CHAPTER L

“Who art thou, fair one, who usurp’st the place Of Blanch, the lady of the matchless grace? ””—LAMB,
fined and home-like features of the scene. It was a spot, 1ote, sequestered, shut out from the business and pleasures of ~
You would scarcely have guessed, from her appear- , that she was more than seven or eight and twenty, though 1e exceeded by four or five years that critical boundary in > life of beauty. Her form was slight and delicate in its
6 0 RICE OR THE MYSTERIES, aes
proportions, nor was her countenance the less lovely because, — from its gentleness and repose (not unmixed with a certain sad- ness) the coarse and the gay might have thought it wanting in~ expression. For there is a stillness in the aspect of those who — have felt deeply, which deceives the common eye—as rivers are — often alike tranquil and profound, in proportion as they are remote from the springs which agitated and swelled the commencement of their course, and by which their waters | are stil], though invisibly, supplied.
The elder lady, the guest of her companion, was past seventy; _ her grey hair was drawn back from the forehead, and gathered ~ under a stiff cap of quaker-like simplicity ; while her dress, rich but plain, and of no very modern fashion, served to increase the — venerable appearance of one who seemed not ashamed of years.
“My dear Mrs. Leslie,” said the lady of the house, after a thoughtful pause in the conversation that had been carried on for the last hour, “it is very true; perhaps I was to blame in coming to this piace; I ought not to have been so selfish.”
“No, my dear friend,” returned Mrs. Leslie, gently; “selfish is a word that can never be applied to you; you acted as became you—agreeably to your own instinctive sense of what is best when at your age,—independent in fortune and rank, and still so lovely ;—you resigned all that would have attracted others, and devoted yourself, in retirement, to a life of quiet and unknown benevolence. You are in your sphere in this village— humble though it be—consoling, relieving, healing the wretched, the destitute, the infirm; and teaching your Evelyn insensibly to imitate your modest and Christian virtues.” The good old lady spoke warmly, and with tears in her eyes; her companion placed her hand in Mrs. Leslie’s.
“You cannot make me vain,” said she, with a sweet and melancholy smile. “I remember what I was when you first gave shelter to the poor, desolate wanderer and her tatherless child; and I, who was then so poor and destitute, what should I be, if I was deaf to the poverty and sorrows of others—others, too, who are better than I am. But now Evelyn, as you say, is growing up; the time approaches when she must decide on accepting or rejecting Lord Vargrave ;—and yet in this village
Fshe ‘compare him with others New can she forma What you say is very true; and yet I did not think
rl, to act so as may be best for her own happiness.”
Of that I am sure,” returned Mrs. Leslie; “and yet I know how to advise. On one hand, so much is due to the wishes « your late husband, in every point of view, that if Lord 1 Targrave be worthy of Evelyn’s esteem and affection, it would be most desirable that she should prefer him to all others. But if he be what I hear he is considered in the world,—an artful, scheming, almost heartless man, of ambitious and hard pursuits, -—I tremble to think how completely the happiness of Evelyn’s _whole life may be thrown away. She certainly is not in love with him, and yet I fear she is one whose nature is but too "susceptible of affection. She ought now to see others,—to know her own mind, and not to be hurried, blindfold and inex- : -perienced, into a step that decides existence. This is a duty we owe to her—nay, even to the late Lord Vargrave, anxious as he was for the marriage. His aim was surely her happiness, and “he would not have insisted upon means that time and circum- "stances might show to be contrary to the end he had in view.”
~ “You are right,” replied Lady Vargrave; “when my poor usband lay on his bed of death, just before he summoned his phew to receive his last blessing, he said to me, ‘ Providence can counteract all our schemes. If ever it should be for Evelyn’s real happiness that my wish for her marriage with Lumley Ferrers should not be fulfilled, to you I must leave the ‘right to decide on what I cannot foresee. All I ask is that no obstacle shall be thrown in the way of my wish; and that the child shall be trained up to consider Lumley as her future usband.’ Among his papers was a letter addressed to me to he same effect ; and, indeed, in other respects that letter left more to my judgment than I had any right to expect. Oh, I m often unhappy to think that he did not marry one who would ave deserved his affection! and—but regret is useless now.”
“TI wish you could really feel so,” said Mrs. Leslie ; “ for regret of another kind still seems to haunt you; and I do not think _ you have yet forgotten your early sorrows,”
t sufficiently. What shall I do? I am only anxious, dear
ALICE ; OR re AVS
“Ah, how can I ?” said Lady Vargrave with a quivering ip.
At that instant, a light shadow darkened the. sunny lawn in ~
front of the casements, and a sweet, gay, young voice was heard —
singing at a little distance : a moment more, and a beautiful girl, ; in the first bloom of youth, bounded lightly along the grass, and 3
balted opposite the friends.
It was a remarkable contrast—the repose and quiet of the two persons we have described—the age and grey hairs of one—the
resigned and melancholy gentleness written on the features of —
the other—with the springing step, and laughing eyes, and
radiant bloom of the new comer! As she stood with the setting — sun glowing full upon her rich fair hair, her happy countenance —
and elastic form—it was a vision almost too bright for this weary —
earth—a thing of light and bliss—that the joyous Greek might
have placed among the forms of Heaven, and worshipped as an Aurora or a Hebe.
,
“Oh! how can you stay indoors this beautiful ccna | Come, dearest Mrs Leslie; come, mother, dear mother, you
know you promised you would—you said I was to call you—_ see, it will rain no more, and the shower has left the myrtles | and the violet-bank so fresh.”
“My dear Evelyn,” said Mrs. Leslie, with a smile, “I am not
so young as you.”
“No; but you are just as gay when you are in good spirits— and who can be out of spirits in such weather? Let me call for your chair; let me wheel you—I am sure I can—Down, Sultan; so you have found me out, have you, sir? Be quiet, sir—down!”
This last exhortation was addressed to a splendid dog of the :
Newfoundland breed;who now contrived wholly to occupy” Evelyn’s attention.
The two friends looked at this beautiful girl, as with all the
grace of youth she shared while she rebuked the exuberant
hilarity of her huge playmate; and the elder of the two seemed
the most to sympathise with her mirth. Both gazed with fond
affection upon an object dear to both. But some memory-or
association touched Lad 3: Vargrave, and she sighed as she. gazed,