Sorrows, renewed by the associations which pressed upon her mind, impelled Lady Ennismore to seek her mother's apartments. Mrs. Bevan was attending her mistress, and Julia's noiseless step glided across the carpeted floor of the dressing-room, where Lady Wetheral lay extended on the sofa, complaining to her attendant of her own wretched feelings.

"Bevan, I am very ill to-day: I cannot see Mrs. Tom Pynsent, or admit any one. My nerves become worse and worse, and I am in a dreadful state of tremour at this moment. I cannot hold my salts bottle, it falls out of my poor nervous fingers—I am very ill to-day."

Mrs. Bevan spoke pleasing words of comfort, but her ladyship rejected them.

"Don't talk nonsense, Bevan. I hate to hear people say things which are not likely to occur. How can I expect to be well, when Miss Wetheral obstinately defies my wishes, and all my children are determined to fly in my face? I had a dream, too, last night, which increases my disorder; I dreamt I saw Lady Ennismore brilliantly dressed, walking in a procession; and she walked so stately in jewels, and her rank placed her so high among the great ones, that I was proud of my daughter, and I smiled to see her in grandeur. Poor Julia, where is she now!"

"She is here," exclaimed Lady Ennismore, standing before her mother, with her thin hands crossed upon her bosom; "here is the envied Countess of Ennismore!"

Lady Wetheral gazed upon the vision in dumb amazement.

"Look at me," continued Julia, "look at my figure, and tell me if you believed all this would come to pass? When you assured me that wealth and rank was happiness and virtue, did you think I should return a fugitive, to seek shelter at your hands?"

"Julia!" gasped Lady Wetheral, "Julia! go! who are you?"

"Go?" exclaimed Lady Ennismore, "where shall I go? To Clara? Shall I rest with poor peace after my sacrifice, my absence, and my griefs?"

The tremour which attacked Lady Wetheral's frame was alarming. It precluded speech: she hid her face with her hands, as Lady Ennismore proceeded.

"For quitting a husband's home, I may be censured and avoided by the world, for it may never know my provocations and my struggles, but I should not be turned from my mother's presence! I should not be banished by the author of all my misery, as if she had no part in the misery which I endure!"

"Do not say so—oh, do not say so! Do not blame me, as Clara did!" Lady Wetheral sobbed aloud.

"I reproach no one," answered Lady Ennismore, mournfully. "I reproach no one, though I was promised happiness as the wife of Ennismore. Where is that happiness? You foretold it, mother. You said I should for ever enjoy wealth and station, and become the envied gaze of thousands! Where is it all?"

"Cease, cease!" cried Lady Wetheral, wrung by feelings of alarm and self-reproach. "I wished you to marry Pynsent, Julia!"

"Cruel mother," exclaimed Lady Ennismore, as she caught her hand, and looked earnestly in her face, "do not say so, to drive me wilder than my poor brain feels now! Did you not hold up Ennismore to my view, as a creature to worship? Did you not tell me his coronet was worth a daring grasp, if I could gain the courtly bauble? Oh, you bid me secure the lofty establishment, and I did so, and have suffered! I wish I was with poor dead Clara! We both turned from our father, and would not heed his mild precepts. We listened to projects which suited our ambitious nature, though he deprecated the unholy passion. Oh, mother, you fostered the wild and dangerous feeling! I wish I was laid by the side of Clara! I wish I was at rest, like her!"

"Bevan, Bevan," ejaculated Lady Wetheral, "where are you?"

Mrs. Bevan curtseyed as she stood in mute astonishment behind her lady's sofa. She was unable to speak: her eyes were riveted upon Lady Ennismore, who still grasped her mother's hand, and still continued her wild address.

"This has been a fearful affair! Two of us have fallen—one into the grave, and one into home. Is it not a fearful thing?"

"Do not blame me, as Clara did—do not blame me for your flight, Julia," said Lady Wetheral, endeavouring to withdraw her hand, but Lady Ennismore clasped it more closely.

"I blame no one—but two of us are lost for ever. I blame no one!"

"I detested scenes—I ever detested scenes, Julia!" Lady Wetheral rose into a sitting posture as she spoke. "I warned you from the beginning, all of you, never to offend me by violent measures, which draw down ridicule and disgust. Clara and yourself were married greatly, Julia!"

"Where has been our greatness?" said Lady Ennismore, despondingly.

"You were both placed in affluence," retorted her mother, with nervous trepidation, "and your high positions were exalted above your companions. You were greatly married—that was my doing: but you have thrown yourselves from the pinnacle of earthly honours—and that was your doing!"

"Mother, I have been betrayed, banished from my husband's presence—unhappy, and uncared hand, and sinking upon the floor in despair.

"I told you," continued Lady Wetheral, becoming almost vehement in her manner, "I told you many things might occur to distress your heart, but nothing could arise to make you an object of ridicule to the world, except your own folly. You have flown from Lord Ennismore's house—who will receive you? who receives a truant wife?"

"I was miserable," said the prostrate Julia.

"How few are otherwise," returned her mother, "if all secrets were disclosed? Happiness is a nonsensical word—a rock to shipwreck romantic hopes. We may not command happiness, but we can command external blessings. With every luxury that reflected honour upon human beings, what right had you and Clara to be otherwise than content?"

"How cold—how cruel to speak so harshly!" ejaculated Lady Ennismore.

"Had you not rank?" continued Lady Wetheral—"had you not a princely home—an earl's coronet? Had you not all the world can bestow, when you fled from your husband's protection?"

"I fled from treachery and from infamy!"

"Infamy! Who dares report of infamy?" Lady Wetheral started to her feet, and supported herself by grasping the back of a chair. "Has my daughter, Lady Ennismore, allowed herself to become—? has the breath of suspicion breathed upon a Wetheral!—has one suspicion glanced upon you, Julia?"

"I have flown to my father, to avoid my own reproach," cried Julia; "I care not for the world—I have flown to escape the reproaches of my own heart."

"Folly—madness!" observed her mother—"flown from your heart! What heart had you which was not wedded to your station—to the eminence in life upon which you were called to stand above your companions? Are you not wedded to the title of Ennismore? Are you not the proud wife of a British peer?—an earl's wife? Is not your heart hid behind the folds of your ermine, and buried in the magnificence of your lot?"

"No, no—it is not there!" cried Julia, clasping her hands—"it is not there! My heart was given to kindness. I would have loved him faithfully, but I was banished from his presence—second to his artful mother in his thoughts—betrayed by the person I most trusted—proscribed as the mistress of his house. Many women would have resented the indignities I have borne—but I have flown from the temptations which surrounded me, and my father has given me shelter. Oh! you have sacrificed me, but do not upbraid me—I have done no wrong to any one. Why should you look hardly upon me, who promised me happiness, and have broken its fulfilment? Poor Clara! how we have suffered for our fault. My father warned me of my wickedness!"

"Did I not warn you, Lady Ennismore?" asked Lady Wetheral, with a raised complexion, as she beheld, unmoved, poor Julia's suppliant attitude. "Did I not say, I scorned a woman who was mean enough to seek the world's upbraiding by her conduct? You were the Countess of Ennismore—your flight has brought down obloquy upon the name. Who will believe the statement of a runaway? Who will believe the fugitive Lady Ennismore has been unaccompanied in her flight? The voice of the world will be loud in censure upon the step you have taken."

"Oh, my father, my father! save me from the world—save me from reproaches like these!" exclaimed Julia, rising from her prostrate attitude, and endeavouring to quit the room; but her mother caught her dress, and detained her. There was something awful in the expression of her countenance, as she addressed Lady Ennismore.

"If a mother sacrifices her time and endeavours to form a child's happiness, has she not a right to expect its completion? Did I not act for you—think for you—and labour for you? Did I not place you in affluence and grandeur? Are you not the Countess of Ennismore? Tell me, are you not Countess of Ennismore, the mistress of princely Bedinfield?"

"I am the unfortunate and unhappy wife of Lord Ennismore," answered Julia, "the nominal mistress of Bedinfield, but the real proprietor of only sorrow and degradation."

"Away with such folly!" cried Lady Wetheral, with vehemence; "let me not hear such mad complaints, such horrible madness! Have you not all that is coveted by human beings?—state, high rank, wealth, and influence? What does your arrogant heart covet now? What do you presume to wish, beyond the splendid lot you have obtained?"

"Happiness—I ask for happiness! I ask for my husband's heart—I ask for domestic peace," replied Julia, pressing her forehead with her trembling hands. "I ask for the simple pleasures of domestic peace. I will not accept grandeur without them!"

"You have brought public remark upon the name of Wetheral," resumed her mother, her eyes darting fire. "You have betrayed the confidence of your mother, who hoped to see her daughter an envied creature! You have thrown away the jewels of life, to grasp at shadows. Happiness!—who is happy?—not those who are born to stand apart in grandeur—not those upon whom the eyes of the multitude gaze in admiration. It may be a word bandied by the humble, to balance the evils of poverty, and give a zest to lowly destinies—but the great ones heed it not. They live in a sphere set apart from grovelling notions—they spurn the folly of romantic, sickly fancy, to hold on their course like meteors! I am a parent most miserable. I am deprived of all I laboured to advance. My heart was anchored upon the glorious destiny of three children, who have betrayed their high calling—but Bell has done the worst. A dukedom was offered her!—a dukedom was tendered to her, I say! and the puny coward struck it from her!—oh, that hour to a mother's heart!..."

Lady Wetheral's vehemence overpowered her strength. The sudden and unaccountable appearance of her daughter, without any previous warning, almost led her to suppose a spirit from the dead had risen to taunt her with her deep disappointments. It seemed as if a spirit from another world had sought her, to jeer and mock at her misery as a defeated mother, and that form assumed the likeness of her banished Julia. What! had she heard the word "infamy" spoken?—did she hear that Lady Ennismore had flown from her husband? Was this to be added to Clara's death, and Christobelle's ingratitude? Was she indeed to endure this accumulated burthen of crushed hopes?—to see all her long years of anxious efforts destroyed, and behold the very beings she had raised so high, turn to rend her? What spirit could bend under such fearful ingratitude, that possessed one spark of her indomitable determinations?

A deep pause succeeded. Julia still listened, with her face buried in her hands, and her dress was yet in the grasp of her mother's hand, when a cry from Mrs. Bevan startled her. Lady Ennismore looked up in terror. She beheld her incensed parent standing before her, in the attitude of reproach, but her eyes were dull, and her form had become rigid: contending passions were warring with terrible violence in her heart.

It was a fearful and affecting scene to witness, but it could not long last. Lady Ennismore's terror at her unfortunate mother's state obliterated for the moment her own sorrows, and she flew to assist Mrs. Bevan in her cares. Sir John Wetheral and Christobelle were instantly summoned, and the Castle became a scene of alarm and confusion. Mrs. Spottiswoode was again a true-hearted and valuable friend in their affliction.

Lady Wetheral sunk into a long illness. Her strife of heart—the strife of a high and determined spirit contending with bitter mortifications in all those things which she had so fondly cherished—had nearly proved fatal to her frame, and she was long vibrating between life and death. But her naturally good constitution, and the unremitting attentions of her daughters, overcame the attacks of a dangerous malady, and gradually Lady Wetheral became again convalescent. The body slowly acquired some portion of renewed health, but the mind was fixed in gloomy irritability. Nothing could exceed her ladyship's unbearable tyranny to those gentle beings who strove to soothe her long confinement. The victims of her ambitious projects were now the objects of constant petty and vexatious attacks. Christobelle had one near her who could lure her disquiets into happy tranquillity—but Lady Ennismore almost sunk under their distressing influence.

Sir John Wetheral bore all his trials with the resignation of a man who received good and evil things from his Maker's hands, and accepted them as means of evidencing his patience and resignation. He endured his lady's most disagreeable taunts with the fortitude belonging to his estimable character: he only appeared to suffer when those taunts were levelled at the heartbroken, gentle Julia. Lady Wetheral's tyrannical temper seemed irrecoverable even by the operation of time, or gentle forbearance. Mrs. Bevan remarked "that her lady's eyes and manner were peculiarly vehement in their expression, during her reproaches addressed to Lady Ennismore." It must have been a powerful feeling which could produce such a change of manner in one whose whole existence had been devoted to the exercise of self-command, and who had ever deprecated the bad taste and uselessness of "scenes;" it must have been an overwhelming feeling of ambition trampled to the earth, which bore down and so successful in its schemes.

Christobelle had the blessing of Sir John Spottiswoode's society, to balance her many hours of disquietude. She could turn to him for happiness, when her spirit was sad, and, under his soothings, her mother's harsh remarks were forgotten. Every disagreeable feeling passed away in the sunshine of his presence. She only bent, in grateful acknowledgment, to the Being who had committed her infancy to her father's care, to receive his wise admonitions, and be cautioned to renounce the fearful dictates of ambition. Christobelle saw how it had lured its victims to woe. She knew it had destroyed the happiness of Julia—that it had aimed the death-blow to Clara—that it had worked desolation upon her mother. Every one who drank of the cup which a reckless ambition presented to their lips had tasted a deadly poison, which slowly and surely produced desolation of heart. Christobelle felt she had been spared. She had not been overwhelmed by its cold precepts: she had received strength to endure oppression, and had not bartered peace of mind for the empty glare of worldly distinction. Christobelle was indeed grateful, as she pondered these things in her mind.

Lady Ennismore was called to a less fortunate destiny. Her spirits were broken by the continual and ruthless observations which were showered upon her by her irritable parent, under the pressure of time unemployed, and the total failure of resource. Lady Wetheral's mind turned to the past, for materials to employ her weakened energies; and the past could only give back harassing recollections. Such recollections produced a constant state of irritation, which was hurtful to herself, and intolerable to those around her. Wetheral Castle appeared the grave of every hope, and the "oubliette" to rational, tranquil comfort. The heart of Lady Ennismore was depressed beyond recall, by continued and unsuccessful efforts to appear cheerful under accumulated suffering. It was impossible to give satisfaction to an exacting and imperious mother. She could only weep in privacy, and pray to be "laid by Clara."

Mrs. Spottiswoode was unwearied in her kind visits during Lady Wetheral's illness. The Penelope of former days was the same attached friend at the present hour; and Lady Ennismore felt how blessed was the possession of a gentle heart, which had clung to her through good and evil report—which never exacted selfish sacrifices, or shrunk from the task of enduring much, to soften the distresses of an uncomplaining spirit. Mrs. Spottiswoode bore the petulant remarks of Lady Wetheral with patient good-humour. If the "blood of the Wycherlys" rose occasionally into her cheeks, and latent fires sparkled in her eye, the door of her lips were hermetically sealed, and she never resented the offensive petulance of a defeated and angry manoeuvrer. Her only desire aimed at warding off for a few hours the painful observations which must otherwise have been levelled at two unoffending objects.

Lady Wetheral did not object to receive Mrs. Spottiswoode. However strongly her character approximated to that of her aunt Pynsent in its outline, her manners were less abrupt, and her temper more yielding. Mrs. Spottiswoode had also "crept in" so silently and regularly, that a visit every other day was considered a thing of course; and if Lady Wetheral had any thing particularly disagreeable or offensive to say, she contrived to say it to Mrs. Spottiswoode. Mrs. Spottiswoode bore every thing with smiles: she suffering, the injured, and dependent Julia.

Lady Wetheral confined herself entirely to her apartments, and declined all society. She derived no satisfaction from the visits of friends, whom she was sure came on purpose to deride her sorrows. She particularly commanded to be denied to Mrs. Pynsent. She told Mrs. Spottiswoode it was unpleasant to be restricted from communion with her neighbours, but she must be aware her aunt Pynsent was inadmissable from her loud tone of voice, and uncouth way of blurting out offensive remarks. Her aunt was a misery in a sick room, and she only wondered how Clara could endure it, to the exclusion of the mother who had promoted her marriage, and endured so much to effect it.

Lady Wetheral also confided to Mrs. Spottiswoode her opinions upon Christobelle's folly.

"Your brother, Mrs. Spottiswoode, is a very gentlemanly man, but a poor baronet is a sad match for Bell—I will never lend myself to it. I know Sir John allows him to visit here, and Bell is engaged to him in some way or other, I dare say. Perhaps they are waiting for my death? Bell refused a dukedom, and is content to accept a Worcestershire baronet! Can you believe any thing so degrading?—and waiting, too, for her poor mother's death! This is very dreadful! How can I look any of my neighbours in the face? I am told Lord Farnborough is going to marry Fanny Ponsonby: it serves Bell quite right, and I hope she will feel it severely. A pleasant sight it will be to see the Forfar equipage dashing by, while Bell is only a poor baronet's wife in a britzska. I cannot endure such thoughts. Bevan, where are my salts?"

"But, my dear Lady Wetheral, if my brother makes Christobelle happy, and if he indulges her with all the comforts of life, what more can a human being require?"

Lady Wetheral shuddered.

"The comforts of life! Bread and cheese to eat, and a stuff gown and straw bonnet to wear—is this the vulgar and popular idea of existence? You, Penelope, have married into the family, and are justified in upholding it, but I will never see Bell, if she can endure degradation! My health is sacrificed to outraged feelings! Lady Ennismore, if it is not too much trouble, will you be so considerate as to move this cushion a little higher. Your ladyship has had little practice, I fancy, in the nursing department: it never occurs to you how much I am suffering."

Lady Ennismore silently adjusted the cushion, but the allusion to her banishment from her lord's sick room, renewed the grief of her heart: tears sprang to her patient, expressive eyes. This could not be overlooked by Penelope Spottiswoode.

"Lady Wetheral, I demand, and insist upon the necessity of Lady Ennismore's removal for a few days to Lidham. I must not allow you all to waste away in witnessing each other's depression. Christobelle and Sir John will take Julia's place, while I run away with my friend this very morning. I shall not return to Lidham till you are ready to accompany me, Julia."

There was "a Pynsent tone" in Mrs. Spottiswoode's speech, which Lady Wetheral felt unable to contend against: her ladyship detested that Hatton expression of voice. She replied languidly, with an injured and offended air,

"Pray do as you please, Mrs. Spottiswoode. Every one has done, and, I suppose, will do, as they please with me. I am too feeble to resist violent resolutions. I beg to decline having any one forced upon me. Lady Ennismore has renounced control of any kind, and, of course, she will continue to act as she thinks proper, without consulting her mother. Sir John and Christobelle, I suppose, will visit me, without being 'offered.' I conclude my family will relieve my solitude voluntarily, though I am considered of secondary importance. Bevan, where is my pocket-handkerchief?"

"In your hand, my lady."

"Oh, very well. I wish I was equally blind to more distressing annoyances. I wish I could lose sight as easily of other things."

Mrs. Spottiswoode turned a resolutely deaf ear to all covert attacks. It was imperative, in her opinion, to withdraw Lady Ennismore to Lidham, and the harsh conduct of Lady Wetheral only riveted her resolution. Sir John concurred in her views. He was aware his daughter endured much, and he wished her to be removed altogether from a scene so destructive to her peace. It was impossible to hope Julia could ever regain tranquillity, when the wounds of her heart were torn open by daily and hourly invective. Christobelle and himself would attend the querulous invalid, in patient hope that time would soften the asperity proceeding from a diseased mind, but he saw the absolute necessity of withdrawing Lady Ennismore from her attendance. Sir John Wetheral hoped she would remain a long season in the society and hospitality of Lidham.

Yet Julia quitted her father with great reluctance. She knew her sister was happy, and supported by the occasional visits of Sir John Spottiswoode. Her heart was occupied by a powerful attachment, and sorrow had not thrown a mantle of gloom over her young visions yet. Her affection was blessed by a father's approval, and the smiles of rejoicing friends; yes, Christobelle could contemplate her futurity fearlessly—but who would, or could, pour balm upon her father's solitary hours? His study was still a sanctuary, but he carried into its precincts a disturbed and heavy spirit. Julia could not bear the idea of quitting her father.

Mrs. Spottiswoode smoothed every thought which could ruffle her friend's equanimity, and planed away all difficulties. She unburdened her mind to the four friends who surrounded her, as she hastily partook of sandwiches.

"My dear Sir John, I have achieved a scheme, which will set my Julia's heart at rest, and yours, too. I counsel you to keep the 'poor Worcestershire baronet' at Wetheral, till happier times arrive. Why should not he bear some share of the evil, when the good is before him? and by his sparkling eyes, and intelligent glances at Christobelle, I judge he is willing to undertake the task. This is my advice, as far as concerns yourself; now for my brother-in-law: listen, young man, and be guided! I counsel you to be gentle mannered, and prompt in action, as I have been. Creep in, as I have done; and bear all irritating remarks, as I have borne them. Learn to be enduring, patient, and silent, and I will undertake to promise you sufficient success. Who undertakes to refute my words?"

Mrs. Spottiswoode looked round at her auditors, but there was no refutation. Sir John Spottiswoode alone replied, and he only spoke his eager wishes to assist in tranquillizing Lady Wetheral's objections to his suit. He would wait in patience and persevering attentions, to attain that blessed reward of his labours, if it was required, even for years.

"Six months will do, John, if you are politic. Sir John Wetheral, pray lead Lady Ennismore to my carriage, and I will follow, after a few words in a corner with my brother."

Sir John led out his daughter, while Christobelle clung to her sister's hand. She was going to lose her for an indefinite period, and she should miss her gentle voice and affectionate smile. Spottiswoode would be with her, and she could not but own his society was a charm to balance a thousand ills. Nevertheless, she must miss Julia every hour. She would have the satisfaction, however, of knowing how much she would be prized by Mr. and Mrs. Spottiswoode.

Mrs. Spottiswoode did not long detain her friends. Her words were few, and decisive.

"John, that unhappy woman is as mad as a March hare. I never can believe her sane, therefore, I bear with her. Let her abuse you and your friends; and allow her to speak whatever she thinks of aunty Pynsent, and I am sure you will become necessary to her. Her manners are so completely changed, that I am confident she is deranged, and it is no use quarrelling with mad people."

"It is an extraordinary method of making oneself acceptable, Penelope. I am not sure I can endure to hear my friends abused, but I will endeavour to be pleasing, and you may be sure I shall 'creep in' after Christobelle. Once fairly admitted into the invalid's room, you need not fear my second dismissal."

"Very well, I have no more to say, then. I upon her to remain at Lidham. She is enduring too much for human nature to bear. Farewell." Mrs. Spottiswoode then joined her friends.

Sir John Wetheral pressed Mrs. Spottiswoode's hand, as he assisted her into the carriage. "Accept," he said, "the grateful thanks of a father for this kind and thoughtful step. May you never be called to sorrows which your warm heart is seeking to alleviate in your friends!"

Mrs. Spottiswoode returned the pressure.

"I do not ask you to come to us very often, because I know you cannot exist long from Julia; but be sure you always bring good news with you from Wetheral. God bless you all!"