her thread her way through the crowd a little while since, but I was not sure. "Well," said Lady Penelope," she has asked us all up to Shaws-Castle on Thursday, to a déjenner a la fourchette-I trust you confirm your sister's invitation, Mr. Mowbray ?" Certainly, Lady Penelope," replied Mowbray; "and I am truly glad Clara has had the grace to think of it-How we shall acquit ourselves is a different question, for neither she nor I are much accustomed to play host or hostess." ing through their minds;-and perhaps it awoke a corresponding note in his own. He took his hat, and with a cast of thought upon his countenance which it seldom wore, left the apartment. A moment afterwards his horse's feet were heard spurning the pavement, as he started off at a sharp pace. "There is something singular about these Mowbrays to-night," said Lady Penelope.-"Clara, poor dear angel, is always particular; but I should have thought Mowbray had too much worldly wisdom to be fanciful. What are you consulting your souvenir for with such attention, my dear Lady Binks?" "Only for the age of the moon," said her ladyship, reticule; and having done so, she proceeded to assist Lady Penelope in the arrangements for the evening. Oh! it will be delightful, I am sure," said Lady Penelope; "Clara has a grace in every thing she does; and you, Mr. Mowbray, can be a perfectly well-putting the little tortoise shell bound calendar into her bred gentleman-when you please." "That qualification is severe-Well-good manners be my speed-I will certainly please to do my best, when I see your ladyship at Shaws-Castle, which has received no company this many a day.Clara and I have lived a wild life of it, each in their own way." "Indeed, Mr. Mowbray," said Lady Binks, "if I might presume to speak-I think you do suffer your sister to ride about a little too much without an attendant. I know Miss Mowbray rides as woman never rode before, but still an accident may happen." An accident replied Mowbray-"Ah, Lady Binks! accidents happen as frequently when ladies have attendants as when they are without them." Lady Binks, who, in her maiden state, had cantered a good deal about these woods under Sir Bingo's escort, coloured, looked spiteful, and was silent. "Besides," said John Mowbray, more lightly, "where is the risk, after all? There are no wolves in our woods to eat up our pretty Red-Riding Hoods; and no lions either-except those of Lady Penelope's train." 13 "Who draw the car of Cybele," said Mr. Chatterly. Lady Penelope luckily did not understand the allusion, which was indeed better intended than imagined. 46 Apropos !" she said; "what have you done with the great lion of the day? I see Mr. Tyrrel no where -Is he finishing an additional bottle with Sir Bingo?" “Mr. Tyrrel, madam," said Mowbray, "has acted successively the lion rampant, and the lion passant: he has been quarrelsome, and he has run away-fled from the ire of your doughty knight, Lady Binks." "I am sure I hope not," said Lady Binks; " my Chevalier's unsuccessful campaigns have been unable to overcome his taste for quarrels-a victory would make a fighting-man of him for life." 46 That inconvenience might bring its own consolations," said Winterblossom, apart to Mowbray; quarrellers do not usually live long." No, no," replied Mowbray, "the lady's despair, which broke out just now, even in her own despite, is quite natural-absolutely legitimate. Sir Bingo will give her no chance that way." Mowbray then made his bow to Lady Penelope, and in answer to her request that he would join the ball or the card-table, observed, that he had no time to lose; that the heads of the old domestics at Shaws-Castle would be by this time absolutely turned, by the apprehensions of what Thursday was to bring forth; and that as Clara would certainly give no directions for the proper arrangements, it was necessary that he should take that trouble himself. "If you ride smartly," said Lady Penelope, "you may save even a temporary alarm, by overtaking Clara, dear creature, ere she gets home-She sometimes suffers her pony to go at will along the lane, as slow as Betty Foy's." CHAPTER IX. THE MEETING. We meet as shadows in the land of dreams, Anonymous. BEHIND one of the old oaks which we have described in the preceding chapter, shrouding himself from observation like a hunter watching for his game, or an Indian for his enemy, but with different, very different purpose, Tyrrel lay on his breast near the Buck-stane, his eye on the horse-road which winded down the valley, and his ear alertly awake to every sound which mingled with the passing breeze, or with the ripple of the brook. "To have met her in yonder congregated assembly of brutes and fools"-such was a part of his internal reflections,-"had been little less than an act of madness-madness almost equal in its degree to that cowardice which has hitherto prevented my approaching her when our eventful meeting might have taken place unobserved.-But now-now-my resolution is as fixed as the place is itself favourable. I will not wait till some chance again shall throw us together, with a hundred malignant eyes to watch, and wonder, and stare, and try in vain to account for the expression of feelings which I might find it impossible to suppress. Hark-hark!-I hear the tread of a horse-No-it was the changeful sound of the water rushing over the pebbles. Surely she cannot have taken the other road to Shaws-Castle!-No-the sounds become distinct-her figure is visible on the path, coming swiftly forward.-Have I the courage to show myself?-I have-the hour is come, and what must be shall be." Yet this resolution was scarcely formed ere it began to fluctuate, when he reflected upon the fittest manner of carrying it into execution. To show himself at a distance, might give the lady an opportunity of turning back and avoiding the interview which he had determined upon-to hide himself till the moment when her horse, in rapid motion, should pass his lurking-place, might be attended with danger to the rider and while he hesitated which course to pursue, there was some chance of his missing the opportunity of presenting himself to Miss Mowbray at all. He was himself sensible of this, formed a hasty and desperate resolution not to suffer the present moment to escape, and, just as the ascent induced the poney to slacken its pace, Tyrrel stood in the middle of the defile, about six yards distant from the young lady. She pulled up the reins, and stopped as if arrested by a thunderbolt.-"Clara !"-"Tyrrel!" These were the only words which were exchanged between them, until Tyrrel, moving his feet as slowly as if they had been of lead, began gradually to diminish the distance Ah, but then," said little Miss Digges, "Miss which lay betwixt them. It was then that, observing Mowbray sometimes gallops as if the lark was a snail his closer approach, Miss Mowbray called out with to her pony-and it quite frights one to see her." great eagerness,-"No nearer-no nearer !-So long The Doctor touched Mrs. Blower, who had ap-have I endured your presence, but if you approach me proached so as to be on the verge of the genteel cir- more closely, I shall be mad indeed!" cle, though she did not venture within it-they exchanged sagacious looks, and a most pitiful shake of the head. Mowbray's eye happened at that moment to glance on them; and doubtless, notwithstanding their hasting to compose their countenances to a dif- Clara, mean while, dropping her bridle, clasped her ferent expression, he comprehended what was pass-hands together, and held them up towards Heaven, "What do you fear?" said Tyrrel, in a hollow voice-"What can you fear?" and he continued to draw nearer, until they were within a pace of each other. muttering, in a voice scarcely audible, "Great God!— If this apparition be formed by my heated fancy, let it pass away; if it be real, enable me to bear its presence!-Tell me, I conjure you, are you Francis Tyrrel in blood and body, or is this but one of those wandering visions, that have crossed my path and glared on me, but without daring to abide my steadfast glance?" "I am Francis Tyrrel," answered he, "in blood and body, as much as she to whom I speak is Clara Mowbray." "Then God have mercy on us both!" said Clara, in a tone of deep feeling. ing and quarrelling among the loudest of the brawlers and quarrellers of yonder idle and dissipated debauchees?-You were used to have more temper-more sense. Another person-ay, another that you and I once knew he might have committed such a folly, and he would have acted perhaps in character.-But you who pretend to wisdom-for shame, for shame! -And indeed. when we talk of that, what wisdom was there in coming hither at all?-or what good purpose can your remaining here serve?-Surely you need not come, either to renew your own unhappiness or to augment mine?" "To augment yours-God forbid!" answered Tyr"Amen!" said Tyrrel.-"But what avails this ex-rel. "No-I came hither only because, after so many cess of agitation?-You saw me but now, Miss Mow-years of wandering, I longed to revisit the spot bray-Your voice still rings in my ears-You saw me where all my hopes lay buried." but now-you spoke to me-and that when I was among strangers-Why not preserve your co human when we are where no human eye can see-no ear can hear?" "Ay-buried is the word," she replied, "crushed think of it, Tyrrel; and there are times when, down and buried when they budded fairest. I often Heaven help me! I can think of little else.-Look at "Is it so?" said Clara; "and was it indeed your-me you remember what I was-see what grief and self whom I saw even now?-I thought so, and solitude have made me." something I said at the time-but my brain has been but ill settled since we last met-But I am well now -quite well-I have invited all the people yonder to come to Shaws-Castle-my brother desired me to do it-I hope I shall have the pleasure of seeing Mr. Tyrrel there though I think there is some old grudge between my brother and you." "Alas! Clara, you mistake. Your brother I have scarcely seen," replied Tyrrel much distressed, and apparently uncertain in what tone to address her, which might soothe, and not irritate her mental malady, of which he could now entertain no doubt. "True--true," she said, after a moment's reflection, my brother was then at college. It was my father, my poor father, whom you had some quarrel with.But you will come to Shaws-Castle on Thursday, at two o'clock ?-John will be glad to see you-he can be kind when he pleases-and then we will talk of old times-I must get on, to have things readyGood evening." She would have passed him, but he took gently hold of the rein of her bridle.-"I will walk with you, Clara," he said; "the road is rough and dangerousyou ought not to ride fast.-I will walk along with you, and we will talk of former times now, more conveniently than in company.' True-true-very true, Mr. Tyrrel-it shall be as you say. My brother obliges me sometimes to go into company at that hateful place down yonder; and I do so because he likes it, and because the folks let me have my own way, and come and go as I list. Do you know Tyrrel, that very often when I am there, and John has his eye on me, I can carry it on as gayly as if you and I had never met?" "I would to God we never had," said Tyrrel, in a trembling voice, "since this is to be the end of all?" "And wherefore should not sorrow be the end of sin and of folly? And when did happiness come of disobedience ?-And when did sound sleep visit a bloody pillow? That is what I say to myself, Tyrrel, and that is what you must learn to say too, and then you will bear your burden as cheerfully as I endure mine. If we have no more than our deserts, why should we complain?-You are shedding tears, I think-Is not that childish?-They say it is a reliefif so, weep on, and I will look another way." Tyrrel walked on by the pony's side, in vain endeavouring to compose himself so as to reply. "Poor Tyrrel," said Clara, after she had remained silent for some time-"Poor Frank Tyrrel!-Perhaps you will say in your turn, Poor Clara-but I am not so poor in spirit as you-the blast may bend, but it shall never break me." There was another long pause; for Tyrrel was unable to determine with himself in what strain he could address the unfortunate young lady, without awakening recollections equally painful to her feelings, and dangerous, when her precarious state of health was considered. At length she herself proceeded : What needs all this, Tyrrel?-and indeed, why came you here?-Why did I find you but now brawl She flung back the veil which surrounded her riding-hat, and which had hitherto hid her face. It was the same countenance which he had formerly known in all the bloom of early beauty; but though the beauty remained, the bloom was fled for ever. Not the agitation of exercise-not that which arose from the pain and confusion of this unexpected interview, had called to poor Clara's cheek even the momentary semblance of colour. Her complexion was marble-white, like that of the finest piece of statuary. "Is it possible?" said Tyrrel; "can grief have made such ravages?" 66 Grief," replied Clara, "is the sickness of the mind, and its sister is the sickness of the body-they are twin-sisters, Tyrrel, and are seldom long separate. Sometimes the body's disease comes first, and dims our eyes and palsies our hands, before the fire of our mind and of our intellect is quenched. But mark me -soon after comes her cruel sister with her urn, and sprinkles cold dew on our hopes and on our loves, our memory, our recollections, and our feelings, and shows us that they cannot survive the decay of our bodily powers.' "Alas!" said Tyrrel, "is it come to this?" To this," she replied, speaking from the rapid and irregular train of her own ideas, rather than comprehending the purport of his sorrowful exclamation,-" to this it must ever come, while immortal souls are wedded to the perishable substance of which our bodies are composed. There is another state, Tyrrel, in which it will be otherwise God grant our time of enjoying it were come!" She fell into a melancholy pause, which Tyrrel was afraid to disturb. The quickness with which she spoke, marked but too plainly the irregular succession of thought, and he was obliged to restrain the agony of his own feelings, rendered more acute by a thousand painful recollections, lest by giving way to his expressions of grief, he should throw her into a still more disturbed state of mind. "I did not think," she proceeded, "that after so horrible a separation, and so many years, I could have met you thus calmly and reasonably. But although what we were formerly to each other can never be forgotten, it is now all over, and we are only friendsIs it not so?" Tyrrell was unable to reply. But I must not remain here," she said, "till the evening grows darker on me.-We shall meet again, Tyrrel-meet as friends-nothing more-You will come up to Shaws-Castle and see me?-no need of secrecy now-my poor father is in his grave, and his prejudices sleep with him-my brother John is kind, though he is stern and severe sometimes-Indeed. Tyrrel, I believe he loves me, though he has taught me to tremble at his frown when I am in spirits, and talk too much-But he loves me, at least I think so, for I am sure I love him; and I try to go down amongst them yonder, and to endure their folly, and, all things considered, I do carry on the farce of life wonderfully well-We are but actors, you know, and the world but a stage." guide my tongue something better.-Hegh, sirs! but, as the minister says, it's an unruly member-troth, I am whiles ashamed o't mysell." CHAPTER X. RESOURCES. Come, let me have thy counsel, for I need it; The Devil hath met his Match. advised, and squabbled, with the deaf cook, and a little old man whom he called the butler, until he at length perceived so little chance of bringing order out of confusion, or making the least advantageous impression on such obdurate understandings as he had to deal with, that he fairly committed the whole matter of the collation, with two or three hearty curses, to the charge of the officials principally concerned, and proceeded to take the state of the furniture and apartments under his consideration. Here he found himself almost equally helpless; for what male wit is adequate to the thousand little coquetries practised in such arrangements? how can masculine eyes judge of the degree of demi-jour which is to be admitted into a decorated apartment, or discriminate where the broad light should be suf fered to fall on a tolerable picture, where it should be excluded, lest the stiff daub of a periwigged grandsire should become too rigidly prominent? And if men are unfit for weaving such a fairy web of light and darkness as may best suit furniture, or naments, and complexions, how shall they be adewhile they disarrange, the various moveables in the apartment? so that while all has the air of negli gence and chance, the seats are placed as if they had been transported by a wish to the spot most suitable for accommodation; stiffness and confusion are at once avoided, the company are neither limited to a formal circle of chairs, nor exposed to break their noses over wandering stools; but the arrangements seem to correspond to what ought to be the tone of the conversation, easy, without being confused, and regulated, without being constrained or stiffened. THE day of which we last gave the events chanced to be Monday, and two days therefore intervened betwixt it and that for which the entertainment was fixed, that was to assemble in the halls of the Lord of the Manor the flower of the company now at St. Ronan's Well. The interval was but brief for the preparations necessary on an occasion so unusual; since the house, though delightfully situated, was in very indifferent repair, and for years had never received any visiters, except when some blithe bachelor or fox-quate to the yet more mysterious office of arranging, hunter shared the hospitality of Mr. Mowbray; an event which became daily more and more uncommon; for, as he himself almost lived at the Well, he generally contrived to receive his companions where it could be done without expense to himself. Besides, the health of his sister afforded an irresistible apology to any of those old-fashioned Scottish gentlemen, who might be too apt (in the rudeness of more primitive days) to consider a friend's house as their own. Mr. Mowbray was now, however, to the great delight of all his companions, nailed down, by invitation given and accepted, and they looked forward to the accomplishment of his promise, with the eagerness which the prospect of some entertaining novelty never fails to produce among idlers. Then how can a clumsy male wit attempt the arrangement of all the chiffonerie, by which old snuffboxes, heads of canes, pomander boxes, lamer beads and all the trash usually found in the pigeon-holes of A good deal of trouble devolved on Mr. Mowbray, the bureaus of old-fashioned ladies, may be now and his trusty agent Mr. Meiklewham, before any brought into play, by throwing them, carelessly thing like decent preparation could be made for the grouped with other unconsidered trifles, such as are ensuing entertainment; and they were left to their to be seen in the windows of a pawnbroker's shop, unassisted endeavours by Clara, who, during both upon a marble encognure, or a mosaic work-table, the Tuesday and Wednesday, obstinately kept herself thereby turning to advantage the trash and trinketry, secluded; nor could her brother, either by threats or which all the old maids or magpies, who have inhaflattery, extort from her any light concerning her pur-bited the mansion for a century, have contrived to pose on the approaching and important Thursday. accumulate. With what admiration of the ingenuity To do John Mowbray justice, he loved his sister as of the fair artist have I sometimes pried into these much as he was capable of loving any thing but him- miscellaneous groups of pseudo-bijouterie, and seen self; and when, in several arguments, he had the the great grandsire's thumb-ring couchant with the mortification to find that she was not to be prevailed coral and bells of the first-born-and the boatswain's on to afford her assistance, he, without complaint, whistle of some old naval uncle, or his silver tobaccoquietly set himself to do the best he could by his own box, redolent of Oroonoko, happily grouped with the unassisted judgment or opinion with regard to the mother's ivory comb-case, still odorous of musk, and necessary preparations. with some virgin aunt's tortoise-shell spectacle-case, This was not, at present, so easy a task as might and the eagle's talon of ebony, with which, in the be supposed; for Mowbray was ambitious of that days of long and stiff stays, our grandmothers were character of ton and elegance, which masculine facul- wont to alleviate any little irritation in their back or ties alone are seldom capable of attaining on such shoulders! Then there was the silver strainer, on momentous occasions. The more solid materials of which, in more economical times than ours, the lady a collation were indeed to be obtained for money from of the house placed the tea-leaves, after the very last the next market-town, and were purchased accord- drop had been exhausted, that they might afterwards ingly; but he felt it was likely to present the vulgar be hospitably divided among the company, to be eaten plenty of a farmer's feast, instead of the elegant en- with sugar, and with bread and butter. Blessings tertainment, which might be announced in a corner upon a fashion which has rescued from the claws of of the county paper, as given by John Mowbray, Esq. abigails, and the melting-pot of the silversmith, those of St. Ronan's, to the gay and fashionable company neglected cimelia, for the benefit of antiquaries and assembled at that celebrated spring. There was the decoration of side-tables! But who shall prelikely to be all sorts of error and irregularity in dish-sume to place them there, unless under the direction ing, and in sending up; for Shaws-Castle boasted neither an accomplished housekeeper, nor a kitchenmaid with a hundred pair of hands to execute her mandates. All the domestic arrangements were on the minutest system of economy consistent with ordinary decency, except in the stables, which were excellent and well kept. But can a groom of the stables perform the labours of a groom of the chambers? or can the gamekeeper arrange in tempting order the carcasses of the birds he has shot, strew them with flowers, and garnish them with piquant sauces? It would be as reasonable to expect a gallant soldier to act as undertaker, and conduct the funeral of the enemy he has slain. In a word, Mowbray talked, and consulted, and of female taste? and of that Mr. Mowbray, though possessed of a large stock of such treasures, was for the present entirely deprived. This digression upon his difficulties is already too long, or I might mention the Laird's inexperience in the art of making the worse appear the better garnishment, of hiding a darned carpet with a new floor; cloth, and flinging an Indian shawl over a faded and threadbare sofa. But I have said enough, and more than enough, to explain his diletoma to an unassisted bachelor, who, without mother, sister, or cousin, without skilful housekeeper, or experienced clerk of the kitchen, or valet of parts and figure, adventures to give an entertainment, and aspires to make it elegant and comme il faut. ST. RONAN'S WELL. The sense of his insufficiency was the more vexatious to Mowbray, as he was aware he would find sharp critics in the ladies, and particularly in his constant rival, Lady Penelope Penfeather. He was, therefore, incessant in his exertions; and for two whole days ordered and disordered, demanded, commanded, countermanded, and reprimanded, without pause or cessation. The companion, for he could not be termed an assistant, of his labours, was his trusty agent, who trotted from room to room after him, affording him exactly the same degree of sympathy which a dog doth to his master when distressed in mind, by looking in his face from time to time with a piteous gaze, as if to assure him that he partakes of his trouble, though he neither comprehends the cause or the extent of it, nor has in the slightest degree the power to remove it. At length when Mowbray had got some matters arranged to his mind, and abandoned a great many which he would willingly have put in better order, he sat down to dinner upon the Wednesday preceding the appointed day, with his worthy aid-de-camp, Mr. Meiklewham; and after bestowing a few muttered curses upon the whole concern, and the fantastic old maid who had brought him into the scrape, by begging an invitation, declared that all things might now go to the devil their own way, for so sure as his name was John Mowbray, he would trouble himself no more about them. Keeping this doughty resolution, he sat down to dinner with his counsel learned in the law; and speedily they despatched the dish of chops which was set before them, and the better part of the bottle of old port, which served for its menstruum. "Ay," said the man of pleasure," when she reaches it a knife to cut its own fingers with.-These acres would have been safe enough, if it had not been for your d-d advice." "And yet you were grumbling e'en now," said the man of business, "that you have not the power to gar the whole estate flee like a wild-duck across a bog? Troth, you need care little about it; for if you have incurred an irritancy-and sae thinks Mr. Wisebehind, the advocate, upon an A. B. memorial that I laid before him-your sister, or your sister s goodman, if she should take the fancy to marry, might bring a declarator, and evict St. Ronan's frae ye in the course of twa or three sessions." "My sister will never marry," said John Mowbray. "That's easily said," replied the writer; "but as broken a ship's come to land. If ony body kend o' the chance she has o' the estate, there's mony a weeldoing man would think little of the bee in her bonnet." "Hark ye, Mr. Meiklewham," said the Laird, "I will be obliged to you if you will speak of Miss Mowbray with the respect due to her father's daughter, and my sister." "Nae offence, St. Ronan's, nae offence," answered the man of law; "but ilka man maun speak sae as to be understood,-that is, when he speaks about business. Ye ken yoursell, that Miss Clara is no just like other folk; and were I you--it's my duty to speak plain-I wad e'en gie in a bit scroll of a petition to the Lords, to be appointed Curator Bonis, in respect of her incapacity to manage her own affairs." "Meiklewham," said Mowbray, "you are a"and then stopped short. "What am I, Mr. Mowbray ?" said Meiklewham, somewhat sternly-"What am I? I wad be glad to "Damn the tailzie!" said Mowbray; "if they had It was by your advice, was it not?" said the "I'se ne'er deny it, St. Ronan's," answered the "Yes, but I could not have had the chance of doubling it, as I might have done," answered Mowbray, "had that inconstant jade, Fortune, but stood a moment faithful to me. I tell you, Mick, that I have been, within this twelvemonth, worth a hundred thousand--worth fifty thousand-worth nothing, but the remnant of this wretched estate, which is too little to do one good while it is mine, though, were it sold, I could start again, and mend my hand a little." What "Ay, ay, just fling the helve after the hatchet," said his legal adviser "that's a' you think of. |