Lady Ennismore recovered some degree of tranquillity under the soothing influences of her friends, who congregated round her at Lidham, but her spirits never recovered their tone of elasticity. She met the Pynsents with severe distress, and struggled visibly for fortitude, as recollections of the past crowded to memory; but when that fearful interview was once effected, Anna Maria's society was productive of much good. Tom Pynsent was unchanged; he was the same excellent and honourable creature: he was an affectionate and valued husband; they appeared to be, and were, the happiest couple in the world. No wonder Anna Maria looked younger and handsomer than ever. Her heart was at rest. How warmly had her father spoken of Tom Pynsent's good qualities. Alas! she had preferred splendid misery, and was now reaping a harvest of woe. She would not, dared not, think too deeply.

Lady Ennismore could contemplate Mrs. Boscawen with unmixed satisfaction. She was changed in person, and improved in manner. Mr. Boscawen was proud of his lady; and how could he help it, since he was, in her eyes, the best and handsomest of created beings? It must be a new and delightful existence to the once alarming, grim-looking, though excellent, Mr. Boscawen.

The sight and sounds of those she loved was of important benefit to Lady Ennismore. The accents of affection, the voice of mirth, the forms of her long banished friends gliding before her, roused her dormant energies, and awakened her to the joys of life. She paid short visits to Hatton and Brierly, to see her nephews and nieces; and, though her lips never uttered a remark, Mrs. Spottiswoode fancied her more languid and pale after her brief absence. Doubtless, the "rural sports" at both places were too powerful for her weakened frame and shattered nerves.

Lady Ennismore continued three months with Mrs. Spottiswoode. Sir John Wetheral brought a bulletin daily of his ladies' health, and each wrote despondingly upon the subject to her sister. She regretted to say her poor Spottiswoode failed in all his patient exertions to win her mother's approbation. She was happy to think there was no cause of complaint against him of any serious nature. His crime consisted in having stepped in between her poor mother's ambition and a dukedom; and this would ever be unpardonable in her eyes. Her mother was relentless towards Spottiswoode. She would not pronounce his name, or receive a message from him. She only alluded to him as the "poor baronet," or "the man whom Sir John upheld." It was vain to hope against hope. Her mother's dislike grew more powerful as her strength declined, and it would end only in the grave. Her mother received no one; she appeared to have renounced society, and her movements were exclusively confined to her own range of apartments. Mrs. Daniel Higgins was admitted frequently, because she had been the depository of her lady's secrets in days of yore, and was now a patient listener to her regrets; but, beyond that, all was silent at Wetheral. Christobelle considered her father in much better spirits. He had become apparently reconciled to her cheerful, more called forth, she thought, than when her mother was the dominant spirit. It might be that his mind was at rest concerning his children; that he was no longer dreading plots and systems, and was gratified by the constant society of Spottiswoode, who was so attentive and companionable to him. She could not tell, but so it was. She was distressed to think they were so happy together, when her poor mother's situation was so cheerless, and her health so visibly declining!

Such was the tenor of Christobelle's communications to Lidham, and they renewed Lady Ennismore's anxiety to return to Wetheral. She longed to relieve Christobelle from some portion of her fatigues; and, above all, her spirit flew back to her father. She could never sufficiently value his parental anxieties, or the protection he was affording her sorrow. A father's presence was a shield from every worldly blast; and the perfect seclusion of Wetheral Castle suited best with her present state. Lidham was almost too gay, though she only met looks and words of kindness and approbation. It was time that Christobelle should also enjoy a period of happy communion with Sir John Spottiswoode; and that period could not arrive, unless some one assumed the reins in her place, and bore the disagreeables of the nursing department. Mrs. Spottiswoode's good sense acquiesced entirely in Lady Ennismore's reasonings.

"My dear friend, you are perfectly right, and I am only perfectly sorry to lose you. I anticipate much comfort in the present state of things, however dismally Christobelle represents them. You will all be happier at Wetheral, and I shall see your face beaming with smiles, in spite of Lady Wetheral's monastic retirement. Don't look distressed, Julia; I am going to explain myself."

"My mother has received an incurable wound, Penelope!"

"I know that. Lady Wetheral has received an incurable wound in her ambition, and that has closed her hopes and pleasures on this side the grave. She has no child to plan for—not one now to sacrifice. All is ended which employed her mind, and fed the craving passion of her soul. Her resources are cut off, and she will never more resume her position in society. Is it not wisely ordered? If Lady Wetheral recovered her health, would she not be scheming for her grandchildren, and pouring her besetting Julia, enough misery has been originated. Let it end here. Let us not wish it otherwise."

Lady Ennismore could not refute her friend's argument. Mrs. Spottiswoode continued.

"Wetheral Castle will never, perhaps, resume its festive scenes, for there has been too much of evil connected with their remembrance; but you will enjoy profound peace of heart, and receive your friends without alarm. If Lady Wetheral remains secluded in her apartments, there is no reason why the rest of the family should not enjoy themselves: forgive me if I say it will prove true enjoyment."

Mrs. Spottiswoode spoke truly. Wetheral Castle did become a home of domestic peace, because its restless mistress no longer wielded the sceptre of power, to transform the elements of good into the instruments of evil. Lady Wetheral sunk into ill health and apathy, irrecoverable. Her mind and body seemed stunned into torpor, by two events which she had not foreseen, and could not parry—the refusal of a dukedom by Christobelle, and the flight of Lady Ennismore from her home. These two events were ever upon her thoughts, and in her speech, because "she had particularly arranged each splendid match, and was doomed to be foiled by her own children in their accomplishment. She knew her energies were worn down, and her strength exhausted. She could not walk three steps from her sofa without fatigue, and the least noise produced severe nervous attacks. She was a pretty specimen of maternal cares! She advised all parents to allow their headstrong daughters to marry whoever would encumber themselves with them; for marry they would, and it was hopeless to endeavour to lead their tastes in a proper channel. She expected Mrs. Higgins would let her little girl grow up in insubordination, and the child would most likely marry a bricklayer, instead of looking up to a man in a well established grocery-business. She detested mean minds."

Lord Ennismore and his mother, the Dowager-countess, appeared again at Bedinfield. Her ladyship's point was gained. She had recovered entire control over the destinies of Bedinfield, freed from continual alarms, lest her son should escape her powerful influence, and become infatuated by the loveliness and yielding disposition of his gentle wife. But she did not long enjoy the fruits of her unnatural conduct. Ere a year had elapsed after the separation recorded, Lord Ennismore sank into the family vault at Bedinfield, unwept and unhonoured, save by the generous-hearted creature whom he had not the capacity to appreciate.

When Lady Ennismore received the information of her unfortunate lord's decease, she wept to think how desolate had been the existence of a human being, born to become the tool and victim of his mother's insatiable love of power; and she wept to remember he had died without the consolation of being watched over by a wife, who would have acted honourably and faithfully in her duties.

Sir John Wetheral also suffered. He felt a conviction that his own want of firmness had fostered his lady's ambitious turn of mind; and he dwelt upon the melancholy idea that his own hand had bestowed, however unwillingly—that his consent had been extorted, however painful to himself—to give a beloved child to the imbecile Lord Ennismore. It was a thought he never could banish from his memory, and it pained him most when Julia's society became his greatest comfort. It was, however, vain to regret the past. Sir John's mild nature was unequal to contend with the persevering system adopted by his lady, and he could never comprehend efforts to forward her views upon the minds of her children. The Gertrude of his early affections was now severed from his companionship, and he turned to Julia, to receive from her hands the care and attention necessary to his future comfort.

Lady Ennismore fully requited her parent's hope. She sought no society beyond her own family, and the little circle of friends who had ever valued her affectionate heart. Mrs. Spottiswoode, the friend and beloved companion—that solace to earthly tribulations—that gift tendered to few—was near her. Hatton was a home of affection, and Brierly threw open its portals with triumph at her approach. All had respected and honoured the hapless wife, and all surrounded the released widow in silent gratulation. Mrs. Pynsent publicly declared "It was a deep trick of that woman Ennismore, whom she never could endure; and if the poor young Julia Wetheral had not fallen into the hands of two she-Philistines, she never would have married that sickly little chap, whom the mother led about by the nose. Some things which should be nameless were already come to pass, and she hoped Old Nick would fly away with all manoeuvring mothers. A certain lady was shorn of her beams, who expected to command the world; and after brandishing her arms, and catching all the prime matches up, she was cut down into a mighty small space, with an evil conscience to chat with. If Lady Ennismore would be advised, she should counsel her to change her name and title, by marrying a comfortable Shropshire lad. There were plenty unprovided for."

But Lady Ennismore declined all thoughts of marriage, and devoted herself to the comforts of her parents. Colonel Neville wrote, at the expiration of her mourning, and he laid claim to her compassion, in consideration of the patience and constancy which had accompanied his involuntary and fervent attachment. He had condemned himself to a perpetual banishment, even from the country which she inhabited. But now that the bar was withdrawn, the hour of disclosure was arrived, and Julia must have respected the love which consumed him. She could bear witness that he had never breathed an unhallowed sentiment, or endeavoured to take advantage of her situation, during their long and constant association in Florence.

Julia sighed as she read the declaration of Neville, but her heart renounced a second engagement. "No," she wrote in reply to her lover's epistle—"no, my heart has suffered too much disquietude to enter upon fresh ties. I feel a calmness and consolation in watching over my father's comfort, and taking charge of my stricken mother, which my married life denied me. That portion of my existence was a period of deep misery, and it has broken down my hopes and my spirits. Be happy, Neville, with a woman who has not been called to suffering, and forget one who will never more trust in man, or in herself. I will not give hope, for you do not deserve to be treated lightly, and I cannot now meet your wishes. May I soon hear you have met with a woman deserving your esteem, and that your days are devoted to her happiness. My own days are consecrated to the father whose counsel I would not heed, and who has suffered so much through my obstinate folly."

And what shall be said of Christobelle? Her portion was not the cup of bitterness, though her patience was severely tested. Lady Wetheral became indifferent to all passing events so gradually, and her mind dwelt so little upon any thing unconnected with her own ease and immediate gratification, that Mrs. Daniel Higgins adventured to touch lightly upon the subject, during one of her visits.

"I am happy, my lady, to be hearing of Miss Chrystal's likelihood, at last, to marry Sir John Spottiswoode. Higgins thinks it a very pretty match, and he has visited Alverton more than once, and admires the place extremely. For ever and a day!—to think of Miss Chrystal's turn being come!"

"I know nothing about it, Thompson, and I don't care. The Worcestershire man shall never enter my room, though he is quite good enough for a young lady who refused a dukedom. If Julia would attract the old Duke of Forfar, now she is at liberty, I should still recover my health; but I am laid on the shelf. No one cares about my health. Lady Ennismore might easily win his Grace; only, I dare say, she would run away from him, as she did from Lord Ennismore."

Christobelle married Sir John Spottiswoode soon after Lady Wetheral's assurance to Mrs. Higgins that she "did not care" about the affair, and no one apprised her ladyship of the actual solemnization. She never asked who was the "Lady Spottiswoode" whom people talked so much about, and always addressed her by the title of Miss Wetheral.

Did Christobelle ever repent her refusal of a dukedom, or experience a repentant feeling that she had given her whole heart to the husband of her choice? No. Life brings too many cares to allow of perfect enjoyment upon earth, but Christobelle never regretted the vows she paid at the altar: she never regretted the hour when she became the bride of Spottiswoode, and exchanged Wetheral Castle for the tranquil groves of Alverton.

THE END.

LONDON:
F. SHOBERL, JUN., 51, RUPERT STREET, HAYMARKET.
PRINTER TO H.R.H. PRINCE ALBERT.

LATELY PUBLISHED

BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE MANŒUVRING MOTHER,"

THE HISTORY OF A FLIRT,

RELATED BY HERSELF.

THE SECOND EDITION, IN THREE VOLS.

"Among the best novels of its kind for many years given to the world by the English press."—AthenÆum.

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ALSO, NOW READY,

LADY ANNE GRANARD;

OR,

KEEPING UP APPEARANCES.

A NOVEL.

By L. E. L.,

Authoress of "Ethel Churchill," "The Improvisatrice," &c.
3 vols.