Trusting that this introduction to her father's study might be to Lucy the beginning of a life of usefulness and activity, Mabel took her work to the common sitting-room, which, during Lucy's illness, she had rarely entered. But now she began to feel conscious, that solitude, and retirement were becoming too dear to her, and she resolved, rather to court, than avoid the society which the house afforded, however uncongenial it might be.

She found the sisters at work, or rather, at something which might better be termed an excuse for work. Caroline was leaning over her embroidery frame, engaged in talking with Selina, who was twisting silk over a small lyre, intended for the formation of a watch guard, which was to be presented, not to any person in particular, but as a gratifying remembrance to any old gentleman, at whose house she might next have the pleasure of staying. Maria was hemming a silk pocket-handkerchief, covered with innumerable foxes-heads; intended, perhaps, for some gay hunting friend.

They all looked up upon her entrance, as if to say, they scarcely cared for this addition to their party, and were not very pleased to see, that she had relieved herself from the restraints of her sick-room attendance. If this caused, for an instant, a painful sensation, she instantly checked the thought, with that ready self-controul, which she had taught herself to exercise, ever since she had been old enough to observe the unhappiness caused to her mother, by too great an indulgence of her original sensitiveness of disposition, which, from its extreme delicacy, could scarcely venture into the every day world without carrying back to retirement food for reflection and regret. She was, therefore, prepared to meet the world in all its roughness, and had saved herself from a great deal of trouble and annoyance, by never taking offence till it was too plain to be mistaken; and, from the effects of this early curb upon her temper, she had almost begun to believe the world as kind as her own warm-hearted zeal would have made it.

Taking her seat by Maria, who was a little apart from her sisters, she offered her assistance in her work. Even Maria had learnt to abate something, in her presence, of her natural sharpness—and she received the offer with something like politeness.

"There," she said, carelessly selecting a pocket-handkerchief from the bundle which lay at her feet; "if you like to take the trouble, you will save mine, for I am heartily tired of them."

Mabel's nimble fingers were soon engaged, while Maria gave her a ludicrous account of the fatigue she had been enduring.

"I am no great worker," she said; "and this long side has taken me more than an hour, moaning bitterly all the time; but, then, I reflect, that as I am no beauty, I must do penance, since being agreeable is in fashion just now; and if I did not keep Mamma on tenter-hooks, expecting an offer now and then, a sorry life I should lead. So, with these pleasing thoughts, I turn again to the everlasting hem, where the silk will unravel for ever, provoking the deploring eyes of a hundred foxes, which I think must be the ghosts of all the men who are mourning, not that I jilted them poor fools, but tout au contraire. Well-a-day, I think I was made for hunting foxes rather than fox hunters. There, I shall rest while you are working for me."

So saying, she took up a novel which lay open on the table, and which had occupied her attention at intervals—placed her feet upon a chair, and soon became quite absorbed.

Mabel excelled in needle work, for in her own home her fingers had never been idle, when her mind had not been seriously occupied. Many a light, happy hour had she passed in superintending the domestic requirements of their cottage, or in exercising her ingenuity, to supply the want of new fashions, on a cap for her mother, or a dress for herself or Amy, and now, with the rapidity of habit, she ran over the ground which Maria had found so heavy, in comparison with the more tempting pages of the light book by her side.

Her companions, however, were not very agreeable, for Caroline and Selina were carrying on a whispered conversation, and occasionally a word reached her, only sufficiently distinct to make her guess, that she was the subject of observation; together with half uttered allusions to landing-place conversations, slyness, &c., which made her cheeks tingle rather unpleasantly. Once too, Caroline had asked her what had become of Lucy, in a tone which seemed to imply that her duty was to be with her, forgetful that, if so, the duty was self-imposed.

She was then not a little relieved when the loud sounding bell announced a visitor.

After a longer delay than usual a gentleman was introduced by the name of "Morley." All eyes turned instantly upon him, and Mabel's were interested in a moment. He was short in stature, and the bony strength of his limbs, joined to great leanness, gave his person an angular appearance. His features were strongly marked, the flesh had shrunk from the high cheek-bone, leaving it more strikingly a feature of his face; while his complexion bore the bronze of many an Eastern sun, heedlessly encountered, for it was nearly copper colored. This, and a slight stoop in the shoulder, gave him an appearance of age; while his hair of untinged black, the arched eyebrow, and piercing eye, spoke almost of youthfulness. That eye was the single attraction of his face, and so rigidly still was every other feature, that it seemed the only weapon of offence or defence, made to express the hasty fire of an enthusiastic mind, or the milder sensations of the heart beneath. If it closed, it left the countenance in stern and harsh composure, with something upon it that spoke contempt of pleasure and defiance of pain; as if, upon the rack, every nerve had been wound up for endurance of severest trial, and utterly refused a compromise. But open, that eye gazing with all its power, it forced the observer's thoughts back upon himself, and seemed there to detect the slightest shade of falsehood or deceit, which might before have slumbered unperceived.

His dress too, partook of his singularity, for it seemed made for a stouter and taller man, and hung loosely about him, in shabby negligÉ; and over all he wore a kind of thick Spanish cloak, which, like his face, had had a tolerable share of wear and sunshine, and helped, with all the other ingredients of face, figure, and dress, to mark him for a "character."

All the girls were a little surprised. Selina assumed, with admirable quickness, her pretty mean-nothing smile, and Maria laid down her book, and, being in the back-ground, indulged in a full stare; while Caroline said she feared there was some mistake, as her mamma was not acquainted with the name.

"Very possibly," replied Mr. Morley, "but I conclude your servant acted by your orders when he said, that if I wanted to wait for Colonel Hargrave I had better do so here."

Caroline slightly colored, as she was fully aware that any gentleman of marriageable rank and age had rather too free an introduction to the house, and was seldom allowed to leave it without having had a tolerable opportunity of falling in love. This general desire of the mistress to admit all gentlemen, was pretty well known to Jones, their accomplished serving man, who had been in the family long enough to comprehend and half sympathise with its views; and he seldom suffered a stranger's call to end without admittance to the drawing-room by some clever mistake. And without too severe a scrutiny of Mr. Morley's appearance, beyond the intuitive feeling that he was a gentleman (a point in which servants seldom err) he had persuaded him that it would be better for him to wait for Colonel Hargrave in the sitting-room, where the young ladies were. But Caroline was not quite so quick in this discovery, and treated him with an air of condescending haughtiness, as she said—

"If you wish to speak with the Colonel, pray take a seat; he is only gone to put a letter in the post for me, and I expect him back directly."

Satisfied with this display of her influence, she bowed to a chair which Mabel, springing up, instantly gave him; for, quickly reading the gentleman under the disguise of eccentricity, she was anxious to atone for Caroline's manner, which too plainly testified her idea that he was a tradesman calling for orders, or a supplicant, begging pecuniary assistance.

"Thank you, Miss Lesly," said he, in a voice of peculiar depth and melody.

The sisters exchanged glances. So little do we naturally like to be overlooked by the most indifferent people, on the most indifferent occasions, that Caroline's eye grew dark as she imagined that her cousin had already become an object of remark; forgetting that the difference in her dress might easily distinguish the orphan.

The mention of her name seemed to Mabel to claim something like acquaintance, and, seeing that her cousins were unwilling to shew him any politeness, she at once endeavoured to draw him into conversation. At first he seemed to pay little attention to the trifling subjects, which, at the commencement of a conversation, almost necessarily form an introduction to others; but, at length, as if roused by the tones of her sweet voice, he eagerly entered upon a topic of foreign interest, which she casually mentioned, with as much eloquence and enthusiasm as he had before shewn indifference.

Mabel, at the same time, shewed that she was perfect mistress of the subject she had introduced, in all its details, and, without once violating that delicate calmness in debate, which feminine modesty should never exceed, she drew out his opinions, and stated her own, with so much truth and elegance, that Maria laid down her book, and listened with wondering attention.

In a house where every thing was display, Mabel had never yet found or sought, an opportunity of shewing the talents, which vigilant and miscellaneous reading had richly cultivated. She had infused, rather than spoken, her sentiments, but now, her tongue unloosed by the evident pleasure she was giving, and her mind recalled to old subjects of interest, she spoke as if a sudden spell had wakened her energy.

"I see," said Mr. Morley, after watching, in silence, the flushed cheek and sparkling eye which added emphasis and sincerity to what she said, "I see that you would tell me that 'Honesty is the best policy,' in public as in private life. If there were many women in this world who could enforce this doctrine in the same manner, we should not so often see, the husbands, brothers, and sons, of old England, erring from that golden rule. Cherish such sentiments, for the fountain of the heart should be pure and holy, since the current of the world can so soon soil its waters. I can better excuse an erring practice than an erring principle, for the one may be the result of a thousand strong and bitter temptations, but the other must be the effect of ignorant or wilful wickedness and ingratitude. The good may fall seven times in a day, indeed, but the man of corrupt principle is too low to fall at all. If you feel as you speak, and act as you feel, you are a noble girl, and worthy to be a statesman's wife."

Every word which he uttered with the tone of unquestioned authority, went, like a poisoned sting, to Caroline's heart. She bent over her work, with affected contempt, but she would have given much, if, at that moment, she could have struck him as the Asiatic would a slave. Greatly, too, to her mortification, she saw the side door, which connected the room in which they were sitting, with the drawing-room beyond, open, and Hargrave entered.

"Pardon me, my dear sir," he said, hurrying to Mr. Morley, and taking his hand; "but as I came to meet you, the sound of your voice overpowered me—and, waiting to recover myself, I overheard part of the conversation in which you were engaged."

As he said this, he turned his eyes towards Mabel, perhaps expecting, to see something in her countenance, of the animation expressed by her words; but her face was suffused, as with the brightness of the rose, shrouded by evening dew—her eyes were bent on the ground—and, as if, like that lovely flower, her head were too heavy for her slender neck to support, she bent it also beneath his glance. Could this be the tranquil, self-commanding Mabel, blushing, perhaps, because she perceived, that, while seeking to draw a timid stranger into conversation, she had been insensibly gratifying the same wish, on his part, and had been, unconsciously, displaying her own powers to his observation.

Mr. Morley gently touched the arm of the younger man, who turned round, as if to introduce him to Miss Villars—but, as he did so, the hall-bell again announced a visitor.

"Come, my dear sir," he then said, changing his purpose, "come to my room, before we are inveigled into fashionable talk—I must have you all to myself."

And he dragged rather than led him from the room, just as Mr. Stokes, a sporting gentleman from Gloucestershire, was announced.

Maria started from her lazy position, flung aside her book, and darting to Mabel, snatched the pocket-handkerchief she was hemming from her hand, almost disordering her hair by the violence of the action, and then hurriedly seated herself, as if she had been working. This little diversion, in her favor, was covered by the retreat of the two gentlemen, and the necessary pause at the door, as the one party retreated, and Mr. Stokes entered, whip in hand, with splashed boots, and the dress which most became him, his red hunting coat, which gave point to his blunt, off-hand manners.

Mabel pitied, and struggled, with her accustomed gentleness, to excuse her cousin's rudeness, as she listened to Mr. Stokes's blunt compliment on Maria's needle-work, and his animated account of the chace, from which he had just ridden home.

Some accidental allusion to Gloucestershire soon told him that Mabel was from his native country—and being a great lover of everything that seemed like home, he began talking to her so fast, that she had little need to say anything to help forward the conversation. Maria was evidently annoyed—and Mabel did her best to be silent; but it was an unfortunate afternoon, and seemed destined to make her worse enemies than she had before. Her silence could not be imputed to stupidity by the dullest, who looked in her face; and the squire, charmed with the idea of having made her shy, which he deemed the effect of something in himself, and, at the same time, feeling the charm of retreating beauty, pursued what he deemed an amusing advantage, addressed all his jokes and stories to her, and called for her approval of his quotations from their county dialect, which were so inimitable and so familiar, that she could no longer suppress her smiles. Maria bit her lips to conceal her vexation. True, he laughed just as immoderately over the use she made of the whimsical slang of the day—called her a "funny fellow," and taught her pretty oaths, which, after all, are but a kind of paper currency for sin. Yet, when he spoke to Mabel, he insensibly assumed more respect for himself and her; for few men are so quick at discovering where respect is really due, as those who are the most ready to lay it aside, when in their power to do so.

Maria was shrewd and penetrating. Her self-love had received too many rebuffs in the gay world in which she lived, to blind her to the truth—and she had not listened more than one tedious hour—for the Squire paid long visits—before she discovered that she had made a fatal mistake in his character. She soon perceived that neither the roughness of his manners, nor the random style of his conversation, had left him insensible to the purity of a deep, blue eye, or the magic influence of feminine delicacy and refinement.

And was it to win the heart of such a man that she had so studiously dropped the little she had possessed of feminine reserve, to adopt the coarser and freer manners which she had imagined a sportsman would most admire. She felt the ground was lost, which she had no power to retrieve, and her spirit chafed, with all the bitterness and mortification which those must feel, who have in any way debased themselves to obtain any worldly object, and are conscious of it only when they find themselves disappointed. She would have been still more chagrined could she have divined that nothing but her having so rudely snatched the handkerchief had given a turn to Mabel's thoughts, and prevented her leaving the room, since by doing so, she would have appeared either snubbed or affronted.

Poor Maria! she had never believed herself so near marriage before.

Scarcely had they reached this height of discomfort, when another morning visitor was introduced—Miss Lovelace, with a multitudinous number of light ringlets and narrow flounces. With a nod to Maria, which meant—"I see you are better engaged," she took her seat near the two elder girls, and was soon deep in an account of a charming ball, which she had attended the night before, with which she mixed many hints of her own conquests, together, with her indignation at all the spiteful things people said of her, and the Misses Villars.

After talking, with the utmost rapidity, for half-an-hour, she suddenly changed her tone to one of commiseration, as she enquired—

"And how is poor Lucy?"

"Thank you, she is down stairs to-day," replied Caroline.

"Oh, I am so glad—for I heard such dismal accounts of her, last night, I could not help coming to see how she was. I won't ask to see her—but I do so pity her."

"I suppose her story is half over the town," said Caroline; "silly girl—of course, mamma knew nothing about it, or she would have seen into it before."

"Did not she though?" said Miss Lovelace, with great interest, gathering materials, as she was, for the next visit. "Why, every one saw it long ago, and said she was dying for him—the wretch."

"And what do people say now?" lisped Selina, as if she were talking of the reputation of a hair pin instead of that of a sister.

"Why, you know, now, the truth is in every one's mouth—quite the talk of the day. How it was known that he was married, I cannot tell—but my maid told me—and all my partners were talking of it last night. I told young Philips I would never waltz with him again, if he did not find some innocent way of murdering Mrs. Beauclerc, and bringing Lucy's love affair to a happy conclusion. And the best of it is, young Philips himself has been as bad, for he has been wandering up and down the Circus like a mad thing, for this month past, trying to catch a sight of Miss Foster, and contented if he only saw her shadow pass the window."

Here they all laughed, and Mr. Stokes chimed in.

"What is that story about Miss Lucy Villars and Mr. Beauclerc? I heard something of it at the hunt, from young farmer Sykes—but I thought it might be delicate ground."

Mabel did not wait to hear the answer to this last remark—for when the sisters so coolly deserted the standard of delicacy, she felt she had no right to interfere; and blushing, more for them than for Lucy, she left the room, rather too precipitately—for Mr. Stokes, having, the minute before, whispered a compliment, which she had been too occupied even to hear, he attributed her flight to the sudden admiration she was conscious she was exciting. As the door closed upon her, he remembered how often he had joined Caroline and Maria, in laughing over the eccentricities of their country cousin, whom he had never before seen—and, fearing a repetition of the same remarks, or their ridicule, if he refused to join in them, he took up his hat, and rapidly apologising for having made such a complete "visitation," he wished them good morning, and departed, without waiting to hear more than he could help of Miss Lovelace's answer to his question.

Mabel had no sooner escaped from the drawing-room, than she hurried to the study. Her first glance told her that Lucy had been exerting herself beyond her strength to appear cheerful and happy, for she looked pale and wearied; and no sooner did she see her enter, than she went to her, folded her arms round her, and laid her head upon her shoulder—then, raising it again, that she might look her in the face, and thank her for all her kindness to her, she burst into hysteric sobs.

Mabel drew her away, led her to her own room, and caressed and soothed her again into tranquillity, when she made her go to bed, and then stopped and praised her first day's effort so warmly, that Lucy almost smiled her thanks.

She then returned to the study, where Mr. Villars was waiting, in some alarm. Taking her hand, he enquired, anxiously—

"How is my child?"

"She is much better, dear uncle—but she is very weak, you know, yet—and her spirits are uncertain—though she tried to exert them, lest you might think her dull. I shall give her entirely to you to take care of now."

"My good girl," he replied, with the thick, husky voice of suppressed emotion, "when I worked, for so many long years, at a business that I hated—I dreamed of such a time as this. The last few hours have been the happiest I have spent since my retirement. And is not this your doing? How true it is, that we often entertain angels unawares."

She tried to speak, while tears of hallowed pleasure dimmed the sparkle of her deep azure eyes, her lips trembled, and her cheek flushed; then stooping over the hand that held hers, she kissed it, drew herself away, and fled from the room.

She might have said to herself—"What! have I devoted so many weeks to his service, and yet a few hours from the truant Lucy give him more pleasure than all those of my unwearied service!"

But no such thought, even by its most transitory influence, sullied the heart of the self-devoted girl.