Chetwynd, only son of Mr. Hugh Calverley, a retired Liverpool merchant, residing at Ouselcroft, in Cheshire, was somewhat singularly circumstanced, as will have been surmised from the conversation just recounted—but he had only himself to blame.

Rather more than a year ago—when he was just of age—he had fallen in love with his father's ward, Teresa Mildmay, a young lady of great personal attractions, but very small fortune—had proposed to her, and been accepted.

Teresa had lost both her parents. Her mother, Lady Eleanor Mildmay, daughter of Lord Rockingham, died when she was quite a child. Her father, General Mildmay, an Indian officer of distinction, was one of Mr. Calverley's most intimate friends, and hence it chanced that the latter was appointed Teresa's guardian.

General Mildmay's demise occurred at Cheltenham about two years prior to the commencement of our story. By her guardian's desire, Teresa then came to reside with his daughter at Ouselcroft. Though Mildred was two or three years younger than her friend, and they were very dissimilar in character, a sisterly affection subsisted between them. Originating when they were at school together at Brighton, their friendship had never since been disturbed. To Mildred, therefore, it was a source of the greatest satisfaction when Teresa took up her abode with them.

The two girls differed as much in personal appearance as in character. Both were remarkably goodlooking. Teresa Mildmay had a very striking countenance. Her features were classical in mould, her complexion dark, her eyes magnificent, and arched over by thick black brows. Her tresses were black as jet, luxuriant, and of a silky texture, and were always dressed in a manner that best suited her. Her figure was lofty and beautifully proportioned. The expression of her face was decidedly proud—too proud to be altogether agreeable. Nevertheless, she was extremely admired.

Teresa possessed great good sense and good judgment, and was looked upon by her guardian as a model of prudence and propriety. As he frequently consulted her upon household matters, and, indeed, asked her advice upon many other points, she naturally acquired considerable influence over him.

A very charming girl was Mildred, though her style was quite different from that of Teresa. She was a blonde. A ravishingly fair complexion, a dimpled cheek, a lip fashioned like a Cupid's bow, teeth like pearls—these constituted her attractions. Her figure was slight, but perfectly symmetrical, and nothing could be sweeter than her smile.

Such were the two fair inmates of Ouselcroft, before a change took place in the establishment.

Having proposed to his father's beautiful ward, as we have stated, and been accepted, Chetwynd, who could not brook delay, was anxious that the marriage should take place at once.

To this, however, the prudent Teresa objected. She was of a cold temperament, and reflection convinced her that she had not done wisely in accepting Chetwynd; but for several reasons she hesitated to break off the engagement. She did not like to lose a comfortable home, and hoped that the young man, who had hitherto been very careless and extravagant, might turn over a new leaf.

In this expectation, she was disappointed. Chetwynd was very handsome and agreeable, and had many good qualities, but his temper was excessively irritable, and he was reckless in regard to expense. His Oxford debts, which were heavy, had been paid by his father, and he then promised amendment, but did not keep his word. On the contrary, he continued his extravagant courses. Though intended for the law, he would not study, but led a mere life of pleasure—riding daily in the parks, and visiting all public places of amusement; and his father, who was a great deal too indulgent, did not check him.

On his return to Ouselcroft, after an absence of a couple of months, during which he had not deemed it necessary to write to Teresa, she received him very coldly; and provoked by her manner, he told her next day, when they were alone, that he did not think he should be happy with her.

“If you really believe so, Chetwynd,” she said, “the marriage ought not to take place. I release you from your engagement.”

The remarkable calmness—almost indifference—with which she spoke, piqued him, and he exclaimed:

“Very well; I accept it! There is an end of all between us!”

Scarcely were the words uttered, than he repented, and would have recalled them. He looked appealingly at her, but she seemed so cold, that he became fortified in his resolution.

Mr. Calverley soon learnt what had happened from Mildred; but, feeling sure he could set matters right, he sent for his son, and insisted on his marrying Miss Mildmay, on pain of his severest displeasure.

Chetwynd refused point blank.

“You won't?” cried the old gentleman, ready to explode.

“I have already given you an answer, sir,” rejoined his son. “I adhere to my determination! Pray don't put yourself in a passion. It won't have any effect upon me!”

“Very well,” said Mr. Calverley, with difficulty controlling his rage. “Since you decline to fulfil your engagement, I'll marry her myself!”

“Ridiculous!” cried his son.

“Ridiculous or not, you'll find I shall be as good as my word.”

“Pshaw! The young lady won't accept you.”

He was mistaken, however.

The young lady did accept the old gentleman, and so readily that it almost seemed she preferred him to his son. Within a month, they were married.

Before the marriage Chetwynd went abroad, and did not keep up any communication with his family. They ascertained, however, that he was at Bellagio, on the Lake of Como.

Apparently, Mr. Calverley had no reason to regret the extraordinary step he had taken. Teresa made him an excellent wife, and seemed quite devoted to him. She studied him in everything—read the newspaper to him of a morning, chatted agreeably to him when they drove out together in the barouche, played and sang to him in the evening, and, in short, kept him constantly amused. She managed his large establishment perfectly—better than it had ever been managed before. She quarrelled with none of his old friends—even though she might deem some of them bores—but always appeared delighted to see them. Above all, she continued on the most affectionate terms with Mildred, who had never disapproved of the match. Nothing could be more judicious than her conduct.

At first, everybody cried out Mr. Calverley was an “old fool;” but they soon said he was a very sensible man, and exceedingly fortunate.

He was not, however, destined to enjoy a long term of happiness. Hitherto, he had scarcely known a day's illness; but a few months after his marriage his health began rapidly to decline.

Teresa tended him with the greatest solicitude.