Full text of "Claudia"
THE LIBRARY
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THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA
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The first Meeting.
Page i6.
G
LAUDIA ft,
BY A. L O. E.
LONDON, EDINBURGH,
AND NEW YORK
THOMAS NELSON
AND SONS
^000
^rcfiicc.
HE object which I have had before me in
writing the following tale, has been to
show the distinction between the in-
tellectual and the spiritual, and the insufficiency of
mental powers, even though they be of a high
order, either to render their possessor wise unto
salvation, or to make him a fit instrument to ac-
complish a lofty mission amongst men. I am pain-
fully aware that I have not carried out my design
as I would jiave wished, that my work is a very
imperfect one ; but I humbly commend it to Him
whose blessing alone can render it useful, and who
knows under what a sense of weakness I have
penned my little story.
A. L, O. E.
765369
®'ontcnts.
I. tN SEARCH OF A FKIEND, 9
II. LIGHT CHAT ON (JRAVE THEMES, ... -•- •- 20
III. LOOK-DECEIT AND HEAF.T-DECEIT,
VII. PROJECTS,
VIII. MENTAL SENSES, ...
IX. OFF HER GUARD, ...
X. THE APPOINTED SIONAL,
81
IV. A SCOTCH MIST, '^^
V. THE STRANGER, *9
VI. SISTER HELENA'S TALE, 66
72
79
92
100
XI. FLIGHT, ... ... ... -.- 113
XII. SMUGGLING, —4
XIII. ROMANISM, 131
XIV. SPIRITUAL SENSES, ... .•• 1*0
XV. DISCOVERY, 1*9
XVI. BITTER THOUGHTS, ... ... ... ... ••• 1^9
XVII. THE VICARAGE, ... . . IW
XVIII. SEARCH FOR A CLUE, 177
XIX. RUMOURS AND SUSPICIONS, 187
XX. A MOVE, 198
XXI. THE COURT, 208
nil
CONTENTS.
XXII. WEARY LIFE,
XXIII. SYMPATHY,
XXIV. NEW LIFE
XXV. WAITING AND WORKING,
XXVI. HOME CARE.S,
XXVII. UNWELCOME VISITORS,
XXVIII. THE WEB OF DECEIT,
XXIX. A SUDDEN CHANGE,
XXX. THE RETURN,
XXXI. coNnLusroN,
217
222
920
238
249
266
266
274
286
2d4
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
The first Meeting Frotitispiece
The Letter 80
'■'•Be calm,''' said Claudia, laying her hand upon the
arm of the nun . . . . . . .120
Claudia placed a sealed packet in his hand . . 279
CLAUDIA.
CHAPTER I.
IN SEARCH OF A FKIEND.
HOPE that I have found a fiiend at last,
and that on my fancy's magical miiTOi
there will not be a shadow or a stain."
So mused Claudia Haitswood, as she stood alone
by her open window, looking foi-th on an extensive
prospect of wood and dale, bathed in the glowing
sunlight of June. Tall and fair, with luxuriant
tresses, and brown eyes that sparkled with intelli-
gence under their long dark lashes, Claudia looked
— as she was — a clever, high-spu'ited giid, to whom
life had hitherto been all brightness. A physiogno-
mist might also have traced resolute energy on the
countenance of the young maiden. Claudia was not
one to fold her hands in lazy ease, or, regarding life
as a banquet, contentedly sit down to enjoy it.
Girl as she was, Claudia looked upon the world
10 IN SEARCH OF A FRIEND.
before her as some young untned knight might
have looked upon the lists in which he hoped to
win renown, or the field on which he was to show
that he merited his spurs. Claudia, with much
imagination, but little experience, and an energy of
purpose which she mistook for consciousness of
strength, had something of the spiiit of a female
Don Quixote : she had a tolerably clear idea of the
enemy with whom she had to deal, but not of the
nature of the conflict, nor of the weapons with
which alone it could be earned on with success.
"The world is full of sham, humbug, and deceit;
and the mission of every true-hearted woman is to
expose, resist, and overcome it."
This was the sentence which Claudia had written
on the first page of her journal when she had com-
pleted her fifteenth year, and deemed that she had
left childhood and childish things for ever behind
her. Claudia acted as one conscious of a mission
so lofty. She was herself open as the day, and
showed no mercy to those who were less so. Her
own position was favourable to truthfulness of
character: she had had little temptation to wear the
cloak of deceit, for she had neither needed it as a
means of winning favour nor of shrouding herself
from tyranny — she knew not what it was either to
fawn or to fear. Claudia was the only child of a
IN SEARCH OF A FRIEND. 11
parent who himself possessed a high and chivahoua
sense of honour, and who would have pardoned any-
thing rather than a falsehood. Very proud was
Claudia of her father; a man who was pursuing a
bi-illiant career in the law with clean hands and
conscience unstained ; a man who had stooped to
no quibble, been detected in no trick, against whose
character enmity itself could harbour no suspicion.
It would have been as strange if the daughter of
such a man had been deceitful or false, as if she had
failed to learn to speak her native language with
correctness.
Though no reserve existed between Mr. Hartswood
and his daughter, and their intercourse was more
familiar than that which is usual between father
and child, Claudia had long yearned for a companion
of her own sex and age : she was almost as en-
thusiastic in her ideas of friendship as she was in
those of truth, but she had not succeeded hitherto
in finding a friend. While her father had resided
in London, Claudia had had several playmates and
companions, but none in whom she could thoroughly
confide, none in whom she recognized a sister-soul
congenial to her own. Perhaps her requirements
were too great, or her indulgence for human weak-
ness too small, for her attempts to form a friendship
had always ended in disappointment. At one time
12 IN SEARCH OF A FRIEND.
Claudia had taken a strong gii-lLsh fancy for Eupbe-
mia Long, a lively pretty woman, several years
older than herself. Euphemia possessed consider-
able personal attractions, and the imagination of her
young admirer invested her with many more. The
discovery that Euphemia owed her chignon to the
hair-dresser, and her roses to the rouge-box, was the
means of disenchanting Claudia Hartswood. As
soon as she found out that art — to her another name
for deceit — was employed to enhance beauty, the
beauty itself, to her eyes, melted away for ever.
"False hair and false bloom !" muttered Claudia,
as with a feeling of disappointment not unmixed
with contempt she quitted the presence of Euphemia^
whom she had chanced to find at her toilette.
" Never can I give my afiection to one who lives in
a habit of deceit, stooping for fashion's sake — or
folly's sake — to do what Jezebel did ! No subject
of King Sham shall ever be the friend of my heart!"
In the artificial state of London society perfect
transparency of character was not easily to be found,
and this was the first qualification which Claudia
required in a friend. She had read of the magic
mirror employed by an Eastern piince to guide him
in the choice of a pure-minded girl, none being
worthy but she whose image should be reflected on
it without a mist or a stain. Claudia carried such
IN SEARCH OF A FRIEND. 13
a mirror within her own mind, and applied it by
watchful observation to the different girls whom she
knew.
" 1 can make allowance for a little temper or a
little pride, nay, even a little selfishness," thought
Claudia; "but for insincerity — never! No veneer
or varnish for me ! "
At last Claudia believed that she had met with
success in her search. Annie Goldie, a merry, plain-
spoken, light-hearted girl, who always uttered what
came uppermost, even at the hazard of giving pain
or offence, appeared to be one who — whatever faults
she might have — was at least free fi-om the shadow
of (mile. Far less pleasing than Euphemia, Annie
was at least more straightforward and honest.
" I can trust her," reflected Claudia, as she glanced
at the somewhat ungainly person of her companion.
"That rough hair is at least her own, and if bhe
has rather too much colour, the rouge-box has had
nothing to do with it. Annie may not think much
before she speaks, but at any rate she speaks what
she thinks."
So thought Claudia, until a trifling incident led
her to change her opinion, and detect the shadow
of deceit on the character even of the frank Annie
Goldie.
The two girls had gone together to a fancy
14 IN SEARCH OF A FRIEND,
bazaar, on the afternoon of its closing day, to make
a joint purchase of a wedding-present for a com-
panion. The wearied ladies behind the stalls,
anxious to clear off the remains of their pretty
trifles, were selling them at prices far below what
had been asked on the preceding day.
" What an exquisite pair of embroidered white
silk slippers ! " cried Claudia, approaching a stall.
"Exactly what we want," observed Annie; "I
never saw anything prettier. But they cost more
than we mean to give ; you see the mark upon them,
twelve shillings."
" You shall have them for six," said the lady who
presided at the counter, knowing that the delicate
trifles had akeady done duty at three fancy fairs.
Claudia and Annie gladly made the pui-chase : the
former was about to pull off the tiny ticket of price
when her companion stopped her.
" Don't pull that oft', just tuck it under, as if it
had escaped our notice. Clara will think, you
know, that we paid twelve shillings for her present."
" Do you wish her to think it ? " cried Claudia
abruptly, looking Annie full in the face.
"There is no harm if she does," laughed the
girl; "she will give us credit for having done the
handsome thing."
Claudia for her only reply tore off the ticket,
IN SEARCH OF A FRIEND. 16
threw it on the floor, and set her foot upon it.
From that hour she cai'ed no more for the society of
Annie Goldie.
"What fickleness!" thought Annie.
" What falsehood ! " mused Claudia.
Perhaps both were somewhat harsh in their
verdicts.
Soon after the occurrence of this slight incident,
Claudia accompanied her father to Friern Hatch, a
country residence which he had chosen as being
near enough to London to enable him to pursue his
daily business, and yet sufficiently retired from the
city and its far extending suburbs to afford him the
luxury of perfect seclusion amongst the beauties of
Nature.
Claudia was delighted at the change from a
dingy, noisy street, to green meadows, verdant
groves, and romantic country lanes. After the in-
cessant rattle of wheels, charming to her were the
songs of birds and the bleating of sheep. Many a
time the young enthusiast repeated to herself the
well-known line, " God made the country, man the
town;" and she rejoiced that with peaceful, holy
Nature around her, she was at last beyond the false
conventionalities of modern society, or, as she her-
self would have said, " out of the domains of King
Sham."
16 IN SEARCH OF A FRIEND.
But after a while the old yearning for companion-
ship came upon Claudia more strongly than ever.
She accompanied her father to the railway-station
each morning, she had his society each evening, but
the whole of the rest of the day the young girl had
to pass by herself She had the resources of music,
poetr}', and rambles through meadow and grove ;
but Claudia felt that these pleasures would be a
thousandfold enhanced by being shared with some
congenial companion. At Friern Hatch Claudia had
no near neighbours with whom she could hold in-
tercourse, except the family of Mr. Holder, the
vicar ; and it was with no small interest that Miss
Hartswood awaited the first visit of those on whom
she would be dependent in a great measure for
society in her secluded home.
Claudia first met the Holders on a Sunday, on
their way to the village church. The vicar's wife was
a stout motherly-looking woman, with high-cheek
bones and rosy complexion, who certainly appeared
in no need of the suj)port of the arm of her rather
sickly husband. The pair were followed by a tribe
of sons of all ages and sizes, from the big awkward
school-boy who had outgrown his clothes, to the
red-haired little urchin who wore a blue frock,
manufactured by his mother out of some deposed
garment of her own. In none of these could Claudia
(826)
IN SEARCH OF A FRIEND. 17
look for a companion ; but she saw with satisfac-
tion that the squad of boys was headed by a girl of
about her own age, simpl}^ but neatly attii-ed, and
without any of that affectation of manner which
Claudia called " veneer and varnish."
Mrs. Holder, nccompanied by her daughter Emma,
called at Friern Hatch on the following day, and
Claudia soon returned the visit. Her glimpse at
the interior of a country parsonage left a pleasant
impression on the mind of the lawyer's daughter.
She found Emma busily engaged in helping her
mother to cut down the old worn shirts of the older
boys to make new ones for the younger. And yet
this was a girl who, on her visit to Friern Hatch,
had told Claudia that poetry ' was her greatest
delight, and that she much preferred reading to
working.
"Here is a simple, tme-hearted creature," thought
Claudia, "sacrificing refined tastes to homely duties;
leaving the pleasant fields of literature to snip away
linen, and patch up old clothes ! If perfect candour
and sincerity are to be found upon earth, they may
surely be sought in one brought up in a quiet home
like this, ignorant of the world, its follies and its
deceits. I believe that I have met with a congenial
companion at last."
An invitation to Emma to spend some hours at
(2iW) 2
18 IN SEARCH OF A FRIEND.
Friern Hatch was eagerly given and gladly accepted
If Claudia enjoyed the prospect of holding social
converse with a young friend instead of the solitude
which was beginning to grow very irksome, Emma,
on her part, was delighted at the break in the
monotony of her busy life. Hearing Tommy repeat
his Latin declensions, dictating to Harry, giving
spelling-lessons to Jemmy, or counting out clothes
for the wash, were occupations from which Emma
was glad to escape for awhile to the pleasant ease
and refined elegance of Claudia Hartswood's home.
Miss Hartswood herself was an object of strong at-
traction to the vicar's daughter, who, under a shy,
quiet manner, had a good deal of romance in her
nature, and who had already begun, after the com-
mon fashion of girls of fifteen, to make a heroine for
herself out of the bright intelligent young being
who had taken her fancy at first sight. Friendship
is usually a compound article, made up of various
ingredients, and girls' friendships have the reputa-
tion (though often unjustly) of being flimsy, and little
likely to last. Mere cobwebs of fancy, gossamer
threads of romance, united together by a similarity
of tastes which is deemed sympathy of feeling, are
not likely to bear long the wear and tear of every-
day life. Time dims the tints of the light fabric,
or some slight difference tears it asunder^ leaving a
IN SEARCH OF A FRIEND. 19
rent which is never repaired. It remains to be
seen whether the friendship between Claudia and
Emma would prove to be of a firmer texture, and
whether the former was justified in the hope
with the expression of which this chapter com-
menced
CHAPTER II.
LIGHT CHAT ON GRAVE THEMES.
HE girls passed an hour pleasantly together
in that easy familiar converse in which
the young delight, Claudia showed to
her visitor her little trinkets and treasures, spoke of
her favourite authors, displayed her collection of nicely
bound books. The tastes of the two girls seemed
to resemble each other, though the stamp on the
character of each was very dissimilar, as must have
been evident even to a careless observer. Claudia
was an eager, animated speaker, bending forward
from the impetus with which she poured out the
tide of her own ideas, or those which she had drawn
from intercourse with her fathei-; while Emma sat,
a placid, smiling listener, expressing acquiescence in
sentiments uttered by her friend rather by glance
and gestm-e than by words. It is doubtful whether
the lawyer's daughter would have been equally well
pleased with a companion who should have rivalled
her in gifts, especially that of giving ready expres-
UOHT CHAT ON GRAVE THEMES. 21
sion to thought. There is no market more likely to
be overstocked than the conversation market, in
Avhich — at least where young ladies are concerned —
the producers of talk usually outnumber the silent
consumers.
"You have a beautiful view from this window,"
observed Emma, as Claudia paused after drawing a
comparison between the respective attractions of
town and countiy. "Your prospect is so much
more open than ours, for we are very much shut in
by trees."
"This house stands high, and I am glad that it
does so," said Claudia, " I like to live on the summit
of a hill, where one can breathe the pui-e air freely,
and have nothing to hide fi'om view the blue sky
above, or the wide-spreading prospect around! Give
me a clear view in everytliing, — let there be no mist,
no screen, were it but of flowering shrubs ! I always
choose to see a long way before me, and to see clearly."
The mind of Claudia had wandered from the natural
to the mental prospect, as she gazed down on the
expanse of landscape beneath her.
" What a picturesque object is the convent as seen
from hence," observed Emma; "I did not know
that it stood so near to your house."
" Were you ever in that convent ?" asked Claudia.
"Oh! never," replied the vicar's daughter. "My
22 LIGHT CHAT ON GRAVE THEiTES.
father was vexed at a convent being built in our
parish, and vt^ould never allow one of his family to
enter the door."
"Nor will my father," observed Claudia Harts-
wood. "I once told papa that I was curious to
visit a convent, and question the nuns as to how
they like the prison-life which they lead; but papa
forbade me to hold iutercourse of any kind with the
Romanist ladies. I often look at those gables be-
tween the trees, or catch a glimpse of dark robes pass-
ing across the Httle open space yonder, with some-
thing of the longing for forbidden fruit, — which is, I
suppose, a part of woman's nature. Doubtless one
would get a knowledge of good and evil by being
better acquainted with convent life, — I suspect more
of the evil than of the good."
"I suppose that your father was afraid that, liv-
ing so much alone as you do, if you met much with
Romanists, you might be led into their errors," said
Emma.
"Papa need not have been in the least afraid of
that," observed Claudia, with a proud smile. "No
system that has so much deceit as its basis as Popery
has, could have the slightest hold on my mind ; ray
natural love for straightforward truth is too strong.
I love pure daylight so much better than the feeble
many-coloured light which struggles in through
LIGHT CHAT ON GRAVE THEMKS. 23
stained glass, however curious and graceful the pat-
tern may be."
" Do you consider that all Romanists are deceivers?"
inquired Emma Holder.
" No; I think that the greatest number of them are
the deceived," was Claudia Hai-ts wood's reply. " As
papa says, they have doctrines which shut them in
as a wall, — doctrines that have deceit as their very
foundation. Look, for instance, at their notion of
the infallibility of the Pope !"
" I think that I have heard that not all Roman
Catholics hold it," said Emma.
" Not all, perhaps, but a great many do ; and think
to what a state of darkness a mind must be brought
before such a doctrine can be believed ! Why, were
the Romanists to read the Bible they must see that
not St. Peter himself was infallible, his brother
apostle had to reprove him to his face ! Can we
believe that any Pope in his senses believes himself
to be infallible? and if he does not," — Claudia's eyes
flashed indignation as she went on, — " he must know
himself to be a party to a deception ; he must know
that he is mixing error with truth, and that a re-
ligion in which a fiction is tolerated, — is enforced, —
is not, cannot be, a religion from Heaven ! "
"I wonder," observed Emma, "whether well edu-
cated Romanists really believe in all the strangr
24 LIGHT CUAT ON GRAVE THEMES.
miracles which are said to have been worked by tbeir
saints."
" There are many of them, — so I have heard from
papa, — much too sensible and clear-sighted to believe
a tenth part of what the ignorant believe," said
Claudia. "Do you suppose that the priests them-
selves put faith in winking pictures, or weeping
statues, in cures made by little bits of bones, or in
the power of money to buy souls out of purgatory ?
But they must know that the ignorant have believed,
and will believe, in such things; that though the en-
lightened may not worship the dolls dressed up to
represent the Virgin which they have in some of
their churches, yet that the poor people do. Why
then do not enlightened Romanists with one accord
raise up theii- voices against what they know to be
degrading superstition, — why do they not all protest
against the mixture of error with truth ? Because,"
continued the lawyer's daughter, answering her own
question, with the animation of a special pleader,
"because they are afraid to meddle with the build-
ing lest they should pull it down over their own
heads, knowing, as they must do, that credulous
superstition is the very cement which fastens the
stones together."
" Your father need not be afraid of your ever be-
coming a Romanist," observed Emma with a smile
LIGHT CHAT ON GRAVE THEMES. 25
at the impulsive eloquence of her young companion ;
" you would be more likely to draw over the nuns
to your side, than let them win you over to theirs."
" That is what I feel,'' said Claudia Hartswood.
"I am always on my guard wherever I can see the
serpent's trail of deceit. It is strange how con-
stantly it meets one's eyes in the world. Have you
ever tried to classify the different kinds of deceit ? "
asked the lawyer's daughter abruptly.
Emma was not given to the study of metaphysics,
nor indeed to severe thought upon any subject. Her
range of mental vision had been circumscribed like
the prospect from her home. It was a strange and
amusing novelty to Emma to be brought into con-
tact with one like Claudia, possessing an intellect
cultivated and vigorous, all unripe as it certainly
was. Emma scarcely understood her new companion,
but perhaps from that very circumstance thought
her wonderfully clever; and Claudia, secretly gratified
to see the impression which she was making, did
not distingv;ish between her own love of admiration
and ardour for truth.
"What different kinds of deceit do you mean?"
asked Emma, her mild gray eyes sinking under the
animated gaze of those of her companion.
" Ah ! perhaps you have not studied the subject,"
cried Claudia. " Living always, as you do, in the
26 LIGHT CHAT ON GRAVE THEMES.
country, it has been less brought before your mind.
I'm very fond of dividing, and classifying, and
examining such matters thoroughly ; you see I'm so
much alone, I've so much time for reflection, and
papa is training me to think." Poor Claudia, with
aU her intelligence, did not perceive that the per-
petual recurrence of " I " and " me " might become
wearisome even to so patient a listener as Emma ;
and that she herself was more bent on showing off
her own acuteness, than on either amusing or in-
structing her friend. But what a luxmy it was
thus to talk, especially after so much enforced
silence during the greater part of a fortnight !
" We have so many little matters to attend to in
our home — trifles, but they take up time — that I
cannot read or reflect as much as I should like," said
Emma, whose memory recurred to darning stockings,
mending collars, and hearing her brothers repeat
lessons from the broken-backed Latin grammar; "but
I so enjoy conversation like this ; tell me how many
kinds of deceit you have discovered in the world."
"I divide them, quite roughly of course, into
three classes, lip-deceit, look-deceit, and heai't-deceit.
I like to follow a method. Papa says that study is
nothing without method," remarked Claudia, who,
as the reader may have observed, was constantly
referring to the opinions of her parent.
UGHT CHAT ON GRAVE THEMES. 27
" Lip-deceit is, of course, falsehood," said Emma.
"'There is no fault that we have been taught to
hate so much as a lie."
"A lie is only one form of Kp-deceit," observed
Claudia ; " there are all shades of it — black, blacker,
and blackest — from exaggeration to perjury."
" Ah, exaggeration ; you regard that as false-
hood V asked Emma.
" Of course I do; it is a stronger or weaker alloy
of falsehood : and so is flattery, and all those words
with Kttle meaning, or no meaning, which pass
current in the domains of King Sham. You wonder
what I mean," continued Gaudia laughing : " J
must tell you of a little fancy of my own, which
papa thought rather ingenious. I consider that
adjectives are like coin, that should be of pure metal,
that is truth, and have one definite scale of weight,
known and recognized by us alL" Emma smiled
ready assent, though her companion was taking a
flight rather beyond her comprehension. " Now,"
Claudia went on, " my great enemy, King Sham, has
debased this coinage, so that there is utter confusion
amongst the adjectives, and none can decide what
they're worth. ' Awful,' ' tremendous,' ' infinite,'
* eternal,' which ought to be very heavy coin indeed,
only used upon gi-eat occasions, are thrown about as
if they were of no weifrht or value at all,"
28 UGHT CHAT ON GRAVE THEMES.
" I don't think that one can help this," observed
Emma, who saw that she was expected to make
some remark, and could only hit on a very common-
place one.
" If all persons who care for truth would make a
steady stand, and never attempt to pass this false
coinage," cried Claudia, "they might shame othei's
into a little regard for correctness of speech. I'd
have, for example, a regular scale of terms of endear-
ment, just as we have a regular gi'adation of letter-
weights there," — Claudia pointed as she spoke to a
little ornamental weigher which stood on her table.
"'Dear,' ' veiy dear,' 'dearest,' 'darling,' and 'dearly
beloved,' should each have their definite weight and
meaning, exactly answering to the amount of aflfec-
tion which they should express. Now," continued
Claudia, with a meny laugh, in which she was joined
by Emma^ " King Sham's subjects think that a mere
pea, or pin's head of aflTection, or no affection at all,
will justify the use of the very weightiest term of
endearment in aU the English dictionary."
" I don't just see how you could weigh and mea-
sure either adjectives or afiection," said Emma, who
felt that her companion was drawing her into an
intellectual maze.
" True, the difficulty is to find something by
which to regulate value, something of equal use to
LIGHT CHAT ON GRAVE THEMES. 29
everybody," said Claudia, who had some perplexity
herself how to find her way out of it. " I really
can think of no universal standard but that of eatr
ing," she continued gaily. " No one is really ' dear'
to us for whom we would not give up our dinner ;
or ' very dear ' for whom we would not give up
dinner and tea besides — even that little afternoon
cup of which we ladies are so fond."
" ' Darlintj,' then, would show a willinjjness to
fast for twenty -four hours at least," observed Emma
Holder.
Claudia laughed and shrugged her shouldera
"I'm afraid," she said, "that one would find it
more diflicult to bring in a con-ect coinage of words,
to have all pure unadulterated truth, than to per-
suade all the world to accept one uniform coinage of
money. But though you may deem me, as I believe
that most of my acquaintance deem me, an eccentric,
fanciful theorist, always aiming at the impracticable,
still you will allow that lip-deceit is a real evil, and
that there may be some kind of credit in breaking a
spear against it. One thing, Emma, if you will
allow me to say it, that makes me fancy that you
are one of whom I really can make a friend," —
Claudia, as she spoke, laid her hand on that of the
vicar's daughter, — " is that you have no fiattery on
your lips ; you make no grand professions. I don't
30 LIGHT CHAT ON GRAVE THKMES.
think that I have heard you use one superfluous
' dear,' and yet," she continued, rising at the sound
of the luncheon-bell, " if your regard were put to the
dinner test, I daresay that you would come off with
more flying colours than many who would run
through my whole gi'aduated scale of adjectives,
from the 'dear' to the 'dearly beloved.'"
And, arm in arm, the two laughing girls proceeded
to the dining-room, in which an elegant little repast
was laid out.
CHAPTER III.
LOOK-DECEIT AND HEART-DECEIT.
'^'HAT a singular character this is, and how
glad I am that she has come to our
quiet comer of the world," thought
Emma, while Claudia was giving her attention to
carving a delicate boiled chicken. Such a dainty
httle dish never appeared at the vicar's table, where,
as eight hungry mouths were always to be filled,
quantity rather than quality was considered in choos-
ing the fare. Emma silently glanced at the counte-
nance of Claudia, with so much intelligence in the
eyes, thought on the brow, decision on the lip, and
wondered whether Miss Hartswood would have been
a very difi'erent being had she been brought up in a
hum-dnim home, such as the vicarage appeared.
If, instead of a clever lawyer to teach her to
think and speak, and solitude to foster the habit
of reflection, Claudia had had a sober, sensible
mother, to set her to stitching and darning, and
five noisy brothers who hated to see her with
32 LOUK-DECEIT AND HEART-DECEIT.
a book in her hand, what would have been the
result ?
Characters are much formed by circumstances,
but under no circumstances would Claudia Hai^ts-
wood have resembled Emma Holder. The latter,
without the stimulus of necessity for exertion, would
probably have sunk into a life of lazy ease, losing
her health because she would have had little else to
think of, and her spirits because she lacked energy
to carve out occupation for herself. Claudia, on the
other hand, as the \'icar's daughter, would have
eagerly plunged into parish work, and have rather
exercised influence over her tribe of brothers than
yielded to the petty tyranny of those whose wits
were less keen than her own. Claudia would have
been less theoretical but more practical than she
was now ; her mental powers would have been de-
veloped in a diflfei-ent direction. The one girl needed
the spur, and the jther the bridle ; work at home
was the former to Emma ; frequent solitude and the
influence of her father's guiding mind were the latter
to Claudia.
"And now let us proceed to the subject of look-
deceit," said Claudia, as, having helped herself and
her friend, she laid down the carver, and went on
with her conversation more eagerly than with her
dinner. L'.Look-deceit seems to me a kind of cob-
LOOK-DECEIT AND UEART-DECEIT. 33
web-covering spread over all the world — the world
that is called civilized I mean. There appears to be
a general conspiracy to make objects look what they
are not. Base metal must pass for gold ; stamped
paper for embroidered lawn ; painted deal does duty
as rosewood ; cotton is mixed with silk ; starch-
powder with cloth, chicory with coffee — one can
scarcely buy an article which is really what the
seller pretends that it is. I fear that in most of our
shops and manufactories King Sham reigns su-
preme."
"I am afraid that it is so," said Emma.
"And if we come from things to persons," con-
tinued Claudia, " what a fearful amount of look-
deceit do we find ! This lady must keep her car-
riage, tliough her butcher's bill be unpaid ; because,
to be seen in a cab or omnibus might betray the
truth regarding her husband's income. What ser-
vant upon Sundays is contented to appear to be—
what she is — a sei-vant ; she must pass for a lady
at least in church, the place of all others where she
should put away piide and deceit ! Now," Claudia
went on, as her chicken wing grew cold on her
plate, " I was once asked by papa to define vulgarity,
and I did not find it easy to give a reply ; it cost
me a good deal of thinking before I could form a
clear idea of what vulgarity is in its essence. Tt is
1220) 3
34 LOOK-DECEIT AND HEART-DECEIT.
not poverty, it is not ignorance ; no little child could
be justly called vulgar, though clothed in misery
and rags."
" No," observed Emma Holder : " nor a labourer
in his smockfrock."
" Nor a housemaid with her duster, nor a shop-
man at his business," said Claudia Harts wood.
" But let servant, shopkeeper, or farmer, go out of
his natural sphere, let him put on the dress and ape
the manners of a class to which he has never be-
longed, and he becomes at once what we call vulgar.
Papa laughed, and said that I was not far wrong
when I told him at last that I thought that vulgarity
was the livery worn by the suite of King Sham.
' Yes,' he cried, ' I dare be bound that the jackdaw
in the fable looked a highly respectable bird, till she
tried to pass off as a peacock, and then vulgarity
came with her borrowed plumage.' "
" It must be delightful to have a father who will
talk over such subjects," observed Emma ; though
the thought crossed her mind that she was glad that
her own simple-minded parent did not puzzle her
brain with such troublesome questions.
" There is yet the third kind of deceit, heart-
deceit, which we have not spoken about," said
Claudia, after a little pause.
" That must be the worst of all," observed Emma
LOOK-DECEIT AND HEAET-DECEIT. 35
"I suppose SO," said Claudia, doubtfully; "but
1 own that I have not yet come to any very clear
idea of what heart-deceit is."
" Is it not deceiving ourselves ?" suggested Emma,
timidly ; she was rather afraid of being drawn into
a metaphysical disquisition.
" Your father is a clergyman, and mine is a
lawyer," observed Claudia, " so yours has by profes-
sion more to do with guarding people against deceit
in themselves, and mine against deceit in other
people. But I hope that I shall not shock you
very much," continued Claudia more slowly, and
with some hesitation in her tone, " if I own that
when some folk talk a great deal about their deceit-
ful hearts, I suspect that there is sometimes sham in
their talking. I have heard papa quote a line about
* Pride that apes humility,' and I fancy — I may, of
course, be mistaken — I fancy that some people abuse
their own hearts, because they think it proper and
saint-like to do so, while they think them very good
hearts after all."
Emma knew not what to reply. She suspected
that her bright-eyed, self-confident companion was
under some kind of error ; but she had never suffi-
ciently exercised her own mind in observation or
self-examination, to be able to handle the difficult
subject before her.
36 LOOK-DECEIT AND HEART-DECEIT.
" I don't like speaking of myself," said Claudia,
after waiting in vain for the vicar's daughter to
express an opinion ; " but of course I know myself
better than I can know any one else, and that's why
I mention my own feelings." As she spoke, Claudia
looked frankly into the face of her friend. " I am
sure that I have not deceit in my heart, any more
than on my lips or in my looks. I hate and abhor
deceit wherever I see it ; I know that I am not a
hypocrite ; I may be proud, self-willed, impetuous,
ambitious, but I never can or will deceive either
others — or myself! "
When spring first breathes on earth, have we not
often seen the straight green sword-like shoots that
pierce the sod, coming up erect and stiff, as if in de-
fiance of the winter, that could not keep them
down ? Could fancy invest .such a shoot with
thought and speech, might not its language be
something like this : "As I have risen, so will I
rise, straight, unbending, growing higher and higher,
till I touch yon blue covering which stretches above
me, and wear one of its twinkling gems as a spark-
ling dewdrop upon my sharp point"? Poor aspiring
shoot, it would soon find that its nature permitted
it neither to reach the sky nor to win the stai"; that
it could rise but to a limited point, and that but a
very low one. It would find that if fn.sta did not
LOOK-DECEIT AND HEART-DECKIT. 37
nip and destroy it, the vei'y sun which had warmed
it into life would make it open and disclose its heai-t
to his beams — would soften the stiff sheath, and
cause it to droop and bow down that the fairer
flower might appear. The character of Claudia re-
sembled such a shoot, wrapped close in self-suffi-
ciency, and from that self-sufficiency appearing more
firm and upright. It remained to be seen whether
the frost of earth's temptations would destroy its
promise altogether, or whether it would receive that
more noble life within which only grace can impart.
It remained to be seen whether the green sheath
would open, that Heaven's light might reach down
even into the heart, drawing out sweetness, colour,
and beauty, while revealing weakness and humbling
pride ; showing the aspiring one that Heaven is a
great deal higher, and Truth far more lofty, than
she had deemed them to be while she remained in
the self-sufficiency which owes its strength to ignor-
ance alone.
CHAPTER IV.
A SCOTCH MIST,
lONVERSATION flowed in various channels
dming the remainder of the repast,
especially in that of poetry, of which
both the girls were fond. The mind of Claudia was
more thoughtful and acute than that of her com-
panion, and her reading had been far more varied
and extensive ; but Emma chanced to possess Mrs.
Hemans' poems, with which her companion was not
acquainted, and this enabled the vicar's daughter to
contribute her share to the literary conversation.
Emma's memory was good, she knew many of the
sweet poetess's verses by heart, and she was delighted
to find an eager listener in Claudia. It gratified
Emma not a little to find herself able to impart in-
formation and give pleasure to one whose mental
powers had been so much more cultivated than her
own. Emma began to hope that, should her inti-
macy with Claudia become closer, she might in time
be able to take a part in delightful little meetings of
A SCOTCH MIST. 39
literary people of which her companion had given
her a o-lowine: account. A new ambition was raised
in the bosom of the quiet young girl, whose sphere
had been hitherto so much confined to nursery and
school-room. Claudia offered the use of her father's
library to her new friend; and Emma Holder, in
hope, was half a blue-stocking already.
" I daresay that you are a poetess yourself," said
Claudia gaily, as the girls sauntered back to the
drawing-room after the meal was concluded. " I
am sure, from your way of repeating poetry, that
you must have written some verses. Confess the
truth now, Emma — guilty, or not guilty ? "
Emma laughed, and blushed, conscious that an
" Ode to the Kobin " lay in her blotting-book at
home. Being, however, shy and diffident of her own
powers, she only replied timidly, " One may be
fond of poetry without having talent to compose
it."
"Evasion of the question!" laughed Claudia
" come, come — there must be no sham modesty
nor any other kind of sham between you and me.'
" I have written a very little," replied Emma
" I daresay that you have written a great deal. I
wish that you would let me see some of your
verses."
" Would you really ? " cried Claudia, nothing
40 A SCOTCH MIST.
loath to produce them. " I might just show you
my epigrams ; no one has seen them yet but papa,
and he thought them rather amusing. But do you
like epigrams ? " she inquired.
Emma, if the truth must be told, had no distinct
idea of what an epigi'am might be ; she would have
thought that it was something like an epitaph, but
for the word which Mr. Hai*tswood had applied to
those of his daughter. But Emma was very anxious
not to fall back from the position which she felt
that she was gaining in Claudia's estimation; boldly
to confess ignorance in the presence of one who sets
a high value on intellect, requires a good deal of
moral courage. Emma answered " Yes" to the ques-
tion whether she liked epigrams, in hopes that she
would find that she did so, as she was fond of every-
thing amusing. As Emma repeated her request to see
her friend's writings, Claudia, smiling, left the room,
to fetch, as she said, her wee book.
" What a delightful place this is ! " cried Emma,
when she was left for two minutes alone ; "I hope
to pass many happy hours here with a friend whose
society is so charming — so improving — so different
from that of a set of troublesome boys ! " Emma
glanced around at inlaid tables and gilded shelves,
supporting ornaments of china, ormolu, and crystal —
graceful specimens of art, which would have seemed
A SCOTCH MIST. 41
out of place in Mr. Holder's homelj parlour. Emma
contrasted the elegance and refinement of Claudia's
abode, the calm repose and intellectual enjoyments
of Claudia's life with her own very different lot.
Even Emma's gentle spirit might Iiave experienced a
slight emotion of envy, had she not hoped through
her friendship with Claudia to share her coveted
pleasures.
" Tommy and Harry must manage sometimes to
do their lessons by themselves," thought the vicar's
daughter ; " they will value me more when they
miss me ; what a comfort it is to be rid of their
noise ! Tlie stillness here is so refreshing, after all
the shouting, bawling, hammering, clatter of heavy
boots on the stairs, which my poor ears have had to
endure. How my time has been wasted in drudgery,
— my powers have never had fair play. I have been
brought up under great disadvantages, but I shall
now try to make up for lost time."
Whether that time had really been lost, which
had been employed in assisting a busy mother, and
helping on her brothers' education, may well admit
of a doubt ; it is possible that what Emma regarded
as simple drudgery had been quite as useful an
exercise for her mental powers as even the perusal
of Mrs. Hemans' beautiful poems,
" I like Emma Holder," said Claudia to herseLC
42 A SCOTCH MIST.
as she went up-stairs for her manuscript; "there
is no flattery or nonsense about her. What a
much more sensible and useful Hfe she has led
than the fine school-misses whom I used to meet
in London ; she has evidently a fine poetical
taste, combined with soKdity and sense ! I dare
look at her reflection in my magic mirror, with-
out a fear of detecting round it a gathering mist of
deceit."
Claudia soon returned to the drawing-room with
a small green book in her hand. She drew a chair
close to that on which Emma was seated, and sat
down, with a sense of keen enjoyment, to read her
verses to her new friend.
"You say that you like epigrams," she observed,
as she opened her book. " I have made a few upon
Scotch words ; you told me that your mother is
Scotch, so of course you know something of that
language."
Emma's knowledge was confined to about half-a-
dozen words ; but she did not like to say so. Her
companion seemed to take it so completely for
granted that the daughter of a Scotch lady could
not be ignorant of Scotch, that to have owned that
she was so, would have appeared to Emma like a
confession of utter stupidity.
" Here is my first epigi-am," said Claudia
A SCOTCH MIST. 43
I.
Which for poetic fire most credit earns,
The Scandinavian Scalds * or Scottish Burns ? f
Emma knew that Burns was the name of a
Scotch poet, but she had not a notion what he had
to do with either scalds or Scandinavia. She be-
came uncomfortably aware that an epigram is alto-
gether unlike an epitaph ; rather resembling a riddle
— and Emma could never make out the meaninar of a
riddle in her life. She was rather relieved to find that
she was not expected to answer the question which
she did not understand, as Claudia, without pause
for comment, went on to the second epigram.
II.
In Scotland, water comes from bum ;
But bum, in England, comes from fire.
" Papa said that the epigram ought to have been
in rhyme," observed Claudia ; "so he altered it to
this : —
From a spring flows the bum we in Scotland admire ;
But a bum in old England arises from fire.
"Which way of expressing the idea do you think
happiest ? " inquired Claudia.
" Your father, doubtless, knew best," replied
* Aoclent Scandinarian bards. t Scotch for brook
44 A. SCOTCH MIST.
Emma, unwilling to own that in either form the
idea was to her utterly incomprehensible.
" Ah ! you like poetiy ; then perhaps this epi-
gram may please you ! " cried the young authoress,
and she read aloud that one which she had taken
most pains to polish.
III.
For hues of gold and purple never seek,
"Where sunbeams on fair Scotia's mountains glint,
Nor look for rose on Scottish maiden's cheek ;
If aught be lost in Scotia it is tint*
Emma smiled the admiration which was — as she
saw — expected, though her silent comment on the
epigram was : " Why, sui-ely the mountains are
covered with heather and broom, purple and gold ;
and as for Scotch ladies being pale — mamma's
clieeks are as red as an apple I "
" The next epigram you had better read to your-
self," observed Claudia, " for it is faulty if uttered
aloud ; it does for the eye, but not for the ear."
IV.
In England this old proverb stands :
" If ifs and ans
Were pots and pans
There would be no work for tinkers' hands."
In Scotland no such transformation begin.
For there the ifs would be changed into ffinA
• Scotch word for lost. t Gin. Sootrh for if
A SCOTCH MIST. 46
" What honible nonsense these epigrams are ! "
thought Emma, a little indignant at what seemed to
her an absurd calumny on the native land of her
parent. " Had Claudia known anything at all
about Scotland, she would have put whisky instead
of gin. But that would have spoiled the rhyme."
Yes, and the point of the epigram also ; but Emma
could see no point in it at all
"There are only two more," said Claudia; "but
they are papa's favourites."
T.
Greeting * with us a cheerful thing appears ;
In Scotland greeting always comes with tears.
" That is very pretty, and curious, and funny,"
said the puzzled listener; but her mental comment on
the epigi'am was: " I should Kke to see mamma's face
if she heard that the Scotch people never meet with-
out tears ! She has never any patience for crying."
" Here's the last of my Scotch epigrams," said
Claudia ; "I have a few French ones, but I daresay
that you will have heard enough for to-day."
"Much more than enough," thought Enmia, but
she faintly exclaimed, " Oh, no ! "
VI.
In barbarous Scotland no woman should tarry ;
The maidens are sure to be spiered f eve they marry.
* Ortcting. Scotch for creeping. t Spured, Scotch for asked.
46 A SCOTCH MIST.
Emma could not refrain from a little exclamation
of amazement on hearing an assertion so astounding.
Her evident astonishment made Claudia say, with
an inquiring look, " You have heard of spieiri/ng in
Scotland, have you not, Emma ? "
" Oh, dear, yes ; they spear salmon there, but
not women," was the reply; which made Claudia
burst into a violent fit of laughter. She suddenly
checked it, however, as a suspicion crossed her
mind that Emma had understood as little of the
meaning of the other epigi'ams as she evidently did
of the last.
"Did you know the other Scotch words which I
played upon?" inquired Claudia.
"Not exactly — not just all," faltered forth Emma,
exceedingly afraid of being thought stupid on the
one hand, or insincere on the other.
"The epigrams must have sounded like absolute
nonsense if you did not know the words upon which
they turned," said Claudia coldly, closing her manu-
script book. " Why did you not tell me at once
that you did not understand Scotch ? "
Emma flushed and looked so uncomfortable, that
Claudia said more playfully, in order to set her guest
at her ease, "It is no part of a lady's education to
learn the meaning of spier, greet, or tint : ignorance
may not be ' bliss,' but it certainly is no disgrace.
A SCOTCH MIST. 47
But even where one may be expected to be well in-
formed," she added gravely, "it is always the best
way to own ignorance frankly. It was only yester-
day that papa told me an anecdote of President
Lincoln which seems just to the point. This famous
President of the United States had one day been
speaking' with great earnestness on some subject
which interested him. A clergyman who was pre-
sent, turning to an English orator who chanced to
be near, made a quotation in Latin regarding Mr.
Lincoln. Most men in the lofty station which the
President held, and before an accomplished stranger,
would have avoided showing ignorance of Latin,
which every well-educated gentleman is supposed to
have at his finger-ends. But honest Abraham Lin-
coln, leaning forward in his chair, looked inquiringly
from the one to the other gentleman, and then
frankly said with a smile, 'Which, I suppose, you
are both aware I don't understand.' — It was so char-
acteristic of the man ! "
Emma smiled at the little anecdote, with some
mortification at her heart. Whether or not intended
as a rebuke, the story of Lincoln's frank simplicity
seemed to be such to Emma. To her, Claudia Harts-
wood appeared a little exacting, carrying on her
crusade against King Sham with an uncompromising
zeal, which must leave her with few, if any, followers.
48 A SCOTCH MIST.
When the girls separated about an hour aftei-warda,
though Emma can-ied away with her several books
lent from the Hartswood library, and said with
sincerity that she had much enjoyed her visit, she
felt that she had lost ground in the favour of Claudia,
and was more likely to find in her a pleasant
acquaintance than an attached and intimate friend.
CHAPTER V.
THE STRANG KR.
0 I expect, do I require too much?"
thought Claudia, as on the following
morning, after as usual accompanying
her father to the station, she sauntered alone into
the thick shrubbery at the rear of Friem Hatch,
"Am I seeking for that which I never can meet
with, a thoroughly trustworthy friend, a girl
without lip-deceit or look-deceit, because there is no
heart-deceit within ? Does King Sham then reign
with such undisputed sway over all the civilized
world, that neither in town nor country can I enlist
one of my own sex to join me in making a firm
stand against him ? Even if it be so, I will hold
fast my integrity of principle : I will strictly keep
to truth : I will not stoop to deceit in any of its
forms, though 1 should be regarded as a fool or a
fanatic, and have to hold my ground alone !" And
Claudia paused on the narrow path between border-
ing lilacs which she had been slowly traversing and
(226J 4
60 THE STRANGER.
looked proudly upwards, pressing her foot more
firmly on the gravel, and drawing herself up to her
full height, as if defying an enemy unseen. The
young green shoot was aspiring upwards, and hoping
to reach the star ! Claudia, full of zeal for truth,
was yet a stranger to the Truth; her energy sprang
from the root of pride ; and with all her rigid
scrutiny of the character of others, she was yet in
ignorance of her own.
Claudia wandered on till she had almost reached
the limits of the pleasure-grounds belonging to
Friern Hatch. As has been previously mentioned,
the dwelling stood on high ground, commanding a
wide prospect. The downward slope behind the
house was at first gradual, but then there was a
sudden dip into a little wooded dell of no great ex-
tent but of singular beauty, at the bottom of which
flowed a tiny brook, forming a crystal shrine to the
bright green mosses over which it gurgled. A nar-
row path through the thick shrubbeiy led down to
this brook, close to which was a small rural bower,
formed of rough-hewn boughs intertwined, and so
overgrown and matted with creepers, that at a shoii
distance it could scarcely be distinguished from the
folieige amidst which it nestled. The spot was pro-
foundly quiet, and was a favourite haunt of Claudia,
who called it her " bower of roses by Bendamere's
THE STRANGER. Bi
stream," and made it her retreat for study. The
lane which divided the pleasure-gi'onnds from the
dead wall which enclosed the convent garden was
certainly near, but could not be seen on account of
the thickness of the intervening shnibs, and it was
a lane along whose grass-grown ruts not so much as
a cart seemed ever to travel. The only sounds
which occasionally betrayed that human beings were
not far remote, were the faint tinkle of the convent
bell, or the music fi-om its little Gothic chapel; but
these, to Claudia's fancy, rather blended with than
broke the peaceful stillness which pervaded this
favourite spot. Claudia had never hithei"to found
the solitude of her bower invaded by any stranger,
and was therefore not a little surprised when, on
entering it on this occasion, a lady clad in the black
garments of a nun suddenly started up from the
seat, as if frightened by her unexpected appearance
" Oh ! forgive me ! " exclaimed the stranger,
shrinking back timidly on being detected in an act
of intrusion.
The appearance of the young nun, as far as the
dim light which struggled into the bower showed
it, was singularly interesting. Her eyes were large
and soft, her features delicate, and the linen band
which crossed her forehead wa^ scarcely whiter than
the skin upon which it rested.
52 THE STRANGER.
Claudia felt perplexed as to how she should greet
80 unexpected a guest. " How came you here ? "
escaped her lips ; and then she wished the uncourteous
words unspoken, though they had been uttered in a
scarcely audible tone. Perhaps the stranger had
mistaken their meaning, for she answered the "how"
as if it had been the " why."
" I ventured to seek this spot as one where I
might find solitude ; where, unwatched and unre-
proved, I might meditate, pray, and weep ! " The
gi-aceful head drooped as the nun spoke, the form of
Claudia standing in the doorway so obscured the
feeble light that she could not see the face of the
nun sufficiently distinctly to mark its expression,
but she caught the sound of a shivering sigh.
" To weep ! then you are unhappy?" said Claudia,
in a gentle, sympathizing tone.
The stranger sank down on the iTistic seat from
which she had risen, but made no reply to the ques-
tion.
"I thought," observed Claudia, "that nuns
usually spoke of their lives with an air of serene
contentment, at least to strangers who visit their
convent."
" Content ! yes, yes, they may be content who
can believe that heavenly happiness can be pur-
chased by the sacrifice of all earthly; ^-hat voluntary
THE STRANGER. 53
imprisonment and self-inflicted hardships give a title
to future glory," murmured the stranger, her hands
anconsciously toying with the rosary of black beads
which she wore suspended to her waist.
" Do you not believe that ? " cried Claudia
eagerly.
"Perhaps I did once, but now — now — I know
not what to believe," faltered the nun.
Keen interest and curiosity were awakened in the
bosom of Claudia. Here, indeed, was an unexpected
and welcome break in the monotony of her lonely life
— here was something to stir up her spirit of romance.
" I scarcely know whether I ought to converse
with you," she said, with a little hesitation, still
standing in the doorway, and leaning against its
clematis-covered arch ; " for my father has forbidden
me to hold any intercourse with the ladies of the
convent."
" Perhaps your father fears that you might be
di-awn into what he deems eiTor," said the nun,
sadly ; " but I, alas ! can lead no one — I myself
need a guide."
" Ai-e you not a Romanist ? " asked Claudia,
quickly,
" I thought so once ; now all is a mist — a blank
— ^I can see no path clear before me," replied the
stranger, covering her face with her liands.
54 THE STRANGEK.
"But you are feeling for truth?" cried Claudia,
entering the bower, and seating herself by the side
of her singular guest.
" I have longed — oh, how I have longed ! — for
some one to whom I could tell my difficulties — some
friend whom I could trust, and to whom I could
open my heart," sighed the stranger.
Claudia drew closer to her side, "Tell me your
name," she said, softly.
" In the convent I am known as Sister Helena.
What my real name is matters not ; she who bore
it died — passed from life and from all that life can
give — when she took the black veil of a nun."
The heart of Claudia beat high. Was she to be-
come the friend and confidante of a poor misguided
girl, who had been deluded into taking a step which
she evidently now regretted ? Often had Claudia's
thoughts wandered towards the neighbouring con-
vent ; often had she desired to penetrate into the
secret of the life led by its inmates, and her will
had rebelled against the prohibition of her father.
Now chance seemed likely to give her such an in-
sight into the working of the nunnery system as
she was not likely to have gained from a hundi-ed
visits to the building.
"You may speak freely to me," said the lawyer's
daughter, with a proud consciousness that she was
THE STRANGER. 65
Lacapable of betraying a trust ; "no one ever had
reason to regret placing confidence in my honour.
Young as I am, it is possible that I may throw
some light on your difficulties. I have read a good
deal, and thought a good deal more, and I have
often talked with my father about the difference
between the Romish faith and our own."
A dark heavy cloud had been gradually over-
spreading the sky, blotting out the last glimpse of
blue, and rendering the green twilight of the shadj^
bower yet more dim than before, so that Claudia
could now scarcely distinguish the features of her
companion. There was a low rumble of distant
thunder, and then the sudden rushing sound of a
heavy fall of rain. The drops pattered fast and
thick on the leave.s, and splashed into the tiny brook
which glided rapidly on, looking almost black under
the shadow of the overhanging foliage. To the
mind of Claudia in after-days how often recurred
that scene — the brooding cloud, the sudden rain,
and the low muttering thunder, while from beneath
the folds of the dark shrouding veil came the soft
mournful tones of Sister Helena !
CHAPTER VL
SISTER Helena's tale.
AM of gentle birtli," began Sister Helena,
perhaps all the more encouraged to
speak by the darkness which had come
over the place, and the sound of rain which broke
that stillness of nature which a few minutes before
had been almost oppressive. " I am a member of a
family that has always been strictly Catholic, and
have been brought up to regard my Church as the
only time Church upon earth, and her priests as in-
fallible guides." The nun paused for several
moments, sighed deeply, and then went on.
" I lost both my parents when I was little more
than an infant, and the care of my education then
devolved on an aunt, who is completely under the
influence of her confessor. I was early destined to
enter a convent. From time immemorial, in every
generation of my family, one or more of the ladies
had taken the veil. While I was yet a young girl
iii the schoolroom, it was discovered that T had a
SISTER HELEMA'S TaLE. 57
decided vocation ; I was spoken of as the little nun.
The idea of entering a convent was constantly pre-
sented to my mind, and made as attractive as might
be. A nunnery was represented to a timid con-
scientious girl as the very vestibule of heaven, the
abode of peace and love ; and its inmates as angels
in human form, untainted by human infirmity."
" But why should your aunt wish to imprison you
in a convent?" asked Claudia.
' I doubt not that she thought that the saciifice
of my freedom would be good for my soul — perhaps
for her own," replied Helena. " Besidos," she added,
dropping her voice, so that Claudia could scarcely
catch the sound of her words, " in thinking over the
subject since I have taken the veil, I have become
persuaded that there were other — family — pecuniary
reasons for wishing me out of the way."
" Infamous !" exclaimed Claudia with indignation.
She regarded the conduct of Helena's relatives,
coaxing her into a convent in order to get posses-
sion of her money, much in the same light as she
would have done that of the family of a Hindoo
widow urging on her the fearful saciifice of a
suttee.
"Be that as it may," continued Helena, "a con-
vent life seemed to me in my early jouth as my
inevitable destiny, and I was disposed submissively
58 SISTER HELENA S TALE.
to accept a fate which I scarcely knew how to avoid.
I was at least uncomplaining, if I could not be
cheerful ; and if a desire would sometimes arise to
know a little more of the world before I should quit
it for ever, I regarded the thought as a temptation,
and confessed it to the priest as a sin."
" It was a most natural desire!" cried Claudia,
becoming more and more interested in the story of
the stranger, whose cruel position, from the power
of her own imagination, she vividly realized.
" The time for my entering on my novitiate had
almost arrived," said Sister Helena, "when an inci-
dent occun-ed which, though not followed by the
serious consequences at firet apprehended, was not
to be without its effect on — perhaps all the rest of
my life. I was crossing the road in Hyde Park,
returning from a walk in which I had been accom-
panied only by a servant, when I was strack down
by a carriage, of which the horses had suddenly
taken fright, and was raised from the ground in-
sensible, and with my left arm broken. I was in-
stantly carried to the hospital near, and I remained
there for several days before I was removed by my
friends, my aunt being an invalid at the time, and
having no vocation for nursing."
" You would have the advantage of having good
medical skill at the hospital," observed Claudia.
SISTER HELENA'S TALE. 59
" I had more ; I had most tender nursing," said
the nun, "and that not only from hired attendants.
The part of the hospital to which I had been taken
was visited by a lady — a Protestant lady — who
came, like a guardian angel, to comfort and bless
the afflicted. I had been strongly prejudiced, I
own, against those whom I had been taught to re-
gard as heretics ; I had heard the worldliness and
heartlessness of Protestant ladies contrasted with
the piety and self-denial of our sisters of charity, so
that it was a new and strange thing to me to dis-
cover that your Church holds women as ready to
give themselves up to labours of love as our own."
"And that wearing a peculiar dress is no neces-
sary part of such labours," observed Claudia, "nor
the fetters of vows."
" My heart became much drawn towards Miss
Ii-vine — such was the name of the lady- visitor " —
continued Sister Helena. "There was to me an
inexpressible charm about her voice and her manner,
which gave force to her words. Even her step was
to me like music, as she glided from one patient to
another, with tender compassion for each, though
her pity seemed more especially to rest upon me."
"And Miss Irvine opened your eyes to truth?"
asked Claudia, eagerly.
"She had scarcely time to open my eyes to any
60 SISTER HELENA S TALE.
truth, save that she lierself was all kindness and
goodness," said Helena, softly. " Perhaps my friends
were alarmed at my having any communication with
a Protestant lady, for I was soon removed from the
hospital, and had a Catholic nurse. I never saw
my visiting angel again, but I carried her image in
my heart."
"I wonder that the discovery of the possibility
of your Romanist friends being mistaken in at least
some of their views did not prevent your taking
Buch a step as that of enteiing a convent," said
Claudia.
" Oh, I was weak in body and in spirit," mur-
mured Helena ; "I was scarcely able to exercise a
will of my own, at least not to oppose it to the
wishes and persuasions of my natural guardian and
her confessor. As soon as it was prudent for me to
encounter the fatigue of a short journey from London,
I was removed to this convent, and entered on my
novitiate here, I was treated with gi'eat kindness
at that time. The state of my health afforded aa
excuse for many a little indulgence. I was never
roused from sleep to attend night-services in the
chapel, even fast-day rules were relaxed in my
favour. All was done to make convent-life appear
to the novice in the most advantageous Kght, and
in my state of nervous weakness the repose which
sisTEK Helena's tale, 61
it ofiered was refreshing and soothing. 1 felt
scarcely either sorry or glad when the time arrived
for my taking the in-evocable step which should
bind me to the convent for ever."
" Did you never hear from Miss Irvine ? " asked
Claudia.
" Never," replied Helena sadly. " If letters ever
came from the Protestant lady they never reached
me, all correspondence having to pass through the
hands of the Lady Superior. Miss Irvine knew
where I was likely to be found, and may have
written, — I have since had reason to believe that she
did so; but, be that as it may, often as I thought
of her, I had then no cause to suppose that my Pro-
testant friend remembered me, till a few days after
I had sealed my fate by taking the veil."
" And then what happened ? " asked Claudia with
interest, as the stranger paused in her narration. The
rain was pattering through the leaves with more
violence than before, and the streamlet, brown and
swollen, was racing more swiftly along.
" I was one day walking alone in the convent
garden," replied Sister Helena, " telling my beads
as I slowly pursued my way. There was an aged
man at work, planting out in the border a few
spring flowers, which is the one luxury with us re-
garded as lawful, and the old gardener is the person
62 SISTER Helena's tale.
of the other sex of whose services we make use.
The man raised himself from his stooping posture as
I approached the spot where he was working; I
fancied that he was watching my movements, and I
went towards him as though I had known by in-
tuition that he had a message for me. Just as I
passed him the gardener, without uttering a word,
drew a parcel from the pocket of his jacket, and
placed it in my hand. Curious, I confess, to see
the contents of the mysterious packet, I hid it in
the folds of my veil, and went on at the same
measured pace, longing to escape back to my cell
to examine what I had received, and yet afraid
to awake suspicion by any unguarded movement,
should one of the sisterhood chance to observe
me.
" How that wretched system of restraint neces-
sarily leads to deceit ! " exclaimed Claudia, whose
spirit revolted from anything that bore the appear-
ance of secret intrigue, as a free bird would abhor
the underground life of a mole.
"As soon as I was alone in my own little cell,"
continued Sister Helena, "I hastened to open my
packet. I was a little startled to find that it con-
tained the ' Life of Luther,' — a work which I own
that I had some curiosity to read, yet one of which
the perusal would, I well knew, be regarded not only
SISTER HELENA'S TALE. 63
lus a giievous breach of convent rules, but as a seri-
ous offence against the Catholic Church."
" I suppose that it was Miss Irvine who sent the
book," observed Claudia.
" I did not — I could not doubt that she was the
donor," said Sister Helena. "The initials M. I.
were on the fly-leaf. I had a little struggle in my
mind as to whether I should read the forbidden
book, or hand it over to the Lady Superior."
"I have no doubt in which way the straggle
ended," said Claudia with a smile.
"I opened the volume," continued the nun, "1
began to peruse the contents with an eagerness
which increased as I read. A new world seemed to
be opening before me."
"Natui-ally it would be so," observed Miss Harts-
wood, " as the scales of eiTor were doubtless begin-
ning to fall from your eyes. When you had finished
the book were you not convinced that the brave
and noble Reformer who attacked superstition and
deceit with an open Bible as his weapon, had justice
and truth on his side ? "
" I never finished reading the book," replied
Helena ; "I had not the oppoi-tunity of doing so.
I was not half-way through the contents of the
volume when, as after vespers I sat reading in my
cell by the light of a taper, I was surprised by a
M SISTER HELENA'S TALB.
visit from the Lady Superior herself. I had not
time to conceal my volume effectually, though I
made an attempt to cover it with my Breviary. The
Superior instantly perceived the suspicious book, and
to my great terror and confusion I beheld the ' Life
of Luther' in her grasp."
" How did the old lady look on discovering such
a work in the possession of one of her nuns ?" in-
quired Claudia, with no small curiosity.
" Much as she might have looked had she found
one of them fastening a viper in her bosom," an-
swered Helena. "Her glance of indignation, her
exclamation of hon-or, I never can forget. The book,
I scarcely need add, was speedily removed from my
cell, and I never saw it again: it was probablj-
burned."
" As so many of those who hold the same faith
as Luther have been ! " interrupted the indignant
young hearer.
" But I had bitter cause to remember that the
book had been in my possession," continued the nun.
" There was no more indulgence for my bodily weak-
ness, no more care for my comfort. I was regarded
as a black sheep in the flock, as a wretch infected
with the plague of heresy. A grievous penance wa.s
appointed to atone for the crime of having glanced
into the 'Life of Luther.' I had to endure weary
sisTEE Helena's tale. 66
days of fasting, and to spend nights on my knees
before the altar, reciting the penitential psalms."
" What tyranny ! what injustice ! " exclaimed
Claudia Hartswood ; " hut you shall suffer such op-
pression no longer. You have made your escape,
taken refuge in our grounds, and there you are safe
from the power of priest or Lady Superior. My
father, Mr. Hartswood, is a lawyer, one of the
noblest in his profession, — he never was known to
make a mistake, or do a mean or ungenerous
thing. My father will take up your case ; he will
protect an orphan, a persecuted woman, and expose
to the light of day all the injustice of which she has
been the victim."
Helena shrank back as if almost alarmed by the
enthusiasm of her young champion.
" Oh ! DO, no ! " she faltered ; " there must be no
violent measures taken. I cannot, dare not, break
away thus suddenly from all the ties that bind me,
to throw myself upon the mercy of strangers —
strangers of a different religion from my own."
" I thought that your faith in the Romanist re-
ligion was shaken," said Claudia, with a little less
vehemence in her manner.
" Shaken — perhaps so — but not destroyed. 1
know not enough of any other religion to give up
that in which I have from my childhood been nur-
(226) 5
66 SISTER Helena's tale.
tured;" and Helena, as she spoke, passed the beads
of her rosary through her fingers, as if perfonning
the act of prayer.
" You need more instruction," said Claudia; " but
that can be easily given. I will lend you books, I
wiU— "
"Oh ! I dare not take another heretical book into
my cell!" interrupted Helena; "I know too well,
by terrible experience, the penalty which I should
incur I "
" What would you yourself suggest ? " inquired
Claudia, whose desire to help the persecuted nun
was only strengthened by foreseeing that difficulties
must lie in the way.
" Can you not come yourself to this quiet spot —
bringing books if you will — that I may have inter-
course with one human being who can sympathize
with my trials, and give me some knowledge of a
religion of which I as yet know so little?" said
Helena, with some nervous hesitation.
" That, on my part, is easily done," replied Clau-
dia; "but surely watched and walled in as you are,
it would be difficult for you to keep tryst. I know
not how you contrived to make your way here, the
convent wall is so high."
" It is pierced by a secret door, supposed to be
known only to the Lady Superior," said Helena,
SISTER HELENA'S TALE. 67
lowering her voice to a wliisper. " It was by happy
accident that I discovered this way of escape. This
is an hour when the garden is usually empty, and
the sisters engaged in occupations in which I am not
expected to join. I could on most days contrive to
steal hither unnoticed, as I have done this morning."
" I shall be rejoiced to meet you in my bower,
and to do all that I can to answer your doubts, and
show you on what gi'ound Protestants build their
opinions," said Claudia, delighted at the prospect of
becoming instructress, confidante, and friend of this
most intei'esting stranger. " I will consult my
father, as soon as he returns from his business in
London,"
" Oh, your father must know nothing of our meet-
ing ; you must not breathe a syllable about me to
him," exclaimed Sister Helena, grasping the arm of
Claudia, in alarm.
"And why not?" asked Claudia abruptly. "I
never hide anything from my father ; — there is not
the shadow of a secret between us, all is as open as
daylight. You need not fear my father," she con-
tinued more gently ; " he is as incapable of betray-
ing your confidence as I am myself, and he is far
better able to help you. Nor, though he is a stanch
Protestant, mil he be prejudiced against you because
you are a Romanist. Still, papa's business brings
to SISTER HELENA S TALE.
him into close intercourse with persons of various
persuasions. His principal client is a Romanist ;
he keeps her most valuable papers, knows her most
private affairs, is perpetually consulted by her upon
all kinds of subjects, — except, of course, those con-
nected with her religion. Scarcely ever do three
days pass without a letter coming for papa in the
handwriting of Lady Melton."
" And it is just because Lady Melton thus places
entire confidence in Mr. Hartswood, that it is impos-
sible that I should do so," observed the young nun.
" One word will explain the whole difficulty to you,
— Lady Melton is my guardian and aunt."
Claudia gave a little start of surprise.
" I put it to your own sense of what is delicate
and right," continued Sister Helena: "could your
father act as a lady's most confidential adviser, could
he receive from her remuneration for professional
service, and at the same time be secretly aiding her
nearest relative to acquire knowledge, and perhaps
— perhaps take steps of which she would most
entirely disapprove?"
" Impossible !" exclaimed Claudia Hartswood ;
" my father, who is the soul of honour, would not
act a part so double, so base, for any consideration
in the world !"
" Then it must be evident to you," resumed the
SISTER Helena's tale. 69
nun, " that Mr. Hartswood should know nothing of
my situation at the convent, that he should be
ignorant of all that concerns my unhappy fate ; he
would otherwise be necessarily placed in a false and
painful position."
" It scarcely even seems right that his daughter
should be intrusted with such secrets," said Claudia,
with a grave, perplexed look. " Of course, I have
nothing to do with my father's client, or her law
business, and yet — "
" You confirm the doubt which has painfully
rested on my own mind," said Sister Helena, heav-
ing a sigh of deep disappointment ; " I should by
secret intercourse only involve you in trouble. I
should throw the shadow of my giiefs over your
sunshiny path. No, no ; it is better, far better,
that you should forget that we ever have met. I
can bear — or sink under — my trials alone !" And
the fair stranger rose, as if to leave the bower at
once, and go forth into the fast-pouring rain.
" Stay, Helena, stay ; I can never desert you,
never fail one who has sought my sympathy, and
offered me her confidence," exclaimed Claudia, lay-
ing her hand on the white slender fingers of Helena,
and making her resume her seat on the rustic bench.
" You have no friend, no adviser within reach, but
myself. I cannot bind myself down by any cold
70 SISTKK HELENA'S TAL4.
fetters of prudence or etiquette," she continued, with
kindling enthusiasm ; " what my father cannot do
I can. You may trust me, Helena, you may trust
me. I may not be able to free you, I may not be
able to convince you ; but I will at least feel for
your trials, and help you as far as I can."
As her only reply, Helena sank her drooping
head on the shoulder of her young friend. Claudia
drew her to her heart, with the same impulse of pro-
tecting compassion as that with which she would
have sheltered from the swoop of a hawk a trem-
bling bird that had flown for refuge to her
bosom.
" Be comforted, my Helena, my poor, desolate,
oppressed one," she murmured. "I will return here
to-morrow at this hour, and you will join me if you
are able to elude the watchfulness of your persecu-
tors. I will in the meantime ransack our library
for such books as may throw light on the differences
between Popish and Protestant doctrines. I will
bring them hither, and we will quietly and secretly
search after knowledge together."
" Oh ! that is all that I hope — all that I desire,"
cried Helena, raising her head with a smile of plea-
sure on her lips. " See, the rain has suddenly
ceased, and a bright golden ray is flashing down
from between the dark clouds. Even as that ray
8ISTKR Helena's tale. 71
is your tenderness, your mercy to a desolate heait,
sweet young lady."
"You must call me Claudia," said her companion.
Helena softly repeated the name " Claudia," and
raising the hand of her new friend, pressed it fer-
vently to her lips. The touching grace with which
the young nun performed this slight action made it
more expressive than words.
" And now I must hasten away, or I may be
missed," said Helena, again rising, and drawing her
thick black veil more closely around her. "Do not
attempt to follow me as I glide back to my prison
— less of a prison now, as it does not shut out hope.
Farewell ; we shall soon meet again ; I shall count
the hours, till I find myself again at your side,
Claudia, my protectress, my friend."
And almost before the last words had left her
lips, the fair nun had glided away from the bower,
shaking down, as she did so, a shower of glistening
raindrops from the creepers that overhung the nar-
row doorway.
CHAPTER VI l.
PROJECTS.
WONDER if this is all a strange dream !"
exclaimed Claudia Hartswood aloud,
after the dark veiled form had vanished
from her sight behind the shrubbery. " It seems
more like a dream than a reality ; and if Sister
Helena had not left the print of her small feet
yonder on the wet gravel, I should be tempted to
fancy that my nun was but the creation of my own
imagination. She is lovely enough and interesting
enough to be the subject of a poet's dream. Not
an hour ago I was regretting that I had not found
in the whole world a girl of whom I could make a
friend, and now a friend drops down upon me, I
could almost say, from the clouds ! How strange
and novel is the position in which I am suddenly
placed ! Full, unreserved contidence placed in my
honour by one who is desolate, wronged, deceived ;
one whose worst enemies are her own kindred ; one
who has been cruelly sacrificed by her who was her
E'ROJECTS. 73
natural protector!" All the chivalrous spirit of
Claudia was up in arms against the cupidity and
heartlessness of Lady Melton, and the tyranny of
the Lady Supeiior. Her cheeks glowed, her eyes
sparkled with indignation, as with a rapid step she
mounted the steep upward path towards the house,
brushing carelessly past the wet shrubs that bordered
and encroached on the way. " WTiat will happen
next?" reflected Claudia. "I will prove myself
worthy of Helena's trust ; I will exei-t all the powers
of my mind to help her in her search after truth.
How glad I am that my father has taught me to
cultivate my intellect ; that I have not frittered away
my time in mere skimming over the surface of
knowledge, or in acquiring showy accomplishments
like school-girls whom I have known ! I re-
member, " — Claudia had slackened her steps, and
now stood still, absorbed in reflection — " I remem-
ber what the wife of Marshal Ancre said of the in-
fluence of a strong mind over a weak one. I should
judge from her own account that Helena has neither
a powerful mind nor a very strong will ; she is a
o-entle, clinging, aflfectionate girl, who has allowed
herself to be guided even against her better judg-
ment. But a character of this kind will at least be
open to conviction ; she will be simple and sincere
in trying to acquire religious knowledge. And
74 PROJECTS.
when Helena's eyes are fully opened, what will
follow then?" Claudia pressed her forehead with
her hand, and then replied to her own question ;
" She will doubtless fly from the convent, and I will '
aid her in making her escape. She will seek the
protection of the laws of our free land ; every heart
that values liberty of conscience will sympathize
with the young nun. An account of all that has
happened will be written, published, eagerly read —
perhaps mine will be the pen that shall write it!"
An involuntary smile flitted across the features of
the lawyer's young daughter at the idea. Claudia
had for years cherished the ambition of becoming
an authoress ; she had wiitten other things besides
epigrams. She had lately commenced a tale founded
on the touching historj'^ of the martyred Anna van
Hove. But how much more likely to awaken
public interest, and to raise its authoress to the fame
for which she panted, would be a story of modern
life, an account of the wrongs, the conversion, the
escape of a beauteous young nun, still living to con-
firm the truth of the tale of which she would be the
heroine ! What a powerful effect such a work
might have even in arresting Romanist aggression,
in exposing the evils of convent life 1 Animated by
thouglits such as these, Claudia resumed her rapid
walk, gained the highest part of the grounds, and
PKOJECtS. 76
then tuiTiing round, paused and gazed down on the
picturesque Gotliic building below, which had hitherto
been to her an object of curiosity and interest, which
were now deepening into intensity. The young
enthusiast stretched forth her hand towards the
convent, from which the tinkle of a bell was now
heard, and her emotions found vent in low-muttered
words : —
" May it not be that a pen in this weak girlish
hand may prove more powerful to overthrow yon
abode of superstition than platform oration or pulpit
eloquence ? May it not be that I who hate false-
hood may be the chosen instrument to expose false-
hood in its most alluring disguise?" The eyes of
Claudia dilated, her form seemed to rise in height;
in imagination she was a successor of Luther, rend-
ing the veil from fanaticism and bigotry, letting in
light on the haunts where superstition still lurked
as in the dark ages.
" I only wish that I could consult my father,"
thought Claudia — "he who is so talented and wise,
and so true a Protestant besidea Would that he
had had any one in all broad England for his client
rather than this cniel Lady Melton ! I feel uneasy
at carrying on any project that must be kept secret
from him ; it seems almost like entering upon a
course of deceit." Claudia's countenance lost all its
76 PROJECTS.
brightness of expression, and her brow contracted
into a farrow, as she pursued her train of thought,
with her eyes still fixed on the convent, the chimneys
of which were almost on the same level as the
ground upon which she was standing. " My father
strictly charged me to have no intercourse whatever
with the nuns. He trusted in my honour for im-
plicit obedience ; and I have not only been holding
a long private conversation with one of the inmates
of the convent, but it seems more than likely that I
may become her most intimate friend. Can I be
doing what is wrong?"
The question was one of importance. A serious
doubt iis to the propriety of her own conduct had
started up in the mind of Claudia ; but the lawyer's
daughter had a ready argument with which to repel
it. "Papa forbade me to speak with the convent
ladies lest they should pervert my faith ; but that
danger does not exist in my intercourse with Helena;
on the contrary, it is I who am likely to convert
this poor misguided young creature. I must keep
to the spirit rather than to the letter of my father's
commands. He did not foresee such a case as this.
Papa will rejoice as much as myself if, through my
means, this interesting girl embraces the Protestant
faith. When papa knows all, he will not blame me
for having acted according to reason, to conscience.
PROJECTS. 77
to duty, even though I have beeu obliged to work
more secretly than is agi'eeable to my natural dis-
position."
How unconsciously was Claudia Hartswood suffer-
ing herself to be drawn into one of the most perilous
of Jesuitical errors, the belief that the end justifies the
means; or, in the language of the poet, that we may,
"to do a great right, do a little wrong." Confident in
her own acuteness of intellect, and in what she
deemed her uprightness of purpose, Claudia was
persuading herself that disobedience and cunning
were not to be blamed if they appeared needful to
carry on a work of conversion. And this was the
same Claudia who, on the previous day, had so fear-
lessly affirmed that there was no deceit in her heart
any more than in her looks or on her lips ! Could
she at that moment have glanced into her magic
testing mirror, would she have seen no mist gather-
ing round her own reflection ?
" There can be no harm in what I am doing ! "
said Claudia to herself many times during the coui-se
of that day, when pursuing with an abstracted mind
her usual avocations, or when collecting volumes
from the bookcase bearing on the subject of Protes-
tant controversy with Rome. When we take much
pains to assure our consciences that there is no
harm in some action which we have set our hearts on
78 PROJECTS.
doing, it behoves us to examine closely indeed whether
the track of the serpent may not be traced on our path.
The dislike with which human pride regards the in-
spired description of the heart as being above all
things deceitful, renders not that description less
true, even with those who are high-minded and gen-
erous, and in their usual conduct frank and open, as
waa Mr. Harts wood's young daughter
CHAPTER VIII.
ME^"rAL SENSES.
AM afraid, my girl, that you have spent
but a dull day in your solitude here."
Such was the greeting of Mr. Harts-
wood, as Claudia met him outside the gate of the
shrubbery, and slipped her arm within his, proud
and happy to be his companion on his brisk home-
ward walk.
"It has been a very wet day, papa," was Claudia's
rather evasive reply. " I suppose that you also
have had heavy showers in London."
" Shut up in court, as I was all day, one knows
little and cares less about weather. We had storms
enough within doors to make us forget storms with-
out, a kind of pelting that does not wet the clothes,
though it may damp the spirits and damage the
temper," laughed the lawyer, whose temper and
spirits also were evidently in first-rate condition. As
Mr. Hartswood took his usual turn in the grounds
before proceeding to the house, he gave his daugliter
80 MENTAL SENSES.
a lively and graphic account of a turbulent srene in
the law-court. Mr. Hartswood was wont to return
to Friern Hatch in buoyant spirits, thoroughly enjoy-
ing the relaxation afforded by country air and quiet,
and the unbracing of his mind in the society of his
bright, intelligent daughter. Claudia almost forgot
her nun till she and her father went into the house
and entered the lawyer's study, and the sight of a
note which lay there on the green leather-covered
table recalled Helena to her mind.
" Only one letter happily this evening," said Mr.
Hartswood taking up the note.
" From Lady Melton, of course," observed Claudia,
to whom by tliis time the handwriting of her father's
client was very familiar.
" Yes," replied Mr. Hartswood, as his eye glanced
rapidly over the contents of the note. "The good
lady is in desperate haste for her suit to come on,
and expects every one else to be as impatient as
herself But I've not all our ammunition ready
yet, to say nothing of priming and loading. A case
invoh-ing estates worth a couple of hundred thou-
sand pounds is not to be entered upon without care
and preparation. We must not open fire till we
make sure that we have the ri^ht range, and that
our battery will do its work effectually." There
was, however, confidence of success expressed in the
The Letter.
Page So.
MENTAL SENSES. gj
tone of the lawyer's voice. Mr. Harts wood looked
forward to the opening of the most important and
curious case which he had ever been called upon to
conduct, with the professional pleasure which a gen-
eral might feel in commencing a campaign which
he was assured would end in his triumph and
success.
" T suppose that you have seen no one to-day ? "
asked Mr. Hartswood, still glancing over the note
which he held in his hand.
" I have not seen Emma Holden," replied Claudia,
again speaking a little evasively, with an uncomfort-
able consciousness that she was doing so, which
made her glad that her father did not look at her as
she answered his simple question. Claudia took up
the envelope which had enclosed Lady Melton's
note, Mr. Hartswood having tossed it down on the
table. " I don't like this handwriting," she ob-
served, " it looks prim, stiff, and sharp, like the
wiiter."
" Where have you seen Lady Melton ? " asked the
lawyer.
"In my mind's eye," replied Claudia.
" Oh ! its vision is rather imperfect," said Mr.
Hartswood gaily, " or you would have seen that my
client, instead of being prim, hard, and stiff, is a
lively, animated little lady, who must have been
1^26J (J
82 MENTAL SENSES.
attractive in her youth, notwithstanding the mole
on her cheek."
Mr. Hartswood seated himself on his easy-chair,
which was, like the table, covered with green leather,
stretched out his limbs, folded his arms, and leaned
back, a picture of calm enjoyment, the active man
resting in his own pleasant home after the fatigues
of the day. The countenance of the lawyer ex-
pressed intelligence and shrewdness in a remarkable
degi-ee. Claudia was wont to apply to her father
the description of the poet : —
" On his bold visage middle age
Had blightly stamped its signet sage,
But had not quenched the open truth
And fiery vehemence of youth. "
The description was, however, rather an idealized
one as applied to Mr. Hartswood, and would have
teen more appropriate ten years before. The lower
part of the lawyer's reddish whiskers were now
tinged with white, and here and there a silver line
on the overhanging brows betrayed the advance of
time; but the glance of the deep set eyes under
those brows was keen and bright as ever, while wit
and playful good-humour were expressed in the lines
of the handsome mouth. Mr. Hartswood's figaire had
become slightly stout as he passed the meridian of
life, but he was still an active and powerful man.
MENTAL SENSES. 83
Very proud was Claudia of her father, he who was
so full of energy and spirit, so fond of his profession,
so eager for work, and yet able to unbend so
thoroughly, enjoying now his laugh at a bon-mot or
jest, now a metaphysical discussion with the young
daughter whose mind he delighted to train, and
who, in feature, talent, and disposition, a good deal
resembled himself.
" What a singular expression that of ' mind's eye '
is, papa," observed Claudia, as she drew a footstool
near to her Either, and seated herself at his feet.
"It is one of Shakspeare's bold figures of speech,"
said Mr, Hartswood, — "a fine thought poetically ex-
pressed,"
"The eye seems especially suited for poetry," re-
marked Claudia; and she added laughingly, "not
even Shakspeare would have ventured to write
upon 'the mind's nose,' "
"I beg your pardon," replied her father with a
smile, " The word 'nose ' may not, indeed, be intro-
duced but Shakspeare indubitably endows the mind
with the sense of which the nose is the organ, — I
mean, of course, that of smell,"
"Papa!" exclaimed Claudia, "can you mean
that?"
" There is a curious analogy, a kind of resem-
blance between the faculties of the mind and those
84 MENTAL SENSES.
of the body to which it is united," continued Mr.
Hartswood. "The mind has its five senses analo-
gous to those which we tenn sight, hearing, taste,
touch and smell. You who are so fond of puzzles,
see if you can make out what the mental senses
are."
" I will try, at least," said Claudia, as she rested
her clasped hands on the knee of her parent and
looked up in his face. " Sight, the mind's eye, that
must be imagination, by which the mind sees what
is otherwise unseen."
"And what is the mind's ear, or rather its sense
of hearing ? " inquired Mr. Hartswood.
" That is harder to find out," replied Claudia;
"just give me a minute to think;" and she pressed
her forehead with her hand.
" Were I to address you in Greek would you hear
me?"
" Yes, with my ears, but I should not understand
you. Ah, papa!" cried Claudia, "I see, or rather
my mind hears, what you mean. Comprehension is
the mind's sense of heaiing ; the outer ear takes in
the sound, the inner ear the sense of what is spoken."
" And now we come to the mind's palate," said
Mr. Hartswood in his playful way ; " what can my
little girl make out by that ? "
" Food for the mind," murmured Claudia half
MENTAL SENSfiS. 85
aloud ; ' Ihat is a very common expression ; and
the mind, like the palate, finds one kind of food
more to its taste than another. Does not the word
taste express the mental as well as the bodily sense,
dear papa ?"
" I should myself prefer the word judgment,"
replied Mr. Hartswood. " As the palate discrimi-
nates between sweet and bitter, good, bad, and indif-
ferent, so the mind exercises its powers of judgment
on any matter with which it may be brought into
contact."
" How amusing and curious are these analogies,
as you call them, papa!" cried Claudia. "I should
never have imagined, unless you had pointed it out,
what a thought, or rather what a cluster of thoughts,
might be put into one's brain by that single ex-
pression, ' mind's eye.' But there are yet two of
the mental senses which I have not yet tried to
make out. Touch," she continued, gently pressing
her fingers on the hand of her father ; " what can be
the mind's sense of feeliTUj ?"
" An expression in very common use may help
you to solve the problem," said the lawyer.
" Feeling one's way — not with the hand, but
with the — let me think, let me think !" murmured
Claudia. " One watches a face to see if one may
venture to utter what may give pain or offence ;
86 MENTAL SENSES
but then it seeins as if that were the office of the
bodily eyes."
" Many persons who have perfect bodily sight
are incapable of that mental exercise which you have
described abS feeling one's ivay," obsei*ved Mr. Harts-
wood. " Such persons do not seem to be aware of
the annoyance or pain which they cause, though
they may defeat their own object by their total
want of — "
" Of discernment, of tact,'' exclaimed Claudia.
" Ah ! have I not found it out now ? Discernment
is the mind's sense of touch."
" Such, at least, is my idea," said Mr. Hartswood,
"and I think that it is confirmed by our common
mode of parlance. We speak of handling a matter
awkwardly ; that is, without that delicate tact or
discernment which enables its possessor to do the
right thing in the right way, at the right time, and
in the right place."
" Blundering people have their minds left-handed,
as it were," cried Claudia gaily. " But oh, papa,
the hardest riddle of all remains for the last ! I
cannot imagine what mental faculty can be called
the mind's sense of smell, and you say that Shak-
speare described it,"
" With the mind I believe it to be the most im-
portant sense of all," said the lawyer.
MEKTAL SENSES. 87
Claudia looked up earnestly into the intelligent
eyes of her father, as if to read his meaning in them.
She was fairly puzzled at last.
" I have read most of Shakspeare's plays to you,
Claudia," remarked Mr. Hartswood ; " can you re-
member no expression in any one of them referring
not to outward, but to inward power of distinguish-
ing scent?"
" ' Oh, m/y offence is rank, it smells to Heaven /' "
exclaimed Claudia suddenly, quoting a well-known
line from Hamlet.
" Much the same idea is expressed in a passage
in King John," observed Mr. Hartswood, " where
Faulconbridge, after the cruel death of poor Prince
Arthur, is made to exclaim, ' Fo7' I am stifled ivith
this smell of sin !' To me that line is one of the
most forcible ever written by the hand of our glo-
rious poet."
" Then Shakspeare must have considered wicked-
ness as a thing which to the mind has an evil scent,
and goodness, I suppose, as a thing which has sweet
fragrance," observed Claudia, thoughtfully. " But
I do not just know what faculty of the mind can be
said to distinguish between them."
" I should call it mora^ perception," replied Mr.
Hartswood — "perhaps the noblest attribute of the
human mind ; certainly one to be ranked above
88 MENTAL SENSES.
imagination, or even quickness of comprehen-
sion."
" Though, as regards bodily senses, that of smell
is the one which we could most readily part with,"
said Claudia. " The pleasure derived from it is as
nothing compared to that given through the eye or
the ear."
" The most important use of the sense of smell to
man is not to bestow pleasure," remarked Mr. Harts-
wood : " it is a valuable safeguard to health, and
even to life ; and in this point especially is there a
striking analogy between it and our moral percep-
tions."
" I am soiTy that I do not understand you, papa,'
said Claudia frankly
" The nostrils are oflended by what is impure and
unwholesome, by malaria, or the scent of corruption,"
observed Mr. Hartswood. " But for the warning
which they give, we should often inhale what is
deadly, without being aware of our danger. It is
exactly thus with our moral perceptions : they give
us warning of peril to the soul."
" Some people seem scarcely able to distinguish
between right and wrong," remarked Claudia.
" It is sad when the moral perceptions are blunted,
as is too often the case by frequent contact with
evil," said the lawyer, "We meet with analogous
MENTAL SKN>KS. 89
physical cases, where persons, crowded together in
dwell in ors so unwholesome that to one accustomed
to pure air the atmosphere within them is stifling,
have become so accustomed to the evil as to feel no
outward annoyance from the poisonous gases which
are, not the less surely, bringing fever and death to
their frames."
" A strange fancy has occurred to my mind," said
Claudia. " When the gas escaped in the dining-
room lately, we tried to overpower the horrid scent
which it caused with eau-de-Cologne."
" Had a dozen bottles of perfume been expended,"
interrupted Mr. Hartswood ; "they would not have
prevented the atmosphere of the room being in so
dangerous a state that the entrance of a person with
a lighted candle would have caused the blowing up
of the house."
" Yes ; the perfume was to make the gas less dis-
agreeable, not less dangerous," observed Claudia.
" My thought was this : Is not my enemy, King
Sham, a great patron of perfumes to make what is
wrong appear right — to confuse what you call our
moral perceptions V
Mr. Hartswood laughed, and rubbed his hands
gaily. He always encouraged his daughter to start
what he considered an original idea. " King Sham
is the very king of perfumers," cried the lawyer ;
90 MENTAL SENSES.
" he takes the fragrant flowers of virtue, and distils,
boils, squeezes, and pounds them up into a pomade
of his own, ready for any occasion. Flattery, false
courtesy, eye-service, are, as it were, perfumes drawn
by him from dead reverence, dead kindliness, dead
obedience, and are used only to mislead and to cover
over what would otherwise shock our moral percep-
tions."
" Ah, papa, you could never bear perfumes except
from fresh flowers and fruit !" cried Claudia. " How
scornfully you tossed aside the musk-scented note
which I received from Euphemia Long!"
"As you disliked her rouge," said the lawyer.
" The breeze needs no perfume, and the skin no
tinting from ait ; and so honesty and truth, sweet
and pleasant to the moral perceptions, require not
the colour of hypociisy, or the musk-odour of de-
ceit."
The foregoing conversation may be regarded as a
specimen of those which often were held between
Mr. Hartswood and his daughter — conversations
which would have been as tedious and fatiguing to
Emma Holder, as they were usually delightful to
Claudia. This one, however, left an uneasy sensa-
tion on the mind of the lawyer's daughter, for which
she could scarcely account. Was there, to speak
metaphorically, some leak from the gas-pipe, or some
MENTAL SENSES. 91
malaria from the marsh, of which her moral percep-
tions made her, though imperfectly, aware ? "Was
the avowed enemy of deceit, in all its various forms,
for once resorting to its means to persuade herself
that the air held no subtle poison — that all around
her was wholesome and pure ?
CHAPTER IX.
OFF BEE GUARD,
|ES, the sooner the strawberries are gathered
the better ; I wonder that we have one
left after yesterday's rain," said the
vdcar's rosy-cheeked wife, as she stood by the parlour
window, fastening up with her own hands the white
knitted curtain which testified to her own and her
daughter's industry during long winter evenings.
" The north wall kept the rain off some of the
strawbenies ; there won't be any for preserving this
year, but lots for eating," cried Harry. "You pro-
mised us a feast of strawberries and cream, mother ;
and this is Emma's birth-day, you know."
"Ah, these birth-days," laughed the good-humoured
lady, " they seem to come every other week in the
year ! But I have not forgotten my promise, Emma,
my dear," she continued, turning towards her daugh-
ter; " this would be a good occasion for us to ask
your new friend to join us. Just pop on your hat,
and run over to Friem Hatch, and bring back
OFF HER GTARD. 93
Claudia Hartswood. It may be a novelty to her to
pick strawberries from the bed."
Emma started up eagerly — she needed no second
bidding. " I'll put on my hat in a minute," she
cried, as she rolled up the table-cloth which she had
been daraing ; "-I daresay that Claudia will be de-
lighted to come."
"Don't you be sto})ping to spout poetry together,"'
cried Tommy, " or you'll find more leaves than straw-
berries when you come back."
Though the attention of Claudia had been so
much occupied with her interesting visitor from the
convent that she had scarcely given a thought to
Emma Holder, the mind of the vicar's daughter had
often reverted to Claudia. The feeling of slight
mortification which Emma had experienced on ac-
count of the unlucky epigrams was passing away ;
while the impression left by the intelligent counte-
nance and frank cordial manner of Miss Hai'tswood
was vivid and charming. Emma still luxuriated in
the hope of delightful saunters with Claudia through
the thick shrubberies, or yet more charming tete-d-
tetes in library or bower ; perhaps even invitations
to Mr. Hartswood's select little dinnei'-parties, when
literary friends should come down from London to
make the social meal an intellectual feast.
" Claudia will forget my stupidity about these
94 OFF HER GUARD.
foolish epigrams," thought Emma. "I will be more
careful in future ; nothing of lip-deceit or look-deceit
shall she ever discover in me. I admire her straight-
forwardness and strong love of truth, though I own
that I think that she carries them to an extent that
is almost absurd."
The morning was bi-eezy and bright ; sun and
wind together had dried up almost all trace of the
yesterday's rain, save that the landscape looked
fresher and greener for the heavy showers that had
fallen. Gaily Emma pursued her uphill walk to-
wards Friern Hatch, which, nestling in its shrubbery,
crowned the highest point in the landscape.
On Emma's last visit to the place, Claudia had
invited her young friend to come to her at any hour,
and without any kind of ceremony.
" Do not ring the bell or raise the knocker," she
had said ; " the doors are always wide open in
summer : you have nothing to do but walk in. I
am almost as much alone here during the greater
part of the day as Crusoe was in his island. Our
fence is to me what the sea was to him ; I never
can say ' not at home.' You are sure to find me
either in the library, or wandering about in the
grounds; and come when you will, or how j^ou will,
you may always be certain of a welcome."
Remembering this ft-ank in\dtation from one who
OFF HER GUARD. 95
80 carefully weighed every word that she uttered,
Emma felt assured that her visit would give plea-
sure. The shy country girl was glad that there
was no need to summon Garrard, the portly, solemn -
looking butler, whose waiting at luncheon had been
the only thing to give an impression of burdensome
etiquette and formal constraint to Emma. The
front door of Friern Hatch was open, as was usual
during the summer day. This door gave entrance
into an airy hall and a passage beyond, at the
fai-ther end of which was a glass door, through which
Emma could see into the shrubbery which spread at
the back of the dwelling.
Just as Emma ascended the three broad stone
ssteps which led up to the entrance she caught a
glimpse, through the glass door, of the form of
Claudia in her lilac muslin and broad-brimmed hat,
as she rapidly passed along the shrubbery walk.
Emma felt too shy in a stranger's house to call out
her name aloud, but ran through the hall, traveled
the passage, and passing out through the glass door,
soon overtook Claudia, who, book in hand, was
hastening towards her shady bower to keep her
tryst with the nun.
" Claudia ! dear Claudia ! " — how unwelcome at
that moment were the unexpected call and the light
touch of Emma's hand on the arm of her friend !
96 OFF HER GUARD.
Claudia started and turned half round, nieetmff the
kindly smile in Emma's gray eyes witli a look less
expressive of pleasure.
" How fast you walk ; I could scarcely overtake
you," cried Emma, panting as she spoke. " Mamma
has sent me to ask you to come back with me to
share a little feast of strawberries and cream, I
should so much enjoy having you with us, dear
Claudia ! "
" I cannot come to-day — thanks all the same,"
replied Claudia, annoyed and embarrassed by an
invitation which she did not choose to accept, and
yet scarcely knew how to decline. She saw that
Emma looked disappointed, and tried to turn off the
matter with a jest. " I have a particular reason
for not passing my ring-fence to-day," she said gaily,
" and must show that I have a soul above the temp-
tation even of strawben-ies and cream."
" So have I," observed Emma laughing. " If
3'ou are not coming — if you really cannot come — I
shall much prefer staying with you. I see that you
are going, book in hand, to your bower ; I will
come with you, dear Claudia, and leave the boys to
their feast." So saying, Emma affectionately slipped
her arm into that of her friend.
Claudia was more and more embaiTassed. She
was unwilling to give pain or to repel affection, yet
OFF HER GUARD. 97
was impatient to get rid of her unwelcome com-
panion, Emma had certainly not the art of feeling
her way by that mental sense of touch which we
call tact or discernment, which saves its possessor
from many a shock to pride and wound to affection,
or she would have intuitively perceived that her
company was not desired.
" You are very kind, dear Emma," said Claudia
in a hesitating tone. " I hope that we may have
many pleasant readings together, but — but I do not
feel quite up to having a companion this morning."
Claudia was looking particularly rosy at that
moment, and her firm rapid step had certainly given
no token of indisposition. As her words, however,
seemed to be intended to convey such an idea,
Emma said, rather coldly, withdrawing her arm from
that which she had been affectionately pressing,
" Do you mean that you are not very well ? "
" She can no more understand a hint than she
can an epigram ! " thought Claudia, provoked at
being thus driven into a corner,
" Perhaps you have a headache ? " suggested
Emma.
" No, not exactly headache — but — but I intend
to study this morning alone." Claudia bit her lip
hard as soon as the words had escaped her ; her
colour rose even to her brow ; for the first time
'226) 7
98 OFF HEK GUARD.
perhaps in her life she had been surprised into
uttering an untruth.
Emma was hurt, and, as far as her gentle nature
permitted her to be so, offended. With a cold
" good-bye " she was turning away when Claudia
detained her. "Do not be vexed with me, dear
Emma," she said. " If you could only come at
some other time — a little later — this afteraoon, let
us say — "
" Oh, this afternoon I have the class at the school;
my time is not all my own ; I cannot, like you,
walk, read, or write poetry whenever I please," re-
plied Emma, with a full heart, betraying its emotion
in the altered tone of her voice. " But I hope to
come again — some day," and she turned and retraced
her steps, thinking, as Euphemia Long and Annie
Goldie had thought before her, that Claudia was
capricious and fickle, amusing as a companion, but
most unstable as a friend.
Claudia pursued her way down the shrubbery
walk, angry with Emma Holder, because angry and
disappointed with herself. " How could I say that
I intended to be alone," she muttered, " when I am
going to spend the morning with Helena ? But that
stupid girl pressed and tormented me till I scarcely
knew what I was speaking. I said what was not
true in order to spaie her feelings, and have offended
OFF HER GUARD. 99
her after all ! I was never awai-e before this how
much characters are moulded by circumstances over
which we have no control, I could not have be-
lieved yesterday morning that anything on earth
would have induced me to do what I have been
doing — to use concealment towards my father, and
insincerity towards my companion. I know that I
am honest in my intentions ; but how is it that my
words and actions seem now to require what pa{>a
calls ' the musk-odour of deceit ? ' "
CHAPTER X.
THE APPOINTED SIGNAL.
LAUDIA had ample time for such reflec-
tions, for she found her rural bower
empty. The rustle of leaves as the
summer breeze stiiTed them, the gurgling mm^mur
of the rill, and the drowsy hum of insects were all
that she heard as she seated herself on the low
lichen-stained bench within. In the absence of
sister Helena the misgivings of Claudia increased.
What if this fair young nun were some agent em-
ployed by the Jesuits subtly to undermine her faith,
under the pretext of examining its foundations ?
Claudia had read of such things being attempted,
and was startled as the idea flashed across her that
she might possibly herself be the subject of some
deep-laid Romanist scheme.
" Ha ! " she exclaimed half aloud, as one sud-
denly recoiling from the brink of a pit-fall, " do
they think to draw me into their toils. If I find
that there is the slightest attempt to blind my eyes
THE APPOINTED S1G^AL. 101
or pervert my principles, I will at once make every-
thing known to my father ; I will not be led one
inch, one hair's-breadth farther on a slippery path.
Kave I not stumbled already ! "
Claudia clenched tightly the volume of " D'Au-
bignd's Reformation," which she had carried with
her to the arbour. Her youthful face assumed
almost a stem, defiant expression, which, however,
suddenly passed from it, leaving no trace behind, as
with pale cheek and downcast eyes, shrouded in her
dark robes, Helena glided from the shadow of the
trees, and stood at the entrance of the bower.
"I could not come before — I was watched,"
said the nun. " Oh ! if you but knew how I havf
yearned to be again with the only friend near me
who pities me, and whom I trust."
Those soft pleading tones, and the sight of the
fair pale countenance of the young speaker, changed
the current of Claudia's feelings. She who — but
a minute before — had been suspecting a secret
plot, resumed the position which she had taken
on the preceding day, that of the protectress of
one who had been wronged, her destined guide
from error to truth. Reproaching herself for
having ever entertained a doubt of Helena,
Claudia welcomed the nun, and in a few minutes
the two, seated side by side, were bending over
102 THE APPOINTED SIOKAL.
the pages of the interesting and valuable volume
before them.
It was evident that Helena had at least no desire
to draw her companion from the purity of her Pro-
testant faith. The nun remained motionless and
still while Claudia eagerly turned from one part of
the book to another, guided by markers which
she had placed between the leaves, or pencil-lines
drawn along the margin of passages that appeared
of special importance. Now reading aloud, now
condensing the author's arguments into words of
her own, with a clearness of reasoning and powei
of expression which she had inherited from her
father, Claudia entered upon her proselytising mission
with a vigour and energy which almost surprised
herself. " Had you been a boy, Claudia, I do not
know which I should have chosen for you, the
church or the bar," Mr. Hartswood had once said
with a proud smile, as — following his favourite
method of training — he had drawn out his
daughter's ideas on some disputed theological point.
The remark, and the smile with which it was made,
had deeply gratified Claudia's vanity, and had acted
as a powerful stimulant upon her mental energies.
Whether, like other stimulants, its efiect had been
altogether wholesome, may well be doubted.
Passively sat Helena, with drooping head and
THE APPOINTED SIGNAU 103
folded hands, as Claudia, with logic and eloquence
such as few girls of her age could have displayed,
touched upon one point after another of the great
controversy between Luther and Rome. It would
have been refreshing to the young advocate to have
had questions asked, or even objections raised — she
almost felt at last as if she were spending her breath
on trying to convince a statue.
" But what could I expect," thought Claudia,
" from one brought up in the habit of passive
obedience to the commanding wiU of another ?
This poor girl listens, as she has been accustomed to
listen, without comment or question. Her mind
has been cramped by being long kept in a strained,
unnatural position ; truth, when presented to her,
but dazzles, because she has not been accustomed to
light."
Claudia paused at last, almost breathless, with
her finger pressed on a passage in the volume which
rested on her knee — a passage which she was sure
must cai'ry conviction to any unprejudiced mind of
the dangerous nature of the doctrines maintained
at Rome.
" How deeply you must have studied ! " cried
Helena, rousing herself at length to speak. " You
have doubtless attended some theological class held
by a great Protestant teacher."
104 THE APPOINTED SIGNAL.
" No," replied the gi-atified Claudia. " My only
training on these subjects has been from my father ;
he teaches me to read, reflect, and reason."
" What a joy it must be to receive instruction
from a parent ! " exclaimed Helena, clasping her
hands. " But surely you can see but little of your
father ; during most of the day is he not absent on
business in London ? "
"We have our delightful evenings together," said
Claudia.
" Ah ! how different from the joyless, dreary ones
which I pass alone in my cell ! " sighed the nun,
" You in your luxurious drawing-room — "
*' No, not in the drawing-room," internipted
Claudia ; " not in the large decked-out apartment
into which strangers are shown. Papa and I sit
together in his snug little study, with rows of book-
shelves on one side reaching almost to the ceiling,
A,nd on the other side his mahogany cabinet in which
he keeps his papers, neatly docketed in their pigeon-
holes, with a dozen despatch-boxes surmounting the
whole. It is a delightful study," continued the
lawyer's daughter, " with nothing flimsy or fanci-
ful in it — not a picture, except brown prints of
Lord Chancellors in their big wigs ; everything in
that room speaks of work, iDtellectual work — the
brass-clamped desk on the leather-covered table — the
THE APPOINTED SIGNAL. 105
parchment-bound volumes beside it — the massive
ink-stand — a gift from a client — all, save the beauti-
ful vase — my gift — which I always keep filled with
fresh flowers for papa."
"And there you sit with your father?" said
Helena, who appeared to be more interested by pic-
tures of domestic enjoyment than by exposure of
Romanist errors.
" He on his arm-chair," replied Claudia, " I on
a stool at his feet. Sometimes papa reads to me,
and sometimes I read to him ; but during most of
the time we converse, and oh, how delightful is such
conversation ! Papa asks me about my morning
studies, or tells me what he has been doing in
London. Sometimes he tests my judgment by de-
scribing the leading points in cases that have come
into court, and asking me, if I were judge, what my
decision would be. Papa laughs and rubs his hands
if ever I hit on a right one." Claudia's eyes
beamed with animation while speaking of these
happy evenings spent with a parent whom she en-
thusiastically loved and admired.
" But surely," observed sister Helena, " Mr.
Harts wood's business must sometimes oblige him to
pass the night in London ? "
" No, never," was the reply. " For my sake
papa gives up entirely that society in which he used
106 THE APPOINTED SIGNAL.
to shine ; he never, since we came here, has left me
to pass one evening alone. I can count on my
father's return as I do upon that of the sun ; when
I hear the railway-whistle at 6.55 I am certain that
the train is bringing papa. The click of the gate,
when he opens it, would be as regular as the strik-
ing of the clock, were I not constantly beforehand to
meet him, so that papa finds the gate wide open, and
his daughter ready to welcome him back to his home."
"And then you pass the happy evening together
in the study ? " said Helena.
" Except, of course, when we have friends to
dinner," replied Claudia Harts wood ; " when the
dear little study is left to the Lord Chancellors in
their gilt fi-ames. This evening we have a few
guests from London; but this is rather a rare event,
and may not happen again for weeks."
" Friends from London — not Lady Melton ? "
asked sister Helena ; for the first time speaking
rapidly, and raising her fine eyes to those of Claudia,
with an earnest, anxious expression.
" No, not Lady Melton," answered her com-
panion ; " she is papa's chent, indeed, but I could
not call her his friend. I have never even seen
her ; what is she like in personal appearance ? "
Claudia Hartswood looked keenly at the nun as she
asked her the question.
THE APPOINTED SIGNAL. 107
" Lady Melton is short in stature, lively and
quick in manner," replied sister Helena, who had
resumed her quiet demeanour.
" Is she good-looking ? " asked Claudia.
" She might be deemed so, but for a blemish or
mole on her cheek," said the nun.
Claudia scarcely knew why she had asked the
questions, nor why she experienced a feeling of
satisfaction at the replies according so well with
the description of Lady Melton which she had re-
ceived from her father.
An expression of anxious thought was resting
upon the fair countenance of the nun, her brow
contracted in a slight frown, while her eyes were
abstractedly fixed upon the little brook which flowed
near.
" Helena, will you tell me what is passing through
your mind ? " said Claudia, tenderly. " There is
something that perplexes and pains you."
" Can you marvel if a pang of envy should rise,
if, when I hear of a happy home, such as yours
— a loving father, such as yours — freedom of con-
verse, freedom of faith, such as yours — I should
bitterly contrast your lot with my own ! " cried
Helena, drawing her black veil close round her
face, and then drooping her head upon her clasped
hands.
106 THE APPOINTED SIGNAL.
" The future may have bright days in store foi
you yet," suggested the pitying Claudia.
Without uncovering her face, the unhappy nun
shook her head, and almost sobbed forth "Never!"
The arm of Claudia was thrown round that
fragile, drooping form. " You may count on my
aid in any way, at any time !" she exclaimed.
"I may soon be beyond reach of your help,"
faltered Helena, her voice coming muffled through
the veiL " I am suspected by the Lady Superior ;
watchful eyes are upon me ; there are thoughts — I
know but too well — of sending me far, far away to
a convent where the discipline is fearfully strict — it
is, I think, in the Orkney Islands."
" They dare not imprison you against your will
in such a wild desolate place !" exclaimed Claudia,
the romantic story of the Lady Grange recurring to
her mind ; " such cruel deeds could not be com-
mitted in these days of liberty and light."
" If I be once taken to that isolated convent, I
shall never be heard of again," murmured Helena.
"To all my happier feUow-creatures it will be as
though I had never existed, unless you and Miss
Irvine should give a sad thought to a miserable
captive, shut up in a living gi-ave." Claudia felt
that the form which her arm encircled was violently
trembling.
TUE APPOINTED SIGNAL. 109
" But you would give me notice before auy such
barbarous scheme could be put into execution ! "
cried Claudia ; " my father is so true a Protestant,
so noble and generous a man, that I am certain
that he would let no considerations of personal in-
terest— no, nor of professional etiquette — prevent
his giving his powerful protection to a lady wronged
and oppressed."
" I might — yes, I might have recourse to your
protection should my danger become pressing," said
Helena, in a scarcely audible voice. " But how
could I give you notice of such danger ; I could not
approach your dwelling in this dress without draw-
ing upon myself the notice of prying eyes. I havo
no means of calling you to this spot at any unusual
hour, though on a speedy intei-view with you all
my future fate might depend."
Claudia paused for a minute to reflect, then
hastily unloosed a little scarf of cerise-coloured
gauze which she wore round her neck. " You see
the wide-spreading branch of yon fir-tree," she said,
" most of the windows at the back of Friern Hatch
command a view of that bough. If ever I see this
bright scarf fluttering at the end of that branch, 1
shall know it to be a signal of distress — a token
that you need — -immediately need — the presence of
a friend in this bower,"
110 THE APPOINTED SIGNAL.
Helena pressed the scarf to her lips. " You give
me life in giving me hope," she murmured. "I
look upon your home, dearest, kindest Claudia, as
my possible harbour of refuge in case" — the nun
lowered her voice — "in case I should find it needful
to attempt an escape from the convent."
" I believe that you will be driven to this course,"
observed Claudia, with a keen relish of the romantic
nature of the adventure in which she might have to
take a prominent part.
" Would it be impossible, should such flight be
forced upon me," said Helena, "for you to bring me
here some garments of your own, to enable me to
enter your house without attracting the attention of
servants?"
"That might certainly be done," replied Claudia;
"there is little difference between our heights, and
my broad-brimmed straw hat would sufficiently
cover your face to prevent its being seen — at least
from some distance."
"And you could — you would, I mean — in case
of desperate necessity, shelter me for a few hours,
or minutes, till I could start ofi" by train for London,
and seek protection in the house of Miss Irvine in
Grosvenor Square ?" The voice of Helena trembled
with eagerness as she asked the question.
•' I am sure that I could, and would ! " exclaimed
THE APPOINTED SIGNAL. HI
the enthusiastic Claudia. " Only," she added, more
gravely, " of course I would never conceal such a
matter as that from my fathei\"
" I would never ask — never wish you to do so,
unless for a very short time," said Helena, "and
then only for the sake of his own interests. It
would distress me beyond measure to embroil Mr.
Hartswood with his client. My aunt is jealous of
all interference in her family concerns, save, of
course, from the priest. Were her Protestant lawyer
to come between her and her niece, she would
keenly resent it, and Lady Melton never forgives."
"No one would be more unwilling than myself
to place my dear father in a position of delicacy
and difficulty," said Claudia. "As far as possible
I will keep him clear fi'om any responsibility or
blame in regard to my actions."
"I knew it, I knew it!" cried Helena; "you
will do all that is generous and right — not refuse
succour to a friend, yet guard the peace of a parent."
The nun folded the little scarf, and carefully hid it
under her dark garment. "This," she continued,
" shall rest on my heart, the memory of your kind-
ness within my heart. There is to me no more
convincing proof that Protestants cannot be far
wrong in their creed, than the generosity with
which I find them ready to do all, risk all, for one
112 THK APPOINTED SIGNAL.
who has no claim upon their help, save the depth
of her misery — the gi-eatness of her need." And,
as if moved by an irresistible impulse, Helena sank
on the bosom of Claudia, who pressed the nun to
her heart.
"This embrace," thought the young Protestant,
" shall give my poor Helena assurance of the truth
of my friendship, and of my readiness to make for
it any personal sacrifice that may be required.
Priests may plot, abbesses may persecute ; like the
three who in ' Marmion '
' Met to doom in secrecy,'
they may destine this poor orphan to a fate as cruel
as that of Constance — dreary exile, imprisonment,
penance ; but they shall find that with a warm
heart and a quick wit a Protestant girl in this free
land is more than a match for them all .' "
CHAPTER XT.
FLIGHT.
[OR the rest of that clay Helena, and the
danger of her being suddenly carried otf
to the Orkneys, beyond reach of her
Protestant friends, were scarcely ever out of the
mind of Claudia Hartswood. Many a time she
glanced from the window towards that spot in the
shrubbery where the end of the dark fir branch
could be seen contrasting with the lighter foliage
of lilac and lime. At another time the little dinner-
party of the evening would have been anticipated
with pleasure by Claudia ; but the amusement of a
few hours was as nothing compared with the drama
in real life which she believed to be opening beforti
her, or rather, in which she expected to act a pro-
minent part. Claudia, as she sat for hours dreamily
musing under the shade of the trees, or by the open
window of the study, went over in thought every
point of the conversation which she had held with
Sister Helena, especially that tii'st part in which
(226i 8
114 FLIGHt.
the young Protestant had sought to unveil the eiTors
of Rome.
" I think that I put my arguments neatly and
forcibly," thought Claudia. "Papa would have
said so had he been present. I wish that I could
have read what was passing through the mind of
my beautiful nun, as she sat so pensive and still.
Helena did not attempt to answer one of my argu-
ments—perhaps she felt herself unable to do so ;
but I hope that they made some impression upon
her. I do not suppose that Helena has been accus-
tomed to think deeply ; doubtless the energies of
the mind, like those of the body, gi'ow weak from
want of exercise. A life spent in a convent would
be likely to cripple them altogether. But depend
upon it," Claudia continued to herself, as if arguing
a point with some invisible companion, " Helena
will not long continue a nun. The bird will ere
long be fledged ; it already is trying its wings, and
soon we shall find means to throw wide open tlie
door of its cage. Its flight will not be to the
Orkneys. No dreary imprisonment in the bleak
north shall be for our gentle convert ; for Helena
will be a convert — of that I am certain. She is
evidently ready to listen to truth with an unpre-
judiced mind, or if there be any prejudice, it is in
favour of the views lield by the only two beings
FLIGBT. 116
who appear to have sho\vn her any disinterested
kindness — Miss Ii-vine and myself. A secret bond
of sympathy draws my poor Helena towards me ;
she tnists me, she clings to me ; I shall have power
over her reason through her affections." It was
with great complacency that the enthusiastic Claudia
dwelt upon this idea. She had longed from her
childhood to have a friend; but a friend who should
owe everything to her kindness, — freedom — happi-
ness— even knowledge of religious truth, — was more
than she had ever before ventured to hope for. " I
am veiy young to attempt the great work of con-
verting a Romanist," thus pleasantly flowed on the
cuiTent of thought ; " I shall not till next month be
sixteen years of age, and I do not remember reading
of a single instance of a girl of sixteen being the
means of actually converting a nun. It is early
to follow on the track of Luther, it is early to begin
a great work for God."
There was no faithful monitor beside her to
whisper to the youthful enthusiast, " Is the work
which you are so zealously undertaking indeed for
God; is it his glory that you are seeking, or the
glory of Claudia Hartswood ? While you are em-
ploying questionable means to gain a certain end,
are you certain that even that end will bear the
searching light of truth ? How much of the dross
116 PLIGHT.
of self-seeking mingles with the pure gold of zeal!
Tiie glistening serpent-trail is already on your outei
actions ; may it not be that the ser])ent himself has
found a lurking-place in your heart?"
Claudia prided herself on her mental powers, her
delicacy of perception, her quickness of comprehen-
sion, altogether unconscious that on some subjects,
and those the highest, most important of all, she
was yet as ignorant as an infant.
The glorious summer sun was sloping towards
the west ; rays of golden light were streaming up-
wards through breaks in the clouds that mantled
his downward path. The clock had struck six, and
Claudia rose from her seat in the study with the
intention of going to her room to change her dress
for evening attire, so as to be ready to receive her
father's guests from London, when, ere she turned
from the window, her eyes once more sought that
point in the shrubbery below where stretched out
the long branch of fir. Claudia started as she
looked forth. No cluster of blight coloured blossoms
could suddenly have bloomed upon yon dark tree !
Claudia gazed fixedly, leaning forth from the
window, and grasping the sill, which was almost
the height of her waist. She had not expected to
see Helena's signal so soon, but surely it was the
scarf of cerise which now trembled in the light breeze'
FLIfiHT. 117
Without waiting to put on her straw hat which
"^as hanging up in the hall, without waiting to go
found to the door which opened on the back-shrub-
bery, Claudia took the most rapid means of making
her exit from the house. One step on the chair
from which she had just risen, and in a moment
the active girl had made her way over the sill out
of the window, and with quick step was taking the
shortest cut down the shrubbery towanls her shady
bower. Aytoun, the gardener, who was tying up
some roses, looked up in surprise as the young lady
flitted past, her long hair flowing back disordered
from the rapidity of her movements, as she met
bareheaded the fresh western breeze. Claudia could
hardly refrain from running before she reached a
turn in the shrubbery walk where the bushes would
screen her from observation.
The bower was speedily reached. Helena was
standing in the shadow, evidently on the watcli for
her friend, and looking flushed and excited. The
nun caught Claudia by both her hands as she
entered, and eagerly— tremulously exclaimed, "It is
as I feared — the bridge is being cut away behind
me — early to-morrow I shall be on my way to the
North ! " and turning suddenly away after she had
uttered the words, Helena sank on the bench, and
buried her face in the folds of her veil.
118 ifUaHT.
" How can it be — whence this sudden decision ?"
cried Claudia,
" I told you that I feared that I was suspected,
now I am certain that I am so," said Helena, her
voice so smothered by her veil, that Claudia had to
bend close to her to catch the meaning of what she
uttered. " I had scarcely returned from our meet-
ing this morning, when I was summoned into the
presence of the Mother Superior. Oh, with what
icy hardness and coldness she announced to me that
my fate was decided, that I must leave my present
abode for a branch establishment in the Orkneys,
and that I must start, with one of the sisters, on
my long dreary journey at sunrise. In vain I
pleaded, in vain I wept, declared that my health
would not stand a rude climate, that I had not
strength for the journey ; the only boon which I
could obtain was that I might pass the intervening
time in my cell alone, to give myself up to fasting
and prayer."
Claudia Havtswood winced at the words. " And
yet," thought she, " could I in reason expect perfect
candour from one brouglit up in a system so false ?
My poor nun is forced into deceit ; the fault is not
hers, but that of the tyrants who oppress her under
the much abused name of religion."
" I would have fled to you at once," pursued
Pl.KiHl'. 119
Helena, " but it was impossible for me to make my
escape unseen until the sisters had gathered together
for service in chapel. And now I have come to
throw myself on your mercy ! " and to the surprise
of Claudia the nun sank at her feet, and clasped
her knees, in an attitude of almost despairing sup-
plication.
" Helena, my ftiend, rise— rise ! I cannot suffer
this ! " exclaimed Claudia, raising the drooping form
of the nun. " You know my heart, you know that
you have but to say in what way I can serve you."
The enthusiast pressed Helena to her bosom, and
then made her resume her place at her side. It was
several minutes before the nun was able to speak,
a convulsive tremor passed through her frame, she
could scarcely command her voice.
" I tore a leaf from my breviary and wrote on it
a few lines in pencil to Miss Irvine, which, con-
tided to the faithful old gardener of whom I spoke
to you before, I believe- — ^I feel sure that my friend
will receive. The old man promised to convey that
slip before morning to Grosvenor Square."
" What did you write to Miss Irvine ? " asked
Claudia, with a slight emotion of jealousy towards
Helena's unknown protectress.
" I told her that I was wretched, and constrained
to .fly from tyi-anny which was supportable no
120 FUGHT,
longer ; that I bad one friend here, most generous^
most true, but that regard for her father's interests
debarred me from availing myself fiiUy of her good-
ness. I implored Miss Irvine to send some one to
meet me at the station in London on the arrival of
the earliest morning train, for I should never know
how to find my way through the city ; I have never
travelled alone, I am helpless and ignorant as a
babe, and — " Helena could not finish her sentence,
her whole frame was in a violent tremble.
" Be calm, dear one, be calm," said Claudia
soothingly, lajnng her caressing hand upon the arm
of the nun.
"And now," continued Helena, after a strong
effort to restrain her emotion, " I dare not go back
to the convent, I dare not return to my cell, for at
sunset the doors will be locked and baiTed, and if I
miss my present opportunity of making my escape,
I never shall have another. I propose to pass the
night — sleep for me there can be none — alone in
this quiet green bower ; then, at earliest dawn,
make my way to the station."
"Pass the night here — in the darkness and
damp!" exclaimed Claudia. "Do you think I —
that my father would suffer such a thing ! No, no,
you must find shelter under our roof, I will explain
everything to papa. How unfortunate it is," ex-
Bi calm," said Claudia, laying her hand upon the
arm of the nun.
Pnie I30.
FLIGHT 121
claimed Claudia, striking her brow, " that we should
have guests this very evening ! I shall have no
oppoi-tunity of speaking quietly with papa until
they have left."
" Better, perhaps, to tell Mr. Hartswood nothing
till the morning," suggested the nun. " If you
could but hide me for the few hours of darkness in
some, in any corner of your dwelling, but let me
have the shelter of a roof over my homeless head,
never would I, till death, forget what I should owe
to your friendship."
Claudia pressed her forehead for some moments
in anxious reflection. "The study will be perfectly
empty as long as our guests are in the house," she
murmured, as if thinking aloud; "the passage lead-
ing to it from the hall is shut out by a double door
to keep out draughts, and by the little back stair-
case it communicates with my room. Yes, yes, you
might be quiet enough in that part of the dwelling,
in my room when Garrard shuts the shutters of the
study, down in the study when my mai.d is engaged
upstairs with me. Yes, yes," said Claudia more
cheerfully, " between the two rooms we can hide
you very well till the morning, so my only care
must be now to smuggle you into the house, with-
out any one seeing you enter, for I should not like
to get dear papa into a scrape with his client; he
122 FLIGHT.
will be glad when he hears that the aftair has been
quietly managed."
" If I could only have gone straight to Miss
Irvine, I should have caused no trouble," observed
Helena. " Only, I do not know how I could travel
alone in the dress of a nun."
" Ah, yes — the dress," cried Claudia, starting up
from her seat. " Wait here for two minutes, Helena ;
I'll be back like a flash of lightning."
And at full speed the eager girl bounded up the
shrubbery walk, till the sight of Aytoun, busy in
the verbena-plot, made her suddenly change her
pace to one more sober. Panting with excitement,
Claudia went up to the gardener, whom she was
anxious to get out of the way, that he might not
see the nun enter the house. She could hardly
find breath to address him.
" Aytoun, go to the station to meet papa. Gentle-
men are coming with him from London ; there may
be something for you to carry."
Aytoun touched his hat, and turned to his v^er-
bena. " I'll just ha' time to finish this 'ere job
first," said the man.
" No, go directly," cried Claudia imperatively; and
ransackinfj her mind for some excuse for her haste,
she added, " for I want you first to call at the miller's
a,nd ask his wife to come here in the morning."
FLIGliT. 123
Claudia, having given her order, went on her
way with an uneasy consciousness that she was
beginning to stoop to make use of that paltrj
trickery which she had always hitherto despised.
She could not conceal from herself the fact that she
whose pride it had always been to follow a straight-
forward course, was now doubling like a fox. " I
mustn't desert my friend — I can't get papa into
trouble," she muttered to herself, tiying by such
considerations to overpower what, notwithstanding
her zeal in behalf of the nun, offended at once her
piide and her moral perceptions.
CHAPTER XII.
SMUGGLING.
LAUDIA sprang up the staii'case, two steps
at a time, aiitl hurriedly entered her own
apartment. She was annoyed to find in
it Martha, her maid, engaged in laying out the
white muslin dress which her young lady was to
wear in the evening.
" I am afraid that you'll be late, miss," observed
the waiting- woman, as she went up to the toilette-
table and took from the drawer brush and comb to
bring the refractory locks of Miss Hartswood into
something like order.
" I can't dress just now, never mind these
things," said Claudia, only intent on getting the
maid out of the room. "I'm busy — go to the
drawincr-room, and see — see that fresh flowers are
put in the vases."
"I filled the vases tliis afternoon," replied Mar-
tha. " You have really, miss, not much time left
for dres.sing for dinner."
SMUdGLINO. 125
"1 tell you I'm not ready," cried Claudia, w-itb
impatience ; " leave me alone for five minutes."
The maid retired slowly, with a dissatisfied glance
at her young mistress's hair, all blown about her face
by the wind. Claudia hurried to her wanlrobe and
took out thence a blue silk dress ; in her careless
haste she caught her own muslin in the handle of a
di'awer, and rent it in extricating it. Then, bi-usl-
ing rapid]}' past her table, Claudia threw down a
china inkstand, but did not pause to raise it from
the caqjct.
Down the front staircase hastened Claudia, as
Martha had retired by the back one. Garrard, in
the dining-room, was laying the table for dinner,
and the door which opened on the hall was wide
open, so that he couM see her as she passed.
" It seems as if all the household were loitering
about, as if on the watch," thought the conscious
Claudia. " If Helena go through the hall, she will
be certain to come upon Garrard. She must get
through the study window as I got out; I will close
the red door which shuts ofi* that room from the
public apartments, and then there will be little risk
of her suddenly meeting with any of the house-
hold."
Claudia did so, and again hurried out into the
open air. She was half-way down the shrubbery
126 SMUGGLING.
before it oecuiTed to her mind that she had forgotten
the broad-brimmed hat, which was quite as neces-
sary a part of the nun's equipment as the dress.
" Thoughtless — careless that 1 am," muttered
Claudia, as she turned back to repair her omission ;
" but it is so new a thing to me to have to plot and
to plan ; I blunder, for I never have been accus-
tomed to feel my way in the dark."
Claudia was glad to find that Aytoun had quitted
the garden, and felt as if she had accomplished the
most troublesome part of her task when she re-
entered the bower, panting, with the dress on her
arm, and the hat on her head, its untied strings
streaming behind her. Helena was eagerly awaiting
her return.
"There — I must go back as quickly as possible,"
cried Claudia, as she snatched oif the hat and threw
down the dress. " When you have changed your
attire for one less sure to attract attention, follow
yon winding path up the shrubbery, it will lead to
the back of our house. Do not enter through the
door — there are people about — you will see a win-
dow wide open, the window that is of the study ;
enter by it, and await me; I will join you in a very
few minutes, but I must now go and prepare to re-
ceive the guests of my father."
Claudia hastened away to perlbrm a very rapid
SAIUGGLING. 127
toilette, starting iu the midst of it at the sound of
the whistle which announced her father's arrival at
the station.
Without waiting to put in ear-ring, clasp on
bracelet, or suffer her maid to give any finishing
touch to her hair, Claudia tripped rapidly down-
stairs in her rustling muslin attire to the study, in
which, as she had expected, she found Sister Helena.
Stra/Ugely altered looked the nun in her borrowed
dress ; Claudia would scarcely have recognized in
her the pale mournful recluse whom she had hitherto
seen in long black robe and shrouding veil, the linen
bandage across her forehead, the rosary hanging
from her waist.
Helena started at the sudden entrance of her
friend. She appeared confused, and almost alarmed.
" Up to my room, Helena," cried Claudia ; " my
father and his companions walk from the station,
and may possibl}^ change their boots in this study.
When the guests are once at dinner, you can return
here if you will, certain of no interruption. My
door is the one straight before you at the top of the
staircase- — I have sent away my maid — remain in
my room till you hear the dinner-gong sound."
Helena's only reply was a smile, as she glided
past Claudia to the little back-stairs.
" I like her smile less than her look of sadness,"
128 SMUGGLING.
thought Claudia, as she opened the red door before
mentioned, and went through the hall into the
drawing-room, where she proposed to receive her
guests. " It is strange what a difference is made by
a mere change of dress ! Helena as the persecuted
nun, looked the most interesting of beings this morn-
ing ; and this evening, with the red glow of sunset
full on her features, they seemed to me almost com-
monplace. Certainly I had never before seen them so
distinctly, they were so much shadowed by her veih
Perhaps there are few faces that will bear a fuU
stream of daylight, and few characters either," mused
Claudia, as, after the excitement of the last hour,
she sank quietly down on the drawing-room sofa, to
wait and to think. Doubts were flitting across her,
as the noiseless-winged bats across the deep sky
when twilight has faded away, passing so rapidly as
to leave no defined image on the mind, only the im-
pression that something dark had gone by. Claudia
thought of her mirror of truth ; she could not con*
nect the idea of Helena with that of a stainless
image ; if a mist had gathered on the reflections of
Euphemia, Annie, and Emma, that of the fair fugi-
tive nun still less would bear the test. Helena had
owned herself guilty of falsehood, and had owned it
as if unconscious that such a falsehood was wrong.
But it was not this that most disturbed the ueace of
SMUGOLING. 129
Claudia. It was the consciousness that she liersell
had been drawn into acting a part, into speaking
words inconsistent with truth, that she had been
induced to mix herself up with plots and schemes
requiiing disguise and concealment.
" I have been sui-prised into taking strange steps,"
reflected Claudia ; " how astonished papa will be
when I tell him all, as I certainly shall do either
to-night or to-moiTOw. I wonder whether he will
consider Helena justified in breaking her vows and
flying from her convent, because she finds the life
of a nun intolerable, and was to be sent against her
will to a wild, bleak, northern island?" Claudia
rose and paced up and down the drawing-room, for
thought made her too restless to sit still. " Catherine
Bore, indeed, escaped from her convent, after she had
embraced the doctrines of Luther. She lived to be
a happy wife and mother. I do not suppose that
Lady Melton will be able to force her niece back to
her convent, even if she find out her place of retreat
with Miss L'vine. Helena will surely be able to
claim the protection of English law. I will consult
my father upon that question — I wish I could have
consulted him from the first ; but then his client
would have been so indignant had she ever dis-
covered that he had been a consenting — an active
party iu forwarding the escape of the orphan whom
(2261 9
130 SMUOGLINO.
she believed that she had succeeded in sacrificing tx)
her own worldly interests."
Claudia's reflections were interrupted by the cheer-
ful sound of her father's voice in the hall, which he
had just entered, as he laughed with his companions
at some lively anecdote which one of them had
related during the walk from the station. Claudia
did not go to meet her parent, as he was not alone,
but turned to resume her seat on the sofa, catching
sight, as she did so, of her own reflection in the
gilded mirror over the mantel-piece.
" No one can accuse me of vanity," murmured
Claudia, as she hastily smoothed back her hair with
her ungloved hands. " I was too eager to go to my
friend, too impatient to dismiss my attendant, to
take much care of my own appearance. I hope that
papa will not be vexed." Perhaps that expression
of hope, very difierent from one of assurance, had
reference to something beyond the young lady's
nearlect of her toilette.
OHAPTER XIII.
ROMANISM.
^^iJlLAUDIA, absorbed in one object, had felt
that the entertainment of sfuests would
be irksome, and had wished that the
little party had been invited for any evening rather
than this. Nevertheless she enjoyed the pleasant
society of the few friends who gathered around Mr.
Hartswood's hospitable board. Mr. Latham, a
clergyman from London, came with his wife, who
had been from childhood a friend of Claudia's
mother. Mrs. Latham was a gentle loving woman,
upon whom family trials and delicate health had
left a stamp of pensive thought, not gloom ; but
something that always reminded Claudia of the holy
stillness of twilight. Mrs. Latham, without casting
any shadow on the gaiety of those around her, ele-
vated the tone of any society into which she might
enter ; mirth became more refined in her presence,
though not less sparkling. Her husband was a
man of pleasant manners and cultivated mind, and
132 ROMANISM.
Claudia was glad that his place during dinner-time
would be by her side.
Much of mirth, and much of wit, was there at the
table of Mr. Hartswood. The two barristers who
had come with him by train, vied with each other
in contributing clever jests and good stories to the
intellectual feast; but Mr. Hartswood himself was
the life and soul of the party. Never had Claudia
seen her father in higher spirits or more humorous
vein. He capped every story with one more amus-
ing, and his playful repartees showed that he
wielded the light weapon of wit with the skill of a
master fencer. Claudia was even more proud than
usual of her father, as she sat an aumsed and ad-
miring auditor.
After awhile, Mr. Hartswood and one of the
lawyers engaged in an argument of too professional
a nature to be of interest to all the circle, and the
raui'mur of more general conversation arose. Mr.
Latham devoted his attention to Claudia. The
clergyman had travelled a good deal on the Conti-
nent, and was wilhng, and pleased, to draw from
the resources of his personal experience for the
amusement of his young friend.
Claudia did not forget Helena. The peculiar
posicion of the nun ; her state of indecision and
doubt as regarded matters of doctrine made Claudia
&OMANISM. 133
eager for information regarding countries in which
the Roman Catholic religion prevails. The lawyer's
daughter questioned Mr. Latham about convents
and their inmates, and the various superstitious
customs which prove that Romanism, however out-
wardly modified by time and circumstances, is yet
essentially the same system as that against whose
eiTors Luther raised his voice more than three
centuries ago.
Mr. Latham had been to Naples; he had witnessed,
in the church of St. Chiara, the burial-place of the
Royal Family, the so-called annual miracle of the
liquefaction of the blood of St, JanuariufS.* He de-
scribed the chapel rich in plate, silver relievoes on
the altar, silver lamps, silver Kfe-size images of
saints. He told how crowds thronged the chapel so
densely that it was scarcely possible even for bishop
or cardinal to push his way up to the altar. Mr.
Latham described the ap})earance of women, decked
out in finery, who, calling themselves relations of
St. Januarius (or Gennaro), with loud appeals im-
plored the saint to j)erform the expected miracle.
" Gennaro !" they cried, " do you not hear us ? why
do you make us wait so long ? Gennaro, are you
asleej)? "
' The description is taken irnni tl'at «f an Kogltsii spectator of the scene ir
1300.— See "The Trinity of Italy "
134 RO&tAMSM.
"Did it not remind you," observed Claudia,
"of the priests of Baal on Carmel ? Only, that was
a very solemn scene; and there must, at least to
Protestants, have been something ludicrous in this."
Mr. Latham went on to describe how, amidst
loud sounds of prayer and chanting, and the wild
cries of the women, a priest stood gazing on a phial
containing some dark substance, supposed to be
blood, which he held in his hand. " Earnestly he
watched it, as if in anxiety to discover the first sign
of the solid becoming a liquid ; a kind of miracle, by
the way, to be easily enough performed by any
good chemist. Then a bishop came to his side, and
as priest and bishop together gazed on the phial, a
light of joy broke over their features ; the expectant
crowds became maddened by excitement ; the cries
swelled into a roar ; the relic was held up on high,
a voice shouted, II Tniracolo k fatto ! half frantic
boys rushed from behind a screen, one scattering
rose-leaves, the other setting free some imprisoned
birds. A cloud of smoke from a bonfire curled up
from the tower of the cathedral ; the cannon of the
mole, the fleet, the castle of St. Elmo, announced to
city and country the glorious tidings that the
dark solid kept in a phial had become, for a time, a
liquid again ! "
" If St. Paul could have been present at such a
ROMANISM. 135
scene," observed Claudia, " would he not have rent
his clothes as he did at the superstition of the
people of Lystra. One can scarcely realize such
things taking place in these days which we call
enlightened, and that grave cardinals and bishops
should countenance them by their presence."
"Turn to another part of the globe," said Mr,
Latham ; " see how in Jerusalem itself occurs, year
by year, a scene much of the same kind as that
which I witnessed in Naples. In the Church of the
Holy Sepulchre, crowds throng to behold what they
suppose to be the annual miracle of fire descending
from heaven. The members of the Greek Church,
and the members of the Romanist there, push,
struggle, contend against each other for the best
places, with a fierce rancour which would disgrace
spectators of a play or a bull-fight. The uproar and
confusion are tremendous ; actual bloodshed some-
times ensues, and the Turks — Mohammedans — are
actually forced to interfere to prevent those who
call themselves Christians from killing one another
in the blind fury which superstition inspires,"
" Surely the fact that Rome countenances such
impostures is sufficient proof that she cannot hold
the Truth in simplicity," observed Claudia, "What
would the Apostle Peter have said to the doings of
those who look upon the Popes as his successors!"
136 ROMANISM.
" The fisherman of Galilee -would have marvelled,
no doubt, could he have seen his so-called successor
enthroned in earthly pomp and splendour, with
princes prostrate before him, and kissing his foot,"
said the clergyman.
" Is it not from this supposed succession from St.
Peter that the popes claim their infallibility ? "
asked Claudia Harts wood.
" Their claim is like a prodigious edifice raised on
a foundation of chaff," replied Mr. Latham. "The
Papists have first to prove that St. Peter ever was
Bishop of Rome at all — which they cannot prove
from the Bible. They have then to show that he
ever transmitted the powei-s intrusted to him to
other bishops. And, were it possible to do this,
they have further to trace the historical line of popes
down from the earliest times to the present ; in the
attempt to do which they will find themselves in-
volved in a chaos of confiision. You are perhaps
aware, my young friend, that at one period there
were three 'popes at once, so that the people could
not agree in deciding which was the right one.
One pope has sometimes reversed the decrees of his
infallible (!) predecessor ! Pope Formoso, in the year
896, was actually excoramunicated after his death,
and his body thrown into the Tiber by the following
pope."
ROMANISM. 137
"Oh, I am sure that in their hearts Ptomanista
cannot believe the pope to be infallible, whatever
they may say with their lips ! " exclaimed Claudia.
" They do not honour him always, even with
their lii)S," observed Mr. Latham with a smile. " I
was reading to-day a memoii" of the great Italian
statesman, Massimo d'Azeglio, written by Count
MafFei, also an Italian of distinction and talent. I
was greatly struck by the words which he records
as having been spoken of the present pope, Pius IX,
hy the chief of the Jesuits, in 1847. 'The present
pope is the scourge of the Church ; there is no
remedy but the bell of the Capitol ; ' that being the
hell which sounds on the death of popes."
Claudia opened her eyes mde in surprise, that a
Jesuit, the most Romanist of all Romanists, could
possibly have spoken thus of the infallible head of
his Church.
" To return to history," said Mr. Latham, who
took pleasure in discoursing with a listener so intel-
ligent as Claudia ; "it must be hard for the advo-
cates of the pope's infallibility to reconcile the
doctrine with one striking fact. Pope Gregory the
Great, one of the most distinguished of all the so-
called successors of St. Peter, thus wrote to the
Archbishop of Constantinople of the wickedness of
any bishop claiming supreme authority over the
138 ROMANISM.
Church. His words struck me so much that I com-
mitted them to memory. Thus wrote Pope Giegory :
' Call no rami your father on earth ; what then,
dearest brother, will you say in that terrible trial of
the coming Judge, when you have sought to be
called by the world, not only father, but general
Father.'"
"Then," cried Claudia, "Gregory condemned not
one, but a whole host of hLs own successors, who, as
popes (that means, papa), claim to be universal
fathers. How striking, and to the point, was his
quotation from the Gospel. I wonder that it does
not occur to Romanists, when they read over that
verse, that it condemns their religious system."
" You must remember," remarked Mr. Latham,
" that Romanists are not encouraged to study the
Bible. L'Abbd *?...., a French clergyman,
affirms, ' You have not in Paris ten pious women
who have read the Gospel through once : you have
ten thousand who have read " The Imitation " -f-
twenty times.' It is evident that what Rome
especially dreads is the pure, unmixed Word of
God."
Claudia longed to be able to speak to Mr. Latham
on the subject of Helena, to consult him regarding
the fugitive nun. She probably would have done
* Author of " Le Maudlt" t A Romanist work
ROMANISM. 13d
SO had she not feared to be overheard by one of the
barristers present. As it was, she considered that,
through her conversation with the clergyman, she
had been laying up what her father called " ammu-
nition," to maintain her arguments against the errors
of Rome. Absorbed in the intellectual exercise of
the hour, with all her proselyting zeal revived, and
conscious that she had left a favourable impression
of her sense and intellect on the mind of Mr.
Latham, Claudia forgot all her doubts and mis-
givings. She felt herself again a champion of truth;
a foRower of Luther; an honoured instrument of
protecting an oppressed maiden ; and of converting
a deluded nun. Claudia was sorry when her col-
loquy with Mr. Latham was brought to a close, by
her having, at the end of the repast, to accompany
his wife to the drawing-room, leaving the gentlemen
to converse on politics, or similar subjects, over
their fruit and their wine.
CHAPTER XIV.
SPIRITUAL SENSES.
[RS. LATHAM was by no means an insipid
companion. When she was alone with
Claudia Hartswood, conversation soon
found a deeper channel than it usually takes when
ladies meet together, apparently only to discuss the
weather, dress, or the most trifling topics of the day.
Mrs. Latham, under her quiet exterior, was a keen
observer of character, and had a considerable insight
into that of Claudia Hartswood. Tlie lady saw
great energy, strength of will, and self-reliance in
her youthful companion — qualities wliich might
incite her to an apparent disregard of the opinion of
the world — while strong love of approbation actually
lay at the root of the whole. Mrs. Latham knew
that a keen admiration for truth might be consistent
with ignorance of truth — keen intelligence on some
subjects, with absolute blindness on others. As
Mrs. Latham now glanced at Claudia's rich luxuriant
tresses, which the young girl had been on that
SPIRITUAL SENSES, 141
evening too impatient to smooth into order, the
lady could not help mentally drawing an analogy
between them and the mind of their wearer.
" How lovely these flowers are, and how fragrant!"
observed Mrs. Latham, as she drew towards herself
one of the vases which adorned the drawing-room
table.
Claudia had known Mrs. Latham so long, that
she felt quite at ease with the friend of her mother.
The observation as to the fragrance of the nosegay
recalled to her mind her conversation with her
father on the preceding evening ; and, well pleased
to show that she could dabble a little in meta-
physics, Claudia told her guest of the analogy traced
between physical and mental senses.
Mrs. Latham listened quietly to the description
of imagination, comprehension, judgment, dLscern-
meut, and moral perceptions, as the sight, hearing,
taste, touch, and sense of smell of the mind. " Did
you go no further ? " she then observed, with a
smile. " Did you not rise from considering the
faculties of the mind to the spiritual senses of the
renewed soul ? "
" I am afraid that you will think me dull," said
Claudia frankly ; " but really I do not understand
you."
" We have a threefold nature," observed Mrs,
142 SPIRITUAL SENSES.
Latham. " As the intellectual is higher than the
physical, so is the spiritual higher than the in-
tellectual, and it has gifts and powers of its own."
" Sight, for instance ? " asked Claudia, whose
curiosity was awakened by ideas which to her were
new.
" Yes, sight" replied Mrs. Latham, " utterly dis-
tinct from and immeasurably more valuable than
that mental sight which you call imagination.
Open Thou mine eyes, that I may see wondrous
things out of Thy law, is not a prayer for any gift
merely intellectual When Saul of Tarsus fell with
blinded eyes to the earth, then the eyes of his soiil
were opened, he saw himself to be a sinner, he saw
the Saviour as the only hope of sinners, he had
received a new spiritual sense, with a new spiritual
nature."
" Yes, that is true as regards him," observed
Claudia.
"And so, my dear young friend, we find that
there is — if we may so speak — a spiritual ear.
Hear, and your soul shall live ; he that hath ears to
hear, let him hear, means something far more than
mere intellectual comprehension ; nay, may be found
where there is scarcely any mental power at alL
The poor imbecile may have the hearing ear of
obedience ; while it is recorded that a talented
SPIRITUAL SENSES. 142
statesman, after listening to a gifted preacher of the
truth, was heard to exclaim, 'I cannot understand a
word that he says ! ' The physical ear was open,
the mental sense most acute, but spiritual hearing
was altoo;ether wanting. This is the case with all
those who are not converted."
" Converted ! " repeated Claudia. " A heathen
may be convei-ted to Christianity, or a Papist to
the Protestant faith ; but those who have been
brought up to know the truth since they were
christened as babies have nothing to be converted
from — or converted to — that I can see."
"The celebrated Wesle}'^, one of the greatest
preachers that the world has known since the times
of the apostles, took a different view of the subject,"
replied Mrs, Latham, mildly. "After being not
only brought up as befitted a clergyman's son, but
having himself taken holy orders and laboured
earnestly for souls — having even crossed the Atlantic
to preach the gospel as a missionary — what did he
say of his own spiritual state ? ' It is now two
years and almost four months since I left my native
country in order to teach the Georgian Indians the
nature of Christianity, but what have I learned of
myself in the meantime ? Why, what I least sus-
pected— that I, who went to America to convert
others, was myself never converted to God.' "
144 SPIRITUAL SENSES.
Claudia looked sui'prised, perplexed, and a little
uneasy. She had been trained by her father to
think, but here was a new field of thought opening
before her, into which she half feared to enter. She
was silent for some seconds, and then observed, " I
hope that you won't be shocked at what I am going
to say, bnt I've heard of some people, chiefly poor
ignorant people, getting into a state of excitement,
crying and groaning, and then declaring that they
have been converted ; and perhaps for folk who
have been thieves and di'unkai-ds such conversion
may be a very good thing, but for respectable
intelligent persons, who have always loved truth
and maintained it," — Claudia stopped ; she did not
know in what way to finish her sentence.
" For such you think that conversion is not
needed ? " inquired Mrs. Latham. Claudia's glance
gave an afiirmative answer.
"And yet, dear girl, we must remember who it
was who said. Except ye he converted and become as
little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom
of heaven. And these solemn words are explained
by those of St. Paul, If any man he in Christ he is
a new creature; old things are passed away, behold
all things are become new."
" Must there always be a sudden change ? " asked
Claudia, who felt a strong spirit of resistance rising
SPIRITUAL SENSES. 146
Up within her against a doctrine far too humbling to
her pride to be readily received.
" The change is not by any means always
sudden," replied Mrs. Latham ; " with many it is as
gradual as the change in Nature wrought by the
coming of spring, and it is then impossible to know
the day or the hour when the new life was breathed
into the soul. Nay, with some Christians conversion
takes place so early, that no time can be remembered
when the heart was not given to God."
" Then how can one possibly decide whether he
be converted or not ? " asked Claudia, with slight
impatience.
" Are you not conscious of your physical senses ? "
inquired Mrs. Latham. " Do you not know that
you can hear me and see me ? "
"Cei-tainly," replied Claudia, with a smile.
"Ai-e you not also conscious of the exercise of
your intellectual faculties —imagination, comprehen-
sion, discernment ? "
" I cannot help being conscious of possessing
them," replied the lawyer's daughter.
" And so with those spiritual senses, which are a
part of the new spiritual nature," observed Mrs.
Latham, earnestly. "The converted one can say
with deeper meaning than the once blind man of
whom we read in the Gospel, 7%is I know, that
(2->6) 10
146 SPIRITUAL SENSES.
whereas I was blind, novj I see. His spiritual eyoa
are opened to the light ; and that light shows him
his own helpless, hopeless state by nature, and the
richness, fulness, completeness of that salvation
ofiered to him in the gospel. TJie world by wisdom
knew not God ; that knowledge which is life
eternal comes by no mere effort of human intelli-
gence."
" I wonder whether my friend considers we
to be spuitually blind ! " thought Claudia Harts-
wood. She then observed aloud, " Tliere is one of
the mental senses which you will agi-ee with me is
the same as the spiritual — moral perceptimis, dis-
gust at sin and approval of what is good, must
show that their possessor has spiritual life, whether
he call himself converted or not."
Mrs. Latham gently shook her head. " Paul
of Tarsus had strong moral perceptions ; what he
deemed to be sin he hated, what he deemed to be
truth he upheld, long ere he had received new life
from above. What was the effect upon Paul when
spiritual perceptions had been bestowed ? From
his own righteousness, which had been to him as
fragi-ant incense offered to God, he turned as from
that which breathed of corruption ; while doctrines
which he had formerly loathed refreshed and de-
lighted his soul. He could say to the Saviour
SPIRITUAL SENSES. 147
whom he once had rejected, Thy name is as oint-
ment poured forth."
" I suppose that you then consider that there is
spiritual judgment distinct from mental judgment,"
said Claudia.
" We have various references to it in the Holy
Scriptures," replied Mrs. Latham. " The mind
tastes, judges, and decides in matters regarding
things of earth ; but it was no mere exercise of in-
tellect to which David referred when he cried, 0
taste and see that the Lord is good ! How sweet are
Thy words to my taste ! Sweeter also than honey
and honey-comb. To perceive this sweetness, to
relish and enjoy it, belongs not to unconverted
human nature ; it is one of the spiritual senses be-
longing to the soul which grace has renewed."
" You have drawn an analogy between four of
the spiritual and bodily senses," said Claudia; " there
is yet one on which you have not spoken. You
have called spiritual knowledge sight, spiritual under-
standing hearing, and have told me your ideas about
spiritual judgment and perceptions ; but what do you
consider as answering to the bodily sense of feeling?"
"1 should say faith," replied Mrs. Latham, "by
which we lay hold on the promises of God, by which
we realize the existence of what is invisible. In
the very imperfect state of our spiritual knowledge
148 SPIRITUAL SENSES.
(for we only see tbrough a glass darkly) we walk by
failh, and not by sight. We feel, as it were, the
guiding hand of Him whom as yet we see not, be-
lieving where we cannot understand, tmsting when
all is dark before us."
At this point the conversation was interrupted by
the entrance of Mr. Hartswood and his gentlemen
guests. Claudia by no means regi-etted the inter-
ruption. The impression left by that conversation
upon her mind was at the time not pleasant, though
it was often aftei'wards to be recalled with different
emotions. Claudia was rather disposed to cavil at
what she considered the fanciful notions of one who
might be pious, but who was not very wise.
" What ! are we to suppose that there is a dis-
tinct and higher order of senses, belonging to a
distinct and higher kind of nature, which may be
wanting in the most intellectual of men, and yet be
possessed by a charity-child or a pauper — old, deaf,
and blind?" Such was the question which Claudia
asked herself, with almost a feeling of indignation at
the bigotiy of her friend. " Let this lady bewilder
herself, if she pleases, with her wild ideas of new
life and conversion ; I have a practical work before
me, which even she might deem noble and holy- —
that of convincing and converting a young misguided
Romanist."
CHAPTER XV.
DISCOVERY.
HE pleasant little party was over ; Mr.
Hartswood had handed Mrs. Latham to
her carriage, and the barristers, having
accepted her offer of seats in the conveyance, had
taken leave of their friendly host. Claudia did not
regret the departure of the guests, for she was full
of impatience to return to Helena.
" Shall I tall my father to-night of my romantic
Ndsitor ? " thought Claudia, half eager and yet half
afraid to make her parent the sharer of her secret.
Before she had decided the question, Mr. Harts-
wood returned from the hall, as Mrs. Latham's car-
riage was driven away.
" My girl," said the lawyer rather brusquely, as
he laid his hands on the shoulders of his daughter,
and surveyed her with a critical look expressive of
some disapprobation, " books and brushes are not
incompatible things ; the outside of the head needs
some attention as well as the inside. The next
160 DISCOVERY.
time that I invite guests to my house, remember
that I care less for your talking like a scholar than
for your looking like a lady ; " and, adding a kiss
to the hint, Mr. Hartswood bade his daughter good-
night.
Claudia was little accustomed to receive even so
mild a reproof from her father, and was keenly sensi-
tive to the mildest symptom of his displeasure.
Those few words from Mr. Hartswood took from her
all inclination to speak to him at that time on the
subject of Helena. With silent mortification, the
spoiled girl returned her father's good-night kiss, and
hurried up-stairs to her room, where she expected
to find the young nun, who would, of course, quit
the study before there was any likelihood of its
being entered by Mr. Hartswood. Claudia had
taken the precaution of telling Martha that she
would not be required to assist her toilette at night,
in order that Helena might not be disturbed by the
entrance of the maid.
The mind of Claudia, as regarded her fugitive
friend, was something in the state of a pendulum —
vibrating between the proud assurance that she her-
self was performing a noble act in protecting the
nun, and a suspicion that all could not be right
where such secrecy was required. Claudia's mind
was moved by the former feeling as she opened the
DISCOVJfiRY. 161
door of her room, and glanced around, expecting to
see before her the gi'aceful form of Helena. The
apartment was, however, empty and still. The
lighted candles on the toilette- table showed the
presence of no stranger. Perhaps Helena had re-
treated into the large wardrobe when Martha had
come in to light these candles. Claudia went up
to the wardrobe and opened it, softly murmuring
the name of the nun ; but there was no one to
reply.
" Surely she cannot have been so incautious as
to remain in the study !" exclaimed Claudia, in
alarm ; "if so, she will meet papa before I have had
time to prepare him for seeing her, as he always
reads or wi-ites in that room before going to rest !
What will he think, what will he say ? How wrong
I was not to tell all!" Claudia's glance at that
moment feU upon an envelope which lay on her
toUette-table, directed in pencil to herself. With
eager curiosity Claudia tore open the envelope, and
read as foUows : —
" Dearest, — I dare not stay till daylight. I go
by the night-train. Say nothing to your father till
the morning, I will wi'ite from Grosvenor Square.
Yours till death.— S. H."
Claudia read the hurried scrawl over and over
again, and each time with a countenance more
162 DISCOVERY.
clouded. Slic was both siu-prised and disappointed
at her intended proselyte thus suduenly vanishing
from her view, disconcerting her plans, and leaving
her only the humiliation of having been drawn into
acting a part inconsistent with her natural candour.
The pendulum was swinging backwards ; Claudia
was discontented both with her nun and herself.
" Helena is dealing strangely by me," muttered
Claudia Hartswood, as she seated herself in front of
the toilette-glass, gazing fixedly into it with an air
of abstraction. "It is scarcely of a piece with her
nervous timidity and fear of taking a step alone,
that she should go off suddenly in the night, with-
out giving me notice, as if her life were in peril. I
am afraid that papa will be annoyed when I tell
him of what has occurred. He will, however, do
justice at least to ray motives." Again the lawyer's
daughter glanced at the note from the nun. " Helena
does not even write a lady-like hand," she muttered ;
then folding up the note, Claudia tore it in half,
held the two pieces to the flame of a candle, and
watched the paper as it blazed, curled, turned black,
and fell into ashes.
" I wonder whether mine has been but a foolish
fancy, an idle bit of romance," thought Claudia;
" the flaring up of a sudden friendship, leaving, like
those fragments of paper, nothing behind but a few
DISCOVERY. 162
ashes, to be blown away by a breath ! I could
almost imagine that the events of these two days
have passed in a dream — that ray beauteous, dark-
eyed Dun, with her beads and cnicifix, her soft voice
and mournful story, has had no existence but in my
own brain."
Claudia was startled from her reflections by hear-
ing the study-bell rung loudly, then almost instantly
rung again in a yet more peremptory way. She
started to her feet, and, as she did so, heard the
study door opened with violence, and the sound of
her father's voice raised to a most unusual pitch, as
he called out, " Garrard ! Garrard !" Mr. Harts-
wood was of so equable a temperament, and life at
Friern Hatch was wont to flow on in so quiet and
even a current, that a loud repeated ringing and an
angiy voice were quite sufiicient to cause some alarm
in the bosom of Claudia. With an undefined dread
of what might have happened below, she rushed to
the door of her room, opened it, and then flew down
the back staircase, reaching the study almost at
the same moment as the butler, who had quickly
answered his master's summons.
Never before had Claudia beheld her father with
such an expression on his countenance as that which
it wore when she met him at the door of his study —
he was stern almost to fierceness, with a look of
154 DISCOVERY.
excitement in his eyes which alarmed her. Mr.
Haiiswood did not appear to notice the presence of
his daughter ; in a voice hoai-se and harsh with dis-
pleasure, he addressed himself to his startled servant:
" How has this come about ; how have thieves got
entrance ; how is it that I find the lock of my
cabinet picked, my desk opened, my most valuable
papers carried away?"
Garrard quailed before the stern questioning of
his master; bewildered and surprised, he looked from
side to side. The words which confused the servant
had a more startling effect upon Claudia. A sudden
terrible fear sent the blood to her heart, her hands
and feet became icy cold, she leaned back against the
wall, scarcely able to st;ind. Had Mr. Hai'tswood
glanced at his daughter he could not but have been
struck by her altered appearance, but he was not
even aware that she was before him.
" Answer me directly'," he continued, in tones
raised yet louder ; " have you seen any suspicious
character lurking near the house?"
"No one, sir, no one," replied the servant ner-
vously ; "I shut the shutters myself as soon as I had
taken in the dessert."
"Did you notice the state of that cabinet when
you shut the shutters?" interrupted his master.
" I noticed nothing, sir ; I did not look at the
DISCOVERY. 166
cabinet ; I thought all was locked up as it always
is ; you had been in the study yourself, sir, when
you came in from the station."
"Thieves have been in this room since I was
here," said Mr. Hartswood sternly ; "I must have
detectives down from London directly — ■! will tele-
graph up to the police-station." He turned, and
striding up to the table on which lay his desk,
hastily took up writing materials. " But first,"
continued the lawyer, with the undipped pen in his
hand, " let every member of this household be sum-
moned directly, that I may examine all, and find if
possible some clue by which to track the burglai-s,
and bring them to summary justice. If I find that
there has been collusion — " Claudia could not catch
the exact meaning of the muttered words that fol-
lowed, but the lawyer's knitted brows and sternly
compressed lips conveyed the inai-ticulate threat.
There was no need to summon the household ;
Mr. Hartswood' s loud ringing and louder speaking
had already brought every maid-servant into the
passage, where Garrard already stood trembling ;
Claudia could hear the slight rustling and whisper-
ing as they came down the stairs. But what use
could there be in questioning domestics ? Claudia
knew too well that she, and she only, held the clue
to the maze ; she knew too well that it was she
156 DISCOVERY.
who should speak. The poor girl's heart throbhed
violently, she felt like one forced to leap over a
precipice, recoiling with unutterable ten-or from the
brink, yet urged on by a fearful necessity, for silence
now would be folly, and something worse.
" Oh, papa ! " gasped out Claudia, clasping her
hands, " I can tell something ; I — I know who has
been in this room," Claudia had followed her father
into the study.
"You! what do you know?" asked the lawyer
quickly. Claudia felt that his eyes were reading
her through and through. She wished the servants
to retire, but had not voice even to ask her fathe«-
to send them away. Her dreaded confession must
be made, and, to her confusion and shame, made in
the presence of witnesses.
"Who has been here?" asked Mr. Hartswood,
with utterance as rapid, but in tone less stera, for
he saw that his daughter was trembling Uke an aspen
before him.
" A young nun — "
"A nun!" ejaculated Mr. Harts wood, and the
word was faintly echoed in tones of amazement by
the maids in the passage, wlio now clustered more
closely round the door.
"And how came she here?" asked the master
abruptly.
DISCOVERY. 167
" Slio was tlying from her convent ; she had beeu
cruelly wronged ; I meant, yes, indeed I meant to
tell you all about her when we met in — "
Mr. Hai-tswood interrupted his daughter with the
question, "Her name?" as he seated himself before
his desk, and dipped his pen in the ink
" Helena ; I am not sure of the surname, but she
is niece of Lady Melton."
Mr. Hartswood started, and hastily glanced up
into the face of his daughter, who had ventui'ed to
look at him as he bent over his desk. Their eyes
met, and it was as if Claudia had received an elec-
tric shock, such a glance as that which she en-
countered had never rested on her before.
"Niece of Lady Melton," muttered Mr. Harts-
wood, as he rapidly wrote down something on the
paper before him. The note was not a long one; it
was soon written, folded, enveloped, directed, and
Mr. Hartswood motioned to Gari'ard to take it.
" Carry that at once to the convent ; be the
Superior sleeping or waking it matters not, she must
have it without a minute's delay. And stay, rouse
Aytoun at the lodge, bid him come hither directly,
I shall dispatch by him a telegram to London ; and
he must go on the ' Crown ' and order a conveyance
to come here at once. I think that there is no night
train after a quarter to ten." The lawyer glanced
16« DXHCOVEHy,
at his watch, the hands pointed to five minutes to
eleven.
" Wait for an answer to that note, GaiTard," con-
tinued Mr. Harts wood ; "insist on not returning
without one." With an impatient gesture of the
hand he dismissed his servant, and catching sight
as he did so of the maids in the passage, in a stern
tone of command he bade them retu-e, and then
motioned to Claudia to close the door of the study.
She was left alone with her father, a miserable cul-
prit in presence of her judge, as she felt herself now
to be.
CHAPTER XVI.
BITTER THOUGHTS.
R. HARTSWOOD sternly pointed to a chair,
Claudia rather sank than seated herself
upon it.
The lawyer took a second piece of paper, to write
on it the telegram which he was about to dispatch
to the police authorities in London.
" Describe this nun," said he, dipping his pen ;
"height?"
"About my own, a little shorter perhaps," the
mouth of Claudia felt so parched from excitement
that articulation cost her an effort.
"Dress? black, of course."
"No, blue," faltered out Claudia.
"Strange," muttered Mr. Hai-tswood, as he put
down the word. "Material; style?" he inquired
in the same abrupt manner.
"You know, papa, my silk dress, the striped
blue."
" Yours ! " exclaimed the lawyer in angry sur-
160 BITTER THOUGHTS.
prise ; " and how came she to wear your silk
dress?"
" I lent it, and the hat too." Claudia was un-
consciously pressing the nails of her right hand so
tightly into the flesh of her left arm, that her skin
bore the mark for several days. The unhappy girl
had to bear a series of questions with something of
the emotions of a prisoner before the Inquisition —
her feelings were stretched on the rack. Mr. Harts-
wood drew from Claudia every leading particular of
her intercourse with Helena ; he made no comment
on the strange confession, and the only interruption
to the painful examination was an occasional ejacu-
lation of impatience from the lawyer at the tardiness
of Ganurd's return. If the period of his absence ap-
peared long to Mr. Hartswood, to Claudia it seemed in-
terminable ; she scarcely knew why she should so long
for an answer to her father's note from the Superior,
but it was that the confession which she was making
cost her such exquisite pain, that any kind of in-
terruption would have been welcomed as a relief.
At last a break occurred ; Aytoun, who had been
roused by Garrard from the deep sleep of a labouring
man, appeared at the door, his eyes still heavy with
drowsiness. The gardener wondered what service
could be required of him at the midnight hour, for
Garrard had not stopped to explain wheix, as com-
BITTER THOUGHTS, 161
manded, he had called at the lodge on his way to
the convent.
"There is a telegram, take it to the station, see
that it is instantly dispatched," said Mr. Harts wocd,
pushing towards Aytoun a paper on which he had
written a description of Helena's appearance, and a
demand that detectives might be sent down to Friern
Hatch early in the morning ; " then go on to the
' Crown ' at B and order a chariot and pair
to be here directly. I must go up to London at
once."
" Oh, papa, can you not rest here to-night ! " ex-
claimed Claudia, painfuUy struck by the pale, haggard
appearance of her parent, now that the flush of
angry excitement had passed away from his cheek.
"Rest," he muttered gloomily; "till I have re-
covered these papers there is no more rest for me."
Aytoun departed on his errands ; Mr. Hartswood
resumed his examination of his unhappy daughter,
rapidly noting down her replies. At length the
sound of creaking boots in the hall, and then the
lap at the study door, told the return of Garrard.
Mr. Hartswood rose from his chair, went to the
door himself, took a note from the hand of Garrard,
and bade the butler retire and await his further
orders. As the lawyer returned to his seat, he tore
open the envelope of the Lady Superior, and then
vmi 11
162 BITTER THOUGHTS.
throwing himself on his chair, he read half aloud
part of the contents of her note.
" Begs to inform him that none of the sistei*s has
broken her vows or forsaken her convent. There
has never been one here of the name of Helena, noi
any bearing the slightest relationship whatever to
Lady Melton."
An exclamation of astonishment rose to the lips
of Claudia, but she dared not give it utterance.
Her father did not look surprised, but more stemlr
indignant than ever.
"As I suspected, a deep-laid plot to get hold of
the papers," muttered the lawyer, rising and striding
rapidly up and down the room with his hands
behind him, and the Superior's note crushed in
his grasp. •' They might have tampered with my
servants ; but no, it was my daughter in whose
credulity, folly, deceitfulness, they found a ready
instrument to work the ruin of her father." Mr.
Hartswood stopped in his rapid pacing to and fro
directly in front of Claudia, on whom the last sen-
tence had fallen like the stroke of a dagger. "Go
to bed, child — go to bed," he said sternly; "there
is no need for you to watch or to work ; nothing
that you can do can ever repair the mischief wrought
by your folly."
Claudia would fain have thrown herself at the
BITTER THOUGHTS. 163
feet of her almost idolized father, have wept and
implored his forgiveness, but she had no power either
to shed tears or to utter a word at that moment.
Stricken, crushed, unutterably miserable, she could
only obey. She found her way up the stau'case,
into her room, shut the door behind her, and locked
it, then sank on her knees with a bitter, bitter cry,
wrung from the heart's deep anguish, " Oh, that I
could die — that I could die ! " For some time
Claudia's mind seemed unable to grasp any other
idea, she was utterly bewildered by the suddenness
of the blow which had come upon her so unexpected,
and to her so strangely mysterious.
"What have I done !" exclaimed Claudia at last,
springing to her feet, and pressing her clenched
hands to her temples, as though to keep down the
throbbings of her brain. " Am I the same Claudia
as she who last entered this room, full of hope and
pride, and the consciousness of a noble mission ?
What have I done," she repeated more wildly,
" that my own father should taunt me with credu-
lity, folly, deceit, when I meant to do what was
right, to defend the oppressed, to oppose persecution,
win a Romanist to give up her Popish delusions ?"
Claudia was in far too excited a state at that time
to be able to analyze motives, or to come to a cor-
rect judgment either as regarded her own conduct or
164 BITTER THOUGHTS.
that of others. That the pseudo-nun was an ai-tfuJ
impostor Claudia no longer could doubt, though
what her precise object had been in weaving so in-
tricate a plot was a mystery still to her friend.
Claudia but knew— and how mortifying was the
knowledge ! — that she who had prided herself on
detecting the slightest taint of insincerity in ihose
around her, and had regarded such a taint as fatal
to friendship, had been hei-self led into practising
arts of deception of which, but a few days before,
she would have deemed herself quite incapable !
How was it that everything relating to Helena now
appeared to Claudia in a new light, that a bandage
seemed to have been suddenly removed from her
eyes, and that the very same couree of action towards
the nun which Claudia had persuaded herself to be
fight, she now confessed to have been altogether
foolish and wrong ?
About midnight Claudia heard the wheels of the
carriage which came to take her father to London.
Mr. Hartswood did not keep it two minutes waiting.
His daughter, watching from the window, saw him
depart with a sickening sense of loneliness. " He
never bade me good-bye," she murmured; and then,
at last, the hot drops gushed from her eyes. The
night was far spent before Claudia even attempted
to snatch a few hours of repose. Without taking
BITTER THOUGHTS. 168
off the white muslin dress which she wore, the weary
girl threw herself on her bed, and from sheer exhaus-
tion fell into brief and feverish sleep, to awake with
a crushing weight of fear and self-reproach on her
heart.
An almost forgotten rhyme which had been read
years before by Claudia, when she had not the
faintest idea that it could apply to herself, haunted
her memory now, like a straw whirled round on the
eddies of some troubled water, —
" Oh, theirs is peril to sadden the heart,
Peril the mind to harrow,
Who wander off on the broad, broad path.
Taking it for the narrow."
The last line Claudia repeated over and over to her-
self. She recalled her own proud boast to Emma,
uttered so short a time before, in full belief of its
truth. " I am sure that I have not deceit in my
heart, any more than on my lips or in my looks."
Now the poor girl more than suspected that she had
been cherishing heart-deceit all along, that she had
mistaken her own motives, mistaken her own char-
acter, mistaken the whole bent of her earthly
career.
Has she whose eyes now glance over these pages
ever given one quiet hour to reflection on what is
her own guiding rule, her leading motive ? Many
166 BITTER THOUGHTS.
hours may have been spent in pleasant day-di"eams,
generous projects ; self-gi'atulation may have arisen
from conscious superiority over others less high-
minded and unworldly, but has the mirror of truth
been faithfully held up to the soul ? Have we seen
ourselves — do we wish to see ourselves — as we are
in the sight of Him who search eth the thoughts of
the heart ? There is far more danger of our deceiv-
ing ourselves, than of our deceiving others ; it is
possible even to believe that we are following the
leading-star of duty, when our guide is our o^vb
self-will holding aloft a torch kindled by pride,
CHAPTER XVII.
THE VICARAGE.
F this Claudia Hartswood does not want
our company, I am sure that we don't
want hers ; if she doesn't care for us,
we don't care a straw for her !" exclaimed HaiTy
Holder, as he leaned over the back of his sister's
ehair, watching her fingers as she ran a string into
a bag for his fishing-tackle ; "she's but a lawyer's
daughter; and I don't like lawyers — they're like
pike in the river, getting fat by gobbhng up all the
smaller fry that can't get out of their way."
"There are honest lawyers," observed Emma;
"and I'm certain, from what his daughter has told
me, that he is one of them. As for Claudia herself,
she is more high-minded — "
"Wheugh ! she's mighty high," said Harry with
a sneer ; " you might tell that half a mile off by the
way in which she walks, treading the grass as if she
thought that daisies would spring up under her feet.
She likes to live on the top of a hill, that she may
168 THE VICARAGE.
look down upon all the rest of the world ! That's not
a lass to my mind," continued the boy, striking the
floor with the handle of his fishing-rod ; '' give me a
sweet red strawberry, growing close to the ground,
rather than the brownest acorn that ever swung on
the topmost branch of a tree."
" But the strawberry will never grow into an
oak," observed Emma Holder.
"No more will the acorn," laughed Harry, "un-
less it tumble down from its high bough, and hide
itself low in the gi'ound, lower than the strawberry
under its leaves. But there — you've done — and I'm
off ! Mother will be glad to get rid of my chatter ;
her clothing-club list will be wiitten down faster
when I am out of the way."
Off ran Harry to join his brothers, whose loud
merry voices were heard from the field behind the
parsonage house. The boy in his haste almost
knocked against his father the vicar, who at that
moment entered the parlour, heated after his round
of afternoon visits in the parish.
Mrs. Holder laid down her pen, closed her red-
covered book, and greeted her husband with the
placid good-humoured face like sunshine. " Well,
my dear, you look tired," she observed; "you must
have found it hot in the sun. Have you heard any
news in the village ?
THE VICARAGE. 169
Mr. Holdei' laid down his stick, took off his hat,
and wiped his heated brow with his handkerchief;
then glanced around to see that he had no auditoi's
but his wife and Erama ere he replied.
" News ? — yes, indeed ; I've never been more
astonished in my life. There was a robbery last
night at Friern Hatch, while guests were dining in
the house."
The ladies both uttered exclamations, and drew
their chairs nearer to that of which the vicar had
taken possession, A burglary was happily so un-
common an event in the parish, that it was sure to
excite curiosity and interest.
" Detectives were down by daybreak," continued
the vicar ; " the criminal has not yet been taken up,
though the police are hard on her track. Mr.
Hartswood went up to town at midnight to help in
tracing her,"
" Her ! — surely the burglar is not a woman ! "
cried Emma.
" A woman — and a young and pretty one — who
does not seem, as far as we can tell, to have had an
accomplice," resumed Mr. Holder. " For some days,
it appears, a lady (so she called herself) has been
lodging at Widow Bane's, who lives, as every one
knows, in the lane which divides the Friern Hatch
grounds from the convent garden. This lady was —
170 THE VICARAGE.
or gave herself out to be — in delicate health, an in-
valid, nervous, and requiring change of air and quiet.
She called herself Miss Leland, but it seems likely
that she has half-a-dozen aliases, for she passed her-
self off to Claudia Hartswood as Sister Helena, a
nun."
"To Claudia Hartswood ! " exclaimed Mrs. Holder
and Emma in a breath ; " what had Claudia to do
with her ? " added the former.
" A great deal too much ; that is, to my mind,
the worst pai-t of the business," said the vicar very
gravely. " This Miss Leland chose to remaiu very
quiet, as she said, on account of her health, and
cared to be seen by, or converse with, no one but
her landlady, Mrs. Bane. This person recalls how
her lodger drew from her every particular that she
could gather regarding Friem Hatch and its in-
mates : you know that Mrs. Bane takes in their
washing."
" I recommended her to Mr, Hartswood myself,"
said Mrs. Holder ; " I know her to be — "
" Never mind the widow, my dear ; the question
is not about her, but her lodger. This Miss Leland
went out, as it appears, eveiy day at a particular
hour, always in the same direction, always with a
large black bag, which she said contained a rug for
her feet and materials for sketching, as she was
THE TICARAGE. 171
taking a view of the convent. It is clear that this
bag must have contained something very different
from rug, paint-box, or brushes, for this same bag
has been found, with all a nun's paraphernalia, black
robe, veil, rosary, crucifix and all, in a little green
bower in the shrubbery at the end of the Friern
Hatch grounds."
"Claudia's bower," ejaculated Emma.
" But I can't understand the drift of all this," said
the vicar's wife; "all seems so meaningless and con-
fused. This woman, this Miss Leland, might have
disguised herself as a nun, had she wished to steal
into the convent ; but how such a dress could pos-
sibly aid her in getting into a lawyer's house, passes
my poor comprehension."
" It enabled her in some extraordinary way to
gain an influence over his daughter."
" Oh no, papa ! " exclaimed Emma, with anima-
tion; " that is really impossible. Claudia told me
herself, when I passed some hoUrs with her last
Monday, that her father had forbidden her to have
anything to do with the nuns of the convent."
" It is not of what Miss Claudia said, but of what
she did that I was speaking," observed Mr. Holder
drily.
"Is it possible Claudia could say one thing and
do another?" cried Emma, who could scarcely believe
172 THE VICARAGE.
that Mr. Hartswood's high-souled daughter could
prove so false.
" I fear that she is a sadly unprincipled, deceitful
girl," was the reply of the vicar. "Unknown to
her father, Claudia has, by her own confession,
carried on secret communication with this Miss
Leland, whom she supposed to be one of the nuns
from the convent. Miss Hartswood has met the
impostor, I know not how often, in that bower at
the end of the grounds ; they were there together
yesterday, twice at least."
Emma's countenance fell ; she remembered
Claudia's confusion when she had met her in
the shrubbery, her expressed desire to spend the
morning alone. Emma was astonished and
shocked at the duplicity of a girl whom she
had deemed so truthful ; bitter is the moment
when a young heart first finds that it has been
deceived in one whom it had admired, loved, and
trusted.
" This is not all," continued the vicar ; " this
wretched Claudia actually smuggled Miss Leland
into the house, and left her in the study of Mr.
Hartswood, where the impostor, supplied with pick-
locks, made but too good use of her time. Claudia
never so much as threw out a hint of the presence
of a stranger in the dwelling, till she found that the
THE VICARAGE. 173
pseudo-nun had disappeared, carrying with her pro-
perty of the utmost vakie."
" Silver plate and raone}, no douht," observed the
practical Mrs. Holder.
"No ; papers," replied the vicar.
" Unless they were bank-notes, one cannot see of
what use such things could be to a burglar," said
the lady. " Well, well, I'm sure, what a world it
is that we live in. Who ever would have guessed
that that frank, bright, open-hearted girl, as she
seemed, would have acted a part so disgraceful !"
"We cannot be too thankful that Claudia's
character has been found out, before she had had
time to form a closer intimacy with our dear child,"
observed the vicar, looking tenderly at Emma, whose
eyes were filling with tears.
"It is an escape — a merciful escape ' " exclaimed
the indignant mother. " One never knows what
deceitful notions might be put into the brain of an
unsuspecting girl like our Emma. This lawyer' s daugh-
ter ; well used, no doubt, to tricks and quibbles — "
" My dear, my dear ! " expostulated the vicar.
"Oh, mamma, I could never learn from Claudia
anything of deceit, but hatred of it," cried Emma.
"I never met with any one — not even yourself
— with such a high, such a very high standard of
truthfulness."
174 THE VICARAGK.
The vicar shook his head very gravely. " Char-
acter is a plant of slow growth," he observed; "it
is impossible that such duplicity as that shown by
this unhappy girl should have sprung up in a day,
a week, or a month. The more plausible such a
companion may be, the more dangerous her influ-
ence must prove."
Mrs. Holder's maid-servant entered the parlour
with a little three-cornered note, which she gave to
Emma, who recognized the handwriting of Claudia.
The contents of the note were brief " Dear Emma —
I am lonely. Do come over to yours affectionately,
C. H."
" Miss Harts wood's maid waits for an answer,'
said the servant.
Emma silently handed the note to her mother,
who read and passed it on to the vicar, while the
servant quitted the room.
" What am I to reply ? " asked Emma.
" Certainly decline going," answered the vicar.
" There are paper and pens," said Mrs. Holder,
pointing to the table which she had just quitted ;
" the sooner your note is sent off tlie better."
" But what excuse can I possibly make ? " asked
Emma, as slowly and reluctantly she went to the
table.
" No excuse is needed under circumstances like
THE VIOARAOK. 176
the present," said the vicar. " "Write that you re-
gret that you are prevented from going. Miss
Hartswood is quite intelligent enough to understand
what it is that prevents you."
" I ara astonished, after what has occurred, that
Claudia should have the face to send an invitation
to my daughter!" exclaimed Mrs. Holder.
Emma, slowly and sadly, commenced her note.
"Poor Claudia will be dreadfully hurt," she mur-
mured, and a long sigh followed, which was partly
for the mortification which she knew that her
refusal would inflict on her late friend, partly on
account of her own disappointment.
" Stop ; do not address her as ' Dear Claudia,' "
said Mrs. Holder, who had risen from her seat, and
was looking over her daughter's shoulder as she
wrote. " I will have no such terms of familiarity
between my child and Miss Hartswood."
The stiff" formal note was soon written and de-
spatched. Emma felt as she traced the cold lines
that she was breaking the link which bound her to
Claudia, and a sore pang it cost her to do so. As
soon as the note was sent, Emma ran up to her own
little room and gave way to a burst of tears. This
did not last long, for the busy life passed at the vicar-
age afforded little time for the indulgence of tender
emotions ; but when Emma joined the next social
176 THE VICARAQB.
meal, her merry, noisy brothers, almost for the first
time found their sister ill-tempered. Emma could
hardly endure to hear their boyish remarks on the
afiair at Friem Hatch, of which they, like all the
rest of those who lived near it, were fuU ; and it
was soon discovered at the vicarage that the way to
stir up the gentle Emma to anger, was to abuse one
whom her afiectionate spirit would fain still have
regarded as a model of honour and candour.
CHAPTER XVIII.
SEARCH FOR A CLUE.
IHAT short note which had cost tears to her
who had penned it, was to her who re-
ceived it like vinegar poured on an open
wound
" ^ncerely yours ; yes, sincerely indeed," mut-
tered Claudia bitterly, as she tossed the letter away
in disgust. " Emma cannot at least be accused of
flattering the fallen, or of feigning friendship for one
who will certainly never stoop to ask for a proof of
it from her again."
It had been the almost insupportable sense of
loneliness in her trouble which had induced Claudia,
after much hesitation, to ask the vicar's daughter to
come. The life of Claudia had hitherto been one of
almost unclouded enjoyment. The darling of a
fondly loved father, possessing every comfort and
advantage which his affection could secure to his
child, with buoyant spirits, high health, and a keen
enjoyment for intellectual pursuits, Claudia's life
(826) 12
1 78 SEARCH FOE A CLUE.
had Leen like a morning in May, She had had no
cares, no fears, no pain, and scarcely the shadow of
a trouble. The storm of affliction had burst on her
suddenly, and had found her quite unprepared to
meet it. Claudia knew not whither to turn for
shelter or comfort. She who had been proudly
conscious of strength and courage, and had been
sometimes almost eager to have them brought to
the test, felt her strength fail and her courage
shrink in her first encounter with misfortune. But
it had come to the proud girl in a shape most un-
expected and most distressing.
Early in the morning Claudia had had to endure
the ordeal of an interview with the detectives from
London, and to impart to them all the information
which she could give regarding the pseudo-nun.
The pain, the mortification which the high-spirited
girl had endured in relating to men and strangers
the story of her own duplicity and folly, may
readily be imagined. If her anguish had been
keener when making her confession to her father,
her humiliation was now deeper. This painful but
necessary interview over, Claudia was left to solitude
and to her own reflections, which were sufficiently
bitter. Never had time appeared to Claudia to
move at a pace so slow. She could settle to no oc-
cupation, every one had become distasteful. When
SEARCH FOR A CLUE. 179
she opened a book, her mind did not take in the
sense of the words on which her eyes rested ; they
might have been Hebrew, for aught that she knew.
When Claudia attempted to write, she soon threw
down her pen in despau*. She had delighted to
ramble alone in the shrubbery, listen to the warble
of birds and the gurgle of the brook, and indulge in
delicious musings ; but now all her musings were
painful, and she turned with aversion from every
spot connected in her mind with the faithless Helena.
The black form seemed to haunt the bower ; to
throw a shadow over the brook. Claudia shrank
even from entering her father's study, from the
bitter associations which the sight of the once
delightful little room now raised in her mind.
Unable, at last, longer to endure this sense of isola-
tion and depression, which she thought would drive
her to distraction, Claudia had penned her short
note to Emma ; the answer to which had poured an
additional drop of gall into a cup already over-
flowing.
Claudia's self-reproach was something distinct
from repentance. The former is so often mistaken
for the latter, that it is well to examine into the
difference between them. Claudia's spirit was, save
during the interview with her father, rather soured
than subdued ; she was angry indeed with herself
180 SEARCH FOR A CLUE.
but lather for her blindness and credulity, her
failure in detection of fraud, than from any convic-
tion of moral error. She was far more angry with
the impostor who had deceived, and even with the
friend who, as she deemed, had forsaken her. There
was still with the lawyer's daughter an attempt at
self-justification, a desire to excuse her own conduct,
and to regard hei-self as one led astray by her gener-
ous impulses, and far more sinned against than
sinning. Claudia was grieved at having offended
her earthly parent ; she scarcely asked herself
whether she had also incuiTed the displeasure of her
heavenly Father. She winced under the conscious-
ness that her conduct had been unworthy of herself ;
the thought scarcely crossed her mind that it had
been unworthy of a Christian. There was some-
thing of pride and selfishness in Claudia's sorrow, as
there had been in her efforts to do good. Her heart
might be deeply wounded, but it was not a broken
and contrite heart.
Claudia longed for, yet dreaded, her father's re-
turn from London. The familiar sound of the rail-
way-whistle at the hour when she expected him
home, gave her a shivering sensation of fear. The
poor girl did not go forth, as usual, to meet her
father at or beyond the gate of the drive ; she re-
mained in the dining-room awaiting his coming.
SEARCH FOR A CUTE. 181
But in vain she listened for the sound of the click
of the gate, or that of the quick firm step on the
gravel. Claudia remained standing in the attitude
of listening intently, till Garrard entered the room
with the matter-of-fact question : "As master has
not come by this train, miss, what had better be
done about dinner ? "
"Let it be kept back till he does come," said
Claudia ; " the night train comes in two hours
hence."
" But you," began the butler, who had removed
the mid-day meal almost untasted by his young
mistress.
" I will wait ; I care not ! " replied Claudia im-
patiently, turning away to the window.
Two more dreary hours of sickening expectation
passed slowly with Claudia. The sun set in a thick
bank of clouds, duU twilight came prematurely on,
preceding a moonless and starless night. Claudia
spent her waiting-time by the window, watching
the deepening gloom, and wondering what tidings
her father would bring. She was faint and sick
with unwonted fiisting ; and the darkness of outer
Nature seemed to rest on her soul like a pall. It
was a relief to hear at last the panting of the coming
train, which, through the night stillness, sounded to
Claudia like the violent throbbing of a lieart. Then
1§2 SEAEOia FOE A CLUE.
thei-e was the shrill piercing whistle ; the train was
reaching the station. This time the weary watcher
was not to be disappointed. Claudia ran forth to
meet her father, saw his form approaching through
the darkness, and in silence parent and child em-
braced— there was no cheerful greeting between
them. Mr. Hartswood's daughter dared ask no
questions ; she felt convinced that he brought no
good tidings, or they would have been imparted at
once. The lawyer's manner was not unkind, but
gloomy and abstracted ; and Claudia could hear a
weaiy sigh as he crossed the threshold of his home.
During the first part of the cheerless meal which
ensued, scarcely a word was uttered ; the presence of
Garrard behind his master's chaii- acted as a restraint.
When Claudia ventured timidly to steal a glance at
her father, she thought that the hues of care and
age had never before appeared so distinct on his
face ; it grieved her soul to see them. When Gar-
rard had left the room, Mr. Hartswood, who had
been taking his meal with an aii- of abstraction,
began to give his daughter the information for
which she was pining, but for which she had not
ventured to ask. The lawyer spoke, as it were, by
snatches, in a quick abrupt manner, very different
from his usual pleasant confidential way of convers-
ing with his child.
SEARCH FOR A CLUE. 183
" No clue found yet. I've .advertised largely
Placards are already over half London."
Again there was an interval of silence, while Mr.
Hai-tswood refilled his glass, and drained it.
"There is no lady of the name of Irvine to be
found in Grosvenor Square, nor has any such person
been in the habit of visiting St. George's Hospital.
Such an artfully spun web of deceit I have scarcely
met with during the whole course of my practice."
Another pause, which Claudia feared to break.
Again her father spoke, but scarcely as if addressing
his daughter.
" I was for more than an hour to-day with Lady
Melton. She has no female relative in the world,
nor knew that there was a convent near us. She
is furiously indignant and angry."
"At Miss Lelands passing herself off as her
niece ? " asked Claudia ; she could not bring herself
to utter the name " Helena."
" No ; at the loss of the papers, of course," re-
plied Mr. Hai'tswood sharply. " It wiU be impos-
sible to bring on her suit until those documents be
recovered. I have offered a very large reward ;
recover them we must and shaU, were I to sell my
last spoon to cover expenses."
" May not those who are interested in stopping
the suit be those who have got possession of the
184 SEARCH FOE A CLUE.
papers ? " suggested Claudia. " No common thief
would care to cany them off. Agaiust whom was
Lady Melton going to bring this suit ? "
" The person in possession of the large estate on
which Lady Melton has a claim is a Sir Edmund
Curtis," said the lawyer. " Sir Edmund is a man
of property and position, one whose character stands
high in the world ; he is one most unlikely to be
involved in a hazardous plot to commit a robbery,
however advantageous to his interests its result — if
successful — might prove."
" If the crime was not committed from motives
of interest, might it not have been from motives of
malice or revenge?" suggested Claudia. "Does
Lady Melton know of any one wlio bears her ill-
wiU?"
On any other occasion Mr. Hartswood might
have been pleased and amused at his daughter's
shrewd conjectures, and have laughingly exclaimed,
as he had done so often before, that it was a pity
that she could not be called to the bar. But not a
smile rose to his lips as the lawyer replied: "The
same idea presented itself to my mind, and I sug-
gested it to ray client. Lady Melton informed me
in reply, that, about a year ago, she had dismissed
from her house at an hour's notice a person who
had been in her full confidence as a humble com-
SEARCH FOR A CLUE. 185
paniou, but who, as she accidentally discovered, had
secured the situation by false references, and whose
antecedents had been such as to render her ineligible
to hold it. Lady Melton was astonished to find
that this Miss Eagle, who had represented herself as
a clergyman's daughter, had been an actress by pro-
fession."
"That's Helena!" ejaculated Claudia; "for
never was there a being who could act a pai-t better
than she."
" You have come to too hasty a conclusion," said
the lawyer. " Of course I closely questioned Lady
Melton as to this lady-companion, comparing her
description of Miss Eagle with that of Miss Leland,
alias Helena. It is quite impossible that the two
should be identical : Miss Eagle is half a head taller
than the nun, and is at least twenty years older ;
her nose is hooked, while, by your own account. Miss
Leland' s is straight. They may both be actresses,
indeed, but are certainly not the same individuals."
"The whole aflfair is so mysterious, so utterly in-
explicable," sighed Claudia.
"It is a dark labyrinth of iniquity, which must
be explored in its every winding," muttered the
lawyer under his breath. " No labour or expense
shall be spared on my part; for where papers of the
utmost value, intrusted to my charge, have been
186 SEARCH FOR A CLUE.
abstracted fi-oin my own cabinet in this most un-
accouDtaule way, something more than my pro-
fessional reputation for discretion and carefulness is
involved." And Mr. Harts wood fell into a train of
gloomy, silent thought, which lasted till he retired
to his room for the night.
CHAPTER XIX.
RUMOURS AND SUSPICIONS.
iNE shock of an earthquake may rend a
fragment of marble from its crag, but it
requires many a stroke of the chisel to
form the marble into a statue. It is generally the
gradual and almost imperceptible effect of the in-
stniments of which God is pleased to make use, that
moulds the characters of those whom he makes hia
own. The first great misfortune which Claudia had
felt (for she had been too young when her mother
had died to know grief for her loss), had been to her
like the earthquake ; but the prolonged trials that
succeeded, like the successive blows of the chisel,
were the means of making a more permanent and
marked change than any single shock could have
done.
Painfully and slowly passed day after day, week
after week. Notwithstanding the most strenuous
efforts of Mr. Hartswood, no trace of Helena could
be discovered. The guard of the night-train by
188 RTJMOURS AND SUSPICIONS.
which she had travelled up to London remembered,
indeed, a lady, young and pretty, dressed in blue
silk, with a broad-brimmed hat, who had declined
his offer to procure for her a cab upon her arrival at
the station, and, to his surprise, had walked away,
notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, without
any protection. The evidence of the guard was as
a single footprint left on sand, no second one could
be found ; it was as if the pseudo-nun had vanished
into thin au-. Money was lavished, time was spent
in the search for the stolen papers, but all with no
result save that of deepening disappointment. Every
evening Mr. Hartswood returned to his home, grave,
stern, and irritable. Cares were heavily pressing
upon him. The lawyer had always lived up to,
sometimes beyond his professional income ; borne on
the tide of prosperity, he had looked forward to in-
creasing business witli increasing reputation ; but
the strange loss of the documents belonging to the
most impoi-tant case in which he was engaged, had
seriously affected both. Rumours were circulated,
whispers went round in clubs and fashionable circles
regarding the robbery at Friern Hatch, injurious to
the character of Mr. Hartswood. The effect of this
was soon seen. No new briefs were placed in the
lawyer's hands ; professional advice was sought from
those whom he knew to be greatly his inferioi's in
RUMOURS AND SUSPICIONS. 189
probity and talent, rather than from him whose
ability and merit had once been acknowledged
by all
The wearing strain upon the nei-ves and spirits
of Claudius Hartswood told upon his temper.
Even in the court of justice it cost him an effort to
restrain it, and the effort was not always successful.
Mr. Hartswood was once openly reproved by the
sitting judge for a burst of intemperate language.
In his own dwelling the unhappy man gave free
vent to irritability. Claudia had been wont to
boast that she had never had a rough word from her
father ; never again could that boast be uttered. It
became more and more a hopeless task to attempt to
please him ; almost every sentence which broke from
his lips inflicted a pang on his sensitive daughter. She
dreaded the sight of notes in Lady Melton's familiar
handwriting ; Mr. Hartswood always took them up
with a frown on his brow, and the furrow was cer-
tain to deepen as he perused them. He became —
what he never had been in former days — impatient,
unreasonable, almost tyrannical with his servants.
GaiTai'd was given warning for some trifling act of
neglect; the month's bills, though not larger than
usual, caused the discharge of the cook. Mr. Harts-
wood was incensed by any h^avy draw on his purse,
and yet almost equally so if any change appeared in
190 RUMOURS AND SUSPICIONS.
the routine of household arrangements. Claudia
could not but see that her father was an altered
man ; she was miserable at the change, and yet had
to struggle to keep up a calm and even cheerful
demeanour ; for if tears should start to her eyes, or
even if her manner should betray depression, Mr.
Harts wood's irritation was visibly increased. It
was only during the hours of her father's absence
that the poor girl dared give way to her grief, and
then many were the tears which fell over the
pages of the Bible, to which she now turned for
the comfort which she could find in nothing
besides.
For the discipline of affliction was gradually sub-
duing the proud spirit of Claudia Hartswood. She
was at first conscious of having made one serious
mistake, which was drawing on her a punishment
which seemed to her greater than the offence, but
she was now beginning to suspect that her whole
previous life might have been a mistake. Claudia
had looked upon herself as the victim of a heartless
piece of deception ; now she was gradually led to fear
that deceit had been harboured in her own breast.
She had followed her own pleasure, indulged her
own will, and had then complacently regarded her-
self as doing the bidding and forwarding the work
of her heavenly Master. Claudia had placed much
RDM0UK8 AND SUSPICIONS. 191
reliance on her own mental powers, but what had
they availed in time of temptation ! Imagination,
the mental eye, had been deceived by the mirage
raised by the spirit of romance. Judgment, discern-
ment, had been grievously at fault, perverted by
vanity and pride. Claudia had suffered her moral
perceptions to be confused by " the musk odour of
deceit." She had sought for no wisdom from above,
nor — till this time of humiliation — had realized that
a need for it existed.
The painful state into which Claudia had now
entered was rather one of preparation than of a new
spiritual life. It was as the ploughing up of the
weed-tangled ground, not the springing up of the
heavenly seed. There are some proud spirits that,
like Hagar, must be led step by step farther into
the desert, before they hear the voice of the angel.
Their skin-bottle of earthly pleasure has to be
emptied out, drop by drop, ere they find — or even
seek for — the life-giving spring which time can
never exhaust.
The summer was one of exquisite beauty, but to
Claudia, in her deep depression. Nature itself had
lost half its charms. She could not take her
former interest in the parteiTes, for her father now
never looked at the flowers, Claudia wandered
about the gi'ounds listlessly, almost envying Emma
192 RUMOURS AND SUSPICIONS.
Holder her troublesome pupils and her homely em-
ployments, idleness was so oppressive ; but Claudia,
without the necessity, had not the heart for work.
Tlie annivei-sary of Claudia's birth-day arrived ;
it was one which had always been remembered and
kept, but now for the first time it appeared to be
forgotten by all but her who, on that day, completed
her sixteenth year. There was no tempting-looking
parcel on her toilette-table, with loving words written
upon it in the liandwriting of her fond father ; nor,
when Mr. Hartswood met his daughter at breakfast,
was there any allusion to what he had been wont to
call " this auspicious day." Claudia missed the
blessing, the smile, the cordial good wish which had
never been wanting before. Her father was occu-
pied with his own gloomy thoughts, and to the
anxious eye of affection looked aged and ill. Twice
he spoke to Claudia with peevish impatience ; he
complained of the heat of the weather, and of the
fatigue and inconvenience of daily journeys by train
after being exposed to the stifling atmosphere of
law-courts. Mr. Hartswood had never till recently
been wont to complain of anything ; Claudia had
once laughingly observed that her father looked at
life through glasses couleur de rose, now everything
seemed to be viewed by him through a curtain ef
crape.
RUMOURS AND SUSPICIONS. 193
Mr. Hartswood went off to London, and Claudia,
left to solitude, sauntered wearily under the shade
of the trees, absorbed in bitter reflections.
" How different were my feelings," thought she,
" when I last reached one of life's mile-stones, and
looked forward with eager hope on the unknown
future before me ! I remember the proud conscious-
ness of talent, energy, and resolute will, with which
I wrote in my journal : ' This world is full of sham,
humbug, and deceit — the mission of every true-
hearted woman is to expose, resist, and overcome it.'
I, alas ! have mistaken my mission, or have failed
to fulfil it. I have been both deceived and deceiver.
I have disappointed alike my father's expectations
and my own. I have proved weak where I deemed
myself to be strong. I seem to have advanced in
nothing, unless it be in experience, bitter experience;
and oh, for tliat what a price have I paid ! "
Claudia's steps had brought her near the side-
door at which the postman was leaving part of the
contents of his bag. Claudia had not noticed his
coming, for a screen of laurels was between them,
and was only made aware of it by her casually over-
hearing part of a sentence spoken to the postman by
Garrard as he took in the letters.
" Say what you like, I can't believe that master
put our young miss up to — "
mn) 13
194 RUMOURS AND SUSPICIONS.
To what ? Claudia did not wait to hear the end
of the sentence, she was above the meanness of eaves-
dropping, and instantly turned from the spot ; but
those few words which her ear had caught opened
to her a new and painful field for thought. What
could be inferred from such words ? Was it pos-
sible that any one could for a moment suspect that
her father, her noble father, had been an accomplice
in the abduction of the property of his client !
The mere idea of such a suspicion flushed the
cheek of his daughter, and she threw it indignantly
from her mind, but had no power to prevent its
return.
Claudia went back to the house, and met Garrard
bringing in the papers, and a single note addressed
to herself in the handwriting of Annie Goldie. It
was long since Claudia had heard from her former
companion, and welcome was the sight of the familiar
hand, which showed that by one friend at least in
her loneliness she was remembered. Claudia took
the note and the newspaper into the study, sat
down, and opened Annie's epistle. Displeasure
darkened her countenance as she perused the con-
tents; the following portion was read with indignant
surprise : —
" All sorts of disagreeable things are said, but, of
course, I don't believe them • I am sure that your
RUMOURS AND SUSPICIONS. 195
father is not in league with Sir E. C. But I'm
dying to know the whole story from beginning to
end from yourself."
Claudia tore the note into fragments. " She is
certainly likely to die before I stoop to gi'atify her
impertinent curiosity," muttered the lawyer's
daughter ; and she took up the newspaper to divert
her own thoughts from the subject.
But here, again, Claudia was met by the same
haunting theme. The first portion of the paper
upon which her eyes fell was one of those para-
graphs which are often inserted to fill up vacant
corners, and at the same time gratify the taste of
the public for gossip : —
" The Vanished Nun. — All efibrts to trace the
mysterious individual who is alleged to have carried
ofi" valuable documents from a cabinet have proved
inefiectual, and we may say in the words of Shak-
speare, —
' The earth hath bubbles, as the water hath,
And this is of them.'
" The whole story of a supposed nun being
concealed by a young lady in her father's study,
while he was actually in the house — and of her
being given a quiet opportunity of examining the
contents of his cabinet, and selecting from his papers
documents bearing on a case involving a quarter of
196 F.UMOURS AND SUSPICIONS.
a million sterling — and then disappearing with her
spoil unquestioned and unseen, like some invisible
agent, bears on its face such strong features of im-
probability, that no skilful wi'iter of fiction would
venture on weaving such a plot. We can therefore
only credit the tale on the plea that 'truth is
stranger than fiction,' though we reprobate the spirit
of gossip which would trifle with the reputation of
a gentleman of high social position, and a distin-
guished member of an honourable profession."
The paper dropped from the hands of Claudia.
The dreadful suspicion awakened by the words of
Garrard, and strengthened by the note of Annie, was
now fully confirmed by the paragraph just perased.
Slander had dared to breathe on the hitherto un-
tarnished name of her father — he was actually
suspected of having invented an improbable tale
to account for the disappearance of papers placed
under his care. The cause of the irritability, the
depression of Mr. Hartswood, was now but too
evident to his daughter ; that reputation which
was dearer to him than fortune, or life itself, was
imperilled, and through the foUy, the presumption,
the deceitfulness of his daughter. With agony of
spirit Claudia recalled the words of her parent on
the terrible night of the first disclosure : " Nothing
tliat you can do can ever repair the mischief wrought
KUMOURS AND SUSPICIONS. 197
by your folly." Claudia's soul was like a lake
over which a tempest is sweeping. Honour,
reputation, fair fame had appeared to her, as to
her father, as of all things the most precious. To
preserve them she would have sacrificed pleasure,
profit, health, and have deemed the sacrifice made
to a sense of duty. Claudia had formed a kind of
religion out of her pride. With fierce, passionate
resentment the injured girl now thought of Helena.
The only relief from self-reproach was found in cast-
ing the reproach on the tempter.
" Viper — serpent — that I have warmed in my
bosom, that it should sting my heart ! " exclaimed
Claudia, passionately, wringing her hands. "But
she will not always escape from just retribution —
vengeance will overtake her at last — the wrong
will one day be righted — my father's character
will again stand spotless and bright in the sight of
the world ! But oh ! in the meantime what
may not he — what may not I have to suffer ! And
it is only just that I should suffer ; the deceiver
could have had no power to betray had I — wretched
that I am — but obeyed my parent and distrusted
myself ! " The shivering sigh which followed told of
the anguish of a soul tortured by unavailing regi^ets
for the past and gloomy fears for the future.
CHAPTER XX.
A MOVK.
IHE miseries of that birth-day had not yet
reached their climax.
Before hood the melancholy solitude
of Claudia was disturbed by the entrance of Garrard
He was the bearer of a telegram which a messenger
had just brought fi-om the station. A flash of hope
brightened the gloom of Claudia.
"The papers are found!" she exclaimed, as, start-
ing up from her seat, she snatched the missive from
the salver on which it was brought, and eagerly tore
the envelope open. But her flash of hope was
transient as the gleam of summer light which plays
amid clouds. The telegram was from a Mr. Paley,
whose name was familiar to Claudia, as he had long
acted as clerk to her father. The message which it
contained ran thus : —
" Mr. Hartswood was taken ill in Court to-day.
He is now at my lodging in 2 Little Bread Court,
Gray's Inn Lane."
A MOVE. 199
Claudia uttcre/l no exclamation ; she only trem-
bled and turned very pale. This was, she felt, a
time for action and not lamentation. She knew
not of what nature or what gi'avity her father's ill-
ness might be, she but knew that her post must be
by his side.
" Garrard, my father is ill — I must go to Lon-
don directly ; when does the next train pass ? " she
inquired with assumed composure.
"There will be one in half an hour," answered
Gan'ard.
"Ring for Martha, she must accompany me to
town," said Claudia, as she quitted the study to
make preparation for so hasty a journey. She was
surprised at the calmness with which she was able
to make arrangements and give directions. As Mr.
Hartswood's illness might be tedious, and such as to
prevent his return to the country, Claudia had her
desk and some few necessaries packed to take with
her, and also various articles which the invalid might
require. It was some comfort to Claudia thus to
think for and act for her parent ; the necessity for
exercising consideration and foresight prevented the
burden of anxiety from being so overwhelming as it
would otherwise have proved. Claudia dared not
let her mind dwell on the terrible fear of what might
await her on her arrival in London, until she found
200 A MOVE.
herself, with Martha beside her, seated in the train
which would bear her thither.
Two gentlemen were Claudia's fellow-passengers
in the railway-carnage. They appeared to be jovial
sporting characters, and a mingled scent of tobacco
and brandy which pervaded the carriage, and the
free stare with which they surveyed the young lady
as she entered, gave Claudia a feeling of repulsion.
With the maidenly dignity and sense of propriety
which Miss Hartswood already possessed, she kept
perfectly quiet in her corner of the carriage, looking
out on the landscape, and not even exchanging a
word with the servant beside her. But Claudia
could not avoid hearing the convei'sation passing
between her fellow-travellers, who chatted gaily
with each other, as if no one else were present.
" Look ye, Tom," said one of them to his com-
panion, glancing out of the window ; " that old
house on the hill yonder is Friern Hatch, the scene
of that odd affair about the mysterious nua"
Claudia felt exceedingly uncomfortable, and
wished herself a thousand miles off.
The other young man laughed, " Such a rare
bit of good luck for the Curtises ! " he said, stroking
his long moustaches. "The old cove has one foot
in the grave, so it don't matter much to him, but
his son — who's well known on the course — won't
A MOVE. 201
think half a million or so a thing to be sneezed at.
Jack Curtis never gained so much by any throw
of the dice as he did by the canying off of these
papers. Ha, ha, lia ! it was a rare bit of luck ! "
"If it can be called luck," observed the other,
shrugging his shoulders. "Thieves don't usually
carry off deeds or letters to make thread-papers or
kite-tails. If I were Lady Melton, with half a
million of money at stake, I'd not take the matter
quietly."
"She does not take the matter quietly," rejoined
the other; "they say the old lady's furious, and
that it's as likely as not that she'll prosecute the
fellow -vyho so strangely let her property slip through
his fingers."
Claudia could scarcely sit still. Had the conver-
sation between the two young men not taken a
different turn, she must have betrayed herself by her
emotion. It was unendurable to hear strangers thus
playing with the reputation of her father, at a time
too when she was in an agony of suspense lest she
should find that beloved parent dying.
After the peaceful seclusion of the country, the
noise, the bustle, the confusion of the great city
after her arrival at the London station were especi-
ally trying to Claudia. Her impatience to reach her
father was intense, and the slow pace of a lame cab-
202 A MOVE.
horse, and then a dead-lock amongst carts and
waggons, which lasted for several minutes, increased
to a painful degi'ee the irritation of her nervous
system. The atmosphere of London felt so thick,
the heat so oppressive, that the poor girl could not
breathe freely, and her temples throbbed with violent
pain.
At length the cab reached the place of its destina-
tion, turning into a narrow stone-paved coui-t, which
was near enough to a noisy thoroughfare for its
rattle and noise to sound like a perpetual fall of
water; yet in itself so dreary and dull that it looked
to Claudia the very image of desolation. Small,
square, dusty-paned windows from either side looked
out on the narrow court. Sickly blades of grass —
rather gray than gi-een — grew here and there be-
tween the stones with which it was paved ; there
were a few lilac and privet shmbs in the centre,
with soot-blackened stems and shrivelled leaves, that
seemed as if they had never felt the pure breath of
spring, nor caught a sunbeam from the strip of
smoky sky above them. View there was none,
save of dirty brick houses surmounted by dirtier
stacks of chimnies ; living creature there was none
to be seen, but two dingy sparrows, that must have
found their way by mistake into the centre of that
prison-like enclosure of brick buildings. Claudia
A MOVE. 203
had little time or inclination to look around her,
but in a single glance took in a photograph-like im-
pression of the dreariness of the court.
There was a dulness in the very tinkle of the
bell, whose rusty handle appeared by the dark heat-
blistered door of the house at which the cab had now
stopped. Claudia could not wait till the driver's
summons was answered, she sprang impatiently from
the conveyance, and herself repeated the ring. The
door was presently opened, creaking as if unwilling
to admit a visitor, by the landlady of the lodging.
The woman's appearance was forbidding : a gi'easy
black cap, trimmed with faded red flowers, sur-
mounted an untidy mass of iron-gray ringlets. Mrs.
Maul's mouth was large, her under jaw protruded,
ill-temper was stamped on her face.
" My father, Mr. Hai-tswood, is he here ? " gasped
Claudia, trying to read in the face of the woman
whether dangerous illness — whether death might
not be in that sombre dwelling.
" Yes, he's here ; Mr. Paley, my lodger, brought
him here ; he'd had a kind of fit, but he's come
round again," replied the landlady drily, no look of
sympathy for the agitated girl softening her hard
smoke-dried features. " If you want to see Mr.
Hartswood, he's on the first-floor, and I'll show
you."
204 A MOVE.
But Claudia did not wait to be shown up-stairs ;
she sprang past Mrs. Maul, and in two seconds was
on the landing-place, with her trembUng fingers on
the handle of the door of the room occupied by her
father. She turned that handle softly, for she
feared to startle the invalid, or awaken him perhaps
from slumber, and entered the apartment with noise-
less step. To her unutterable relief Claudia saw
her parent seated by a table, and, as appeared at
first glance, looking much the same as when he had
quitted home in the morning, Mr. Hartswood waf:
surprised and annoyed at the entrance of his
daughter.
" What on earth brings you here ? " uttered in a
harsh, almost angry tone, was the lawyer's welcome
to Claudia.
" Dear papa, Mr. Paley telegraphed to me that
you were ill."
" Paley' s an old idiot ; I wish that he would
mind his own business," inten-upted Mr, Harts-
wood. "I'm as well as ever I was in my life. It
was but a little dizziness." The lawyer put his
hand to his brow, and Claudia observed that there
was something strange and almost wild in the
expression of his eyes, which made her feel very
uneasy.
" I daresay that the sweet countjy air," she
A MOVE. 205
began ; but Mr. Hartswood abruptly cut short hei
sentence.
" Sweet country fiddlestick ! " he exclaimed.
"I'm not going back to Friern Hatch. These
journeys to and fro are what kill me. I've told
Mrs. — what's her name — that as these rooms are
vacant, I mean to stop here."
"Not here surely, papa," said Claudia, glancing
round the apartment, which, with its dingy curtains,
faded carpet, and old horse-hair chairs, looked to her
extremely uninviting.
" Yes, here," replied Mr. Hartswood, striking
the floor with his foot; " I can't afford lodgings
that might suit your fine taste, and I'll not stir
a step from London till — till I've recovered these
papers ! " He ground his teeth as he ended
the sentence, and his eyes looked more wild than
before.
" If you stay, I hope that you will let me stay
with you," said Claudia faintly.
" You can do as you like about that; I can't
afford to keep up two establishments. I must sub-
let the Hatch, if I can; but, of couree, you may pre-
fer staying amongst your laurels and roses till I get
a tenant," replied Mr. Hartswood. His tone con-
veyed a sneer.
*' I would rather keep beside you, papa, wherever
206 A MOVE.
you choose to be," said Claudia. " If you permit, 1
will speak to the landlady about it at once."
Claudia pulled the faded bell-rope, as her father's
silence spoke his consent. Mr. Hartswood rose, and
with a step far less firm and elastic than had been
his six weeks before, entered his sleeping apartment,
which was divided by folding-doors from that in
95^hich he had been sitting.
With feelings of sickening depression, Claudia
held a brief colloquy with Mrs. Maul. The ill-
tempered landlady seemed to be little disposed to
make matters smooth for the poor young lady who
had come to dwell under her roof. Her house was full
enough akeady, she said — she did not care to have
lady-lodgers — Mr. Paley had the ground-floor, Mr.
Hartswood the first-floor — she and her family filled
up every other part of the house. There was, in-
deed, a back attic, if that would do for the young
miss; but as for her fine lady's-maid, there was not
a comer in which she could be put up; Polly (the
landlady's general servant) did everything lodgers
could require.
A short time previously it would have appeared
to Claudia almost impossible to have existed in such
a prison as this lodging-house in Little Bread Court.
But ner spirit was humbled, her pride subdued, and
care for personal comfort wa.s almost lost in anxiety
A MOVE. 207
on account of her father. Claudia at once closed
with the offer of the attic. " Anything, any place,
is good enough for me," was her silent reflection, as
she followed Mrs. Maul up a steep and carpetless
staircase, after desiring that her maid might carry
up thither the parcels which she had brought.
CHAPTER XXI.
THE COURT.
H! Miss Hartswood, this is not a fit place
for you!" was the exclamation of the
astonished lady's-maid, as she entered
the wretched little apartment of which her young
mistress was taking possession.
Mi*s. Maul, who, with some difficulty, had passed
Martha and her crinoline on the nan-ow staircase,
overheard the exclamation, and the landlady's dis-
agreeable face wore a sneer as she muttered half
aloud, " Them grand lady's-maids as are always
turning up their noses at what is good enough for
their betters, end in a workhouse at last."
But Martha might well be pardoned for criticizing
the attic-room in Little Bread Coui't. The apart-
ment was small and close, and seemed all the smaller
and closer for having been apparently the lumber-
room for empty boxes and all kinds of rubbish,
amongst them worn-out brooms and a broken coal-
scuttle. The plaster was peeling from the sloping
THE COURT. 209
sides of the ceiling, owing to the extreme heat of a
I'oom situated just under the slates upon which the
hot summer sun glowed fiercely. The furniture of
the room looked as if it had been picked up in some
low pawnbroker's shop. Dust lay thickly upon
chest and chair, upon the soiled patchwork of the
coverlet, and over the stained and uneven floor.
" T liave no choice for to-night, Martha," replied
Claudia Hartswood, "for my father will not quit
this lodging to-day; and while he is so unwell
I could not bear to leave him alone. Just see if
you caimot open that window, and let in a breath
of fresh air."
"It will hardly be fresh air," thought Martha, as
she jnillcd and strained at the sash, which, if it had
been made to open at all, appeared very unwilling
to do so. The maid succeeded at last in raising the
sash about two inches, and then surveyed her fingers
blackened with dust and soot, with a disgust which
she scarcely concealed.
" I hope that I shall persuade papa to leturn to
Friern Hatch to-morrow," said Claudia; "in the
meantime, I must not mind a little discomfort."
Claudia wearily seated herself on a broken-backed
chair — she felt sick from anxiety and the close
musty heat of the place. Her temples throbbed and
ached, so that it was a painful effort even to keep
^220' 14
210 THE COURT.
her eyes open. Martha, after arranging the few
articles which her young lady had brought with her
to London, quitted the room to return to the station,
rejoiced to escape from passing even a single night
in Little Bread Coui-t. As soon as she found her-
self alone, Claudia sank on her knees and returned
thanks for the blessing of finding her father in a
state less alarming than her anxious fears had fore-
boded. She was grateful for being still permitted
to be near him, to minister to his comfort, after
having been to him the cause of so much annoyance
and pain. Claudia prayed very heartily and humbly
that the dark clouds which hung over her and her
parent might soon pass away, that her father's
honour might be cleared in the sight of all men,
that his health might be perfectly restored, and that
he might freely and fully forgive his weak, erring
child. The poor girl had never experienced such
relief in pouring out supplications, as she did when
she knelt down for the first time in that wretched
London attic.
How often were Claudia's prayers to be repeated
with yet more earnest devotion in that di'eary, com-
fortless abode, for her hope that her sojourn there
might be a very brief one was not to be realized.
Mr. Harts wood adhered firmly to his resolve not to
quit London; and dissatisfied as he was with his
THE COURT. 211
lodging, as indeed he was mth everything else, he
80 greatly disliked the trouble of a change, that
Claudia soon found that it was worse than useless to
propose one. The state of Mr. Hartswood's health
was such as would have embittered a life spent in a
paradise of beauty. The anxiety and annoyance
which the lawyer had lately endured had had an
effect on his brain, not producing actual madness,
but symptoms so nearly resembling its effects as to
render it difficult to define the difference between
them. The once cheerful, sweet-tempered com-
panion— the clear-headed, intellectual man — the
tender, considerate father — had become peevish,
gloomy, and suspicious. Mr. Hartswood was
haunted by a fear of approaching poverty and ruin,
which not only depressed his spirits, but completely
destroyed all comfoii; in domestic arrangements.
Claudia's slender purse had been drained by her
own journey and Martha's; but when she asked for
a little money, she met with so painful a rebuff that
it needed a considerable amount of courage to re-
peat the request. But money was absolutely need-
ful; many things were required, and Claudia was in
real difficulty and perplexity how to procure them.
Much of annoyance met the poor young maiden
commencing housekeeping under circumstances so
painful, Mr. Hartswood seemed to expect that tea-
212 THE COURl
saddy and wine-decanter would fill themselves
while Mrs. Maul, on the other hand, appeared to
consider it natural that they should empty them-
selves; for the supplies which Claudia had with
great difficulty obtained rapidly disappeared with
no difficulty at all. Washing bills, butcher and
grocer's bills became to Claudia objects of actual
dread. She had a horror for debt, and she knew
not how to account to others for delay of payment,
without betraying to strangers the peculiar and dis-
tressing state of her father's mind. Such cares as
these may be called petty, but to Claudia they
formed an accumulating and almost insupportable
burden. They were, lightened by no personal kind-
ness shown to herself by him who caused them.
Unreasonable aversion to those once most tenderly
loved is no unusual symptom of incipient derange-
ment. Claudia, with bitter grief, found herself
treated with harshness and regarded with suspicion
by the parent whose idol she had been, and who
had placed in her honour and truth trust the most
full and implicit. So agonizing to her feelings was
this trial, that a hundred times Claudia, doubting
her own power to sustain it longer, half resolved to
avail herself of her father's permission, and return
to the peaceful country home which she had left for
his sake, and remain there at least until Friera Hatcl)
THE COURT. 213
should be let — an indefinite period which might
never arrive. But Claudia always repelled the idea
of this flight from her post of duty as being cowardly
and self-indulgent. She was not aware that Mr.
Hai-ts wood's altered manner arose from any affection
of the brain or perversion of mind; but Claudia
knew her parent to be in weak health and very low
spirits, requiring all the tender care which a loving
child could bestow.
In the days of her joyous childhood, her happy
youth, there had been three qualities on the posses-
sion of which Claudia had especially prided herself
— a brave spirit, a strong love of truth, and fervent
filial affection. But it is one thing to possess such
qualities when they shine like torches in some
sheltered hall, and another thing to preserve them
when they resemble these same torches borne aloft
through pelting rain and rushing blast by one whose
feet are stumbling over a difficult path! It is one
thing to let a boat drift down the current of some
glassy sea, and another thing to steer her over a
stormy sea against wind and tide, shipping water at
every plunge over the foaming billows! One of
Claudia's trials was that she was disappointed with
herself, that she now discovered that she was by no
means all that she had believed herself to be. To
iuffer calmly, smile cheerfully, look forwanl hope-
214 THE COURT.
fully, was no longer within her power. Her filial
devotion, which, under a parent's encouraging smile,
would have carried her through tempest and fire,
was put to a long weary trial by the change in that
parent's demeanour. Where there had been confi-
dence, there was suspicion; where tender kindness,
frowns and reproofs; liberality was succeeded by a
niggardly closeness which interfered every day,
and aU day long, with Miss Harts wood's personal
comfort. Claudia's afiection for her father had been
to her once a source of honest delight, now it em-
bittered her cup of sorrow.
Claudia also found how difiicult it is to adhere
strictly to truth when under the influence of fear.
Falsehood is but too natural an accompaniment of a
state of bondage, and Claudia was enduring a kind
of domestic slavery which made it no easy task to
keep free from deceit of look and of lip. The girl
who had been wont to speak out freely every
thought which arose in her mind, sure to meet with
indulgence and candour, if not with sympathy and
praise, had now to be carefully guarded in every
sentence that she uttered. It needed resolution to
confess that she had made some small necessary
purchase, or given a simple order. Claudia often
wondered whether her character were rapidly deterio-
rating, it seemed so increasingly difiicult to obey
THE COURT. 215
t\xe dictates of conscience ; every day appeared to
make her more sensible of her failures ; but this
was because her self-knowledge was becoming deeper ;
circumstances were throwing increasing light on the
mirror of truth ; and, through tears of regret and
disappointment, Claudia was looking steadily at her
own sad reflection within it.
There was abundant time for thought during the
long dreary days. Mr. Hartswood was usually
absent for many hours at a time : he never offered
to take his daughter with him as his companion,
though the poor girl, like a prisoned bird, longed to
leave her cage and stretch her wings — if but for a
little while. When Claudia grew weary of the dull
sitting-room, or the yet duller attic above, her only
resource was a constitutional walk up and down the
pavement of the hot, naiTOw court, to breathe air
mingled with dust and smoke, where all the small
square windows to the right, to the left, in front
and behind, seemed like so many dull eyes watching
the youthful captive at every step which she took.
Claudia often felt inclined to break bounds, and
plunge alone into the tide of human life which she
could hear surging without the precincts of Little
Bread Court. She did so two or three times, ven-
turing a short way along the more cheerful streets,
but soon turned back, aware that her father would
216 THE COURT.
be displeased at her wandering about London with-
out a companion, and feeling that it would be wrong
to do that without his knowledge which she knew
that she would fear to confess. Claudia would turn
back to her miserable abode, in which she could not
enjoy even the solace of stillness. Mrs. Maul had
a family of neglected, uneducated children, and her
only idea of managing their tempers was by the
sharp word and the angry blow. Scolding voices,
cries of passion or of pain, became sounds but too
familiar to the ear of Claudia Hartswood, and pain-
fully they conti-asted with what she had heard in
her peaceful home — the music of the soft bi'eeze,
and the notes of the nisfhtinjxale's song: !
CHAPTER XXII.
WEARY LIFE.
"^^
DON'T know how it is that I can never
get an eatable egg in this place ! " cried
Mr. Hartswood, pushing away with a
look of disgust that which had been brought for
his breakfast. " We have been here for nearly four
weeks, and it's the same complaint every morning,"
" Indeed, papa, it is not for want of my speaking
to Mrs. Maul," replied Claudia, whose last colloquy
with the landlady on the subject had been very
unpleasant. " Mrs, Maul was almost as angry
when I expressed a suspicion about the age of the
'new-laid eggs,' as she was when I suggested that
these curtains might not be the worse for a little
soap and water. She declared that fresher eggs
were not to be had in all London, Of course she
was trying to throw dust in my eyes ; dust being
the only thing," continued the poor girl, with a
desperate attempt at a joke, "which can be had
here in anj^ quantity — ' free, gratis, and for nothing.' "
218 WEARY LIFE.
Mr. Hartswood was not in the least disposed to
.<miile. "As for dust," he oLserved, "I could wi-ite
my name in it on the chest of drawers in my room;
that idle girl Polly can never even have touched it."
" I don't think that Polly is idle— she is a poor
little overworked drudge," said Claudia, who felt
real pity for the girl. " She has to wait on us, and
on Mr. Paley, her mistress, her mistress's mother,
and a herd of children besides."
"Those wretched children ! " exclaimed Mr. Harts-
wood, in a tone of impatience; "they made such a
racket overhead this morning that they almost drove
me out of my room."
"Oh, you have not one quarter as much of their
music as falls to my lot, papa ! " cried Claudia.
"The favourite haunt of these little Bedouins is the
staircase between the second floor and the attic.
Yesterday, coming down from my room in the
dusk, I stumbled over little Sam half asleep at the
top of the staircase, and had a narrow escape from
hurling him head-foi'emost to the bottom, and of
following myself with a flying leap, which might
have broken my neck."
Claudia was trying hard to be lively, for she had
been reproached, ten minutes before, for having
grown so silent and dull. But her forced mirth
met with no response from her father.
WEARY LIFE. 219
"I see nothing very amusing either in the idea
of falling yourself, or of being the cause of the fall
of another," said Mr. Hartswood, with cruel em-
phasis, as he pushed back his chair, and rose from
the table.
Claudia felt the sting of the taunt, and had a
struggle to keep down the tears which came so
much more readily to her eyes than the forced
smile to her lips.
Mr. Hartswood, with his hands behind him,
walked to the window, and remained for some time
looking out on the court without speaking. He
then turned round with the muttered remark, "In
such a den of a place as this, who would look for
anything like comfort ? "
"Then why should we not leave it, papa?" asked
Claudia, with timid eagerness.
" You want to go, I suppose," said Mr. Harts-
wood, drily.
" Oh yes, if you — "
"Then I'm sure that I don't know why you stay
here," interrupted the lawyer. "Friern Hatch is
empty, as you are aware ; I never required, nor do
I wish the society of a daughter who is tired of
being with her father," and taking up his hat, Mr.
Hartswood quitted the room, to repair, as was his
wont at that hour, to one of the courts of law.
220 WEARY LIFE.
Claudia moaned aloud, as soon as her father was
beyond hearing her. Life had become to her such
a weary, oppressive thing.
" I wonder what makes that young lady so very,
very unhappy," thought Polly, the general servant,
as she carried away the tray with the breakfast
things jingling upon it. "She has plenty to eat
and drink, no mistress to worrit her, and no work
to do from morning till night 1 Dear, I wish I was
she ! "
Long sat Claudia, listless and joyless, scarcely
sensible of aught but a gnawing pain at her heart.
A-t last she took pen and paper ; sad thoughts were
forming themselves into verse ; it was some relief
to give vent to soitow in the language of prayer, —
" Hear, 0 Almighty Father, Power divine,
The sighs that reach no other ear than Thine,
The anguish which no other eye may see ;
Thou who art merciful as well as just,
Raise not Thine arm to crush a worm to dust,
Who, humbly prostrate at Thy footstool laid.
Invokes Thy mercy, and implores Thine aid ! "
Tlie tears of Claudia fell on her paper and
blistered the page. She was so much absorbed in
her writing, that she did not at first notice Polly's
knock at the sitting-room door.
"Here's a lady as wants to see you," said the
servant girl, oj^ening the door, and without further
WEAKY LIFE. 221
ceremony ushering a visitor in. Claudia rose
hastily, surprised at any acquaintance finding her
out in her dismal retreat, and vexed at being dis-
covered in tears. Yet was there a sense of comfoi-t,
almost of pleasure, when Claudia saw again the
sweet countenance of Mrs. Latham, and felt again
the pressure of her hand and of her lips. She felt
grateful to the friend of her mother for seeking her
out at a time when all the rest of the world had
either forsaken her or forgotten. Mrs. Latham had
brought with her roses, whose sweet fragrance jjer-
vaded the room.
CHAPTER XXIIL
SYMPATHY.
jHAT a balm to a wounded spirit is the
sympathy of a friend ! " How keenly
Claudia realized this during: the loner in-
terview which followed the entrance of Mrs. Latham.
Only severe illness had prevented the lady from
coming before : that illness had rendered her man-
ner yet more gentle and tender, personal suffering
had deepened feeling for the sufferings of others.
Claudia knew that no mean curiosity had brought
her friend to her side. The heart of the unhappy
girl, which had been like a drooping vine, putting
forth tendrils but finding nothing to which they
could cling for support, experienced the greatest
relief in pouring out to an indulgent listener the
whole story of her woes. Claudia concealed no-
thing, palliated nothing ; she was aware that Mrs.
Latham must not only have heard the tale of her
intercourse with Helena, but had probably heard it
related with such exaggerations and distortion of
SYMPATHY. 223
facts as were current in a gossiping world. Mrs.
Latham might even have heard, although she would
never believe them, the calumnies which would
make Mr. Harts wood himself a secret abettor of a
robbery committed in his own house. It was well,
therefore, that she should know the whole truth
fi-om the lips of Claudia herself, however humbling
the confession of her folly might be to the lawyer's
daughter.
Mrs. Latham quietly listened to the agitated
girl, without interrupting her narrative even by a
question ; but Claudia instinctively felt that deep
interest and sympathy were aroused in her silent
hearer.
" And aU this misery came upon me on the very
evening when you and I were conversing together
in my dear bright home ! " exclaimed Claudia, as
she concluded her story. " When I saw you bend-
ing down to smell those beautiful flowers in the
vase, how little I dreamt that my happiness would
be shorter-lived than their blossoms ! I was feeling
80 proud and so joyous ! I remember — you will
forgive my folly now ! — I remember that I was
almost angry because you seemed to think that
there were some things needful which had never
been mine, that the soul has senses of its own,
higher, nobler than the intellectual, which an
224 SYMPATHY.
ignorant boor raiglit have, and a gifted statesman
might lack. 1 could not bear such a humbling
theory; I fancied myself to be so clear-sighted,
that it irritated me to think that any one could
possibly consider me blind."
"And now, dear Claudia," said her friend, "re-
viewing calmly all the past, how do you yourself
regard the subject on which we conversed on that
evening ? "
" My eyes are opened to some things to which
they were closed before," answered Claudia. " I
see that I am very unlike what I then deemed my-
self to be ; I had never beKeved that I could prove
«o weak, so foolish, so sinful." Tears dropped from
the downcast eyes of Claudia as she made the con-
fession ; then raising them to those of her friend, in
an earnest tone she continued: "Oh, Mrs. Latham, is
this sense of helplessness, and shame, and regret for
the past the spiritual sight of which you were
speaking when we last met ? Is this the kind of
opening of the eyes for which David prayed ? I
could not pray for it, it makes me so wretched.
Wlien Adam and Eve's eyes were opened they hid
themselves from God ; it seems as if God were
hiding His face from me ! " Claudia could not
stifle her sobs. Mrs. Latham put her arm around
the weeping girl, and di-ew her close to hei
SYMPATHY. 226
bosora. Claudia had never known the loving
care of a mother, now she felt as if she iiad found
one.
"The spiritual sight which is given to the chil-
dren of God, dear Claudia, is not merely this pain-
ful, humiliating knowledge of self," said the lady.
" The light which His Spirit bestows shows us
indeed our own errors, but it shows us also that
which makes the contrite heart sing for joy. Light
is a gladsome thing, and spiritual sight is the source
of bliss the most intense and jjerfect that the soul
can know upon earth."
" I cannot understand what you mean by spiritual
sight, if it be anything but seeing our own errors,"
said Claudia ; " the light which shows them to us
can certainly cause us no joy."
"Let me exemplify my meaning," said the lady,
"by reminding you of the story of the disciples
who met the Lord on their way to Emmaus, as
they discoursed together and were sad. Those
disciples had some faith, though imperfect ; but it
brought them sorrow, not gladness. Their minds
were full of their Lord, but religion appears to
have brought them then neither comfort nor
peace."
" So it is with me," murmured Claudia.
" But the moment that their eyes were opened.
,220J 16
226 SYMPATHY.
and they knew the Lord," said her friend, " aU
their sorrow passed away, like the shadows of night
when the sun bursts forth from the east. The
glimpse of the risen Saviour sufficed to make His
disciples happy."
" But we can have no such blessed glimpse now,"
observed Claudia.
"Oh, say not so, my dear child. We cannot
indeed behold our Lord with our bodily eyes as
did the disciples, but we may with that spiritual
sense which is the gift of His Spirit. Claudia, how
do you look upon your Lord now ? "
" As my Master, Judge, and the Saviour of
sinners," replied Claudia with reverence; "I have
always regarded Him thus."
" But have you looked upon Him as ymir own,
your 'personal Saviour, as one who died for your
sins, who loves you, who calls you by your name
and says, ' Thou art Mine ? ' Do you realize that
the Redeemer yearns over you now with a love
more lasting, more deep, more intense than that of
a mother ? "
" If I could but believe that," faltered Claudia,
" I could be happy indeed. But how can I ever
believe it, unworthy as I am of such love ! "
"Oh, my child, look upwards instead of inwards;
lift up the eyes of your soul to Him who says of
SYMPATHY. 227
His feeble wandering sheep, / luill heal their back-
sliding s ; I will love them freely. Yes, freely
Christ loves, freely He forgives, freely He saves :
^ooh up to Him for pardon, life, grace, happiness ; it
is His delight to lavish all these gifts upon those
who cast themselves on His mercy,"
Claudia's eyes were still brimming over with
tears ; but the light of hope was dawning now on
her souL
"You spoke just now," continued her friend,
" of our fii'st parents hiding from God ; vain at-
tempt of the sin-convicted soul until it is led to
hide in God. When our eyes are opened to see
Christ as our all-sufficient Saviour — when faith can,
as it were, touch His hands and side wounded for
us — then a well-spring of joy is opened for us which
eternity cannot exhaust, our everlasting life has
begun."
Mrs. Latham's voice was silent, but her heart
was pleading in prayer for the poor stricken lamb
at her side. Not a word was spoken for several
moments either by Claudia or her friend, but lines
were haunting the mind of the girl with which she
had long been familiar, but which she had never
before understood.
" Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Tbes ! "
228 SYMPATHY.
Trouble and humiliation had been a,s a gale
driving her close and closer to that Rock ; but, for
the first time, Claudia now cast herself entirely
upon it, clinging with the grasp of faith to the
only sure gi'ound for peace now, or for glorj' here-
after.
CHAPTER XXIV.
NEW LIKE.
!H, how I wish that I lived nearer to you,
that I could constantly see you, and
have your advice in every difficulty ! "
cried Claudia, after some further conversation with
her friend.
" I wiyh it also," replied Mrs. Latham ; " but
this place must be three miles at least from my
home, and my late severe illness has thrown me
sadly into an-ears with my parish work." Mrs.
Latham looked greatly fatigued with her journey
through the hot streets in a rattling hired convey-
ance, for she kept no carnage of her own.
"Parish work!" repeated Claudia with glisten-
ing eyes ; " how delightful it must be to work for
God ! How thankful I should be to be allowed to
do something — were it ever so little — to show my
gratitude and love ! "
Is not this ever the feeling of the soul renewed
and converted ? As soon jus the eyes are opened to
230 NBW LIFE.
the knowledge of God's love, as soon as Faith lays
hold on His promises, the spiritual ear listens eagerly
for the answer to the question, " Lord, what wilt
Thou have me to do ? " As it is in the physical, so
is it in the spiritual nature, the senses are closely
linked with each other, all alike owing their exist-
ence to the new life which God has imparted.
" I am afraid that you could scarcely work with
me," observed Mrs. Latham, "glad as I should be
of your aid ; but the distance between us is great."
"I fear that I shall have difficulty in ever reach-
ing your home," said Claudia; "I have no servant
here to escort me, I cannot go about London alone,
and my father is always absent during the greater
part of the day."
Mrs. Latham reflected a Kttle ; she was anxious
to find employment for the energies of Claudia
Harts wood, to prevent her pining in lonely inaction,
and to cheer her spirits by the consciousness that
she was using her talents for God.
"There is a ragged-school very near to this
place," she observed. " It so happens that a valued
servant of mine has married a saddler whose shop is
almost close to the entrance of this court ; she goes
every morning to teach for two hours in the Need
Lane School, your house would be little out of her
way. Mrs. Giles would be a most unobjectionable
NEW LIFE. 231
escort, and, I am sure, would willingly call for you
every day at a quarter to ten, if you would like to
volunteer as a ragged-school teacher. Earnest
labourers are needed so much ! "
Claudia, with eager pleasure, heard of this unex-
pected opening to a course of usefulness, afforded to
her by an arrangement so simple and easy. " You
do not know how such work would encourage and
cheer me ! " she exclaimed with an animation which
she had not shown since she had found herself the
victim of Helena's fraud. " It is not merely that I
wish to be useful," she continued, with her natural
candour ; " I am afraid that a great deal of selfish-
ness mixes with my desire to teach. I have gi'own
weary, oh, so weary of having nothing to do, 1
have become so tired of my own society, that any
kind of change — any sort of work — would be
welcome; I had almost said any company, even that
of ragged-school children."
Mrs. Latham felt tender sympathy for the poor
caged prisoner. She rejoiced to see how Claudia's
spirits were rising under the influence of hope, as
the parched and withering plant revives beneath a
refreshing shower.
"But 1 must ask the consent of my father," said
Claudia more gravely.
" Mr. Harts wood is not likely to object when
232 NEW LIFE.
you tell him that Mrs. Giles was ray servant for
nearly ten years," said the lady. " He told my
l]usband long ago how much he approved of girls
making themselves useful in teaching the poor."
But Claudia knew by bitter experience that her
father was very different now from what he had
been "long ago." Irntable and soured in temper,
Mr. Hartswood was disposed to regard everything
from the gloomiest point of view. For his daughter
to desire an object seemed sufficient to make him
oppose it. A temptation arose before the mind of
Claudia to make her arrangements for visiting the
school without mentioning the subject to her father
at all. Had she not the sanction of the friend of
her mother ? was it not right to teach the ignorant?
why should she suffer hindrance in doing God's
work from the causeless suspicions or groundless
fears of another ? Mr. Hartswood was never at
home during the hours when she would be absent ;
not only could Claudia carry out the proposed
scheme without causing her father inconvenience,
but without its coming to his knowledge.
The temptation was subtle, but was instantly re-
pelled. Claudia was not to become less open and
truthful in word and look, when Truth, in its highest
and holiest form, first found a place in her heart ;
her new-born spirit of loving tnjst in a heavenly
NEW LIFE. 233
Father was not to make her less submissive to the
will of an earthly parent. Claudia had suffered too
much from listening to the deluding voice which
bids us do evil that good may come, to enter again
on a course of deceit to accomplish a pious end.
" I will speak to papa when he comes home, and
write and tell you his wishes," said Claudia. " He
may not think me fit to teach others," continued the
poor girl in a hesitating tone, " after all that has
happened. My dear father is displeased with me,
justly displeased. Oh, Mrs. Latham, I hope — I be-
lieve that God has forgiven my sin, but I would give
all that I have upon earth to be sure that my father
could quite forgive me — fully trust me again ! "
Claudia spoke from a deeply-wounded heart, and
Mrs. Latham was convinced that loneliness and per-
sonal discomforts formed by no means the sharpest
part of the trial of the penitent girl. The clergy-
man's wife had heard something of Mr. Hartswood's
ebullitions of temper even in a court of justice ; she
knew that it was whispered in various quarters that
not only the health of the lawyer, but the powers of
his mind were affected; and she was strengthened in
her fear that the change noticed by strangers must
be most painfully felt in his home.
" You may — we may make this a subject for
prayer, my love," said the lady, gently jiressing the
234 NEW LIFE.
clasped hands of Claudia. "It is such an unspeak-
able relief to bring our earthly trials as well as our
spiritual wants to the footstool of grace."
" And may we not pray that these lost papers
may yet be found, that all this honible mystery
may be made as clear as daylight ? " cried Claudia.
"This may be but an earthly desire, but it is so
near — so very near to my heart."
"This care — like all other cares— you are not
only permitted but conmanded to cast upon Him
who careth for you, my dear child. Pray with
submission, pray with faith, and be assured that
though the answer may not come at once, or come in
a way that you little expected— though your patience
may long be tried, delay is not denial, and that He
who knows what is best will give what is best to
the child who trusteth in Him."
The visitor soon afterwards departed, but metapho-
rically, as well as literal!}^, she had left her flowers
behind her. The aching void in the heart of Claudia
was filled. The weary wanderer in life's desert had
seen the fountain gush forth, a spring of love, and
peace, and joy, of which none but those who have
tasted it once can tell the exquisite sweetness.
Religion had been to Claudia as a beautiful picture
upon which the mental eye had rested with plear
sure, before i-emorse had drawn a dark veil before
NEW LIFK, 235
it. But with very different feelings do we look
upon a picture, however it may raise our admira-
tion, from those with which we behold the rich
landscape which it so coldly represents, spread out
in living beauty around us ; when we feel the warm
sunshine that bathes it in light, and survey the
wide-spreading horizon, knowing that we ourselves
are heirs of all that its circle encloses. Wonderful
is physical life, that endows flesh and blood with
power of motion, giving sight to the eyes, hearing
to the ears, existence to all the senses that are to
the organic form vehicles of varied delight. But
this physical life we share in common with beasts
that perish.
More wonderful is intellectual life, that opens out
wide prospects to the eye of imagination, that gives
quickness to comprehension, that enables its pos-
sessor to perceive, discern, and judge as if by in-
tuition. But this grand intellectual life we share
with the angels that fell !
Most wondrous is spiritual life, that life
which flows alone from union with Him who ia
Himself the Life ! The natural man receiveth not
the things of the Spirit of God, for they are spirit-
ually discerned (1 Cor. ii. 14). This is a truth
which the world refuses to accept, yet it is dis-
tinctly declared by Christ Himself. That which is
236 NKW LIFE.
born of the Jiesh is Jlesh ; that ivhich is horn of
the Spirit is spii^t (John iii. 6). Ye must be
born again (John iii. 7). To the children of the
kingdom all things have become new ; new hopes,
new desires, new motives are theirs ; where their
treasure is their hearts are also ; they delight in
God's Word and God's work. This glorious spiritual
life they share with angels and archangels, and all
the company of heaven ; it is that life begun upon
earth over which death itself has no power !
In regard to the time of conversion the experience
of believers will vary. Mrs. Latham could recall
no period of her life when religion had not the first
place in her heart, no period when she had been
quite destitute of spiritual life. Claudia, on the
contrary, though she had been gradually prepared
for the change by regret, reflection, and weariness
of heart, ever looked back on that day in August as on
the birth-day of her soul. Of the first breathings of
spiritual life it has been well written,* " Very many
true children of God, as they know not the day nor
the hour when their Lord shall return, so they
knew not the day nor the hour when He first came
to be guest with them, sinners as they were. Not
the day but the fact is the point we want to know.
An oak is an oak, though we may not know when
* " Fruit, In Old Age," by tlie llev. K. Horr
NEW LIKR 237
the acorn from which it grew was planted. Let
the tree be there, a tree bearing fruit to God, and
wo know that the Spirit of God has wrought — tliat
there is a living soul ! "
Oh ! that I could persuade each of my readers
to pause, close the book for awhile, and solemnly
ask these questions of conscience. Have I this
new life, this new nature ? Have I spiritual sight
— do I look to Christ for salvation ? Do I listen
for His guiding voice with the willing ear of obedi-
ence ? With the hand of Faith do I touch, as it
were, the hem of His garment ? Do I taste the
sweetness of His love, and realize the fragrance of
that holiness which His Spirit alone can impart ?
If all these things as yet be strange to me, may I
not rest until they are mine — till with spiritual
life I receive the spiritual senses which are a proof
of its existence, and can say, like the man whose
eyes were opened. One thing I knoiu, that luhereas
I was blind, now I see !
CHAPTER XXV.
WAITING AND WORKINa
|LAUDIA had always been fond of flowers,
but never had she felt such pleasure in
the finest exotics as in those sweet red
roses which Mrs. Latham had brought. As the
young maiden placed them in water she kissed their
soft petals, and inhaled their perfume with a sense
of delight. She now cherished the roses for the sake
of Him who has written His loving-kindness upon
earth in blossoming lines of beauty. The sunshine
which, but a short time before, had seemed to
Claudia oppressive, now cheered and gladdened her
heart. Every sunbeam that found its way into the
narrow London court came with a message of hope.
Even the poor birds, twittering on dark, shrivelled
branches, told now of providential care — not one of
them was forgotten by Him who made it. For the
first time since she had left Friern Hatch Claudia
did not find time hang heavy on her hands. She
set eagerly to work to prepare for the teaching
WAITING AND WORKING. 239
which she hoped so soon to commence ; she brought
down her Bible, now to her a treasury of wealth
untold, to select appropriate verses for ragged chil-
dren to learn, and she drew upon her memory for
anecdotes to illustrate her scriptural lessons. Claudia's
vivid imagination, quick comprehension, and intuitive
tact woul<.l be a great advantage to her as a teacher ;
both physical and intellectual powers are precious
gifts when they are consecrated to God. Claudia
was so happy in her new occupation, with Bible,
pen, and paper before her, that almost unconsciously
her lips burst into a song of praise —
" Thee to serve, and Thee to know,
Forms the bliss of saints below ;
Thee to see, and Thee to love,
Forms the bliss of saints above ! "
It may be thought that Claudia, preparing to
teach a ragged class, was engaged in much the same
occupation as when she searched her father's books,
and drew upon the knowledge of his guest for argu-
ments to effect the conversion of a Roman Catholic
nun ; both appeared to be work for souls. The
gi-eat difference was not in the nature of the em-
ployment, but in the spirit in which it was pur-
sued. Claudia was not novr seeking to display her
powers of persuasion, or her talent for logic ; she was
hoping for no earthly distinction or praise to accrup
240 WAITING AND WORKING.
to herself from success ; she wished to teach the
Lord's lambs because she loved Him, and all the
honour that she sought was to hear ut last the
gracious " well done " of the Master.
Claudia was still busy with her little preparations
when her father returned. She received him with
a brighter smile than her face had worn for months.
Mr. Hai-tswood seated himself with a weary air,
took off his hat, and wiped his heated brow
Claudia had a cooling beverage ready for her father —
light slippers to replace his dusty boots, and kneeling
down, put them herself on his feet — then brought
to him the roses, which she had placed in a stone-
ware jar.
" Are these not delightful, papa ! " said Claudia ;
" they fill the whole room with fragiance — and roses
are your favourite flowers."
" You've not had the folly to buy them ? " was
the stern, ungi-acious reply.
" Oh no ; I've been guilty of no such ex-
travagance," said Claudia, gaily. "I had a visitor
to-day. Can yoa guess who found me out in — I
cannot say rural seclusion ? "
Mr. Hartswood was in no humour for guessing,
but he was well pleased to hear of the visit of Mrs.
Latham. One of the causes of the lawyer's irri-
tability and depression was a persuasion that all
WAITING AND WORKING. 241
the world had forsaken him. Not. only had he re-
ceived no fresh briefs since his papers had been
carried oft* by the pseudo-niin, but his acquaintance
appeared to be falling away, as the rest of the herd
are said to forsake the stricken deer. This apparent
desertion was partly owing to Mr. Hartswood's
choice of Little Bread Court for liis place of abode ;
but his gloomy mind attributed it entirely to the
worldliness of mankind, which made summer friends
take wing when prosperity's sunshine was clouded.
Claudia perceived that her account of the visit was
not unacceptable to her father ; but, when she
mentioned the ragged-school plan, all his irritable
manner returned.
"Humbug and nonsense!" cried Mr. Hartswood,
pushing back his chair from the table. " No daughter
of mine shall go hunting about London alleys and
lanes to pick up barefooted beggars out of the
gutter !"
" Not hunting about, dear papa," said Claudia,
with perfect good-humour ; " they are all caught and
caged ready to my hand ; and Mi's. Latham says — "
" I wish that Mrs. Latham would mind her own
parish, and not put nonsensical schemes into the head
of a silly girl If you want some one to teach, why
don't you look after the romping brats here, who
drive me wild with their noise overhead?"
242 WAITING AND WORKING.
Mr. Hartswood made an impatient movement
with his arm as he uttered the last words, which
threw down the roses which Claudia had put near
her father. The water was spilled, and the jar was
broken.
Claudia went on her knees to repair the mischief
as well as she could, first gently raising the roses,
and then picking up the fragments of the jar. Mr.
Hartswood was as angry at the little accident as if
it had been caused by wilful carelessness on the part
of his daughter. He was aware that the broken
stoneware jar would figure as Dresden china in the
landlady's bill.
It was no small disappointment and mortification
to Claudia to have to write to Mrs. Latham that
Mr. Hartswood refused to let his daughter teach in
the Need Lane School. Her regret had not, how-
ever, the bitterness which would have been hers but
for the new spring of hope and love of which she
had tasted. Claudia could take disappointment
meekly, for she was seeking in all things now to
subject her will to that of her heavenly Master.
" I am not yet worthy to be allowed to work in
the vineyard," thought Claudia, as she closed her
desk after writing her note ; " but, perhaps, if I
watch and wait, some little quiet corner may be
found even for me."
WA1T1N(J AND WOUKING. 243
As Claudia was retiring to rest, the sound of a
peevish cry recalled to her mind the words of her
father : " Why don't you look after the romping
brats here?" Though uttered in impatience, these
words might convey a valuable hint.
"It is possible," reflected Claudia, "that the
work which I was so eager to begin outside this
house may be awaiting me within it. I may find
neglected, unmanageable children without even cross-
ing tho threshold."
The sympathies of Claudia were, indeed, far more
easily enlisted on behalf of homeless, hungry, ragged
scholars, than on behalf of the noisy imps who
quarrelled in the attic-room next to her own, or
chased each other up and down the upper flight ol
stairs. Claudia disliked having any communication
that was not actually indispensable with their vulgar
mother, whose covetousness and meanness made her
especially repulsive to the young lady. But Claudia
felt that she must not choose her own work, but
thankfully accept whatever might be assigned to
her by the Great Master. She arose in the morning
with the prayer on her lips, —
" Show me what 1 ought to do,
Every day my strength renew ;
Let me live the life of faith,
Let me die the Christian's death ;"
244 WAITING AND WORKING.
and, in the spirit of that prayer, to fulfil the duties
of the day.
After breakfast Mr. Hartswood went out as usual,
and Mrs. Maul came soon after to speak about
household arrangements. These colloquies with the
landlady always tried the temper of Claudia. The
petty wonies of domestic life were as hateful to the
spirited intellectual girl, as a yoke on the neck would
be to the stag accustomed to range freely through
the forest. The yoke had hithei-to chafed and
galled Claudia almost beyond endurance, but now
she was trying to bear it with meekness as part of
the " heavenly discipline " which she needed.
As Mrs. Maul was about to quit the room after
having received, with her usual ill grace, a mild
expostulation on an exorbitant charge, Claudia
stopped the landlady, and speaking with an effort
which brought the colour to her now usually pale
cheek, she made the proposal to teach the children
in terms considerate and courteous.
"You are so much occupied in other ways," said
the young lady in conclusion, " that you may not
have, as I have, time to give to instructing your
children."
But instead of gratifying the mother, the implied
need of such instruction roused the landlady's pride.
" Thank you; but I am quite able to pay for my
WAITING AND WORKING. 245
children's schooling," was the tart reply ; " I want
no charity teaching for them ; and my lodgers have
no need to trouble themselves at all about my family
concerns;" and with an insolent toss of the head,
the landlady quitted the room.
Thus a second time was Claudia baffled in her
attempt to engage in useful work ; a second time
met with rebuff instead of encouragement iu her
endeavours to do good. Claudia was tempted, as
many a Christian has been tempted, to think that
she was laid aside as a useless, worthless instrument,
when her very mortification and disappointment
were as the grindstone to shai-pen that instrument
for the work which it was yet to perform.
Claudia was cheered by the reply to her note to
Mrs. Latham, which she received in the course of
the day.
" Be not discouraged, dear one ; disciples who
would fain work, like Maitha, and serve much, seem
sometimes, by circumstances, to be debarred from
working at all. I experienced this in my late try-
ing illness, but I also found that the waiting time
is a blessed time, if, like Mary, we seek to spend it
at the feet of our Lord. Be on the watch for small
opportunities for usefulness, but do not fall into the
mistake of supposing that all work is that which
men usually call by that name. To combat dis-
246 WAITING AND WORKING.
trusty discontent, and pride mthin our own sinful
hearts, may be the special labour assigned to us by
our Master, to be performed in his strength, and for
his sake, an acceptable service to the Lord."
" Have I any, even the smallest, opportunity for
usefuhiess?" reflected Claudia, as she laid down the
note of her friend. " There is but one thing that
occurs to me now, and it seems almost too trifling
to be regarded as a duty at all. Papa complained
yesterday of his linens needing repair, and yet was
annoyed when I suggested buying new ones. I
might certainly do something for his comfort with
my needle. Emma Holder does much, I know, in
this way for her parents ; but of all things I dislike
mending linen ; I would far rather employ my mind
than my fingers — any drudge can prick rags ! But
may not pride lurk in that thought? After all,
the question is not whether work be small or great,
pleasant or irksome, but whether it be the work
o-iven to us to do. I remember once reading, I
to
foro-et in what book, that if two angels were sent
to earth, the one to govern an empire, the other
to sweep a crossing, they would undertake their
missions with equal readiness, and fulfil them with
equal pleasure."
Claudia rose, and opening one of the folding-doors,
which divided the sitting-room from her father's
WAITING AND WOEKING. 247
apartment, entered the latter, to examine into the
state of his wardrobe. Another little ojEfice of love
presented itself as Claudia looked round the dusty,
untidy room, which the over-worked general servant
had neither the time nor the taste to arrange in
such order as that to which Mr. Hartswood had
long been accustomed. Claudia, once so full of
pride of intellect, so lofty in her aspirations, so am-
bitious in her day-di-eams, did not now think it
beneath her dignity to dust and arrange, as well as
to mend and darn. The well-known lines of Her-
bert, like a familiar strain of music, recurred to her
mind as she pursued her unwonted occupation —
" Who sweeps a room as in Thy sight,
Makes that and the action fine."
On Ml'. Hartswood' s return he found his daughter
busy in repairing one of his shirts. Claudia was a
little disappointed at not receiving from her father
a word of approbation, or even a smile ; but the
consciousness that she had done what she could
brouofht with it its own reward.
Nor was Claudia to lay her head on her pillow
that night without an opportunity of speaking a
word for her Master, and casting a ray of joy on a
path more dreary than her own. True, the word
was spoken but to a poor young general servant ; the
248 WAITING AND AVORKIXG.
joy was caused but by the gift of an old b3aiin-book
Poor Maltha, who bad never time to go to church,
and who liad been in danger of forgetting, in the
hurry and bustle of a lodging-house, what she had
learned in a Sunday school ; the orphan, whose
heart was gradually withering up from want of
human sympathy, was delighted by the kindly
notice of the fair young lady, who asked her
whether she loved her Lord, and found comfort in
brinsfing her troubles to him. Claudia felt that she
had touched a chord which responded, and that,
shut out as she herself was from the sphere of use-
fulness which she longed for, she was yet granted
the privilege of ministering to one neglected soul.
Thankful for this prixalege, and submissively wait-
ing till more should be given, Claudia went to her
rest. Her pilgrimage was still through the desert
into which her own act of folly had led her, but the
stream of mercy followed her, and she was " a day's
march nearer home."
CHAPTER XXVL
HOME CARES.
IMONGST the letters which Mr. Haitswood
received at breakfast-time on the foUow-
ino' mornins: was one in the direction
of which Claudia recognized the hand\viitiiig of Mrs.
Latham. Mr. Hartswood opened it, glanced care-
lessly over the note, and then threw it upon the
table, concluding his meal in silence, which Claudia
did not venture to break, though a little impatient
to know what her friend had written, as she felt
sure that it regarded herself
" Mrs. Latham wants me to allow you to accom-
pany her and her husband to the Museum to-
morrow," said Mr. Hartswood at last, "to see some
ancient curiosities just arrived from Assyria. She
writes about some Mrs. Giles calling for you at ten
(it being a school holiday to-morrow), and taking
you to the house of some invalid in Museum Street,
where your friends will meet you without going out
of their way. It's an odd enough place of rendez-
250 HOME CARES.
vous ; but odd places suit odd people. I should
uot have wondered if Mrs. Latham had invited you
to meet her in Bedlam."
"I should gladly meet her anywhere," thought
Claudia.
"Mrs. Latham writes," continued the lawyer,
" that she or her hu-sband will escort you back here
before dusk. Do you care to go?" he asked,
abruptly.
Claudia cared much, less on account of the visit
to the Museum than for the opportunity which it
would give her of enjoying the society of her friend.
"If you have no objection, dear papa," she replied.
"As you were working yesterday, I suppose that
you have earned a right to play to-morrow," said
Mr. Hartswood, with an approach to the playful-
ness of manner which once made his society delight-
ful. "You may write and tell your friend that
this duenna of hers may call for you at ten, but
that I expect you home again in good time for
dinner."
Claudia was pleased to find that her attention to
her father's comfoi-t had not been unnoticed after
all, and that thougli he never seemed to forget or
forgive her conduct regarding Helena, yet that it
was not quite impossible to win from him a token
of approbation. Claudia's impulse was to throw
HOME CARRS. 251
lier arms round her father's neck, kiss him and
thank him, as she would have done a few months
before, but she dared no longer assert the sweet
privilege of a child. Since she had come to Little
Bread Court, Claudia had never received kiss or
smile from her father.
It almost seemed on the succeeding day as if Mr.
Hartswood regi'etted having accorded even a few
hours' relaxation to his daughter, and was resolved
to make her pay a heav}'- penalty for a short
pleasure. He appeared at the breakfast-table more
gloomy and irritable than usual, but, unhappily, not
so silent. It was only by constantly realizing the pre-
sence of one Friend who pitied and could help her,
that Claudia could endure, without bursting into tears,
the bitter taunts, the perpetual fault-finding to
which she was exposed from her earthly protector.
Scarcely was the miserable meal concluded, at
which Claudia had felt as if every morsel which she
swallowed would choke her, when a new source of
annoyance came, in the form of the week's account,
which Mrs. Maul brought in to be settled. If
Claudia had been distressed at the bitterness, she
was now almost alarmed at the violence of temper
shown by the lawyer. In happier days Mr. Harts-
wood had never forgotten the self-respect which re-
strains a gentleman from giving way to outbursts of
252 HOME CARES.
passion under far greater provocation than that
occasioned by overcharges in a bill ; but now, with
clenched hand, swollen veins, and flashing eyes, the
lawyer abused and threatened in tones so loud, that
Mrs. Maul cowered beneath the storai. She left
the room, muttering to herself that her lodger must
either be drunk or mad, and that had he not given
her notice that he would quit, she must have given
him notice to do so, for that she was going to stand
such language from no one, were he a prince of
the blood !
The storm of passion over, Mr. Harts wood threw
himself on the sofa, folded his arms, and for some
time appeared to be lost in gloomy meditation
Claudia almost feared to move, for the sKghtest
rustle of a dress disturbed her father. Presently he
pressed his hand on his temples, as if in pain.
" I trust that you do not suffer from headache,
dear father," said Claudia, anxiously.
Mr. Hartswood looked displeased at the question,
and did not vouchsafe a reply.
Martha opened the door, and addressed Claudia
with the words, " There's a Mrs. Giles a-waitinor for
you," and then retreated at once, glancing timidly
at the lawyer as she did so, as if she feared an ex-
plosion, for the sound of his loud altercation with
her mistress had been heard all over the house-
HOME CARES. 253
"Who's this Mrs. Giles?" a.sked the lawyer,
sharply.
"You remember, papa, the former servant of her
own whom Mrs. Latham promised to send to take
me to meet her," said Claudia nervously, for her
father's brow was darkening. " If you would pre-
fer my staying at home, I will send my excuses by
her directly."
" I suppose that since you've made the engage-
ment you must keep it," said Mr. Hartswood, with
impatience.
" Not if you are unwell — "
"Who said that I was unwell?" cried Mr. Hai-ts-
wood, as angrily as if the expression implied an in-
sult. " Go and get ready at once, and don't keep
this Mrs. Giles waiting."
" I shall probably be back before j^ou return
home, papa," said Claudia, lingering at the door,
for something in her father's appearance made her
uneasy at leaving him even for but half a day.
" I'm not going out, " said the lawyer.
"Then I am sure that you are not well!" cried
Claudia, quitting the door, and approaching hei
parent with tender apprehension. " Let me — do let
me write an excuse, and stay here quietly beside
you."
" You'd only be in my way ; I want to be alone
254 HOME CARKS.
I don't care to have you perpetually watching ana
worrying me !" Mr. Hartswood stamped, as if to
give emphasis to the ungracious words which he
uttered, and Claudia dared linger no longer. She
went to her attic room to make her brief prepara-
tions for her walk with a heart wounded and
oppressed. Her expected pleasure was changed into
pain, but pain softened by her spirit of submission.
Instead of chafing against what might have been
deemed harshness and unkindness, Claudia now
asked for patience to bear without a murmur the
trial which she owned that she deserved.
" I must go and meet Mrs. Latham," thought
Claudia ; " but I will accompany her to no place of
amusement. I will return hither with Mrs. Giles as
soon as I have explained to my dear kind friend
tliat my father is alone here, and ailing, and that I feel
that I ought not to be long away from his side."
As soon as his daughter had quitted the room,
Mr. Hartswood rose, and, with knitted brows and
compressed lips, strode up and down the small dull
apartment like a caged lion pacing his den.
" Why should I go forth," was his bitter reflec-
tion ; "why attend a court to watch the progress
of cases in which I have no concern, or go to the
police-office to hear for the fiftieth time that nothing
has been discovered regarding the stolen papers ?"
HUME CARES. 266
Mr. Haitswood was in a highly nervous state, and
was aware that the perpetual wear upon his spirits
was actually endangering his sanity. The lawyer
had been a man of high moral character as well a^
of intellectual endowments, and he had ever enter-
tained a respect for religion, carefully attending to
its outer forms, which, like the daughter whom he
had trained, he had mistaken for religion itself
Sori-ow and disappointment had drawn Claudia
nearer to the som-ce of true comfort, and she had
found peace even in tribulation ; but with Mr.
Hartswood mortification, exposure to calumny, and
fear of impending ruin had had a different effect.
His faith was shaken, for it had never been deep-
rooted ; his peace was destroyed, for he could not
bow in submission to trial which his self-righteous-
ness deemed undeserved. A spirit of rebellion had
taken possession of his soul, and where that spirit
abides tjiere can never be peace.
James Hartswood cared not to go out on that
sunny morning in September, though there was
nothing to tempt him to remain in his dingy, cheer-
less lodging. Had he kno^vn what visitors were
about to invade his retreat, he would have avoided
their unwelcome intrusion by quitting the house,
had rain been descending in torrents.
CHAPTER XXVII.
UNWELCOIME VISITORS.
E will glance now for a few moments into
an elegant boudoir in Westboume Teirace,
where Lady Melton, reclining on a
damask-covered sofa, is awaiting the announcement
of her carriage being at the door ; she and her
cousin. Sir Tybalt Trelawney, having resolved on a
drive to Gray's Inn Lane.
" Nothing can be clearer, more obvious, more
indisputable than the fact that there has been col-
lusion, fraud, deception," said Sir Tybalt, speaking
with dogmatic decision of manner, mouthing his
words, and tapping the palm of his left hand with
two fingers of his right, to give force to the expres-
sion of his opinion. Sir Tybalt is a middle-aged,
soldierly-looking man, with a very small amount of
forehead, and a very large amount of whisker and
m.oustache, the latter so overhanging his mouth as
completely to conceal it, and make his voice seem to
come muffled through a thicket of hair. Sir Tybalt
UNWELCOME VT.Sn-URS. 257
aas unlimited faith in his own powerful judgment, a
faith shared by few who have tried it, but he is
ready to throw down the gauntlet to any one auda-
cious enough to set up an opinion in opposition to
his own. Three ideas have fixed themselves in Sir
Tybalt's not very capacious brain. Firstly, that he is
able to see much further through a millstone than any
other pei'son can see ; secondly, that all lawyers must
of necessity be rogues; and lastly, that his cousin's pro-
fessional adviser, Mr. Hartswood, is the most cunning
of lawyers, and, consequentl)^, the greatest of rogues.
" The story of the nun is indeed most strange and
improbable," observed Lady Melton, " and would
never have been believed for a moment, were it not
that, as the French proverb tells us, le vrai ii est jpas
ioujours le vraisemhle."
" Sir Robert Walpole said, and said truly, that
every man has his price," remarked Sir Tybalt, with
the air of one conscious of his own profound know-
ledge of the world. " This Friern Hatch robbery
has been a kind of jockey transaction from the
beginning to the end. You ride my horse and win
the race, there's a hundred pounds in your pocket"
(Sir Tybalt was not addressing his cousin, Lady
Melton, but Lady Melton's lawyer, in his supposed
character of a jockey). " My rival winks and whispers,
'You ride that horse and lose the race, there's a
(226 17
258 UNWELCOME VISITORS.
thousand pounds in your pocket!'" Sir Tybalt's
fingers came down on liis palm with more emphasis
than before. " Poor old Curtis might not be up to
that kind of gambling transaction, but we know that
he died last night, and it is his sporting son that we
have to deal with now. Younor Curtis is well aware
that his success in the race — I mean the law-suit — is
as good as two hundred thousand pounds to him or
to you ; it's worth his while to pay well ; he'll not
stickle at a few thousands in closing his bargaia
And so the affair is managed, the horse falls lame,
or stumbles, or bolts off the course, but " — here Sii
Tybalt drew up his moustachio-covered lip in a sar-
castic sneer — "but, of course, the jockey is in no
way to blame." Sir Tybalt leaned back on the
cushioned chair, highly satisfied with the neatness of
the illustration of which he had made use.
" I should never have thought of doubting James
Hartswood," said Lady Melton, looking perplexed ;
" he bore the very highest character. I placed the
utmost confidence in him."
" Ah ! my dear cousin, your sex is so trustful ;
you need the support and help of those who have
had larger experience of the world and its ways ;
those who can look under the surface of things, and
neither be beguiled by soft words nor bulhed by
hard ones." Sir Tybalt stroked his huge moustachios
DNWELCOMK VISITOKS. 259
with complacency ; he felt that he had been draw-
ing a portrait of himself
" I spoke with some warmth to Mr. Hartswood
when we last met," said Lady Melton; "perhaps
with too much warmth, for I am a little quick in
temper, you know, and the loss of all my most valu-
able papers might have exhausted the patience of
a Griselda. But I really felt sorry for poor Harts-
wood after the words were spoken ; I never saw a
person who had aged so rapidly, or lost so much
(lesh in so short a time. They say that some weeks
ago he had a faint or a fit in court ! "
" My dear Maria, a man like Hartswood may well
betray some uneasiness when he has reputation,
fortune, everything on the cast of the die. But I
would have no more mercy upon him than I would
have on a fox lurking near my hen-roosts, though I
might not catch him with a chicken in his mouth.
I want to confront this man and his daughter ; she
must be either his tool and accomplice, or an actual
imbecile, there's no alternative between the two,"
said Sir Tybalt with decision. " We'll see if the
girl sticks to her most improbable story. I'll put
up wnth no doubting ; no evasions — short answers
to the point I will have ; these Hartswoods shall
find that they have some one to deal with who
can't be humbugged, and won't be silenced "
2ft) UNWELCOME VISITORS.
And in this mood Sir Tybalt Trelawney accom-
panied his cousin in her eastward drive. He was a
kind of human Juggernaut, who, himself insensible
to any of the more delicate impressions of our
nature, cared not how he might over-ride the
feelings, crush down the spirit, torture the nerves
of his victims. What was it to Sir Tybalt that the
mind of the unhappy Hartswood was in so wavering
a state that a little pressure from without might
throw it altogether off its balance, and reduce the
gifted lawy^er to a raving maniac ? Trelawney had
made up his mind that Hartswood had acted a
fraudulent part, and that it was his own office to
expose and punish the fraud. He set about his
work in his coarse rough way, like a bungler at-
tempting to perform a delicate operation with axe
and hand-saw.
Unconscious of the impending danger, though fai
from easy in mind regarding her father, Claudia
pursued her way, with Mrs. Giles for her escort.
As they passed through the City squares, Claudia
conversed with her quiet sensible companion about
the ragged school at which she taught, and the
invalid in Museum Street whom she was about to
visit.
" This is by no means the first time that Mrs.
Latham has asked me to call and see poor Miss
UKWELCOME VISITORS. 261
Louisa Leicester," said Mrs. Giles, in reply to a
question from Claudia. " The place is so far from
his parish, that Mr. Latham cannot visit Miss
Leicester often without neglecting other duties. It
is only lately that Mrs. Latham has had strength to
visit at all."
" Is this poor invalid lady a friend of Mr.
Latham ? " asked Claudia.
"He has been a most kind friend to hei-," replied
Mrs. Giles. " Some weeks ago, as Mr. Latham was
walking near the Strand, he saw a terrible accident.
A. hea^^ ladder, which had been placed against a
house where some repairs were going on, suddenly
fell on two ladies, who chanced at the time to be
passing. They were picked up, the one — the
mother — dead, the daughter grievously bruised, but
not insensible. Mr. Latham, I need hardly say,
gave every assistance in his power, and the poor
young lady was conveyed, by her own desire, to her
lodgings in Museum Street, with the lifeless body of
her mother, Mr. Latham accompanying her in the
cab."
•' What a fearful shock to the unhappy daughter!"
exclaimed Claudia. "She must almost have wished
that the accident which killed her mother had united
them by taking her also."
" Miss Leicester has never recovered from tlie
^62 UNWELCOME VISIT0K3.
shock," observed Mrs. Giles, " and I fear that she
never will. It seems to me that she is gradually
sinking. The doctor says that no bones are broken —
one sees little of outward hui-t — but she is in terribly
low spirits, nothing can rouse her, and she is wasting
away to a shadow."
" I feel for her from my heart ! " cried Claudia :
and she thought, " How small, how insignificant do
my trials appear compared with those of this pooi
atilicted young lady."
" Is Miss Leicester in distressed circumstances as
regards money ? " inquired Claudia, after walking
on for some moments in silence.
"Though not rich, she does not seem to me poor,"
replied Mrs. Giles ; " Miss Leicester seems to want
no comforts ; but kind good Mr. Latham would
never allow her to want. The young lady appears
to be otherwise very friendless ; except the land-
lady, a nurse, and the doctor, I have never found-
any one beside her, nor have I heard of any relative
coming to see her. I suppose that Mr. Latham has
learned to whom to send in case of j\Iiss Leicester's
iUness being likely to end in death. The doctor
thinks that if it were possible to gain her confidence,
and interest her mind in anything, she might recover
yet ; but I have found it useless to try to draw from
her even a word. I believe ; indeed I know," con-
UNWELCOME ViSITultS. 269
tinued Mrs. Giles, " that one reason why Mrs. Latham
wished you to meet her to-day at Miss Leicester's
lodging, was the hope, miss, that you, being nearer
her own age, might possibly win more confidence,
and do more to comfort the poor young lady than
those whom she already has seen."
Claudia felt grateful to Mrs. Latham for not
having forgotten her own ardent desire to do some
work for her Master. If she might not teach in the
school, she might speak soothing words in the sick-
room. Strong sympathy was awakened in her
breast towards the motherless girl, who was so
deeply suffering from the effect of a sudden bereave-
ment. Claudia recalled her own terrible anxiety
after receiving the telegram from London telling of
the illness of her father. Her imagination, the
mind's quick eye, beheld with vivid distinctness the
fearful scene of the falling of the ladder, which had
crushed out the life of one victim, and with it all
the happiness of another. Claudia quickened her
steps, impatient to see the sufferer, and silently
praying as she walked that she might be enabled
to give some consolation to one so heavily afflicted.
Museum Street was soon reached. Mrs. Giles
was evidently no unexpected or unwonted visitor.
The landlady, who opened the door, shook her head
oravely on being asked after the state of her lodger
2()4 UNWELCOME VISITORS.
•' Just the same ; only growing yet weaker.
Miss Leicester will scarcely look at food, and don't
take enough to keep life in a bird. She scarce ever
speaks — she never cries ; a hearty cry, I take it,
would do her a deal of good ; but when she thinks
as no one is by, she moans as if her poor heart
was a-breakin' , "
Mrs. Giles did not require to be shown the way
to the room on the first floor to which she now pro-
ceeded, accompanied by Miss Harts wood. Very
gentle was Claudia's tap on the panel ; she had a
dread of intruding on the sacredness of grief; and
had not Mrs. Giles opened the door, and silently
motioned to the young lady to enter, she would
scarcely have ventured, stranger as she was, to show
herself to Miss Leicester.
The room was small, but perfectly neat ; the
white-curtained bed faced the door. On it, not in
it, dressed in the deepest mourning, which made
her pale and delicate complexion appear more white
by contrast, la}^ stretched the poor orphan maiden.
Claudia started as her gaze fell upon the sufferer
before her, and could hardly stifle an exclamation of
surprise, for in the invalid — the bereaved mourner
— she instantly recognized one who had been to her
as her evil genius — the deceiver — the betrayer —
Helena !
CHAPTER XXVIII.
TH E WEB OP DECEIT.
F a meeting so sudden and unexpected wa,?
startling to Claudia Hartswood, its effect
was overpowering on the wretched girl
who thus found herself confronted by one whom she
had deeply injured and cruelly deceived. To the
astonishment of Mrs. Giles, the feeble wasted invalid,
who had appeared scarcely able to move, sprang from
the bed upright on her feet, gazing wildly on Claudia,
as she might have done on some dread apparition.
The impression upon the good visitor's mind was, that
the unhappy young lady had gone out of her senses.
"What brought you here? " gasped Helena, her
very lips white with emotion. She gi-asped the post
of the bed, as she spoke, with her thin nervous
fingers, to keep her from falling.
Claudia might have given a stern reply to such a
question. She might have spoken of that retri-
butive justice which the heathen spoke of under the
name of Nemesis, which, even in this life so ofteu
M^ THE WEB OF DECEIT.
pursues the guilty. But Helena looked so fearfully
ill, and had already suffered so much, that Claudia
had not the heart even to question, far less to up-
braid her. She joined her persuasions to those of
her companion to induce Helena to rest again on the
bed ; both feared that the miserable girl might
otherwise drop down dead where she stood. But
Helena remained standing, her glassy eyes fixed
upon Claudia. She repeated the question, " What
brought you here ?" and added in a sepulchral tone,
" I know you have come to search for these
papers."
At this moment there was a gentle tap at the
door, followed by the entrance of Mr. Latham and
his wife, Avho beheld with astonishment the scene
before them.
" What is all this — what has happened ? " ex-
claimed Mrs. Latham, naturally drawing the same
conclusion as Mrs. Giles had done, from the wild
excited appearance of the sick girl, as she stood
clenching the post, with her long dark hair stream-
ing back from her ghastly, agitated face.
"This is Helena the nun," said Claudia, in a low
tone, to her friends ; "it is no chance that has
guided me here this day."
" No chance indeed !" cried Mr. Latham ; pity
for the sufferer before him, blending with indigna-
I'UK WE a OK DECEIT. 267
tion on his diseovering the real character of one who
had excited his strongest compassion. With a
gesture of authority the clergyman made the invalid
suffer herself to be replaced on the bed; and Claudia,
at a suggestive glance from Mrs. Latham, brought a
glass of water which stood on a table near, and
offered it to the lips of Helena.
" Not from you — no — no — not from you .'" mut--
tered the unhappy girl, pushing aside the proffered
glass, and turning her face towards the wall.
" Let me speak to her," said Mr. Latham, whose
pity for the guilty did not render him neglectful of
the iuteicst of the innocent. At the wave of his
hand his wife and her companions retired a few
paces back, leaving to the clergyman the office of
addressing an unhappy wanderer, and urging on her
the necessity of making such full confession and
reparation as could alone prove sincerity of repent-
ance.
" I do not marvel that you have found no peace —
never can you find peace while a guilty secret is
weighing on your conscience," said the minister of
the gospel. " Through you the happiness of a
home has been wrecked, the character of an upright
man has been traduced ; what your object and
motives have been I know not — but this I do know,
that while there is mercy and forgiveness offered
268 THE WEB OF DECElt.
even to the most guilty, none dare hope to receive
them while persisting in treading a path of deceit.
I demand of you, Miss Leicester — Helena — as you
value your soul, tell me what has become of those
papers which you took from the cabinet in that
dwelling into which you were admitted by the ill-
placed confidence of one whose friendship you won
under false pretences."
" Sewn up — in that pillow," murmured Helena
in a scarcely audible tone, pointing to one on a chair
that was near her.
Claudia could scarcely refrain from springing for-
ward and possessing herself of the treasure at once.
It seemed as if her earthly hopes, her father's honour,
happiness — eveiything — were placed within reach
of her hand. But she restrained her impatient
eagerness, knowing that it was better to leave the
conduct of the affair in which she was so deeply
interested, to the friend in whom she could confide.
" There are writing materials, I see, upon that
table," said Mr. Latham ; " I will take down Miss
Leicester's confession from her own lips — my wife
and Mrs. Giles will sign the paper as witnesses. It
may be of the utmost importance to have a legally
attested document proving how Lady Melton's
papers came into our possession." As the clergy-
man spoke, he was teaiing open the cover of the
THE Wf:B OF DECEIT. 269
cushion, and revealing in the very centre of the
stuffing of horse-hair a sealed packet containing
papers. Mr. Latham acted thus promptly because
he was uncertain how long the wretched Helena
would have the will or the power to confess. She
had been startled into speaking the truth ; but de-
ception had, alas ! been the habit of her life — and
where such has been the case, candour can scarcely
be looked for, even from one on a death-bed. It
took Mr. Latham more than an hour to draw from
Helena's unwilling lips anything like a consistent
and clear account of what it was absolutely neces-
sary to know in order to understand the strange
mystery regarding the abstraction of the papers
Instead of attempting to describe aU that passed
during that painful inteiTiew, I will briefly relate
the leading points in the sad history of Helena
Vane.
Her mother, whose name was Theresa, had been
the daughter of a strolling player, and had com-
menced her own career as a " little prodigy," after-
wards appearing as an actress upon several provincial
stages. Such a life was not calculated to raise the
tone of her character ; and Theresa was one of those
who appear never to have been j)Ossessed of a con-
science. By an unhappy marriage with a man fol-
lowing the same profession as herself, Theresa became
•270 THE WKB OF DKCKIT.
the mother of Helena ; but even maternal instinct
had little power in her hardened heart — she treated
her babe with the same neglect which she herself
experienced from her husband.
Nearly twenty years after the birth of Helena, a
severe cold having deprived Mrs. Vane of the powers
of her voice, her career on the stage was necessarily
closed, and she sought a less excitinar and fatiguing
kind of existence as a lady's-companion. By means
of her singular tact and daring forgery of references,
Mrs. Vane, under the name of Miss Eagle, became
the confidential attendant of Lady Melton. After
the unprincipled woman had been long enough in
her new position not only to acquire considerable
influence with Lady Melton, but to obtain intimate
acquaintance with her private affairs, some facts re-
garding Theresa's antecedents were accidentally dis-
covered ; and Lady Melton, indignant at the fraud
which had been practised upon her, dismissed " Miss
Eagle " with contumely at an hour's notice from her
home. The lady was still not aware of her real
name, nor of the fact of her being a mother.
The dark soul of Theresa Vane became possessed
by a fierce spirit of revenge ; she resolved that Lady
Melton should pay dearly for having detected and
exposed her. Mrs. Vane was well acquainted with
the details of the impending law^suit between Lad^
THE WEB OF DECEIT. 271
^^clton and Sir Edmund Curtis — she had assisted in
arranging the papers by means of which the former
hoped to make good her claim to a large property
then in the possession of the latter, Tlieresa found,
by secret inquiries, that Lady Melton, not long after
dismissing her companion, had engaged Mr. Harts-
wood as her professional adviser, and had, after the
interval of some months, entrusted to him the care
of her papers, preparatory to commencing her law-
suit against Sir Edmund Curtis. Mrs. Vane resolved
to become possessed of these valuable papers, and
found a tool with which to work her evil designs in
lier daughter Helena, who had been brought up in
France, and who had inherited her mother's talents
with more than her mother's attractions. Unhap-
pily, Helena had also the dissimulation, and power
of acting an assumed part, which enabled her, as the
reader knows, to carry out the scheme devised by
her unprincipled mother.
When the Vanes had possession of the papers,
the next question was. What use could be made of
the stolen documents ? Theresa, with whom covet-
ousness was almost as strong a motive as revenge,
I'egarded them as the means of securino: to herself a
provision for the rest of her life. But the papers
were to her something like what gold is to the soli-
tary inhabitant of a desert island The police wer^
E72 THE WEB OF DECEIT.
taking such energetic measures to discover the per-
son who had broken into the lawyer's cabinet — so
large a reward was offered for the apprehension of
such person, that the Vanes were afraid to take any
step that might lead to detection. Theresa knew
the immense value of the papers to Sir Edmund
Curtis, but she dared make no overtures to a gentle-
man of character so much respected, lest such over-
tures should result in her daughter being handed
over to the police.
But Sir Edmund was old, and in very bad health.
His son, fond of horse-racing and gambKng, would
probably be an easier person to deal with, and was
likely erelong to enter into possession of his father's
estate. In time the police would relax their in-
effectual efforts to track out the pseudo-nun. Should
young Curtis prove as unprincipled as Theresa ex-
pected to find him, the possession of papers on
which depended his retaining £200,000 might be
worth to the Vanes a sum of hush-money sufficient
to support them in comfort and ease.
" I will bide my time," said Theresa Vane, little
dreaming how short her time upon earth was to be.
In the midst of her plots and her schemes, the
wretched woman was suddenly cut off by the fearful
accident of which Mr. Latham had been a liorrified
witness,
TUE WEB OF DECEIT. 2/3
Helena found herself alone and desolate, deprived
of the fatal guidance which had led her so far astray.
The miserable girl, brought up without even moral
training, could scarcely be said to have any sense of
religion, but she was not without a strong tincture
of superstition. Helena could not help regarding
her mother's awful fate as a judgment ; it terrified
and almost overwhelmed her reason. Haunted by
the thought that Mrs. Vane's death might be con-
nected with the possession of the stolen documents,
Helena yetjiad not sufficient moral courage, or even
sufficient energy of decision, to make her resolve on
parting with " the accursed thing" that had brought
such evil upon her. It is probable that Helena,
with sealed lips and terror-stricken soul, might have
lain on that sick-bed till death should have closed
her last door of retreat, had not the sudden appear-
ance of Claudia startled her into breaking silence at
last, and Mr. Latham induced her to unburden her
conscience of the "perilous stuff" which lay so
heavily upon it.
(226) 18
CHAPTER XXIX.
A SUDDEN CHANGE.
IE left Mr. Hartswood pacing up and down
his dingy apartment, revolving in painful
thought the difficulties of his position.
Tidings which he had that morning received of the
death of Sir Edmund Curtis brought these difficulties
more vividly before him. Mr. Hartswood had formed
of the baronet's successor an opinion similar to that
held by most of those who knew him ; the lawyer
believed him to be a man who would have little
scruple in destroying papers which, brought forward
in a court of law, might deprive him of half his
fortune. Mr. Hartswood thought it more than pro-
bable that the valuable documents which had been
abstracted from Friern Hatch were by this time re-
solved into their original elements ; and that Tom
Curtis, if he had not actually prompted the daring
robbery, was at any rate reaping the fruits of the
crime committed by another.
James Hartswood's temples ached with a dull
A SUDDEN CHANGE, 276
pain, as if pressed in with a band of iron. Every
petty annoyance had become to him now a source
of intense initation, which he seemed to have no
more power to overcome than if he had been a sickly,
peevish child. It worried him to catch his foot in
the threads of the faded carpet, where time had
almost worn it into a hole. It worried him when
a Savoyard with his monkey chanced to find his
way into Little Bread Court ; the droning grind of
the barrel-organ almost drove the lawyer wild. This
annoyance was soon got rid of by energetic gestures
from the window, but it was quickly succeeded by
others. Some neighbour had fixed upon that morn-
ing for beating carpets, and Mrs. Maul's children
had taken to the diversion of fighting on the stairs.
Mr. Hartswood felt a strong impulse to rush out
ujion the young urchins, and enforce good manners
with his cane.
" I fear that I am growing crazy ! " muttered the
lawyer to himself; "I have had enough to make me
mad. Ruined by the deceit of my child, on whose
candour I could have staked my existence ; insulted
by rivals ; forsaken by friends ; suspected by the
world ; when riding on the full tide of prosperity,
suddenly stranded, — why, there's actually a carriage
entering the court to rub the gi'ass from the stones!"
cried Mr. Hartswood, inteiTupting himself in his
276 A SUDDEN CHANGE.
gloomy soliloquy, as tLe clatter of hoofs and rattle of
wheels echoed in the naiTow enclosure. Mr. Harts-
wood walked to the window, and recognized, with
anything but satisfaction, the blue and red liveries
worn by the servants of Lady Melton, He was yet
more annoyed at catching a ghmpse of Sir Tybalt's
huge whisker within the conveyance. The lawyer
had but slight acquaintance with the cousin of Lad}'^
Melton, but had read through his shallow character
at a glance, and had scarcely endured with patience
his overweening conceit and self-importance, when
there had been no personal discourtesy towards him-
self expressed by the knight. Now Mr. Hartswood
had an intuitive perception that Sir Tybalt had
come in the character of a bully, and that an un-
pleasant scene with the knight was certain to ensue.
The bull ranging the open field may care little for
the barking of a cur that it can silence in a moment ;
but on the bull baited at the stake, smarting fi^om
a dozen wounds already, and almost goaded to mad-
ness, the attack of the same cur may inflict intoler-
able pain. Mr. Hartswood could no longer trust his
own self-command ; his nerves were quivering and
vibrating, the most despicable adversary would, he
knew, have him at advantage ; the lawyer was pain-
fully aware that he was not what once he had been.
With a spirit of defiance and gloomy desperatioi)
A SUDDEN CHANGE. 277
James Hartswood heard the rustle of Lady Melton'3
silk dress, and the heavy tramp of Sir Tybalt's boots
as the visitors mounted the stairs.
The lawyer received his unwelcome guests with
formal courtesy. Lady Melton, a little fluttered and
excited, took her place on the black horse-hair sofa ;
but Sir Tybalt stiffly declined the proffered seat —
he prefen-ed standing ; and Mr. Hartswood preserved
his erect position also, the two men facing each other
like pugilists in the ring.
After the first stiff interchange of courtesies was
over an awkward silence ensued, broken only by
Sir Tybalt's little preparatory cough. Lady Melton
was unconsciously buttoning and unbuttoning her
light kid glove, and avoided looking at her lawyer.
Her cousin spoke at last, with n)ore than his usual
pomposity of manner.
" Perhaps you may not have been informed —
perhaps you may not have heard, Mr. Hartswood,
that the decease of Sir Edmund Curtis occurred last
night."
" I am aware of the fact," was the curt reply.
Another significant cough from Sir Tybalt. " And
may I venture — may I presume, sir, to inquire how
you became possessed of the information ? "
There was nothing necessarily offensive in the
question itself, but a gveai deal in the tone in which
278 A SUDDEN CHANGE.
it was put, at least so it seemed to Mr. llartswootl,
whose spirit was like gunpowder, needing a very
small spark to cause an explosion. With ill-suppressed
passion quivering in his voice, the lawyer replied,
" May I ask, sir, why it concerns you to know ? "
" Mr, Hartswood, very few words of explanation
are necessary," said Sir Tybalt, with the air of one
commencing a studied and lengthy oration ; " I
could wish that you had been present the other day
when a gentleman with whom I have the honour to
be acquainted mentioned — I know not upon what
authority — but mentioned that your relations with
the family of Curtis are of a closer nature than —
than under existing ch'cumstances — you understand
me — is to be desired."
" I wish that I had been present," cried James
Hartswood, with flashing eyes, " that I might have
had the satisfaction of kicking the impertinent
libeller down-stairs ! " The lawyer looked so fierce
as he uttered the sentence, so likely to act out his
words, that Sir Tybalt intuitively drew back one
step, and Lady Melton, alarmed at the prospect of ^
serious quarrel, interposed in a feeble attempt to
soften the irritation of her professional adviser.
" You misapprehend the meaning of my cousin,
Mr. Hartswood ; I'm sure that he never — "
But Sir Tvbalt, \vith the bull-dog obstinacy of his
A SUDDEN CHVNGK. 279
nature, would not suffer the lady to divert him from
his attack, and interrupted her in the midst of her
sentence.
" There must be no room for misapprehension on
any side," quoth the knight ; " it is expedient,
necessary to come to a full and clear understanding.
You caimot be ignorant, sir, of what is the common
subject of talk in every club-room, of what has even
been hinted at in the periodicals which are circu-
lated through the kingdom. Most valuable docu-
ments were entrusted to your care — nay. Lady
Melton, I must and will speak — most valuable
papers, sir, I repeat, were entrusted to your care ; —
where are those papers nov/ ? "
" Here ! — here ! " exclaimed the voice of Claudia,
who, as the eager bearer of good news, had suddenly
entered the room as the last words fell from the lips
of Sir Tybalt. Claudia sprang towards her father,
panting with excitement, and placed a sealed packet
in his hand. Tlie expression of Mr. Harts wood's
countenance, the fierce eyes, the lips white with
passion, the hand instinctively clenched, told Claudia
more than the words which she had just heard that
she had scarcely arrived in time to prevent a dan-
gerous quarrel.
" The papers ! " exclaimed Lady Melton, starting
from her seat
280 A SUDDEN CHANGt
" The papers I " echoed James Hartswood, ahno.sl
as much astonished as if they had dro])])ed from the
ceiling.
A sarcastic smile curled the moustachio-covercd
lip of Sir Tybalt. The sudden appearance of the
lost documents, instead of dispelling, had served
to confirm his suspicions. " They who hide well,
find well," was the proverb which rose to his
mind.
But Claudia had happily not come alone — Mr.
Latham had followed close on her steps, a calm
minister of religion, whose character carried influ-
ence, and whose words commanded attention. Mr.
Latham was known to both Lady Melton and lier
cousin, and as soon as he explained in few words
that he carried in his hand the attested confession
of the pseudo-nun herself — the key to the whole
perplexing mystery — curiosity in his hearers took
the place of every other emotion. The clergyman
became the centre of an eagerly listening gi'oup, as
in a clear distinct voice he read aloud the confession
of Helena, after explaining briefly the circumstances
which led her to make it. Mr. Latham was only
interrupted by occasional exclamations from Lady
Melton, who now, for the first time, heard that she
owed the loss of her papers to the malice and re-
venge of " Miss Eagle," and that a terrible fate had
Claudia placed a sealed packet in his hand.
Fiigc 2-;q.
A STTDDEX CnANOE. 281
overtaken the wretclied woman in the mi (1st of her
evil career.
The countenances of the various persons forming
that little gi'oup might have afforded, during the
reading, a good study for an artist. Lady Melton,
her lips apart, her gaze rivetted upon the reader, as
she bent forward to catch every word, seemed to
listen with eyes and mouth as well as with cars.
Sometimes an expression of amused surprise flitted
across her countenance, then flashed forth indigna-
tion. Sir Tybalt stood leaning against the mantel-
piece, and had any one been at leisure to observe
him, something of incredulity and dissatisfaction
might have been traced in the lines of his brow and
the manner in which ho twisted his long moustache.
It was more provoking to the })ompous Sir Tybalt
to be found mistaken in his judgment, than gratify-
ing to know that his cousin was likely to gain a
very large foi'tune. To be proved to have made
such mistakes was no new thing for Sir Tybalt, but
he was ever very slow to perceive that such was the
case, and might usually be cited as an example of
the aphorism that
" He who's convinced against his will,
Is of the same opinion still."
James Hartswood stood with folded arms, more
deeply, though more silently interested than even
282 A SUDDEN CHANGE.
his client could be. Lady Melton had only a fortune
at stake ; he had his priceless reputation. Mr.
Hartswood's mental condition might be compared to
the physical condition of Mazeppa when released
from his fearful position of being bound on a wild
horse. He was half dizzy with the sudden transi-
tion from a state of despaii- to one of hope — he
scarcely realized his own deliverance — he still felt,
as it were, the aching pain left from the galling of
the bonds from which he had just been set free.
The flush of anger which had lately suffused Harts-
wood's face had passed away ; under the absorbing
interest with which he heard the confession of Helena
read, the lawyer forgot for the time the existence of
Sir Tybalt Trelawney.
Claudia sat a little behind her father, tdad to be
screened by him from the eyes of all observers.
With her thankfulness for the recovery of the papers
was blended a deep sense of shame. Her father's
character was freed from all reproach by Helena's
confession ; but Claudia must still appear in the
story as the foolish, self-confident girl who, carried
away by romantic sentiment, had entered on a
slippery course, and beginning by being a dupe, had
ended by being a deceiver. Claudia felt deeply
humbled ; but she accepted the humiliation, not
3nly as the just desert of her conduct but as a
A SUDDEN CHANGE. 2H3
wholesome discipline for her |)rou(l, impetuous
nature. Since her parent was no longer to suffer with
her, Claudia would be content to bear the obloquy
from which her high spirit naturally recoiled.
"It is a strange story indeed — a most singular
story ! " exclaimed Lady Melton, as Mr. Latham
concluded his reading. "Had I had the faintest
idea that Miss Eagle — I mean Mrs. Vane — had had
a daughter, I should have had a key to the whole
mystery. But I did not imagine that two such
beings, compounded of malice and deceit, existed in
the world '
" Great excuse is to be made for one receiving
such a wretched education as did the unhappy
Helena," observed Mr. Latham. "From early
childliood she was never taught to distinguish
between right and wrong ; she breathed an atmo-
sphere of duplicit;,, and who can wonder that her
moral perceptions were blunted and her mind in-
fected by the contagion of evil example. She is
now apparently sinking broken-hearted into an early
grave, and claims compassion and forgiveness."
"She has mine," thought Claudia Hartswood ;
"my deepest compassion, my fullest forgiveness.
Oh, if I — brought up in a Christian home, taughi
to practise and love sincerity — could fall into Up-
deceit, look-deceit, heart-deceit — how dare I judge
281 A SUDDEN CUAXGE.
one who never possessed the blessings lavished
upon me ' "
Lady Melton's mind was too much occupied with
the subject of her pending lawsuit to have much
attention to give to the fate of Helena Vane. Turn-
ing towards her lawyer, who was examining with keen
interest the contents of the packet of papers placed
in his hands, she said gaily, " Now that wo have
rescued our artillery from the enemy's lines, Mr.
Hartswood, I propose that we settle the plan of our
coming campaign. Mr. Latham and Sir Tybalt will
\ielp to form our council of war."
But Mr. Latham's duties called him homewards,
and after receiving warm thanks for the important
aid which he had rdven in restorincf the stolen
documents to their rightful owner, he took his
departure from Little Bread Court. Sir Tybalt also
suddenly I'cmembered a pressi"^ engagement, and
after, in a stiff awkward manner, uttering a few
words of congratulation, which might be taken by
the lawj'er as a kind of apology, he went forth a
sadder, though, it is to be feared, a not much wiser
man.
Then, leaving her father and his client to talk
over business, Claudia, with rapid step, sought her
own room. She needed quietness and solitude after
the excitement of that most eventful dav. As soon
A SUDDEN CHANGE. 285
as she had entered her apartment, and closed the
door behind her, Claudia fell on her knees, and
poured out a fervent thanksgiving. And with
thanksgiving was mingled prayer that she might
never forget — never let go the fruit of bitter experi-
Ence gathered in the desert of tribulation. It is by
such experience of failure and error that Cliristians
learn their own sinfulness and weakness, and are
led to exchange self-confidence for low]y trust in a
Strength not their own.
CHAPTER XXX.
TUE RETURN,
IjUMMER has departed ; autumn passed
away ; winter has come — but winter so
mild in its breath, so radiant in its
brightness, that the sun each morn melts away the
filagree frost-work with which night had silvered
each blade and spray. Still golden leaves cling
here and there to the boughs of the elms, and the
latest lingering flowers smile in December sunshine.
It is a bright joyous-looking morning, and the
fresh crispness of the country air is breathed with
a keen sense of eiyoyment by Mr. Harts wood, as,
accompanied by his daughter, he is whirled away
in an open carriage from dingy, fog-swathed London.
He is snatching an interval from professional labours
to spend his Christmas holidays at Friern Hatch,
his rural home. There is calm satisfaction on the
countenance of the lawyer, as he leans back in the
soft-cushioned carriage ; he looks — what he is — a
successful man. No longer the worn, harassed,
THE RETURN. 287
irritable beiiig whose haggard features told of tho
pangs of a wounded spirit, James Hartswood's
health has returned through the stimulating effects
of employment, hope, and success. He was first
introduced to the reader as regarding his great
pending lawsuit as a general might regard an open-
ing campaign ; now he is as the same general
returning from it in triumph — for his logic and
eloquence have won a victory, a just verdict has
been given in favour of his client, and the reputa-
tion of her counsel is higher thau it ever was before.
Therefore Mr. Hartswood laughs and chats gaily as
the carriage rolls swiftly along the road, bordered
with elms, which leads to Friern Hatch.
Claudia is more pensive and tlioughtful than her
father. Perhaps her mind reverts to the solemn
scene at which she was present but a few weeks
before, when she bent over Helena's death-bed, and
the poor girl expired in her arms. There was some
gleam of hope flickering over that death-bed, for
the unhappy Helena had expressed deep repentance
for sin ; yet where deceit has been interwoven with
every action of life, a shadow of doubt as to the
sincerity of words and even tears must rest on the
minds of survivors. It is the just punishment of
those habitually false, that truth itself is not be-
lieved if it comes from tlieif lips.
•288 THE RETURN.
It had been a great satisfaction to Claudia
to he enabled to act a sister's part towards the
woman who had so cruelly deceived her. The
lodging in Little Bread Court being exchanged for
one not far from Museum Street, had rendered it
easy for Claudia to pass much of her time in nurs-
ing Helena. Never, perhaps, can Christians more
fully realize that they are working for their gi-eat
Master, than when they follow His example in doing
good to those who have wronged them.
" Not sorry to escape from London, eh, Claudia ;
and leave its smoke, noise, and bustle behind you?'
said Mr. Hartswood, in his old affectionate tone
"You will own, though, that our last abode was a
great improvement upon that dreary dungeon
Little Bread Court, in which I so ruthlessly buried
my poor little girl alive."
"The place was no paradise," observed Claudia;
"and yet I have dearer, sweeter recollections con-
nected with the gloomy little court than with any
other place in the world ! "
" What, notwithstanding the exting-uisher which
I put upon your laudable ambition to become a
ragged-school teacher ? " laughed her father. " I
was a little hard upon you, Claudia. But though
I still think that you must wait for the appearance
of your first white hair before you dive into LondoLi
THE RETURN, 289
Innes and alleys to hunt up ragged recruits, I have
no objection to your making yourself useful in a
quiet way in the country, where you will again V>e
so much alone during my daily absence in London.
You can ask your friends the Holders to cut out a
little parish Avork for you ; there's nothing like
work for bracing the spirits " (the lawyer spoke
from his own experience); "and there never was a
truer proverb than 'Better wear out than rust out.'
Only mind you, Claudia," continued her father, as
a turn in the road brought within view of the
travellers the picturesque gables of the convent,
"there must be no more meddling with nuns, either
with false or with real ones."
" Oh, dear father," exclaimed Claudia with emo-
tion, " the lesson which I learned in the summer
was far too painful to be ever forgotten. My folly
and presumption cost me too dear."
"You meant well, you meant well," said the
lawyer good humouredly, for all his irritation and
anger had long since passed away; "to convert
from error and protect from oppression are noble
works in themselves ; the lesson which you have
learned is simply this — that we defeat our own
object if we attempt to do a right thing in a wrong
way."
"And in a wrong spirit," thought Claudia, who
(2^6) 19
290 THE RETtTRN.
had traced all her errors to their souice, the pride
of a self-righteous heart.
Rapidly rolls the light vehicle along the familiar
drive, up to the door of the bright pleasant home,
which Claudia has not entered since the summer
day when she left it with a spirit full of regi'eta
and foreboding. Mr. Hartswood springs from the
carriage and hands his daughter into the house ; his
step as elastic, his glance as cheerful as before his
troubles commenced. After giving a few brief
orders, the lawyer went into his study, and Claudia,
before taking off her bonnet and furs, passed into
the garden and shrubbery. She was glad to be for
a short time alone, to meditate over the past, and re-
volve the course which she should take in the future.
How many recollections, some very painful and
humbling, were entwined with the objects with
which Claudia now was surrounded. The trees
stripped of their summer foliage, the narrow end-
ing path strewn with dead leaves, the little mur-
muring rill, the creeper-covered bower, the dark fir
from whose projecting branch had waved the scarf
of cerise, aU recalled to Claudia an episode in her
life Mftver to be remembered without regret. The
healsid wound leaves its scar behind. Claudia
would have been glad had her father exchanged
Friern Hatch for some other country abode where
THK RETURN. 291
she might have begun life as it were anew, formed
fresh ties, nor felt herself hampered and cramped by
difficulties resulting from former errors. Claudia
had lost none of the fervour with which she had
embraced spiritual religion ; it was still her desire
and prayer to be permitted — even in the humblest
way — to labour for souls ; had she entered a new
sphere, had the Holders been to her perfect strangers,
nothing would have been easier or more pleasant
than to have offered herself to the vicar's wife as
cottage visitor or Sunday-school teacher. But
Claudia had been deeply hurt by the refusal of
Emma to come and be with her at a time when a
friend was most needed ; the lawyer's daughter had
understood too well the cause of that cold refusal
Mrs. Holder had deemed the dupe of Helena no
meet associate for her young daughter.
" And shall I force my company upon those who
have shown that they despise me ! " cried Claudia
bitterly, as she threw herself down on the rustic
seat in her shady bower. " Shall I, stamped —
branded, as it were, in their opinion as one not to
be trusted, beg humbly to be admitted to work
with, or under, Emma Holder ! " Claudia bit her
nether lip, and drew herself up ; pride had been
wounded — crushed — -but it was not dead; the pain
which it inflicted showed that it yet had power.
292 THE RETURN.
Claudia could not but be aware that in talents she
was far superior to Emma, in earnestness and zeal,
in every good work, she would be at least Emma's
equal ; yet Claudia felt that, even with her talents
and devotedness, she might do harm rather than
good, if she, a young inexperienced girl, should at-
tempt to labour amongst the village poor inde-
pendent of the pastor and the ladies of his family.
If she did not work with those who knew every
individual in the parish, Claudia might be a hinderer
rather than a helper, and bring discredit upon her
own profession of religion.
" Oh, how much easier it is to en- than to undo
the consequences of an error ! " sighed Claudia
Hartswood. "Fresh as I am from the school of
adversity, I am far more likely now to be useful
amongst the poor, than when I deemed mere in-
tellectual powers sufficient for giving instruction in
spiritual things. But I shrink with extreme repug-
nance from coming forward to offer my services to
the Holders. I am crippled in my usefulness by
shame, the fear of a mortifying rebuff. Shame ;
is that — can that be with me but another name
for pride ? Am I dooming myself to stand all the
day idle at the gate of the vineyard, because at the
first step I must stoop very low in order to enter ? "
Claudia was erelong roused from her solitary
\
THE RETURN. 293
musings by the cheerful voice of her father calling
to her from the garden. She instantly obeyed his
summons. But ere Claudia had quitted her quiet
bower her resolution had been taken ; what that
resolution was shall be seen in the following
chapter.
CHAPTER XXXI.
CONCLUSION.
|NOW fell during the night, the pm-e bright
snow, throwing its spotless mantle over
meadow and road, clothing the shrub-
beries, giving new beauty to every object that be-
fore was beautiful, and softening every harsher
feature of the landscape. To a stranger from a
Tropic land how wondrously lovely must appear the
first sight of Nature robed in her shining garments
of snow !
The boys of the Holder family are all out en-
joying the first opportunity given by the season of
pelting each other with snow-balls. The vicar
with his wife and daughter are in their little parlour,
where a roaring, crackling wood-fire diffuses its
cheerful warmth around. Emma is seated close to
the fire, with her feet on the fender. She has
recently recovered from severe illness, which has
left its traces in the greater delicacy of her features
ajid the more thoughtful expression of her f;ice.
CONCLUSION. 295
The vicar has just been reading aloud from the
weekly paper with which he indulges himself, a
concise account of the close of the famous law-suil
of Melton v. Curtis, while his wife plies her in-
dustrious needle beside him.
"A great triumph for Hartswood," observed the
vicar, as he laid down the paper.
" He and his daughter came back to Friem
Hatch yesterday, I hear," said Mrs. Holder, without
glancing up from her work,
" Oh yes ; I saw the carriage drive by, and
Claudia, poor dear Claudia, looked up at my
window ! " exclaimed Emma, to whom the return
of the Hartswoods was an event of no small
interest.
" I have been thinking, my dear," observed the
vicar to his wife, " that you might as well call at
Friern Hatch to welcome her back."
"Not I," replied Mrs. Holder coldly; "I certainly
have no intention of taking the first step to renew
our intercourse with Miss Hartswood." And the
lady stitched vigorously, as if the completion of her
gusset were to her a matter of more importance
than anything connected with the inmates of the
house on the hill.
Emma could not refrain from sighing : she was
very anxious to renew that acquaintance with
206 CONCLUSION .
Claudia which, in her own heart at least, was
ripening into friendship. She ventured on a sug-
gestion. " Claudia might be such a help to us,
mamma; she is so energetic and clever. You know
that I was obliged to give up my Sunday-class
almost as soon as I had begun it, and I am scarcely
allowed to visit at all in the cottages as long as the
winter lasts,"
" Other qualifications besides mere energy and
cleverness are required for teaching and visiting,"
observed Mrs. Holder.
" But, if we are to believe our friend Mrs. Latham,
Claudia Harts wood has a great deal more," said the
vicar. "In her note, which was written, I think^
to remove unfavourable impressions made by that
unfortunate burglary affair, Mrs. Latham writes that
she knows no girl more conscientious and high-
minded than Claudia Hartswood."
" High-minded ; yes, that word may be taken in
two different senses," observed Mrs. Holder. " My
belief is that there is not a prouder girl under the
sun than Claudia ; she set herself up as a kind of
standard of perfection, a censor of the rest of the
world. Pride must have a fall, she has had hers,
I only hope that it has humbled her a little."
" Are you not a little severe, my love ? " said
tlie vicar.
A
CONCLUSION. 297
Mrs. Holder T^iade no reply. It is possible that
pride had something to do with the lady's aversion
to " taking the first step " towards commencing
anew her intercourse with the Hartswoods. Her
maternal feelings had been mortified by what she
had considered Claudia's assumption of superiority
over Emma. Mr, Hartswood was rising rapidly in
his profession, it was now thought likely that he
might, ere many years should pass, reach one of its
highest honours ; his acquaintance was sought by
the gifted and the great. The vicar's wife was
aware of all this ; she remembered that at the
time of Claudia's humiliation she had, so to speak,
turned her back upon the motherless girl, and
now to change her conduct towards her would
be, in the opinion of Mrs. Holder, either to show
vacillation of purpose, or to appear to worship
success.
Again Emma sighed, hopeless of persuading her
mother to show indulgence towards Claudia, for,
with all her excellent qualities, the vicar's wife was
somewhat deficient in the charity which thinketh
no evil, while possessing a confidence in her own
opinion which rendered it difficult to move her from
any position which she had once taken up. The
vicar, however, was not so easily discouraged as his
daughter.
298 CONCLUSION.
" Ai"e you not a little severe ? " be repeated, after
a pause. " Let us suppose that Claudia Harts wood
is humbled by the painful affair of the pseudo-nun ;
let us suppose that she has come back from London
anxious to make up for the past, with the acquisi-
tion of a little self-knowledge and experience which
are invaluable to a ' worker ; ' would you shut her
out from a field in which she might really be useful,
and force upon the poor girl the conviction that
though the Master may have forgiven her error,
His servants will never forget it ? "
" Oh, if Claudia were really humbled," began the
vicar's wife ; but she was interrupted by the maid
coming in to say that Miss Hartswood was at the
door, and requested to know whether she could see
Mrs. Holder.
"Claudia herself!" exclaimed Emma with joy,
lighting up her pale face.
" You see, my dear, you are not left to take the
first step," observed the vicar, as the maid retired,
bearer of her mistress's request that Miss Hartswood
would come in.
Claudia had chosen an hour when she expected
Mrs. Holder to be alone, and coming, as she did,
intent upon making an effort humiliating and pain-
ful, it embarrassed her on entering the room to find
that both the vicar and Emma were present. The
\
C0NCLU8I0K. 299
kiudly greeting of the former, and the warm pressure
of the hand of the latter, reassured her, however, a
little. Though the manner of Mrs. Holder was
somewhat cold, it was not repelling ; the words of
her husband had had some effect on the mind of
the lady, an effect much strengthened by the sub-
dued and softened demeanour of the once self-con-
fident girl.
Almost as soon as she had taken her seat,
Claudia, with her natural straightforwardness,
came at once on the subject which had brought her
to the vicarage that morning. She spoke with
heightened colour and downcast eyes, but with a
frank simplicity which won its way with Mrs.
Holder.
" When I was in London I asked my father's leave
to teach in a ragged school which was near, but
papa thought me too young to do so. He told me
yesterday, however, that he was willing that I
should try to do what I could in this village. If
you would only permit me to learn from you, to
work under you, to help you in some — in any —
way I should be truly grateful. I hesitated whether
I should venture to ask you, after — after what
happened in the summer, for I know " — here poor
Claudia hesitated, and the good-natured vicar came
to her aid.
300 CONCLUSION.
" Oh, we'll find a nook for you," lie cried, "and
be heartily glad of your help. My wife has almost
more work than she can manage with so many
young ragamuffins at home, and as for our poor
dear Emma," he turned fondly towards his daughter,
"she has lately been quite laid by; but as she
regains her strength, she will resume her duties with
twice as much cheerfulness and spirit when she has
a friend and companion like Claudia to help her in
every good work."
Tlie ice was broken, and all difficulties melted
away like the snow on the pathway under the
beams of the glowing sun. Claudia from that day
entered upon a course of active usefulness, which,
though begun in the obscurity of a quiet country
village, was to extend in ftiture years over a wide
and important field. Claudia, in after-life, became
an acknowledged leader amongst those of her own
sex engaged in philanthropic labours, by her pen,
her voice, her influence enlightening and comforting
thousands. If the earnest and successful worker
was ever then tempted to cherish a feehng of pride,
or to listen with complacence to praise, she found
a ready antidote to flattery from without, or pre-
sumption rising within, by recalling the humbling
passage in her life which lias been the subject of
my story. Claudia had learned in a way that
CONCLUSION. 301
had indelibly engraved the lesson on her mind
that the heart is deceitful above all things; and
that intellectual powers are in themselves but
dangerous gifts, unless combined with, and sub-
jected to, those which belong to the higher spiritual
nature.
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