Theo. To this man, my fortune,
My more than purblind fortune, gave my faith,
Drawn to it by as many shows of service
And signs of truth, as ever false tongue uttered:
Heaven pardon all.
LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE.

There was no public breakfast at Wardenscourt. People took that meal in their several rooms. Margaret was just giving Mason her simple directions, when in swam Mrs. Thompson, with Mrs. Gage's compliments, and "would Miss Capel breakfast with her in the Oratory?"

Miss Capel was pleased to renew her acquaintance with Mrs. Thompson, who rustled about in a smarter silk, and finer cap then ever was seen before. She accepted the invitation, and sent the lady's-maid on to say so.

The Oratory was a little octagon room, adjoining Harriet's bed-room, which she used as a boudoir. She could not help smiling at her friend's pertinacity; for there, reclining on a sofa, was Everard Gage, while Harriet looked triumphant from behind the urn. Mr. Gage was reading the paper by the window.

"Come, Margaret, lose no time," said Harriet, with a distinct glance at Everard.

Margaret took her speech literally, glided into a chair, and drew her plate towards her. Mr. Gage came to help her.

"Everard!" said Harriet, "have you found the head we all think so like Miss Capel?"

"No," said he, looking up from the 'Book of Beauty,' which he was turning over; "there is nothing here pretty enough."

"Brava!" exclaimed Harriet; "we shall do."

"Where do you think of going to-day?" said Mr. Gage to Margaret.

She could not bring herself to mention the church at Tynebrook, but Harriet saved her the trouble.

"Lucy thought of going to see Mr. Haveloc's new church," said Harriet. "I don't know whether it is settled, because if he is out, we shall have to find the beadle, or the sexton, or somebody, to show it us. But, to be sure, we can take Everard with us, to run about and find the proper people. I wonder when you will grow good enough to build churches, Everard?"

"I don't know. I must grow rich enough first," he said.

Mr. Gage did not despise Mr. Haveloc for this fancy; he only pitied him. If he had spent so much that he had not enough left to buy a proper number of horses and carriages, then it would have been something to despise. But, as he had not deprived himself of any luxuries in the prosecution of his whim, he contented himself with the softer emotion of pity.

"I suppose we shall not have you with us, George," said Harriet.

"No."

Mr. Gage confessed he saw nothing very attractive in a damp country church, full of workmen. And he happened to be engaged to go somewhere with the Deacons.

"And you, Everard?"

"No." The day was so hot, he thought he should stay at home.

Harriet looked for a moment undecided whether she should permit this act of rebellion to pass unnoticed; but seeing Margaret about to leave the room, she joined her, and they went down stairs together.

Mrs. Fitzpatrick declined being of the party to the church. She would wait till Mr. Haveloc returned from town; and then he should be her cicerone. She was not so very fond of architecture for its own sake—but Margaret was. She had no doubt the expedition would delight Margaret.

So they set off—Lady Raymond, Harriet and Margaret—through a most beautiful country, and a great many steep, uneven, narrow roads. At last, the church, low in a valley, and buried among old trees, came in sight.

"I never was so glad to see a steeple before," said Harriet. "Why it is twelve miles off! I am knocked up, and so are you, child. How pale you look!"

A low, heavy oaken gate admitted them into the church-yard. They left the carriage without, and stood looking at the building. It was a beautiful church. The pencil of Cattermole might almost weary in recording the elaborate carving of the stonework about the windows, and the deep porch. The doors were open, for the workmen were about some of the pillars and scaffolds, and tools still announced their occupation within.

The organ was pealing, and the rich sound swelled into the quiet church-yard.

"They have a blind organist here," said Lucy. "He plays admirably. Listen—Mozart's mass in C."

"Beautiful! how fine the Gloria sounds," said Harriet. "What a movement!"

"I wish the Protestant Church was musical," said Lucy, as they walked up the aisle.

"Is that you, Lady Raymond?" asked the player, coming to the front of the gallery. It was Mr. Haveloc.

Margaret's start—the mist that rushed before her eyes, were unobserved by her companions.

Lucy went on. "We were praising your playing so much, Mr. Haveloc. We thought it was your organist."

"I will come down to you," he said, and disappearing from the gallery, he joined them in the aisle.

"So, you have found your way here at last, Lady Raymond," he said as he shook hands with her. "Confess that the road was very tolerable, after all."

"Bearable," said Lucy. "Mrs. Gage and Miss Capel are behind."

He advanced to Harriet, bowed to Margaret in passing, and went on speaking to Harriet.

"And you did not come on horseback, Mrs. Gage? I thought from Lady Raymond's account, you were never out of the saddle."

"It is so very warm to-day," said Harriet, "how nice and cool the church feels. But, how very odd! What a mint of money this must have cost!"

"Aye. But one never cares what one spends upon a fancy. I am not so satisfied with the bills my gardener brings me in for plants. I dare say, now, you did not grudge what you gave for your favourite horse."

"My chestnut was a present from Uncle Singleton," said Harriet, "but it is shocking to think what he cost."

"I always think it very extravagant to spend much upon horses," said Lady Raymond, "they are such uncertain things. They fall lame, or die; or, something—"

"Not more uncertain than Blenheim spaniels," said Harriet, laughing.

"Ah! true, Lady Raymond; recollect the fifty guineas for Flora," said Mr. Haveloc.

"You certainly saved her life that day," said Lucy. "Raymond did not know what on earth to do for her, poor little love!"

"You will stand up for the cold water cure after that," said Mr. Haveloc.

"I shall, indeed," said Lady Raymond, "I sing your praises every where."

"But I am dying to see the tomb of the Danish sea-king," said Harriet. "Where is it?"

"It was in the chancel," Mr. Haveloc said. "He would show them the way."

Margaret gathered from this trifling conversation, on what an intimate footing he was at Wardenscourt. She felt sick to death. She never lifted her eyes from the pavement, and scarcely knew where she was going, nor what her companions were talking about. She was occupied with one feeling, that he must think it strange and indelicate that she was of the party, and that she wished that some one would tell him that they believed him to be in London.

But they were too much engrossed with the strange old tomb.

"This granite chest—look, Lucy! how curious!" exclaimed Harriet. "And what a sword—immense! can you lift it, Mr. Haveloc?"

He raised it a little off the lid.

"It is chained down, you see," he said, "because it was once stolen. And my ancestor had more trouble than it was worth in getting it back again."

"What time was that?" asked Lady Raymond.

"In the reign of William the Third," he replied.

"Has this tomb ever been opened?" asked Harriet.

"Yes. In my father's time."

"And what did they find within?"

"A good deal of armour, and a few bones."

"Delightful! If I were you, Mr. Haveloc, I would make a point of being buried in it myself," said Harriet, laughing. Those persons who think little of preparing for death, are always the most cheerful and ready in talking about it.

"I would not intrude upon him," said Mr. Haveloc. "I should be very scrupulous of usurping the last home of any man."

"Oh! you are quite a saint, I hear, Mr. Haveloc," said Harriet, gaily.

"Very good hearing," said Mr. Haveloc; "but, saint, or not, I have no idea of squeezing into this tomb along with the old Dane!"

Margaret, feeling more and more sick and faint, held by the altar rail while they were talking. His neglect of herself; his easy intimacy with the others, struck her to the heart. She had no reason to expect that he would meet her with any emotion, but still this coldness, all the keener from being perfectly unstudied, affected her more than she could have anticipated.

Now, the fact was, he had not recognised her; being extremely near-sighted, and not at all expecting to see her, he had imagined Lady Raymond had said "Miss Campbell," when she named Margaret; a young lady whom he had met at her house, but of whose person he had not a more distinct idea than of that of the Empress of China.

The first thing that started her from her reverie, was a laugh from Mr. Haveloc.

"Look at Mrs. Gage, with all those orange and green panes upon her face," he exclaimed.

Lucy laughed heartily; Harriet started on one side: "Do go back again, Harriet," she cried; "you have no idea how droll it looked."

"Thank you; take your turn, if you please," said Harriet.

"How vain she is!" cried Lucy; "do you stand there, Mr. Haveloc?"

He complied with her request; and both sisters were extremely amused by the effect produced. Any trifle would serve to set them laughing; they were always in high spirits.

"Oh! but we have not seen the altar-cloth," said Lucy, recovering herself.

It was covered with brown Holland, and Mr. Haveloc went to the rail, where Margaret was standing, to go up to the altar and take off the cover.

"Permit me," he said politely to Margaret, as he passed her.

The tears rushed to her eyes, but she bravely forced them back, and tried to still her agitation.

"Good gracious!" said Harriet, far more struck with this finery, than the exquisite architecture of the church; "where did you get this beautiful work?"

"At Bruges," he replied.

"Oh, Heavens! done by Roman Catholic fingers. How horribly wicked you are—and yet it is so exquisite, that I really—"

"What day will you dine with us, Mr. Haveloc?" said Lucy, leaning over the rail.

"Whenever you please to command me, Lady Raymond," he replied.

"Raymond would be so pleased if we brought you back with us; he thinks you still in town," said Lady Raymond.

Poor Margaret! the idea of driving back with him in the same carriage.

"I cannot make it out to-day, I have so many things to do," he said.

"You will like to come," said Harriet, "because Everard is staying with us, and you knew all the Gages, did you not?"

"You are staying there, Mrs. Gage, is not that sufficient?"

"Oh, if I was but single," exclaimed Harriet, who never hesitated saying what was uppermost in her mind, "how I would try to catch you!"

"Why did you never do me that honour when you had it in your power, Mrs. Gage?" said Mr. Haveloc, laughing.

"Because, Mr. Haveloc, I had not then seen your altar-cloth."

"Your sister uses me very ill," said he, turning to Lady Raymond; "she would have me believe that all my merits lie in that altar-cloth."

"What did it cost, Mr. Haveloc?" said Harriet.

"Will you confess to the cost of your chestnut, if I tell you?"

"Agreed."

"Three hundred guineas."

"You don't say so!"

"And the chestnut?"

"The very sum."

"But my cloth will outlast your horse."

"Well, I allow that," said Harriet; "but it does not follow that you are the less extravagant of the two."

"You are both horridly extravagant," said Lucy, "but say when you will dine with us."

"Mr. Haveloc," said Harriet, beckoning him close to her, "another attraction, Mrs. Fitzpatrick is with us."

His agitation quite satisfied Harriet; he started, coloured, tried to speak very calmly, and turned to Lady Raymond.

"Will your ladyship allow me to say to-morrow?"

"By all means," she said, "if you cannot really come to-day."

"I wish I could," he replied.

Another confirmation for Margaret, if she had needed it. The whole chancel seemed swimming round.

She asked Harriet in a low voice if she knew how late it was.

"No, ma mie, enlighten me," said Harriet.

Margaret showed her watch.

"The fact is, you are quite tired child," said Harriet, looking attentively at her face.

"Quite—the heat—" faltered Margaret.

"Then we will go at once," said Mrs. Gage with her usual decision.

Mr. Haveloc was trying to persuade Lady Raymond to go on to Tynebrook, to see some Vandykes, and taste some particular black grapes.

Lucy was hesitating.

"No, no, no!" said Harriet, coming between them, "you will be late, I tell you; and you know that half a hundred formal people are coming to dinner. You will get into sad disgrace."

Lucy decided at once to go home, and Mr. Haveloc gave her his arm, and walked with them through the church-yard to the carriage.

"Mr. Haveloc," said Harriet, "we are going to act a French vaudeville; the parts are not all filled. Will you take one?"

"I regret that my genius does not lie that way;" he said, "what is the play?"

"'La Demoiselle Á marier.' Lucy is too idle to act—her forte is in tableaux. I am going to be the mother; Lord James Deacon, the friend; the father is to be forthcoming when we want him, and as Lady James won't take the lover, which is a shame, for she has an excellent figure for it; I don't very well see how you can be off—"

"I should put you out. I have no turn for the stage; and, besides, I am not familiar with French," he said, "if it had been Italian now—"

"Oh! you speak it as well as we do, I dare say," said Lucy, "you had better take it, I think."

"We will talk it over to-morrow," said Harriet as he put her into the carriage.

"And who plays the 'Demoiselle Á marier?'" he asked.

"We want to persuade Miss Campbell," said Lucy, "because she sings well, and speaks French beautifully; better, I believe than any Englishwoman ever did."

"Ah!" said Mr. Haveloc, turning with a smile to Margaret, "and are you so very difficult then to persuade?"

He was handing her into the carriage as he spoke; as she seated herself her face was directly before him, pale as a marble statue—dim—reproachful.

"Spectre-smitten!" said Harriet as the carriage swept away, "what was the matter, Margaret?"

"The—matter—" said Margaret, speaking with difficulty.

"I am sure we will not let him off acting, after that start," continued Harriet. "Hamlet is nothing to him. I wonder which of us is so very horribly ugly," she continued, laughing, "depend upon it, the man has murdered somebody in his day."

"Harriet! what horrid ideas you have," said Lucy, leaning back very comfortably, "the notion of poor Mr. Haveloc having murdered any one. Don't you think, Miss Capel, it is a beautiful church?"

"Very," said Margaret.

"She has a head-ache; don't talk to her," said Harriet, decidedly.

Lady Raymond was shocked and concerned; and offered Margaret her vinaigrette and her Eau de Cologne, and reproached herself for undertaking so long a drive in the heat.

Margaret tried to smile and thank her, and by the use of the flaÇon to still the trembling of her nerves.

"Oh! I see, Margaret," said Harriet, suddenly, "he took you for Miss Campbell, and when he was putting you into the carriage he found his mistake; that made him look so Èbahi; but I should not have fancied him to be such a shy person."

"Never was anybody less shy," said Lucy.

"He did look thunderstruck, to be sure," said Harriet. "Margaret, why did you not speak to him before?"

Margaret roused herself. "I believe I am shy Harriet," she said.

"Do you think him handsome, Harriet?" asked Lucy playing with the fringe of her parasol.

"Of course not," said Harriet, "he is as dark as a Moor."

"I don't think that an objection," said Lucy. "I rather like that sort of expressive face. I fancy a painter would never be tired of watching him."

"We must get him for Alphonse;" said Harriet musing, "he looks foreign; and he is graceful in his gestures. Then, if Margaret prefers Everard, what a chance for Miss Campbell. Lucy! Ah! stop the carriage! Thompson, a glass of water—there is a cottage—run—Miss Capel has fainted!"