Thus 'twas with thee-'twas little known that hopes The loss of early friends is keen, it marred thy are passing shades; Anticipation often culls the flower that soonest fades ; When doating on futurity, imaginations fair, Thou little thought'st thou wert a prey, thy foe was in his lair! When future bliss enwrapt thy soul, how little didst thou dream Thy joy a fleeting shadow, and thy bliss a passing dream! How distant from thy heart the thought that so serene a form beauteous bloom, cursed be the one whose plots against thee were designed ! Oh! could I bring again thy bloom of youth; but ah! in vain Should e'er be roughened by the wind, or maddened To wish-the sad remembrance creates a keener pain; For blighted hopes of future bliss are stamped upon thy brow, with a storm! As children at the mountain's base will often gaze on high, Whilst spectres of false joys deride and mock thy bitter woe! And fondly deem its summit is enveloped in the sky, And climb its steep, in hopes to find, upon its hidden height, Their fancied heaven, when on its top still distant from the sight; Thus didst thou innocently gaze, and climb life's giddy steep; Thy bliss was all delusion, it has left thee now to Speak to the surging waves that roll, and bid the tempest cease, And hold the hurricane that sweeps, and charge thy storm to peace! But no, alas! 'tis not for me -Time's curtain soon will fall, And death will end this chequered scene, and spread thy funeral pall. Sudbury, Nov. 13, 1844. were CHAP. XXXVII. degree, chain thought. She had been so happy in that employment, that, by a strange pertinacity, her mind clung to it as if, in giving it up, she loosed another link from the past, and sank yet deeper into the dark abyss of the present. "Let me, only let me still feel myself of use to you," was her reiterated cry: "I cannot live without being of service to any one, as if I were alone upon the earth. Do not, in mercy do not give me time to think!" The Countess looked at her with astonishment. "You are not speaking like yourself, Florence," she said: "I am sure you are enduring more than you will permit me to know; for such semblance of impatience under trial is not at all natural to you. Granted that I accede to your request, what am I to do next year? I shall only miss your usefulness the more." That night Florence sate alone in her own room, hours, long hours after all other eyes closed in peaceful slumber; her hair loosed, and pushed from her throbbing brow, as if its weight were insupportable. One thought shone out, clear, distinct, and at such a moment almost maddening in its intensity, from the dead weight of misery which seemed to have fallen on her. She knew she loved, and one whose own words had thrown an insuperable barrier between them. Why had those words come now, as if written in fire on her brain? What, what, could they be to her? He did not love her-it was not his happiness she wrecked; and her bruised heart struggled for quietness, for strength in that one reviving thought. Alas! she overtasked herself. She could not, indeed, "Then seek for some one to supply my place, recall a word, or tone, or murmur, which could and let me feel that I am still of real use to you in reveal that he felt more than simple kindness imparting to her your plans and wishes," replied towards her; and yet, in all the incongruity of Florence; and it was strange how clearly, in the mental torture, she lingered on the idea that she midst of this fiery ordeal, her mind retained its was beloved, and her doom was to wreck his energies, as if more effectually to prevent her happiness even as her own. And midst secret being revealed. Partly to soothe her, and these thoughts never once did the recollec- partly to enable her at any time to give up her tion of her unexpected inheritance arise, save present determination, Lady St. Maur acceded instantly to be repelled with a loathing shudder, to her wishes. She further requested the Earl as if, coming at such a moment, it was asso- to act for her, in seeing that all Mrs. Rivers's ciated only with misery; while, by an indefinable behests were fulfilled. She had an interview contradiction, those days of privation and suf- with Mr. Carlton; and during the whole dry, fering encountered before Lady St. Maur's re-business-like details upon which she was comturn, were suddenly transformed to actual joy. Yet all was inward; her whole being rose up against the betrayal of her woe, even in those moments when the burden of that fatal secret seemed too heavy to be borne. So days passed on. Florence had earnestly intreated the Countess to permit her continuing her former occupations in the family, at least till the year of mourning was at an end; not, indeed, as a salaried governess, but simply because she preferred instructing Constance in her retirement to absolute idleness. In vain the Earl and Countess combated this resolution. Florence shrunk from the idea of rest and quietness as from appalling spectres, knowing well that nothing but continued occupation could, in any pelled to enter, neither intellect nor composure failed. The lawyer was pleased with her acuteness and ready comprehension of all his lengthy particulars. One very important question he urged upon her-would she, or would she not continue Mrs. Major Hardwicke's annuity? It was entirely at her option: Mrs. Rivers having heard rumours of injuries which Miss Leslie had received from that quarter, and wishing her to act with perfect freedom, had expressed no desire herself on the subject. 66 You will then have the kindness to treble that annuity," was her instant and unhesitating reply. "And should you ever discover that Mrs. Hardwicke requires more, you will oblige me by instantly making application to me. Above all, let this annuity be made a settle- | mind bore up, but the frame dwindled, notwith ment on her and on her heirs. I do not wish her to feel herself under any obligation to me personally, or give any one the power of withdrawing it." Mr. Carlton understood her perfectly, and promised compliance. Woodlands was still inhabited; the term, however, of her present tenant would expire within the year of mourning for her mother, and she rather rejoiced that it would not be vacant for the next few months, as giving her time to think of her future plans. The steward she also saw; and prevailing on him to accept the gift of a rich farm on the Woodland estate, intreated him to be to her all he had been to his former mistress. The old man was rejoiced at seeing her again, and from him she heard many particulars concerning Mrs. Rivers. He told her that she had gradually become more and more infirm, but had rejected every persuasion of himself and her housekeeper (the only two persons she permitted to be about her) to recall herself to her former acquaintances, till, about a twelvemonth previously, she had consented to inquiries being made for Mrs. Leslie's family, but secretly, as she wished nothing to be said of herself until her mind was quite made up as to her future proceedings. After many disappointments, Watson learned all particulars, which, when imparted to his mistress, distressed her exceedingly. She reproached herself painfully for her selfish shrinking from the world, and the useless hoarding of wealth, which, judiciously applied, might have shielded Mrs. Leslie and her family from many sorrows. She never rested, after Watson's return, until her will was made in Mrs. Leslie's favour, speaking of her with more real affection than she had ever been heard to speak of any one, but still persisting in refusing to write and say how ill she was, and how much she really wished for Florence. "No, no," she repeated; "she has found a real friend, and I will not take her from her. She suffered enough from coming to me before: I will not risk her happiness again." Atone for her total neglect of her relatives she said she could not, for she could not bring the dead to life; but she would leave all she possessed to Florence, and her warmest blessing with it. Watson's every word revealed that Mrs. Rivers's heart had dictated the will, and Florence could have no remaining scruple. The Earl and Watson consented to further the young heiress's inclinations on all points, and Lady St. Maur jestingly assured her that, with two such agents, she ought not to permit a single care to sully her unexpected good fortune, prophesying that, little as Florence seemed to rejoice in it now, there would come a day when she would discover that nearly nine thousand a-year was something worth. Minie's affectionate and artless letters of congratulations would, at any other time, have been sources of unalloyed pleasure; but now, though she spoke and acted as usual, she was, in reality, conscious of but one all-absorbing woe. The 66 standing all Lady St. Maur's affectionate care: she became paler, thinner, more drooping every week; still the Countess imagined nothing beyond what she saw. If, indeed, she sometimes thought Florence was not quite so fancy free" as when she first came to her, she also thought and hoped, too, that even there joy was dawning for her. But here Florence puzzled her; her manner had become cold, reserved, if it might be, even proud to young Howard; while his became, each time they met, more respectfully eager, and his attention more decidedly marked. Lady St. Maur would have seriously remonstrated with Florence, but her husband entreated her not. "I have a particular objection both to making and marring matches, my dear Ida," he said; " and I always find the very best way is to let lovers alone; they always come round at last." "But though I want them to be lovers, I begin to fear I have built my hopes on air, instead of solid earth," she replied. "I set my heart on this match long ago, and was wicked enough to wish Lord Glenvylle out of the way; for I know Frank himself would never object to marrying a portionless bride. I am certain it was only the idea of his father's refusing his consent which deterred him from coming forward before; and now that Florence is independent as himself, and there is nothing against it, she becomes cold, distant, and all unlike herself." "But perhaps she really does not like him; and if so, she acts very properly." only a girl like that can love.” I am very certain that she does love him, as 66 her husband, smiling. ception of all relating to her own sex, my dear Perhaps she does not like his only coming forward now. She cannot know that he only kept aloof, fearing to expose her to the capricious refusal of his father. It is not at all unlikely, for she has some pride." "Pride! she has, indeed; and if this should be the case, it would be a real kindness to give Frank a hint, and let him tell the truth. I am half-inclined: I do so dislike misunderstandings." "Take care, my fair diplomatist," was the Earl's laughing reply; "do not spoil all: better let them go their own way." Whether the Countess followed his advice, or her own inclinations on this important subject, we know not; but certain it is, that not long afterwards, Florence did receive a letter froni young Howard, the contents of which were very much as if Lady St. Maur had really given him an explanatory hint. CHAP. XXXVIII. Frank wrote as he always spoke-to the point, and with feeling. Still, though Florence felt it not, passionate love was wanting. An offer of his hand it certainly was; and a warm allusion to those gentle domestic virtues which, he said, had so riveted his regard, that he felt her acceptance of his love would make him far happier than he had ever yet been. Still, with all this, it was much more an eloquent vindication of what might have appeared interested in his conduct, only coming forward then, than the letter of a lover. He spoke of his father's prejudices; that knowing his consent to their union would never be obtained while she had been in what Lord Glenvylle termed a dependent position, he having vowed that he would never permit his son's marriage with any but an heiress, he had feared to wreck his own peace and hers; if, indeed, he might hope that she was not wholly indifferent to his suit. He conjured her not to believe him the money-loving, fortune-hunting worldling which he certainly appeared, to put his sincerity to any proof she pleased, but not to judge him thus; concluding by entreating her to show by her manner that evening, whether he had pleaded indeed successfully or in vain. Meet him that evening! and it depended on herself, herself alone to seal her happiness or misery! The cheek grew paler, more ghastly still; the lip more sternly rigid, and the storm within seemed to crush her as she sat. 'Love me why, why does he love me?" were her mental words. "Is it not enough to bear my own misery, but I must have his also to endure? But why must this be? Why may I not be his? Who is to know the truth that he has called down upon himself the very evil he forswore? Why should I doom myself to misery? He needs never know it." And for one brief minute her features were lit up with the sudden irradiation of joy, yet it was but mocking brilliance. Pressing both hands on her throbbing temples, she called aloud for help and strength. "No, no, I cannot wed him falsely. If I speak, it shall be the truth; and then, will he woo me then? No, no, he cannot, will not; it would but be increase of misery for him and for myself. He can better conquer love, if he believe that he loves alone. Pride will rise up to quell it; he will in time be happy, may forget me. Yes, yes, I will be silent, cost what it may. I care not for myself. Let him be happy, let him forget me, ay, even love another, better, far better than link his fate with mine." dared not trust herself. If she did not appear, room. But her trial was not over. The following morning a message was brought her that Mr. Howard was in the library, and wished particularly to see her, but that he would not detain her long. A sickness so deadly crept over Florence, that the effort either to speak or rise seemed for the moment impossible; but after a few minutes the prayer of the evening rose in her heart, and seemed to give it strength. She descended the staircase, and entered the library; cheek, lip, and brow vied with the marble in their white ness, yet not a limb trembled, not a quiver in the voice with which she calmly bade him good morning, as she entered, betrayed what was passing within. Howard was in appearance the much more agitated of the two. He tried to say something indifferent, but it would not do, and he plunged at once into the subject which had brought him there. I thought," he said hurriedly, "that I could have waited calmly the answer which I requested, but I overrated my own powers. Lady St. Maur spoke of indisposition as confining you to your chamber last night, yet seemed to think inclination more than indisposition was the Florence herself knew not the inward fervour cause. That should have been enough, but I of her prayer. She was only conscious that her could not feel it so, and I came to hear my doom happiness was in her own hands, and she had from your own lips, to conjure you to tell me decided to cast it from her. She wished to write that you will at least acquit me of that mean and to him; to tell him how gratefully she felt his petty interestedness which may appear to mark uncalled for explanations, though she could not my conduct. Speak to me, Miss Leslie; tell me, accept his offer. But in vain she tried to write in mercy, that of this at least you believe my these simple words. Sheet after sheet she motives free. Presumptuous I may be, but inspoiled and burnt, and gave up the task interested! seeking worth only when set in gold!" despair; and then she thought, could she indeed He spoke passionately, hurrying on as if he meet him, and let her manner speak? She dreaded the answer. At length it came. "Believe me," she said earnestly, " that no thought of such unworthiness could enter my mind, as coupled with one true, kind, honourable as yourself. I grieve that my manner should have caused you to feel one moment's suffering from a thought so groundless. Perhaps it is better we have thus met, clearly to understand each other. Though wishing to spare myself the pain of apparent coldness to one I esteem so highly (her voice faltered), I refused last night to meet you, trusting that absence and silence would speak for me." "Then why, if on this point you so generously and justly acquit me, oh! why has your manner so changed towards me? Once I dared to hope that the regard I felt was not wholly unreturned, that you looked on me with a preference to some others around you. Miss Leslie-Florence, dearest Florence! what have I done to change that feeling, or was I indeed too presumptuous, believing that which never was?" "Pardon me, Mr. Howard, but perhaps had there been no change in your manner, mine would still have been the same. As a friend, whose every act and word towards me was dictated and offered by the most heartfelt kindness, could I feel other than regard, esteem, as much above that which I gave to others, as your high character was superior to theirs? Your manner changed, speaking, as it seemed, of other feelings than those which had at first actuated you. Should I have been right to encourage those feelings when I knew that I might give you nothing in return, except the sincere regard and high esteem which, I trust, under all circumstances, I may be permitted to retain ?" 66 And with this high esteem, Miss Leslie, have you, can you give me nothing more? Must I teach my heart to forego all its hopes of happiness, all those blissful domestic feelings of which, till I knew you, I was unconscious? May I not look to time to gain me that blessing which I crave; to turn those cold words 'regard, esteem,' to some kinder feeling? Oh, do not condemn me at once to disappointment! Give me at least hope!" influence of passionate love, as he fancied, how came it that disappointment, that unpleasant lowering of self-esteem generally attendant on rejection, did not so oppress him, as to banish all feeling save for himself? It seemed as if the very respect he felt for Florence restrained all inclination to urge his suit. Yet these were incomprehensible emotions to a man who felt that all his hopes were at an end; he tried to define them, but felt it was impossible. He lingered, gazing on her sadly and silently, for several minutes; then raising her hand to his lips, pressed it strongly between both his own, and said fervently "God bless you, Florence; you have spoken kindly, openly, like yourself. I will conquer, if I can, all that can throw a barrier between our continued intimacy. Let us be friends, as you say, and grant me this one proof of your regard. Should you ever need a faithful friend-a brother-let me be that one, trust me without scruple, for no personal disappointment, no individual feelings shall ever interfere to check my interest in your welfare. Once more, God bless you! He was gone ere she could reply, and Florence was alone. She made no effort to recall him, but her intense gaze remained fixed on the door through which he passed. She was not conscious of the wild, agonized torrent of thought rushing over heart and brain, save that it felt like waves of molten fire; and then there came a low gasping cry, and her burning forehead drooped on her pale hands, her whole frame shook as with convulsion. Time passed, but Florence knew it not; all outward emotion had given way to a stillness as of death; her very figure seemed contracted with the soul's agony. A voice at length aroused her; and though it was colder, severer far than its wont, it recalled her scattered senses, and as Lady St. Maur pronounced her name, she looked up. "Florence, what is the meaning of all this?" she said impatiently. "What can have made you act as you have done? You know of all things, I abhor mystery and caprice. You have told me, or rather your general actions have, that you consider me as your friend; prove that you do so now, and tell me the reason of this ex He spoke with emotion, and his was a voice, when in persuasion, difficult to resist; but now it was resisted, and by one whose sinking heart and fragile frame seemed scarcely able to sup-traordinary decision." port her many minutes longer. 66 "Mr. Howard," she said distinctly and slowly, you must not hope this. I should be guilty of deceit, should I bid you encourage feelings to which I may never give return. I am grateful, most deeply grateful for the high regard you must feel towards me, to select me from others so much more worthy. Let me retain a portion .of that regard, even while I beseech you to conquer every feeling towards me, which can only create distress. Let us be friends as we have been, Mr. Howard; indeed, indeed it is better for us both, to be-to feel no more." Frank Howard looked at her with wondering admiration; a strange feeling for a rejected man. Yet if truth must be spoken, he could not understand himself, If, indeed, he was under the Florence endeavoured to obey, but though her lips moved, no sound came from them. Lady St. Maur was touched in the midst of her unwonted impatience, and sitting down by her, she said more kindly "Now do be the same candid ingenuous Florence you have always been. You know all I mean, for there is only one subject on which you can feel guilty of a proper want of candour. Make up for it now, and tell me why you have chosen misery, when happiness was offered to you. Frank has just been to bid me farewell, intending to join Lord Edgemere's family in Scotland, instead of telling me that you and he were two of the happiest people in the world. I have wrung the truth from him, that you have refused to accept his love, on plea that you have |