we will study it together in the spring; we will begin with the snowdrops. And I can help you in French and German if you choose to go into those languages. I was on the Continent for eight years; in fact, my clear, I was governess in a family who were travelling abroad.""It will be delightful," said Lilian, with something of her old impetuosity; "and I will not let Basil know what I am about till I am quite a clever woman."CHAPTER XXIV.THE DARK DAY.THE Sunday passed calmly and pleasantly. It was the last day of the long beautiful autumn. As Lilian and her friend walked home in the afternoon from the English service,they stood on the high, breezy down, watching the bright ripples on the clear green waves, and gazed lovingly and admiringly on the crystal sky, that, unstained by mist or cloud, hung like a dome of pure sapphire over mountain, sea, and shore. Then came sunset; and the mists rose, spirit-like, from the awful bosoms of the solemn mountains. A rosy flush burned on their cold, lonely brows, and lovely tints lighted up old Ocean's quivering breast, as he rolled his silvery waves roundly and smoothly on the rocky shore."If to-morrow evening be so fair" said Lilian earnestly, "I am sure Basil cannot fail to be delighted with his new home. Those grand hoary mountains, that wide heaving sea, yonder wild rocky dells, waterfall, dashing streams, mists that wear the beauty of a paradisiacal vision!—can there be a scene of more surpassing grandeur and loveliness?""It is most beautiful," said Miss Williams; "and the years I have spent in this place by no means diminish the pleasure I experience in watching, from season to season, the beauties that now strike you for the first time. Autumn is certainly the golden age of the mountain-land!"The evening faded into night, and dark clouds came sailing over the sea; a mighty wind swept the restless waves, and drove the mountain mists into the vales beneath. The morning rose on a changed world. The trees were nearly stripped of their gay foliage; branches were torn from the parent stems; and many tender young shrubs lay prostrate on the ground. The mountains were not to be seen; the heavy, leaden clouds had rolled down their sides almost to the base; and a small, thick rain fell steadily and soakingly. As to the sea, it might be heard thundering on the huge shingles and rocks of the bay; but its troubled waters were shrouded in an impenetrable bluish-grey fog. Lilian looked at the dismal prospect in dismay; and when Bridget came in with the kettle and the coffee, she had to listen to a long tirade against foreign countries, where there was summer sunshine one day, and storms fit to scare the witches on the next.The fire would not burn brightly, the small window panes scarcely admitted the feeble light of the tempestuous morning; the wind roared round the outer walls, howled at the corners, and whistled and sighed like a tormented spirit in the dark passages of the echoing house. What would be Basil's first impression? That was all she thought about. If it had been but calm and bright as on the preceding day, and as it had been ever since she came to Wales! About noon Miss Williams left her; and Lilian, too unsettled to sew, too spiritless to read or study, sat drearily gazing out into the dun, dull depths of fog-land.She ate her solitary dinner, wondering all the while whether Basil had reached Chester, and whether the train would stay long enough for him to obtain comfortable refreshment. Bridget put the finale to her mistress's discomforture by exclaiming, when she came to remove the dinner things, "Well! it's a shocking day for the master; he'll be sure to think he's got out of the world where other people live!"Bryndyffryn did, indeed, seem to be a veritable Patmos, uprearing its white, rain-beaten walls, in the midst of a sea of fog. The village beneath, the church-tower, the fishermen's huts under the rocks, and the mighty Penmaenmawr himself, were as com-pletely blotted out as though some wicked genie had spirited them away during the night. Lilian felt as if she, Bridget, and the stout Welsh lass, were left alone in an uninhabited land.Just ere twilight fell, the wind changed, and swept away the leaden mists that had shrouded earth and sea; but the landscape was in no way improved; everything drenched in the ceaseless rain looked black and wild; the mountain sides, for the tops were still invisible, stood out savage, weird and inky; the ravines showed like sable abysses of Tartarus, and the sea, no longer green, glittering and serene, broke on the shore, and dashed and groaned in the caverns of the rocks, as though it would sap the solid foundations of the everlasting hills.Lilian could only think of one of Tennyson's picture verses, which she remembered reading with Basil long, long ago, when her husband loved her, and called her his own precious " Lily," and when her little babe lay slumbering on her lap.Alternately she mused on the sweet golden time, that seemed now to belong to another and a fairer life, long since passed away, and repeated to herself—An iron coast and angry waves,You seemed to hear them climb and fall,And roar rock-thwarted under bellowing caves,Beneath the windy wall."While Lilian was absorbed in her reverie, there was a lull in the wild tumult of the storm, and, above the heavy booming of the sea, she could discern some little disturbance, quite close at hand. There was a car at the garden gate; a gentleman, well clothed in mufflers and waterproof garments, was stamping on the soaked, mossy gravel, and shaking off the rain, that literally streamed from his person; and there was the roughest and wiriest of Skye terriers, barking with all his might at the fierce gust of wind that, sweeping suddenly down from the mountains, almost carried him off his legs.The gentleman, the dog, and the luggage were all quite familiar, and Lilian flew into the hall to welcome Basil, who, when the door was opened, looked more like a bad-tempered water-spirit than an affectionate English husband. But Lilian did not perceive his discontented look, and she hastened to bestow the kiss she had been longing to give ever since they parted at the Euston Square Station."There, there; that will do, Lilian!" was all the return she met with. Her affectionate demonstrations received only a cold and tardy response. With every nerve trembling, and the tears, in spite of all her efforts, rising in her eyes, she led the way into the parlor. "What place is this?" he asked, impatiently, looking round the large, low room with all air of weariness and disgust."This is the parlor—the dining-room, I suppose I must call it," replied Lilian, forcing a smile; "rather different from the B——street dining-room, is it not? But still it is a snug room when the curtains are drawn, and the lamp lighted; and when the weather is bright, there is the most delightful prospect!"Bridget now made her appearance, and carried off the wet coats and plaids, which were ruthlessly cast down on Lilian's pretty, new, crimson table-cloth, which slit flattered herself gave quite a rich tone of coloring to the sombre apartment."What a cursed country this is," was the next remark; "every puddle is a lake, every brook is a torrent, and the pathways are quagmires. A man at the Penmaenmawr station tells me it may be Christmas before we see the mountains again; and, as for roads, they are certainly contrived for the sole and express purpose of making beasts tumble and men swear!"Lilian looked up deprecatingly; his tone was even harsher than his words. She knew from experience that that peculiar voice boded asperity on his part, and discomfort on her own."Where are we to dine? What kind of coal do you call this? Have you no idea how to make up a fire that will warm one, after a nine hours' journey on such a day as this? I am starved to death, and I have tasted nothing but a biscuit and a little brandy-and-water since I left Euston Square. Why do you not tell me when dinner will be ready?"A few months ago she would have answered angrily, that he asked questions in such rapid succession as to leave no opportunity for reply; but she was wiser now; both as a Christian woman, and as a prudent wife, she had learned the value of the soft answer that turneth away wrath.She meekly answered that she had ordered tea and something substantial, thinking it would be more refreshing after his long dismal journey. He turned round sharply after poking the fire so fiercely, that the glowing embers fell on the hearth-rug, and scorched the nose of the Skye terrier, who howled dismally, and was kicked by his master, and sworn at besides."Confound your tea! Do you think I am to drink tea at five o'clock in the afternoon, like a country miss, or like babies at a boarding-school? Order dinner immediately, and tell them to be quick about it.""Tell them," thought Lilian. Oh, poor Basil, you think you still have a thorough staff of servants in your kitchen. If Bridget were not here, I must fulfil your commands myself; my Welsh maid-of-all-work has not the remotest conception of the necessary treatment required for a mutton chop. Then she said, good humoredly, " Well! I will have my tea, while you dine. I assure you, I have provided no despicable repast, whether it be called dinner, tea, or supper. Dr. Williams sent me some woodcocks this morning, and Bridget has some excellent way of cooking them; there are mutton chops, too, and cold beef from. yesterday's dinner, to say nothing of ham that is the very best I ever tasted.""Do you mean to say you have actually dined?""Certainly. I dined at one o'clock. I have done so ever since I came to Bryndyffryn. The good people here would be confounded at the bare mention of a six o'clock dinner. I believe Miss Williams and her brother tale their tea at five, and they are certainly the aristocracy of the place!""A delightful place, on your own showing, where the clergyman's family does not even conform to civilized customs, but follows in the wake of time peasantry. I tell you what it is, Lilian, I hated the very mention of this place, I hate it more now that I am here, and I will teach Mr. Hope, of Hopelands, that he is not to banish his heir to a savage wilderness with impunity. He shall pay dearly for sending me to this barbarous, wretched nook of Great Britain. Sent out of time way of bad companions, I suppose—sent into retirement to break the naughty boy of his troublesome habits!—the ungovernable beast stinted of his provender, that he may be tamed and subdued! Tamed, indeed! they little know me. Look! there is a letter I got yesterday from Theresa's hypocritical, cantina, Puseyite husband, taking advantage of our relationship to say 'a few words of warning to one whom the world and sinful associates have led astray!' A Puseyite, indeed! daring to lecture me! a poor, puling, whining, lackadaisical Puseyite, that is neither fish, flesh, nor fowl. Such a hybrid of Romanisin, and Anglicanism, and schism, and heresy, and dissent without the name, to talk about his priestly authority! But I wrote him a settler last night. I told him there were three things I detested and despised—Birmingham jewelry, goose-berry champagne, and Puseyism.The mean, pitiful, black-coated fellow!"Basil was silenced by the appearance of his dinner, which he found sad fault with, but which, nevertheless, he seemed to enjoy amazingly. The bottled porter he said was flat, and he deplored the good Burgundy that he had made up his mind to buy, just before "the row" began; still he drank. much more of the abused beverage than his anxious wife liked to see. All the evening he talked on in the same strain, menacing Theresa and her husband, defying his father, and finding extensive fault with the place, the house, the furniture, and the arrangement of things generally. Lilian spoke only to be contradicted and treated as an ignorant simpleton; to all her labors, all her thoughts, all her pretty devices seemed thrown away. Nothing pleased Basil; and at last he smoked his cigar in sulky silence, and drank such copious draughts of almost undiluted spirit, that Lilian's heart quailed within her. Poor Lilian! that one week seemed to have made Basil ten times worse than before; she could only be silent, and pray earnestly for better days to come.She went up to bed with a heavy heart she felt a sickening sense of disappointment as she paused at the landing-window to look out on the night. The clouds had rolled away—the moon and the stars were shining brilliantly in the blue, placid sky. So will the clouds of care and sorrow roll away in God's good time," said Lilian, softly to herself, "and joy and beauty will shine again on the weary heart; but perhaps not in this life. Well! what then? this life is but an atom of time compared with the eternity of the life to come!"CHAPTER XXV.NEW HOPES.THAT long, dreary winter! how heavily the dull, dismal days went by. Storm, and mist, and wet without, and gloom and sadness within. Basil began to write his book—the book that was to stamp his fame as an author—the book that was to circulate with the rapidity of slander—the book that was to be in all men's hands, and upon all men's tongues, and that was to rival and finally eclipse "David Copperfield," "Janie Eyre," and "Uncle Tom's Cabin."Basil, however, refused to carry on his labors in the common sitting-room, and Lilian selected a small upper chamber, which she fitted up with infinite pains, and with no small satisfaction to herself; for already her pretty crimson table-cloth displayed two small islands and an extensive continent of ink; already the carpet bad been subjected to rubbings and scrubbings and ablutions of hot water, and Bridget had prophesied that by Christmas everything in the room would be as black as sin.Still she felt very lonely, when, as soon as breakfast was over, Basil marched away to his study, never stopping to consider how she would employ or amuse herself till they met again. It was no weather for outdoor exercise; the roads and lanes were almost impassable, and often Lilian found herself compelled to abandon even her walk to church. Sometimes the mist came down so heavily that she was afraid of wandering out of her way; and twice the mud was so soft and so deep that with great difficulty she managed to extricate herself, and go back home with such goloshes and such dress-skirt as she had never before even faintly imagined. She saw very little of her friends at the vicarage. Basil showed no inclination to cultivate their acquaintance, and the season and the weather were equally opposed to anything like continuous intercourse. Now and then Miss William came up the muddy, windy hill, and spent a pleasant hour by Lilian's solitary hearth; and often the little footboy from the vicarage, who could not speak ten consecutive words of English, came up to Bryn-dyffryn with a kind note and a new book from his mistress to Mrs. Hope, and Bridget listened, in alternate disgust and wrath, to the wonderful clatter, the loud gutturals, and, what seemed to her English sense of propriety, the too free joking and laughing between the Cambrian youth and his stout, untidy-looking countrywomen. Certainly the Welsh women do hold all their conversations in alto; a stupid Saxon might suppose every word to be fierce invective and unmitigated scolding.So every morning, when Basil went up stairs to his literary labors, Lilian went to the kitchen, a practice which Bridget strenuously insisted on; for, as she sagaciously observed, "if a mistress looks after things in the kitchen, larder, and pantry, one hour out of the twenty-four, things will not go very far wrong, and she will have no need to give up her playing and drawing, and reading, in order to go peeping and prying into affairs that have been neglected, and are consequently in arrears, and she and her servant or servants, be they one or many, will go on the more comfortable; for no good servant dislikes the watchful eye of a reasonable mistress, and a bad domestic is better out of the house at once."So Bridget reasoned; not that she intended her mistress to remain from inspecting her domestic concerns at any time that it might be needful; but she further Remarked, "When people had a thing to do, and they thought to do it any time, it was very like it would be done no time at all; and a time for everything, and everything to its time, was as good a rule for the lady of the house as the old adage, 'a place for everything,' #38;C."And so Lilian fell into the habit of fully discharging, her domestic duties before reading, practising, or study were allowed their turn. At first she watched Bridget's manipulations in the culinary art, then she made an attempt herself; and, long before the dreary winter melted into sunny spring-time, she had become quite all adept in the science of household confectionery, and plain, economical cooking. She even improved oil Bridget's celebrated soup that cost so little and yet was acceptable to a gourmand; and Basil, little knowing whose skilful hands had contrived the delicious and inexpensive repast, declared his table was better served than in the days when he could afford a professed cook.Then, when all was completed, Lilian divested herself of her print apron, re-arranged her dark braids of hair, and sat down to leer studies. Her habits of promiscuous reading had prevented anything like serious forgetfulness of the knowledge acquired in schooldays; but she began now to perceive that the education she believed finished the six years before was in fact barely begun; that the edifice which she flattered herself had long ago been built up perfect and complete, had scarcely risen above the foundations, and was in fact hardly discernible amid the confused heap of scaffolding which desultory reading and shallow, straitened school studies had necessarily produced. It was astonishing how much she found to investigate in little things with which she once imagined herself quite conversant, but whose surface, she was now assured, had been merely skimmed.She began a thorough course of history, taking notes as she went, making many researches by the way, in order to comprehend fully the minutes of historical detail. And this course of study became so charming, that to her fervent, earnest nature there was danger of becoming too completely engrossed in its pursuance. How it enlightened her to find things, which had formerly been incomprehensible or obscure, gradually growing clear and distinct; how pleasant it was to feel the full force of many beautiful similes and many apt allusions, which had been till now a more dead letter.And one branch of inquiry naturally led to another, till the field of investigation became tantalizingly extensive. It was to, Lilian like walking in a paradise of flowers, with permission to call all, but with time only for the gathering of a few. There was a fear lest, in flitting from flower to flower, in order to see which was most worthy of selection, the limited season should bass by, and fewer than might have been remain appropriated to herself.But always when Basil came down stairs, whether he was conversable or sullen, the books were laid aside. The history, the biography, the poetry, and the novel were alike dismissed when his step was heard in the vestibule, and Lilian took up her work-basket that was always at hand, and sewed while it pleased him to talk, or to smoke his cigar in reserved silence.That Lilian was strangely altered could not fail to be apparent to Basil; but what had wrought the change he did not trouble himself to inquire. She was often very pale and quiet, but she always looked cheerful when he made his appearance. She never reproached him as formerly; and all through that long, dreary winter, though doomed to hours of solitude, she did not utter a single complaint. "Certainly," he muttered to himself one day when for a moment he descended to the parlor, and saw the bright face which his wife raised from the volume in her hand, "certainly some women thrive better in adversity than in affluence. Here is Lilian sitting alone for hour on a cold, dark, wet January day, in a solitary house, without hope of visiting, or concerts, or operas, or new novels, or even the day's paper, looking as bright and serene as if all the world was at leer feet, while a few months ago all the fetes and operas in. London could not content her; she was always fretting, or sulking, or crying in her own room—really it is altogether incomprehensible."Then Basil began to notice that the tone of her conversation was much improved. Lady-like and refined it bad ever been, and, to a certain extent, sparkling and amusing; but now her remarks and sentiments betrayed an amount of cultivation for which he had never given her credit. He little dreamed low, for the sake of making herself a suitable companion for her more highly educated husband, she had patiently toiled life a child over the arcana of different languages; low she had waded through thick volumes of history and biography, and puzzled herself over rudimentary pamphlets on various sciences! True learning had proved to her, as it does to all its single-hearted votaries, its own. exceeding great reward but in the first place, the desire of improvement had originated in the hope of rendering her society more agreeable to her husband, and thereby winning him to love his home, and seek for pleasures within its precincts.Whether leer work of gaining Lack his heart was progressing She could not tell. Sometimes she hoped it was; he would linger after dinner and chat very comfortably over the fire, and in the evenings he now and then volunteered to read to her, as he used to do in the dear old time. Still, she feared the deep steady love, that, with all its intensity, all its trust, its passion, and its truth, should make beautiful the every-day paths of married life, had quite died away; or rather that it had never existed; for "love is love for evermore!"She trembled lest she had never been loved as she and as all true-hearted noble men and women look to be loved; she was afraid passion and gratified fancy had alone dictated the sentiment, which led Basil to prefer her to other women;—" And what more did I deserve?" she asked herself bitterly; "never was woman more unfit to take upon herself the sacred obligations of marriage. True, I loved him with all my heart; but that was not enough. I thought only of my pleasures, not my trials, as Basil's wife; and now the pleasures, at least, such as I then called pleasures, are gone, and the trials are come upon me. Perhaps now it is too late—perhaps we shall always go on to our lives' end, in this sad, unsatisfactory way—perhaps the barrier, the void will be always there, and there will never, never be the union of heart and soul!"But Lilian had one bright hope, that as yet she only whispered to herself as a secret to sweet and precious to be named even to Miss Williams. When the early roses came, when the blossoms faded on the trees in the orchard, and when the birds sang their sweetest melodies she hoped God would give her another little child, and with very different feelings from those which had heralded the advent of her firstborn; she anticipated the time when, if it pleased God, she should again be the mother of a living child. Surely Basil would love her once more—love her as he used to do; or if he had never truly loved, take her to his inmost heart, when he saw her nursing and tending the little one, who had come to them in their poverty and in their solitary mountain-home.But it would not take the place of the lost one who lay in his little grave, in the sombre old chapel at Hopelands. That one was, and would ever be, distinct and individual in the mother's heart; the new hope would never absorb the old, departed joy, the great joy that is given to women when they remember not their anguish and sorrow, for joy that a man is born into the world.Lilian always thought of her dead babe, as many a mother thinks of her son, who is gone away into a far country, never to return, while she lives in her thoughts he was hers always; still her beautiful child whom on earth she had lulled to sleep on her bosom; but who now needed no more parental care, no more watchings, no more lullabies, for he listened ever to the "angels' song." And she wondered whether the babe who was to come with the early summer would be like his little brother; and as soon as the infant mind began to unfold, she meant to talk to the other baby that belonged to her and Basil; who had gone so early to see his Saviour face to face, to walk the golden streets of heaven, and hold converse with the saints and prophets, and martyrs of olden time, and with the spirits of all the just made perfect.Do we think enough of heaven? Are there any among us who think of it as they ought? Stand still one minute, pause in the busy round of mortal life, and look back to the very foundation of the Church militant. Force back the waves of time, read reverently the dim pages of the past, and take note of the men who walked with God, of whom the world was not worthy.The proto-martyr Abel; the translated Enoch; Abraham, the father of the faithful; Isaac, who meditated in the fields at evening-time; Moses, the man of God, whom God honored by calling him specially "My servant Moses;" Joshua, who led the children of Israel over Jordan; David, the shepherd-king, the sweet singer of old time; Elijah, borne heavenward in a chariot of fire; and all the prophets, and all the saints and martyrs that ever walked the earth; all, all the glorious company of heaven are gathered there, out of every land and tongue, and kindred, and clime; a great multitude, "whom no man can number, walking the glorious streets, and dwelling in the many mansions prepared for the redeemed. Such is the blessed company with whom we are to mingle in the heavenly country. We shall sit down with those whose names have thrilled our childish spirits, and made our hearts in manhood burn within us; and above all, we shall be face to face with Him whose name has been first and sweetest in the hymns we sang on earth; whose voice spoke to our souls the word of pardon and peace, and whose presence has been with us always from the cradle to the tomb. No pain, no parting, no sighing nor weeping, no sin.CHAPTER XXVI.DISAPPOINTMENTS.THE winter had passed away, the spring, was well-nigh melting, into summer, when one morning Miss Williams came to Basil, with a face all smiles and tears, to congratulate him on the birth, not of the expected son and heir, but of twin daughters.Very different was the advent of these young ladies from that of their elder brother. Then Basil lead paced the house in distracted alternations of hope and despair; then he had hurried from his wife's room to despatch a special messenger to Hopelands, with the welcome intelligence that an heir of the third generation was born to the ancient family of the Hopes; then doctor and nurse, and all the admiring circle of servants, had declared the baby, Master Hope, to be the very finest, largest, and most beautiful infant ever born into this troublesome world; then neighbors of high degree came and sent with solicitous inquiries after Mrs. Hope, and the young heir, who lay in his grand cot, under the shadow of snowy muslin and rose-colored silk, sucking his thumb and sleeping, as though he had come into existence for the express purpose of enjoying a comfortable nap.Now he rose calmly from his writing, not however without a sense of thorough relief, and replied in tones in which surprise evidently exceeded satisfaction."Two did you say, Miss Williams, two little girls?""Yes! two, Mr. Hope; you have a double blessing bestowed upon you."Basil shrugged his shoulders and hinted that the blessing was a matter of opinion: if he had been consulted, he should have declared his preference for one son rather than two daughters.Miss Williams looked grave; she did not like the tone in which the young man spoke; and her own delight at welcoming the twin babies had been so extreme, that the father's indifference, or rather discontentment, grated harshly upon her ear."Will you not see them?" she said at length, rather coldly; very coldly for her, for she was the most cordial and unformal woman in the world."Why ! no:—not yet; but stay, I suppose I had better go and look at them, or Lilian will fancy I don't like them, and she will fret herself into a fever."So he followed Miss Williams to his wife's room, where the two little things lay by their mother, looking so exceedingly small, so fragile, and to his masculine ideas so very unprepossessing in their general aspect, that he unguardedly pronounced them "ugly little monkeys," and declared that so far from feeling like their father, he could hardly believe they were of the same species of animal as himself.Miss Williams and Bridget were so exasperated at this imprudent speech, and so concerned at the effect produced on the pale, exhausted mother, that they very unceremoniously hustled Mr. Basil out of the chamber; and subsequently Bridget revenged herself, her mistress, and the young ladies, as she ceremoniously called the six-hour old twins, by leaving his dinner entirely to the skill and discretion of the Welsh maiden, who, by the interesting event of the morning had been entirely bereft of the few notions she ever possessed.Accordingly at four o'clock, Basil sat down in solitary state to a discolored fowl floating in a sea of greasy liquid, variegated with minute islets of olive green. This extraordinary compound Jenny Hughes fondly imagined to be "melted butter and parsley," but, as she had first boiled the parsley for an indefinite time, and then bestowed a sprinkle of flour on a quart of water, and a huge lump of salt butter, her efforts met with very indifferent success.The singular hue of the unlucky fowl disgusted Basil at once; but what was his amazement when he fully contemplated the marvelous sauce in which it reposed! He rang the bell so furiously that Jenny rushed in with the toasting-fork in her hand expecting to find her master in a fit, or the room in flames.She met, however, with a warmer reception than she had anticipated. Such a torrent of words greeted her at the very threshold, that she stood there transfixed, holding aloft the toasting-fork, as if personating Thetis brandishing Neptune's trident.Being a very indifferent English scholar, she by no means understood her master's rapid and fiery exhortation. She perfectly comprehended that she was called a fool: why, she could not imagine. Presently, as Basil pointed to the table and continued to rave, a new light gleamed upon her mind, and without a moment's delay she rushed frantically to the kitchen, bore back the forgotten vegetables, and placed them before her master, with a proud little nod and a triumphant chuckle, that so far confounded him as to hush the tempest of words, and cause him to look earnestly at the smiling rosy face before him that be-trayed such evident delight at the result of its owner's unaided genius.She was gone "before he could recover his speech; and with a comical mixture of anger, disgust, and astonishment he commenced a survey of the potatoes. Were they really potatoes? Surely they were some choice petrefactions from the caverns of Penmaenmawr. The greens! which Jenny thought the most admirable accompaniment to boiled fowl—grew they ever in British garden, or were they marine productions of the dingiest green-brown imaginable ?Again the bell rang; and this time Jenny comprehended that she was required to carry out the first course and take it whence it came.Nothing daunted, the heroic Welshwoman, having disencumbered herself of the rejected viands, proceeded to usher in the second course, which consisted of apple-pudding and warmed-up fritters. It met with no better success.The pudding was not a pudding, and the fritters were so dried that they might have passed for anything either vegetable or animal.Basil thought he was served with frizzled brown sealing-wax.At last—on bread and cheese and celery being produced as the finale of the repast—the unlucky master of the house found something which he really could eat without nausea or fear of poison. Then, "when the rage of hunger was appeased," he sought out Bridget, and demanded an explanation of the unceremonious treatment he had received. Bridget grimly answered, "that she was too busy to think about dinners; it was as much as she could do to attend to missis and the young ladies, and Jenny was old enough to cook a makeshift dinner once or twice in a way; and, even if she had left her duty to go down to the kitchen, it was not to be expected she could come up to Mrs. Hope, any more than Jenny could come up to her. It was missis who cooked, or saw to all the best dinners.""Your mistress!" exclaimed Basil: "you really do not mean to say that your mistress knows anything about cooking.""Ah! but she does," replied Bridget, triumphantly. "I used to think I could send up as pretty a dinner as any lord could want, but missis can do better, and she is as quick again as I am. However she will cook no more dinners, for when she comes downstairs there will be the young ladies upon her hands."And charitably hoping that Mr. Hope would duly appreciate his wife's talents and industry, now that they could no longer be exercised for his benefit, Bridget went upstairs to attend to the requirements of the Misses Hope, who were testifying their disap-proval of this world and its ways by continuous wailings and cryings.It was high summer when Lilian recovered: the babies, she said, grew very fast, and began to take notice; but they were delicate little things; very fair and fragile, and required incessant care. Bridget was quite right when she foretold the full occupation her mistress would find in tending and nursing these frail little ones, for it was a treat now to Lilian to find a spare half-hour for reading, and quite an agreeable variety to spend a little time in the kitchen, while the twins vouchsafed to sleep. One day, about midsummer, Basil came down in high glee. His MS. was ready for the press, and it remained only to find a publisher."I will send it to one of the most influential firms in London," he said to his wife, who looked admiringly at the pile of written sheets. "It is but fair to one's-self and to society to intrust a good thing to a first-rate house."After due deliberation the choice was made; the MS. was carefully packed up, legibly directed, and sent off to town. In about a fortnight a communication came from the gentleman to whose fostering care it was committed. "With many expressions of regret Mr. L. declined undertaking Mr. Hope's novel:—"The style was original, and the incidents striking, but he could not answer for its success; and, his hands being full, he must beg to be excused entering into negociations on the subject.""The foolish fellow !" said Basil, contemptuously, as he threw down the publisher's polite letter. "Never mind, Lily; there are better publishers than L. I will write to another firm—I wonder I did not think of it at first. The stupid L. will be ready to bite his fingers when he sees the book making a sensation in the literary world! Give me that inkstand; I will write this moment, and save the post."Another month passed away; the twins were short-coated, and christened by the names of Harriet and Clara; they began to grow fat, and cried rather less: but the fate of their father's literary offspring was still undecided. At last, despairing of the expected letter, and the handsome offer sure to be contained therein, Basil wrote somewhat curtly to Messrs. H. and B., requesting an immediate decision. By return of post arrived not only the decision, but the MS. itself, rather the worse for thumbing and lying about in dusty offices.Messrs. H. and B. presented their compliments to Mr. Hope, and begged to assure him that the MS. was not at all in their line. It certainly displayed considerable talent, but extreme opinions were expressed with too much unreserve; there was much, both in incident and in sentiment, that was calculated to offend the public mind; and Messrs. H. and B. would advise Mr. Hope seriously to consider the advisability of retaining the MS. in its unpublished state, or of giving it entirely a new complexion.Basil was furious and disgusted. He abjured authorship for ever; from that moment he washed his hands of it; he bade Lilian stow away the waste paper in one of her lumber chests, and desired that the subject might never be renewed between them. And so faded away Basil Hope's airy castle; but his disappointment was not keener than Lilian's.From that time Basil seemed wearied of the society of books; and the babies he vowed were always crying, while Lilian was so absorbed in nursing them, talking to them, and singing them to sleep, that she had no leisure to bestow upon him, Bridget still remained at Bryndyffryn; the term for which she had engaged herself had passed away, but she could not, and would not, leave her mistress to keep house, cook the dinners, iron the muslins, and nurse the young ladies; and though money was very scarce, and Basil's El Dorado visions of the gain of authorship were all dissipated, making pecuniary straits appear doubly irksome, Lilian felt that retaining the energetic, honest, faithful Bridget, was her most economical plan.Meanwhile Basil began to absent himself from home; he returned to his piscatorial habits, and finding no difficulty in obtaining leave for all the streams and lyns in the neighborhood, he was pretty soon busy again with reels, and lines, and hooks. He spoilt Bridget's best saucepans in the manufacture of varnish for his lines and traces; he strewed the parlor with little bits of silk, feathers, dubbing, and bristles, to be converted into artificial flies, and ho drove Lilian to desperation by his contradictory directions respecting a landing-net which she had incautiously engaged to make for him.On the 12th of August, Basil came home almost at midnight. lie was in high spirits. He had met "Captain Leavers and several of his old friends at the Albion, at Bangor; and Leavers had taken a cottage on the Llanberris Road, where he meant to stay all the winter, and do some extra shooting and pike fishing. "Now, I shall have some society at last," he exclaimed in great glee; "the governor may banish me, but he cannot exile my friends. I am getting quite reconciled to the country now; we shall have a capital winter, and I shall be out of the way of the brats. How they do scream, Lily! Can't you give them some Daffy's Elixir, or something of that sort? Don't look so shocked; it's quite a regular thing.""Poor Lilian! her heart sunk within her; and she wept bitterly when he went away to clean his rifle. Captain Leavers and his friend Mr. Daubeny were, she knew, Basil's arch-tempters. Basil's evil genius had found him out, even at lonely Bryndyffryn. He had no principle, no religion, no human affections. Oh! where would it all end? Lilian felt that all her trials were thickening, while the two other objects she had hoped to attain, long ere this, seemed more distant than ever.CHAPTER XXVII.LOST OR STRAYED.TIME passed on; the twins grew and prospered. They were still pale, small children; but as the months rolled away, their little limbs became rounder and firmer; they cried less, and crowed and laughed more; and they cut their first teeth with less than the usual amount of suffering and noise. They had scarcely passed their first birth-day, when a little sister, who was called Maude, made her appearance, and she had just learned to run alone, when Lilian became once more the mother of a son.Bridget did not leave Bryndyffryn; indeed, what Lilian would have done without her seemed incomprehensible. The Welsh maiden, who so exasperated Basil by her lack of culinary genius, was married to Dr. Williams' footboy! and a new specimen of Cambrian femininity had taken her place in the small household. Henceforth, potatoes could he boiled without the interference of Bridget, who was always in request in the nursery. After a few lessons, the cloth could be laid, and the hearth swept up by Nest, without more than an average number of disasters; but her temper was something quite terrible. She was easily offended, and with difficulty appeased; and after a storm, there was generally a lit of sullenness, which time only had the power to dispel.Bridget was everything to Lilian—friend, servant, companion, all but confidante. Cooking the master's dinner, nursing the babies, tending her mistress through her confinements, with all the sagacity of an experienced monthly nurse, dressing and working for the twins, taking a turn at gardening—all came in her way; and as she curtly said to Nest, in reply to her declaration that "she would not be nurse, and lady's maid, and cook, and gardener all in one"—" It was no matter what honest work anybody did, it all went into the day's labor, and counted up respectably when night came."No one but Bridget knew what a difficult and weary task keeping house at Bryndyffryn had come to be. Expenses had greatly augmented, and though Basil's allowance had been increased, the sum entrusted to Lilian for domestic purposes was disagreea-bly small. How she learned to contrive frocks for the little girls—how little she cared about new things for herself—how she managed to dine, day after day, upon remnants, when Basil was from home, as now frequently happened, was a mystery. Little had Lilian imagined the time would ever come when a dish of trout, a basket of apples from the vicarage, or a brace of birds in the shooting season, would be hailed with thankfulness as a valuable present. True, Basil was constantly going out with his rod and with his rifle; but few and far between were the additions he made to his wife's economical larder.One bright summer afternoon, Lilian sat in the large parlor, busily plying her needle; the baby was crowing in Bridget's arms; Miss Maude was crawling about on the floor; and the twins were busily occupied in putting their dolls to bed. Lilian was still beautiful and graceful, but she was greatly changed since the days when Eleanor was her guest. She looked much older; she was very thin and pale, and there was a sorrowful, careworn expression on her face, that would have touched even the proud Olivia had she seen it. Her dress, too, was so unlike the elegant array of Mrs. Hope in her fashionable days—a print-dress, a plain muslin collar, fastened with an antiquated brooch, that had once been her mother's, and a dark serviceable apron was her afternoon cos-tume. Still, the simple, inexpensive dress fitted perfectly; the color, a pretty pink, looked fresh, and in keeping with the bright summer day; the unembroidered collar was of snowy purity, though not quite so smooth as it might have been, had there been no little arms to wind lovingly round mamma's neck, no baby hands to snatch at all that presented itself. The dark braids of her hair were, however, carefully arranged, and in the heavy plaits behind, the twins had succeeded in fastening a beautiful white rose. No one could fail to recognize in Lilian, the lady and the pure-minded woman; and though the furniture of the large, low parlor was much the worse for nearly four years' wear and tear, nothing was visible to betray the careless mother and the untidy mistress. Everything bore witness to extreme purity and painstaking, and at the same time, alas! to most painful economy."Shall I go and get tea, ma'am, and see to the fowl for master's dinner?" asked Bridget, when the clock struck five."No, thank you, Bridget. I think I will get tea myself; it will be a, change. I am so tired of sitting still, and I have quite finished Maude's frock.""Nest ought to get the tea, or else take the child," said Bridget crossly; "but she's just in one of her worst tantrums, and I know she would break the cups and saucers, or drop the child if she had him. Bless the beautiful boy, Bridget's own darling!"And so Lilian went into the kitchen and made ready the tea, and saw that all was ready for her husband when he should return from his fishing expedition."Master said he should be back early," said Bridget, when the tea was over. "If you please, ma'am, I will wash and undress Miss Maude, while you get master baby to sleep."But Miss Maude was her papa's own daughter, and made violent opposition when required to do anything against her own wishes; and baby, who was sinking to repose, under the soothing influence of his mamma's sweet lullaby, began to remonstrate on being disturbed, and the twins tumbled over each other, and began to cry in concert; so that for the next hour, there was little tranquility at Bryndyffryn, and Lilian was only too thankful that Basil did not keep his word, and come home to what he was wont to stigmatize as" Babel and Bedlam combined."But at length peace was restored; the belligerent little Maude sobbed herself to sleep; the twins forgot their grievances, and baby was content to lie quietly on Bridget's lap and be rocked, with his blue eyes wide open. Then Lilian perceived that the brightness of the long summer day was fading, and the sun had gone down, leaving the sea all flushed and golden; the hoary head of Penmaenmawr glowed in the ruddy sunset light, and the air was heavy with the fragrance of wild honeysuckle and feathery meadow-sweet.Lilian went into her garden, and from the garden into the green-lane. She began to wish that Basil would come home; used as she was to his irregular absences, and to his wild fishing expeditions, she never felt quite easy, when, as too frequently happened, his return was deferred from hour to hour, and the promise of being home to dinner or tea, as the case might be, was carelessly and thoughtlessly broken. Lilian's painful, prolonged discipline had done and was doing its appointed work; but it had in no degree chilled the earnest, passionate love she bore her erring, wayward husband. To be loved, even as she herself loved, was her brightest earthly dream. For this she prayed, and waited, and toiled: sometimes hoping the day of reward was at hand, but oftener bowing her head in meek submission to the weary lot that seemed to grow darker and lonelier day by day.True, she had her children, and they were poor Lilian's treasures; their innocent love, their pretty, childish ways, and their baby caresses, were the solace of many a sad, anxious hour; but they could not compensate for the void left by their father's coldness and selfishness; she was not one of those women who sink the wife in the mother; her husband was ever the first and the dearest; and, without his love, nothing earthly could make her happy. Well it was that her highest hopes were fixed where the poor human heart is secure from disappointment. On this particular evening, she felt very weary and dispirited. The friends with whom Basil was so intimate, she knew full well, were those who were under the ban of his estranged father; they were profligate, unscrupulous men of the world, deriding all morality, mocking at the semblance of religion, and alike careless of their well-being in this world and the next. She knew that they were gamblers, Sabbath-breakers, swearers, and seducers of the young and innocent; and she knew also, that in all their schemes, all their sinful amusements, they sought to associate her husband! Poor lonely Lilian! she did not reason with him, for she knew it was useless; opposition, even of the mildest kind, would only make him more resolute; he had learned now to deprecate above all things the being supposed to be under the influence of his wife. She could only pray, and try to make his home as attractive as possible, and therefore she ever met him with a smile. Let her resources be what they might, she always contrived that his table should be well served, and that the children should not annoy him more than could possibly be avoided; but all in vain: he spent less and less time with his family; and one day he put the climax to Bridget's indignation by inquiring which of the twins was Harriet, and which Clara; averring that he had not a notion how old they were, and that he should not know the baby from any other child, were he placed in a row of brats, all squalling and wriggling about like himself. Lilian had nearly reached the end of the lane, when she heard the tramp of horses' feet beating the soft turf of the heath. She turned back—for, relying on the loneliness of the place, she had not even put on her bonnet, never expecting to meet any one, unless it were a herd boy or a fisherman taking the short cut to Aber. Presently the rider came near—and, instead of passing the end of the lane, as she expected, turned up the winding rocky path, so seldom used by equestrians, unless about to visit Bryndyffryn."Good evening, Mrs. Hope," said a voice close to her—a voice she both knew and disliked—" a beautiful evening, is it not? Rather too bright though for fishing. I suppose Basil has told you what a day's sport we made of it yesterday; we killed two trout apiece, that were so small we threw them away!"Lilian looked her perplexity. Captain Leavers went on. "Is he at home?—Is Mr. Hope in just now?""Mr. Hope leas not yet returned," replied Lilian. I thought, Captain Leavers, you and he were fishing together. I expect my husband every moment; I walked up the lane to look for him.""We were fishing together in the Capel-Curig lakes yesterday," returned Captain Leavers with emphasis; Hope grew tired of bad sport, and seemed rather sulky and tired of our company, for Daubeny was with us; he said he would go home by way of Nant Ffrancon, and perhaps throw a line in Ogwen or Idwal; while Daubeny and I went down by Llyn Gynant and Llyn-y-Dinas to Beddgclert; but we changed our minds and stayed at Capel-Curig all night, and I came here to ask Hope to go with us to Beanmaris to-morrow.""Where can Mr. Hope be?" said Lilian, apprehensively. "Captain Leavers, when did he leave you at Capel-Curig?""Yesterday, at three o'clock in the afternoon, and I know he intended to be at home that night.""He might, certainly, but I do not think it likely. Mrs. Hope, if the truant do not return to-morrow you must raise a hue and cry. Well!—I must go now, it is growing late, and I have a long ride before me. Good night."Lilian stood still, and listened to the last sounds of his horse's feet, then she went into the house and told Bridget how much site was alarmed for her husband's safety. Nest was in the kitchen, and sloe immediately exclaimed, "I dare say the master has gone up Carned Llewellyn and fallen down a precipice and got killed."Lilian turned very pale, and shuddered; and Bridget turned round upon the unscrupulous Nest, and fiercely bid her hold her foolish tongue. "No fear!" she said, stoutly; "the master was never to be depended upon; she knew he'd come walking in before they event to bed, and want his supper, and they'd better see about getting it ready!"And she was as good as her word, and laid the tray in the parlor, but no master came; nine, ten, eleven o'clock, and midnight struck, and no Basil! Lilian brew rigid with fear; she sat at an upper window where she could see the windings of the road, and looked out on the soft moonlight over the silvery sea, and along the dins wavy line of dark mountains, till her eyes were weary and her heart was faint within her. The church clock tolled one; slowly another hour passed; two o'clock sounded over the quiet valley and along the lonely shore whence the tide had receded to the furthest. The 'short summer night was over—the dawn broke—the birds began their singing, and then Lilian rose from her seat and sought Bridget. She had taken her resolution; she would go herself that instant and seek her husband. Bridget tried to dissuade her but in vain; she hurried oil her shawl and bonnet, and ere the red light had flushed the cold grey brow of Penmaenmawr, Lilian left the house, and set out on her lonely, anxious journey.CHAPTER XXVIII.AMONG THE MOUNTAINS.OVER the heath, through the bowery lane, past the old slate quarry, and up the steep, rocky hill, Lilian went her way. She never hesitated about the path; a strange instinct led her on; and when the bright morning sun shone on the sea, she had reached the road which led straight to Bethesda.A countryman was driving his cart at a quick pace, and as he came up to Lilian he bade her good morning in Welsh. She knew enough of the language now to return the salutation, and to ask him to give her a ride as far as he was going on the road to Ogwen. The man looked surprised, but he instantly drew up his horse and assisted the lady into the cart. The fresh morning air fanned Lilian's feverish checks, and the rest was welcome after her long and arduous journey over a rough and hilly road, but she felt little inclined to converse; indeed, her knowledge of Welsh was about equivalent to a school-girl's French—quite unavailable for anything beyond mere interlocutory purposes. But presently she discovered that her charioteer spoke a kind of English, and she began to make inquiries touching the Nant Ffrancon pass, and to ask the nature of the ground above the Falls of the Ogwen."It was a queer, wild place," the man assured her; "and up about Idwal there were precipices enough to scare one. There was one place called the 'Devil's Kitchen,' where nobody could go; and if anybody ever did go, they could never get out again; except one man, who was Bishop of Bangor, thousands of years ago, and he lived in it to hide himself, and the devil helped him because he was one of his own sort."He rambled on with many curious legends, imperfectly recollected, well garnished with the supernatural, and abounding in anachronisms; but his anxious auditor only half comprehended the purport of his words; and while he dilated on the horrors of the Devil's Kitchen, where the foul fiend howled and roared in stormy weather, and sent forth black sulphurous vapors, to the confusion and destruction of unhappy travellers, she had a horrible vision of basil stretched lifeless at the bottom of the fearful abyss.All Bethesda was up and doing when they reached this busy, untidy-looking village. The miners were at work in the slate-quarries; the women were exchanging the compliments of the day in the dusty, irregular street, and discoursing with that vehemence and power of lung peculiar to the females of the Principality; and children by the score were screaming and quarrelling on every side. Everywhere slate was to be seen; houses built of slate, palings of slate, pavements of slate, horse-troughs of slate; divers little ornaments of slate, vended by the juvenile Bethesdians to all strangers who might wish to carry away mementoes of a slate world; and all around and everywhere slate hills—plains, galleries, valleys, tramways, all of unadulterated slate; to say nothing of heaps of refuse slate that had risen and risen, till a Lowlander might have taken them for mountains; the very dust of Bethesda was powdered slate! All this Lilian saw like one in a miserable dream; afterwards she remembered it well, though at the time she scarcely seemed to see anything but the wild dark mountains that rose like an impenetrable wall before her.At length the cart stopped at a cottage on the roadside. Evan Williams was going no further. Lilian by this time was well shaken, and glad to find herself on her feet again; she was only two miles now from the Falls of Ogwen, and once more she set forth with undiminished ardor; and she inquired at the principal inns at Bethesda if Basil were there, or had been seen there, but no such person had made his appearance, and one man said, that as he came from Capel-Curig the day before yesterday, he had seen a tall gentleman, who wore a brown felt hat, go up towards Idwal, with his rod in his hand and his fishing-basket oil his back; but there were many gentlemen who wore brown felt hats, and carried fishing-rods at that season of the year, though few went up the wild lonely pass, to the black solitary pool of Idwal. On, by the banks of the dashing Ogwen, Lilian took her way; her path now seemed Hemmed in by mountains, and no wayfarers met her, as she pursued her lonely road. At length she reached the famous bridge, and the waters of Llyn Ogwen were glittering in the sunshine; she was glad to see a house, and men standing about, as if preparing for fishing. She went to them and inquired if any one like her husband had passed that way."Yes!" the gatekeeper replied; "he knew Mr. Hope. He often hired his boat to fish on the lake; and he had passed through, on the evening of the day before yesterday; he believed he went up the mountains towards Llyn Idwal. He hoped nothing had happened; he might be at Bethesda, trying for salmon in the river.Lilian assured the man she had made all inquiries at Bethesda, and felt satisfied that he had not been there for more than three weeks.The gatekeeper looked grave, and the two gentlemen who were adjusting their tackle, declared that they would abandon their row on the lake, and go with Lilian up the pass to assist her in her search. She thankfully accepted their proposal, and with many directions from the gatekeeper they set out on their exepedition; the two gentlemen, fresh and vigorous after a night's repose; Lilian, insensible to fatigue, and inspired by a spirit that bade defiance to the weakness and the natural shrinking of her womanhood. As they went on the scenery grew wilder; it was first savage, then awful; the high mountains shut out the sun that never penetrated those solitary fastnesses, and the roar of a mountain torrent, speeding madly from rock to rock in cataracts of sable water and snowy foam, deadened every other sound. They came at length to Llyn Idwal; still, and inky from the deep shadow in which it lay, and girt about with rocks, inaccessible Heights, and precipices that made the braid dizzy and the senses waver. At the head of the lake among the black slag and huge stones that covered the shore lay a broken landing-net. Lilian instantly recognized her own work, and further on was an empty brandy-flask that bore Basil's own initials. Certain now that Basil was not far off, and yet terrified at the idea of finding him she knew not in what fearful state, the agony of suspense became unendurable, and breathlessly she sped from point to point, at a pace which tried her companions to the utmost. At last she came to a broad smooth ledge of rock, almost on a line with the Devil's Kitchen. From thence the mountain shelved abruptly down, for about twenty feet, to a little lonely tarn, on whose dark embosomed waters, sun, moon, or stars never shone. On the very brink of the lyn, but overshadowed by a huge mass of fallen rock that had toppled some time or other from the heights above, lay the object of her search. She could not speak; she only beckoned her companions, and pointed to the hollow beneath. The elder gentleman, Mr. Hughes, shuddered when he saw the prostrate form of the unfortunate man, and then he looked on the white, woe-stricken face of the anxious wife. He turned to his friend: "Braithwaite! we must have further assistance; go you down to the gatehouse and bring what men you can muster, and some rope, and our alpenstocks; there are few mountaineers who would try that path I fancy!"Mr. Braithwaite leaped from the rock, and sped down the rugged path; he was soon out of sight. Mr. Hughes took out his flask and poured some wine, which he bade Lilian drink; but she sat on the brink of the steep slope, measuring the depth with her eye, and summoning her strength and shill to make the descent."My dear madam!" said Mr. Hughes, kindly and firmly, it is impossible! you cannot and you shall not stir; even if you could manage to get down, at the risk of breaking your neck, you would only increase our difficulties. And you must take some refreshment: you have only mortal strength; and all your fortitude and energies will be needed when we succeed in extricating your husband from his unfortunate position." Thus reasoned with, Lilian obeyed; but the minutes seemed like hours before Mr. Braithwaite returned with three strong men, a coil of rope, and other necessaries. It was an arduous task, but the men were successful; and in a few minutes Basil was brought safely to Lilian's side; at least, his insensible form was placed there, and so deathlike was the trance in which he lay that all those who surrounded him feared greatly that life was extinct.He was carried to the gatehouse; and after a while there were symptoms of restored animation; and then Lilian begged to be allowed to make use of a carriage, that was accidentally waiting at the head of the lake, for a party who had gone on by another conveyance.It was late in the evening before she reached Bryndyffryn, and there she found Dr. and Miss Williams and Bridget a prey to the most miserable suspense. Mr. Hughes had kindly accompanied her; indeed, it would have been heartless to allow her to take the miserable journey without assistance; for Basil, although he breathed and occasionally uttered a low moan of pain, lay in a kind of stupor, without motion, speech, or consciousness.How far he was injured she could not tell; although she had stopped at Bethesda, in order to seek medical aid, none was forthcoming; the Esculapius of the place having departed early in the morning to visit a patient at Llandegai. Dr. Williams, however, lead foreseen the possible urgency of the case, and Lilian's regular attendant was ready to obey Bridget's hasty summons.He shook his head gravely when he had examined his patient, and stated his conviction that he had fallen with so great a violence as to render his continued existence little short of a miracle; besides which, he conjectured that he had laid in the hollow for many hours, and then consequently exposed to the night-dews in a spot that was chilly in the most sultry weather. Mr. Owen seemed greatly alarmed, and he immediately proposed sending to Bangor for further advice, adding, that in so serious a case, he hesitated to take upon himself the entire responsibility.For more than a fortnight Basil lay between life and death; fever supervened, delirium naturally ensued, and mournful were the revelations poor Lilian was doomed to receive from the lips of the man she loved so well—from lips, too, that seemed about to close in death—lips that would soon tremble and grow pale beneath the icy hand of the great Spoiler!Oh! the hours of agony, the anguished prayers that were poured forth till wearied nature could sustain no more!—the watchings, the hopings against hope, the sickening fears, the cold nerveless despair that weighed down poor Lilian to the very dust! The children were all sent to the vicarage; how they fared their mother could not guess, for Bridget was too valuable to be spared from the stricken household; but in her one awful trial, her one great agony and dread, all minor difficulties were thrust aside. Even her children occupied her thoughts but little whilst she stood by the bed of their father—of her own husband, to whom she had given her maiden heart and her maiden vows, and who had ever, through all things, been the first object of her strong, true woman's love. She seemed nerved with a supernatural strength, she was never tired, never weary with days of anguish and nights of watchings. Miss Williams and Bridget were always at hand to proffer their assistance; and, indeed, without their continual aid, Lilian must have, given way from her inability to preserve herself from sinking into a state of utter prostration; but still she was from the first to the last, the guiding spirit of the sick-room—always prompt, always foreseeing, always alive to the minutest change, and ready for any emergency that might occur. Calm, too, even when her sorrow was greatest, and patient under ever pang of disappointment, Miss Williams wondered greatly at the young wife's composure and devotion. She had long since learned to appreciate Lilian; but till this season of dark and bitter affliction, she never fully comprehended—"—how divine a thingA woman might be made."On the third day of Basil's illness, Lilian wrote to her father-in-law, telling him of the mournful state to which his son was reduced, and begging him to come to Bryndyffryn without any delay. The letter remained unanswered, and Lilian felt that she and Basil were deserted. She did not know that Mr. and Mrs. Hope, with their daughter Olivia (Harriet and Mary had followed Theresa's example and married, the one a fashionable baronet, and the other a country gentleman of large fortune and ancient family,) she did not know that they were in Baden-Baden, whither their letters were irregularly forwarded. Day by day the clouds gathered blackness. Lilian thought the extremity of human sorrow was to be her portion; but the darkest hours precede the dawn. "When need is highest, help is nighest;" and the time of man's extremity is frequently the appointed time when God will bid his helpless children stand still and see the salvation of the Lord.CHAPTER XXIX.THE GREATEST TRIAL.THE fever abated at length, the delirium ceased, and Basil lay on his Bed week and feeble, like one whose thread of life is worn to the last degree of fragility. It seemed indeed to his anxious wife, and to all who watched in his sick chamber, that, for him, earthly life was fading rapidly away. Every setting sun as it went down on the wide expanse of heaving waters, and left its red gleam on the mountain-tops, seem to find him more feeble, more wasted, more like one upon whom the shadow of the tomb has already fallen.The medical attendants believed that the natural vigor of his constitution might have triumphed over the strength of the fever, but he had sustained many injuries; and though, almost miraculously, no bone was broken, he was covered with serious bruises and contusions. His ankle was frightfully sprained, both his arms severely lacerated, and his back strained to a degree that suggested the idea of danger to the spine. So that when the burning fever passed away, and he lay battling for life against utter prostration, and such weariness as he had never even faintly conceived, he had to contend with extreme and constant pain, that banished sleep from his restless pillow.One evening Lilian was alone. Bridget was down stairs with the children; for Miss Williams being suddenly and even seriously disposed, their mother had insisted on their return; and accordingly they came back, and were established in two distant rooms, under the charge of a young woman in the neighborhood who could be fully trusted.Lilian stood by the window, looking pensively over the nestling valley, and the glittering sea beyond. The sun was going down in his glory, and she thought not many times would it touch with its rich coloring the yellow sand on the shore, and the dark pines that fringed the coast-line, before Basil—her Basil, her own erring, but dearly-loved husband, would be gone from a world where so much beauty yet lingeredGone?—and whither? She did not dare to think. She knew that her husband's heart was unchanged; that all his life he had loved the world, and the things of the world, and that the poor failing heart, that beat so faintly now, had always throbbed only to the tones and voices of earth. They were going to part—the two brand aims of her life would be unfulfilled—that which she had covenanted with herself to perform—that to which she had pledged herself in the royal blades of Windsor, and again in her own dismantled house in town, might never be performed.The happiness of married life, for which she had so long and patiently striven; was not to be hers—the reconciliation between Basil and his offended father might not be; all was over; the hopes she had so cherished were quietly drifting away on life's resistless current; the last and the greatest of the,Wife's Trials was at hand! She bowed her head on her hands—those pretty white hands, once so smooth and snowy, but bearing now deep traces of the sempstress' toil, and the housewife's frequent labors; she laid her weary, aching head on her clasped hands, and poured forth such bitter tears, such anguished sighs, such an agony of prayer, that, if it were possible, this cup might pass from her!—and her whole frame shook beneath the fierce conflict, the intense torture, and the strong yearning that convulsed her soul—ere she could bow the head still lower, still more meekly, and faintly cry—"Nevertheless, not my will, but Thine be done!"She looked up again; the heavens were all crimson with the dying sunset, and the glowing waters made her think of "the sea of glass, mingled with lire." She gazed with tearful eyes on the glory that mantled earth, and sea, and sky, and something like calmness fell on her troubleworn spirit; for she remembered who had called out of choas that transcendant beauty! With awe and love she whispered His name who established the everlasting hills—who, from darkness and confusion, brought forth light, order and loveliness—who gave to the morning and evening their radiant line, to noon its sunshine, and to night its stars. And surely He would have mercy upon her, a poor lonely-stricken creature, and overrule even this great trial to her eternal welfare; and as a last golden beam shot out in the darkening sea, leaving a line of dazzling light all across the bay, she said gently to herself, "At evening-time, there shall be light!"She was still watching the bright streak, that a child might have taken for the pathway of angels between heaven and earth, when she heard of her name faintly called. Basil had awakened from his brief and troubled doze, and in an instant Lilian was at his side. "What is it, dearest? Have yon slept a little? Let me smooth that pillow—there! That is more comfortable! Now, you must have the chicken broth, it is quite ready for you!" She brought it from the next room, where it had been simmering till wanted, for the weather was too warm to allow of a fire in the invalid's chamber.He took a little, a very little, of the delicately prepared nourishment; and when Lilian had once more settled him, and sat down in her usual seat by his side, he said, in his faint low tones, so different from the clear manly voice that had been wont to make Bryndyffryn ring again, "Lilian! my Lily! you are too good to me." A shower of gentle, but loving kisses on the thin wasted cheek, was her only answer."Too good!" he murmured, earnestly. "Lilian, when I am well again, everything shall be changed. I will try to be as good a husband to you, as you have been a good true wife to me; undeserving though I was."She did not answer, but laid her hand by his; she did not dare to clasp it, discolored and lacerated as it was; she knew the slightest touch gave excessive pain, and he could not even bear the friction of the bed-clothes. There was silence for several minutes, only the low, deep murmur of the receding tide broke the stillness of the hour. Then Basil, with more energy than he had shown since the fever left him, said, with half-repressed agitation, "Lilian! why do you not speak? do you not trust me? Ah! I have had a bitter lesson!" Then in an altered tone, a low, distinct, hoarse whisper—"Or is it—oh! Lily! tell me all that you know—is it that I shall never be well again? Do they say I am going to die?'For a moment there was no answer. Basil felt his wife's convulsive grasp on the counterpane; he could almost hear the involuntary prayer that rose from her pale, trembling lips. Presently she said, "When people are so very ill as you are, dearest, there must be danger; it would be well to think so—well to give some thoughts to the world beyond the grave!""I see it!" he interrupted. "I understand now; I am a dying man: I have missed the aim of life, I have wasted youth, and early manhood; and, ere the full summer of my days, I am cut down like an unprofitable tree; I am a cumberer of the ground; but, oh, Lilian! the future? I seem to be floating out on a dark, dark, boundless sea, where light and joy and hope can never dawn. Where is my soul going?"With awful earnestness he pronounced the last words. Lilian was quite calm now; it seemed to her as though earthly sensations were annihilated—the husband, the lover of her youth was forgotten. She felt only that she was communing with an immortal soul, on the very verge of eternity. She felt that she must wrestle, like wandering Israel with the angel, for its salvation. She and Basil might have been alone in the world, for she felt at that moment that the whole cartel contained nothing beyond that fading, dying frame; that twilight chamber might leave been the universe, for there was nothing beyond it at that moment Worth a thought."Basil!" she said, at length, "'the dust shall return to the earth as it was—the spirit shall return to God who gave it.'" He groaned heavily. She went on, "'We have all sinned and come short of the glory of God; we have gone astray like lost sheep: we have done those things which we ought not to have done; we have left undone those things which we ought to have done; and there is no health in us.' But, there is forgiveness with him: for 'God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him, should not perish, but have everlasting life.' And Jesus Christ himself, when he walked the world of sin and sorrow, said—'I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.' Oh! Basil, dearest, the world cannot help you now; your wife cannot help you now; but there is ONE who can and will help you. One who loves to hear the penitent cry of the contrite sinner; One who is waiting to bless you, and number you, whether it be for this life or the next, among his children. Come to him, Basil; come at once; stop for nothing; the worse you are, the more you need him. There is time now; speak to him at once; tell him all your sin, all your fear, and beseech him for his treat mercy's sake, to cleanse you from your guilt; to clothe you with his robe of righteousness, and finally to conduct you safely through the valley of the shadow of death, to the land where sin can never enter—to the land," she added, her voice slightly trembling, " where our little child, our first baby has dwelt so long!"He did not speak, and Lilian prayed in silence, and the unuttered words went up to her Father's throne, while the shades of night fell over the sea and land. "Oh, Father!" she pleaded, "whatever Thou doest, whatever sorrow and suffering Thou givest me, save this immortal soul! Oh, Saviour, the sinner's Friend, our Sacrifice and our Ransom! wash it in thy own precious blood. Thou canst make it pure and holy. Thou canst redeem it from death. Thou canst present it blameless and spotless before thy Father's throne. Now let thy Spirit strive with thy erring child, and incline his heart to come unto thee, and believe in thy name; guide him with thy counsel, and afterwards receive him into glory!"She was roused from that agony of supplication by Basil saying, "Lilian! what was that hymn you were singing to Bridget and the children the other Sunday afternoon, when I told you I hated Methodist tunes?"She repeated the first few verses:—"There is a fountain filled with blood,Drawn from Emanuel's veins;And sinners plunged beneath that flood,Lose all their guilty stains."The dying thief rejoiced to seeThat fountain in his day;And there may I, as vile as he,Wash all my sins away.""Can it be?" said Basil, as it were to himself—"can it be that I may wash all my sins away? I am as vile as the dying malefactor, and he went with the Saviour into Paradise!" And then all silently the cry of the perishing soul went up to Heaven—"Lord, I believe, help Thou my unbelief! Lord, save me; I perish!"Lilian lighted the lamp and read aloud the 3rd and 14th chapters of St. John's Gospel. She remembered well how the words of peace and forgiveness had fallen like healing balm on her wounded spirit, when, four years ago, she had wrestled, in the depths of her distress, with agony, and doubt, and despair. And now as then, the holy words of the Master, spoken on the eve of mortal separation from his disciples, gave strength to the tried spirit of the wife, and peace and hope to the awakened heart of the husband.Then Lilian arranged all things for the night. Bridget came and took her place, while she paid a hurried visit to the room where her children lay sleeping. Like folded flowers the twins slumbered in each other's arms; the rosy Maude had tossed off her coverings, and the round, polished limbs were flung in careless grace on the little cot, where she slept alone. Lilian gazed at her with eyes streaming with tears; her father's proud look was on her face; his handsome features were repeated line by line in her baby lineaments; the very attitude, so careless, so full of ease, reminded her of him. Oh! was little Maude never to remember her father whom she so strongly resembled? Must the baby, Basil's own little son, never know his father's voice—never know his father's face and smile?She left them all wrapped in their sweet untroubled slumber, and went back to the spot where now every hope, and fear, and solicitude were centred.A trying night lay before her. Basil's burdened heart would not let him rest, even when for the moment, bodily pain was lulled; and in ministering to his wants, in soothing his weariness, and in repeating verses of the Bible, and scraps of hymns, the hours of darkness passed. The sun rose again, tinging the waves with the hues of the summer's dawn; the birds began their cheering music, and the rising tide flashed its broad waves on the lonely shore, and then Basil fell asleep. Lilian watched him a little while, and then, wearied and exhausted, she too lay back in her easy-chair and slumbered sweetly.CHAPTER XXX.RECONCILIATION.TWO days more elapsed and Basil seemed still lingering on the confines of another world. There were no signs of real amendment; if one hour something life a renewal of strength took place, the next found him in a state of increased suffering and pitiable exhaustion. Dr. Williams came and went several times during those sad solemn days, and he, too, believed that Basil's span of mortal life was fast hastening to its close. He looked at Lilian, faded and worn with sorrow and fatigue; at her little children, all unconscious of the irreparable loss that awaited them; and again at the husband and father who knew that the time was come when those whom he lead held so lightly in past days of heedlessness and sin were to be his no longer; and the good clergyman's heart was sorely stirred. Hour after hour the summer sun lighted up the bright sea waves; the proud vessels, with their snowy sails, rode on the bosom of the ever restless waters, and the fisher's little bark went sailing merrily across the glittering bay. The birds sang all day long in the apple-trees under the sick man's window; the gulls, with their silvery wings, went flitting from rock to rock, flashing, as it were, against the deep blue sky; and ever and anon some mountain-bee came in laden with his store, and humming his monotonous song in the stillness of the invalid's room. All Nature seemed instinct with happy life! He only was fading away from things seen and temporal. No more!—seemed written on the bright shining sea, on the summer sky, on the waving trees, on the pale, still lovely face of his faithful wife, and on the awestricken countenances of the twins, when, at their father's desire, they came hand in hand into his room, stood by his bedside, half-curious, half-frightened, and altogether sorrowful and serious. No more!—sounded ever in the low thunder of the waves on the rocky shore, in the warbling of the happy birds, and, above all, in Lilian's gentle whispered words of love. A little while longer, and he might hear that music of waves and birds and sweet voices—no more! The past had melted away like the gorgeous sunset castles of cloud-land; and never more might he tread the pleasant paths of that free mountain-land; never more see Hopelands—beautiful Hopelands!—his own fair inheritance, and the heritage of his little son. Never more see his father's face, or his mother's look of love—for with all her sternness, she did love Basil, her own and only son!But, as more and more the past receded, hope brightened on the distant horizon. Basil could say now—" Thanks be unto God for his unspeakable gift!" Sin-defiled, sin-laden and sin-weary, he listened to the words of life, and came a contrite, trembling sinner to the foot of the cross. And there like Banyan's Pilgrim, his burden fell from him; and Lilian's worst tears were dispelled; her sharpest agony was past; she could bear to lose him now if it were the will of his Heavenly Father; she even thought of their little child, gone so early to the bosom of his Saviour, welcoming his parent to the glorious mansions of the redeemed. She saw herself bereft of the husband of her youth, with prayers and trembling hope training her children to serve and fear the Lord in the spring-tide of their days, and she felt not utterly dismayed. The Father of the fatherless, and the God of the widow would never leave her or forsake her; He would lead her all the way through the wilderness, and then, life's journey done, bring her into everlasting rest, and give back him who had been taken away in his early man-hood, and restore to her the babe who had been with the angels so long.Late in the afternoon, when the children were assembled in a large arbor in the garden, they were startled by the appearance of a strange gentleman and two ladies, who came up the rocky lane on foot; and instead of entering by the principal gate, made ingress by opening a side wicket, to which they were attracted by its presenting itself first on their way, and by the voices of the children close at hand. The little ones were alone; Clara sat on the floor, holding the baby in her lap; and Harriet was trying to keep the rampant little Maude from snatching at the roses which grew above her head, reaping of course a plentiful harvest of thorns and leaves, as well as torn flowers.The group subsided into silence as the strange gentleman stepped forward and stood on the threshold of the arbor. Maude hid her beautiful saucy face in her elder sister's tiny apron; and Clara ceased rocking herself, and looked with serious surprise on the intruders."Can these be Basil's children?" said the younger lady. "Surely, these are the twins, and that is little Maude!""Eess, me Maude!" said the little one, peeping out from the folds of the apron, and glancing between the clusters of raven black curls that shaded her rosy cheeks. But when the gentleman tried to take her in his arms she sturdily resisted, and Clara and Harriet simultaneously interposed, and said they were left to take care of Maude and the baby, and no one must touch them."Where is your mamma?" said the elder lady, gently, to Clara."Mamma is with papa," said the child, sadly; "she never comes to us now, till we are in bed at night. Poor papa is going away.""Going away, my child!—is he better, then?""No! Papa is going to see little brother in heaven. He told us to be good, and to love mamma always; he said we might go to him some day.""We are come to see your papa," said the gentleman. "I am your grandpapa, little maid, and this is your grandmamma, and that lady is your aunt Olivia.""Bridget said you wouldn't come," said Harriet, quite calmly.The children did not seem in the least surprised at this apparition of their relatives. As soberly as middle-aged women, the twins led the way into the house; and, leaving Clara to do the honors, Harriet went up to her mamma, who was sitting by Basil's bed-side, and whispered in her ear, "Grandpapa and grandmamma, and aunt Olivia, are come."Lilian gave a sigh of relief; her husband had just been telling her how intensely he longed to see his parents once more; how deeply he felt his errors towards them; how he yearned for the pardon of an earthly father and mother, ere he passed away and was no more seen.The quick ear of the invalid caught the little girl's whisper; though he only heard "Grandpapa," and "aunt Olivia," he comprehended that they were come—come to forgive him, to bless him, and look lovingly upon him before he died. "Thank God!" he feebly uttered. "My Lily, go down to them; little Harry will stay and be papa's nurse."Lilian and Olivia had never met since that miserable meeting in the Chapel Royal at Windsor.Olivia started when her sister entered the room.Could that pale, grave woman—so calm, so self-possessed, and yet bearing the aspect of sorrow immeasurable—be Lilian?—the gay, impetuous, beautiful Lilian? Mr. Hope had always rather inclined to his son's wife. Her conduct at the time of the breaking-up of their London household had increased his prepossessions in her favor; and, since her exile to Bryndyffryn, he had heard much of her patience and gentleness, much of her quiet, consistent piety from Dr. Williams. He would have come to see her, but pride withheld him, lest his rebellious son should deem such a step an advance on his side towards the reconciliation, which in his wrath he had sworn should never be effected, till Basil, penitent and humbled, implored pardon for the past, and pledged himself to act worthily for the future.He met Lilian now, as a long-estranged and absent lather should meet a beloved child. Olivia, whose heart years and the dawnings of gospel light had greatly softened, took her in her arms, and embraced her with sisterly affection. Neither did Mrs. Hope comport herself coldly and sternly as was her wont; for her heart was with her dying son, and she could not now look unlovingly on the wife who had dutifully clung to him through years of sorrow, and neglect, and poverty."Have you told him?" asked Mrs. Hope. "Does Basil know we are here?""Yes! he knows; he heard little Harriet whisper the news to me. "Will you see him now, while I prepare you some tea?"They were upstairs—the father and mother. Olivia deferred her appearance, lest too many in the sick-chamber—too many familiar and long unseen faces—should be too much for her brother.Besides she thought both parents and son would willingly have their first meeting alone. So Lilian thought, for she left them at the door of Basil's room, only begging Mrs. Hope to ring for her if her attendance were in any way required.They stayed there nearly an hour, and then they came down to the tea which Lilian had prepared for them. They had never been so much at ease together, and they both kissed her affectionately when, leaving Olivia to preside at the table, she hastened to resume her post in her husband's room. She found him none the worse for the excitement of the evening; on the contrary, his restlessness seemed calmed, and he was disposed to sleep. That night Mr. Hope insisted on keeping watch by his son, while Lilian shared the bed which Bridget had prepared for Olivia, and enjoyed a night of undisturbed repose.A week passed away. Basil was not worse; and they began to hope that his youth and his naturally sound constitution might yet prevail. Meanwhile, Olivia's prejudices were fast melting away, and very soon her admiration of her sister-in-law was as extreme as her former deprecations had been. In the well-ordered household, in the carefully-trained children, in the skilfully managed sick-room, and above all in Lilian's unassuming piety, and in the refined and intellectual tone of her mind and manners, she could not fail to recognize the effects of a training more perfect and more efficient than any she had herself received. Slowly she began to perceive that all the beautiful traits of character she now esteemed and reverenced so highly, had really existed in embryo long before; she felt that Lilian had, at her first entrance into the family, been most unfairly treated; and she owned that, though in some instances her sister-in-law's conduct had been reprehensible, there were others, herself included, who were greatly to blame for the evil influence they had exerted over a nature in itself fair and noble, but, till trained by a severe and painful discipline, too plastic and too much swayed by impulse.They talked over those old times together. Olivia told Lilian how she now perceived the wrong she had done her; how she and her sisters, in their haughtiness and pride, had cared little to foster the seeds of truth and beauty which might by them have been quickly developed; how they had aggravated her quick temper, and goaded her on to many a word and deed of passion, that by one look or tone of love might have been prevented; and, more than all, Olivia perceived that much of the alienation between her brother and his wife had been caused by this malignant influence; and how, cast off by themselves, she had been left to form her own circle, and to find her own pleasures, and to subject herself to Eleanor's injurious sway."It was all wrong together," said Olivia, one day—"shamefully, cruelly wrong! but we were in the dark. "We had no real religion among us; and education, birth, and refinement failed to keep us right-hearted.""And poetry and my love for my husband failed to keep me from error and misery," returned Lilian. "Olivia, we can do all things, through the love of Christ constraining us, and without it I believe we cannot do anything, but what in some way or other leads sooner or later to evil.""I see that now; but, Lilian, I had only just begun to receive truth when I came here. It is the history of your trials, of your severe discipline, the revelations of poor penitent Basil on points which your humility would keep concealed, and the whole aspect of your household and your every-day life that confirmed me in the truth, and showed me clearly and fully what Divine grace, and grace alone can affect."A few more days and Basil was greatly better. The arrival of his parents, his reconciliation with them, and their loving care seemed to bring him back from the shadowy confines of the grave. And he said, "I shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the Lord. The Lord hath chastened me sore; but he hath not given me over unto death. Open to me the gates of righteousness, I will go into them, and I will praise the Lord."As soon as Basil's strength permitted, the whole family were to return to Hopelands for the winter. It was doubtful whether Bryndyffryn would ever again be their permanent home.CHAPTER XXXI.THE OLD HAUNTS.WHAT are you doing there, Lily; I have been seeking you for the last half hour?"I am watching the sun set, and predicting a most beautiful day for our wedding to-morrow. Come up the mound, Basil, and look at that fiery globe sinking down behind the distant Cheddars. I do not like the idea of a bloomy wedding-day. I hold as superstitiously as ever to the old distich— Happy is the bride that the sun shines on!'"If I remember aright, my Lilly, our wedding-day was all showers and sunshine. One moment clouds, that seemed to threaten waterspouts, darkened the hills, and the next the whole scene was lost in a flood of dazzling light. Well! so far, our married life has been strictly in keeping with the aspect of that day; only my poor patient, trusting Lily, I am afraid there has been an undue preponderance of storm and darkness!""But, Basil, remember how the day brightened after we left Kirby-Brough! Towards noon, the rainclouds rolled away, and the warm sun shone out in the blue sky; the afternoon was beautiful, and the evening was so calm, and soft, and cloudless! We did not know night was come till we saw the stars gathering over those dusky purple moors.""And so, Lilian, I trust it will be with us. May the evening of our life be as calm and fair as that sweet spring evening, more than seven years ago. Seven years! Why, Lily, we have served an apprenticeship to each other.""I believe, Basil, all people, some time or other, serve an apprenticeship; but then some are idle and wilful and will not learn their business, and so the years pass on, and leave them scarcely wiser than at the outset.""I remember standing here with you, Lilian, just seven years ago, on just such an evening. Theresa had left us to go to the week-day service, and Olivia and Mary were botanizing in the wilderness yonder!""But with such very different feelings, Basil. "We had neither of us learnt one of life's great lessons then. Discipline was only just touching me with its iron hand. I knew so little of the wife's duties, and nothing of the wife's trials. And more than all, I knew nothing of the way to heaven. I had not learned to know that life is a journey beset with cares and dangers, and the world beyond a rest; or, if I did know it in a poetical sort of way, I did not feel it. Like the Athenians, I worshipped an unknown God. I did not know my Saviour; I did not recognize his love and his mercy. The wonderful scheme of Redemption was to me like the sounds of a beautiful foreign language. Thank God who has given us light, and life, and joy, in his dear Son!""Thank God," said Basil, reverentially.Lilian and Basil were no longer at Bryndyffryn. As they stood on the grassy mound, with the green leaves waving around and above them, the sunset-light fell not on rock, or sea, or mountain. The rich woods and glades of Hopelands lay stretched before them in the solemn radiance of eventide. The tall trees, in whose umbrageous arms Basil had watched the rooks building their nests, when his nursemaid ran behind him, in the shady walks of the park, were making their rustling music around him now; and the merry voices of his own little daughters—Miss Maude's considerably above the others—made the old pleasant haunts of the woods echo again. There was the old mansion, the heavy stone gables, the terrace where Henrietta Maria had walked with the few faithful friends who yet dared to compose her fugitive court; the stately avenue, whose aged trees had, in their youth, seen men-at-arms ride forth with the red rose on their helmets, to strike yet another and another blow for the fallen fortunes of "the meek usurper!"There was the wide, velvety lawn, the grey, mossy dial in its midst; there was the matchless rose-garden, planned by an ancestress in the reign of Queen Anne; and the beautiful aviary, the pet scheme of Basil's own mother; there was the lake, where he had narrowly escaped drowning, when launching, long, long ago, an armada of fairy ships of his own construction; and right across the park, almost shrouded in ivy, and embosomed amid the large oak-trees, stood the little, deserted chapel, the mausoleum of his race, and the quiet resting-place of his first-born son.He had left Hopelands, after the necessary explanations with his father, a reckless, angry man, setting at defiance parental rule and maternal regrets, forced reluctantly into exile, regardless of the claims of a loving, self-contemning wife, and determined upon seeking by fair or evil means, his own pleasure, and if possible, his own revenge.Alas, those wasted years at Bryndyffryn, spent in the companionship of those whom he called friends—whom he now knew to be his direst foes—in the pursuit of all kinds of injurious and sinful excitement, in the pernicious indulgences of the table, in days of idleness, weariness, and puerile amusements, and in nights of riotous revelling and intemperate folly; and the while, Lilian, in her sea-side home, struggling alone with sickness and weariness, and a sorely chastened heart—striving, with painful economy, to meet the expenses of her little household, and to bring up her children to love and reverence their father, and yet to serve the Lord in the days of their youth!And now—now God, in his infinite mercy, had so overruled all the trials and sorrows of the way, that the callous heart was softened, the heavy chains of sinful habit, were broken, and the world-hardened man of pleasure was standing once more on his own ancestral domains, humble and contrite in heart; restored to the wife who loved him so well; reconciled to his earthly parents, and brought into the great family of those who serve their Heavenly Father before they go to reign with Him in the mansions of the redeemed.Surely, there is no transformation so wonderful as that which takes place when one who has dwelt long and securely in the darkness of this world is awakened to a sense of sin, is brought to see the Source of all pardon and all peace, and learns to know the sweetness and the blessedness of reconciliation with God, through Jesus Christ, his Son!—no alchemy so mysterious as that which transmutes the careless worldling into the bumble, happy believer!The wedding of which Lilian has spoken was to take place next day. Olivia was to be married to one well calculated to make her a happy wife; and little had Lilian once imagined that the time would ever come when a separation from her clever, and once haughty, sister-in-law would be fraught with so much sincere regret. But, for very selfishness, Lilian could have earnestly hoped that Olivia was fated to be the old-maid aunt of the family.Presently Basil and his wife were joined by Mr. and Mrs. Hope and Olivia herself. They were rather grave; for the last of the daughters of the house was on the eve of leaving it for another and a dearer home Olivia had some final directions to give respecting her poor people and her flower-garden; and as she concluded, she said, "But I need not trouble myself, Lilian, I leave them all to you: henceforward you will be the only daughter at home. Mary's domestic cares, poor Tessie's schools and chanting, and my old women and flowers will all devolve upon you!""Yes," said Mrs. Hope earnestly, "It is an unspeakable comfort to think Lilian is Mrs. and not a Miss Hope. She will always be with us; always at home at Hopelands, always at hand to take my place, and to enact the lady of the house; for I am growing too old for my dignities, and it was the dream of days long past, that in my old age I should abdicate, and Basil's wife should reign in my stead."No, no! mamma," said Lilian, smiling through her tears," I will be Princess Royal, or Regent, or anything you please, but you must be Queen of dear old Hopelands as long as you live.""Nominal sovereign, if you like, my dear," replied Mrs. Hope, "but the administrative power must lie in your hands. I trust and believe that Hopelands will thrive better under your government than under mine."Lilian shook her head, and the two strolled away under the shadow of the wide-spreading oak-trees. When they were quite alone, Mrs. Hope said anxiously, "Lilian, my dear, I am afraid you and Basil have not quite made up your minds about living here entirely, as we so much wish; I am afraid you cannot forget all the unkindness you encountered during your first residence at Hopelands. Though you forgive me, I can never forgive myself for so wilfully misunderstanding you; and, above all, I shall never cease to reproach myself with my unkind conduct towards you when we met at Windsor.""Don't speak of it!" cried Lilian, vehemently, "I deserved all that I then endured. Perhaps, when I first came among you, I merited a little more tenderness and consideration; but, even then, the faults on my side were manifold. I was so exacting toward Basil, so childishly angry with all around me, so ridiculously jealous for the honor of the dear old home in Yorkshire; and then afterwards, when we lived in town, my conduct was more blameable than you can imagine. My worldiness, extravagance, and temper were enough to alienate any husband; and when we came to open war, I never thought of yielding; my only anxiety was to preserve intact what I foolishly called my rights and my dignity. The punishment came in due time; and now I can thank God from all my heart for all my trials—for the whole of my painful but most necessary discipline.""And you will stay with us," interposed Mrs. Hope, again. "I will never interfere with the children, and grandpapa will only spoil that saucy Maude a little! And as soon as ever you come back from your little expedition to "Windsor, you must invite Elizabeth and Susan to pay you a long visit.""And Basil and I think of visiting Kirby-Brough next spring, and staying a long while with Elizabeth after Susan's marriage. Dear little Susie! to think she is going to be the squire's lady! But Eleanor, poor thing! I wonder when we shall hear from her. How cruelly that man deceived her. What a wretched miserable marriage she made. Poor Eleanor; she loved rank and position so much, and she thought she achieved all she wished when she gave herself to that unscrupulous adventurer. And then to think he had to fly the country, and go gold-digging in California!""My dear, it is a sad affair; but you ought to be thankful he married her at all. He was just the man to deceive a rash imprudent girl by a false ceremony; and the clandestine way in which everything was carried on, gave every opportunity for treachery. Though her conduct was highly censurable and unbecoming, no shame, as the world holds it, attaches itself to her name. That is a comfort!""An unspeakable comfort!" said Lilian, emphatically: "and some day she may come back again to be happy amongst us."Mrs. Hope did not reply: she believed that Eleanor's restless, ambitious nature could never be really happy.A few days after this conversation, Basil and his wife paid their projected visit to Windsor. Mr. Brookes had become very infirm, and as he told Lilian, he was ready and waiting for the Master's summons. He was delighted to see her, and her husband and children, and Bridget also, who was now installed housekeeper at Hopelands, and who accompanied her master and mistress to the lodge. Once more Lilian, trod the glades of Windsor Forest; once again she stood in the pleasant room where Alice had resigned this mortal life; and again, when the evening lamp was lit, she sat down with her venerable host, and read aloud that precious chapter of St. John's Gospel, that had first breathed peace and joy into her weary sin-laden soul. It was Basil's favorite chapter now, and Bridget loved it too. As for Mr. Brookes, it had been his unfailing treasure for many, many long years ; and it was sweeter and richer than ever now that he stood at the entrance of the dark valley, waiting day by day to be called to descend through its cold shadows to the banks of Jordan. He was come to the borderlands; and, "Let not your heart be troubled," and "In my Father's house are many mansions," was music to his ears that were dulling now to all earthly sounds. So the little group assembled for their evening worship were filled with peace and joy unspeakable.Once more Lilian went across the park to the grey, old church, beneath whose peaceful shadow Alice Rayner lay at rest. Flowers were blooming now on her quiet grave ; wild thyme was clustering round the humble head-stone, and the sweet singing of birds, and the rippling of waters, made melody all through the calm, sweet summer day. And there Lilian stood with her husband, and the past came back again so vividly, that the intervening years at Bryndyffryn seemed like a dream of the night."She is at rest, dearest; your sweet patient Alice is in glory now!" said Basil, as he saw Lilian's tears falling fast on the lowly grave. " Do not weep for her, we shall go to her in God's good time.""They were not tears of sorrow," said Lilian, smiling; "I was thinking how good God has been to us, to you, to me, to all the human family, in giving us his Beloved Son, through whom alone we could receive pardon and peace. I was thinking of the past; of the time when last I stood by this grave, and my heart was so heavy, and the time to come looked so dark and terrible; when I feared that you, my husband, were lost to me forever. And now—now all is changed; God has given me the desire of my heart. He has given back your love, restored us to Hopelands; bestowed upon us our darling children, and many other inestimable blessings. Oh, Basil! from this time forth shall we not show forth His praise, by seeking in all things to glorify Him, and by living to His honor and glory? Yes, every trial has turned out a mercy; every sorrow a joy, and every tear is transmuted into a real gem."And Basil answered, "So be it. You will be my teacher, my Lily; and, God granting us grace, we will strive to glorify Him, by devoting ourselves and all that we have to His service; and may we tread the path of life humbly and peacefully, walking hand in hand, cheering and comforting one another, till, finally, we come to that land where there is no more parting nor sorrow, and where His servants shall serve Him throughout eternity."THE END.