THE HAMPSHIRE COTTAGE. (continued 5)

"But, dear Lady Falkingham, surely anything is better than that two young creatures should die of broken hearts!"

"If young people regulated their feelings, we should not hear of such unreasonable proceedings."

"But in youth the feelings are strong, and the reason is not matured. We have all been young; we all know——"

"Certainly—I also have been young; and therefore I know that in youth, as well as in maturity, it is possible to take reason, rather than impulse, for our guide."

Lady Falkingham had never deviated for a moment, in principle, inclination, or practice, from the strictest line of prudence and propriety. Lady Cumberworth thought of her own early love, and of its tragic ending, and ardently wished to preserve her child, and the object of his love, from the blight which had passed over her own young days. In the warmth of her feelings she could not help saying: "You have been a fortunate woman, Lady Falkingham! If you had known what it is to give the whole treasure of your young affections to one only object, and to be deprived of that object for ever, you would pause before you doomed anything you loved to such a fate! It is hard to bear when the deprivation comes from the hand of Heaven; how much more hard if from the hand of man!"

Lady Falkingham did not reply. The deep tone of emotion with which Lady Cumberworth spoke, made her unwilling to maintain her own side of the argument; neither could she be brought to allow the expediency of Blanche's marrying Captain De Molton.

At this moment, Blanche accidentally entered the room. She started at seeing Lady Cumberworth, but approached her with a glowing, blushing countenance. Lady Cumberworth, whose feelings were excited by her previous conversation, received her with open arms, embraced her tenderly, and burst into tears. Blanche, surprised, delighted, overpowered, returned her caresses with corresponding emotion. Lady Falkingham sat by, provoked to see how everything conspired to bring about the dreaded union, and somewhat jealous of her daughter's sudden tenderness for a stranger.

The following day a second interview took place between the fathers, in which Lord Falkingham ascertained, through a profusion of fine words, that Lord Cumberworth either could not, or would not, do anything more to assist his son in making up an income; and Lord Falkingham thought it his duty to inform his daughter, that she must in good earnest exert herself to conquer her attachment,—that the marriage was impossible.

Lady Falkingham looked triumphant. Lady Blanche gave way to utter despair. She wept, she was in hysterics; she would not leave her room; she fretted herself really ill; physicians were sent for, draughts prescribed. Even Lady Falkingham began to be alarmed, and was unremitting in her attentions. But these attentions did not relieve or soothe Blanche's perturbed spirit. Her mother had never attempted by kindness to win her from her imprudent attachment, and she had completely failed in ridiculing her out of it. The consequence was, that she had lost all influence over her mind, and much of that which she had possessed over her affections.

De Molton of course heard of Blanche's illness. He wandered about the neighbouring streets; he inquired twenty times a day at the door; and at length, upon hearing that Lady Blanche was considered worse, and that a new physician had been called in to a consultation, he sent a message to Lord Falkingham, to implore one moment's conversation.

Lord Falkingham was uneasy and confounded at the serious aspect of his daughter's illness, and was beginning to think anything was preferable to the present state of affairs. De Molton was admitted, and a passionate appeal on his part did not meet with an absolute refusal. The matter was again renewed; Blanche was allowed to hope—her health rallied surprisingly, and in the course of three or four days she was able to descend to the drawing-room, and there to receive De Molton as her plighted lover, her affianced husband.

And now did they at length enjoy many delightful tête-à-têtes; and so fully were they engaged in detailing to each other all the sorrows and fears, doubts, anxieties and sufferings of their years of separation, that they had little time to talk over, or to arrange their plans for the future. They had both been duly warned what were their prospects. Even the tender Lady Cumberworth had told them that they must not expect to possess all the blessings of this world; that as they would be rich in that which seemed to her the greatest of all earthly ones, mutual affection, they must make up their minds to be happy without others. Lord Cumberworth repeated, "Remember, Frank, there are twelve of you: I cannot rob my other children:"—which meant, "I do not mean to give up any of my own comforts for you." Lord Falkingham said everything that was reasonable and kind, and at the same time provided them with a plain travelling-carriage, with all that is useful and necessary in the way of plate, and with as much household linen as would be advisable for people who must change their abode as often as their regiment changed its quarters. Lady Falkingham, who had been too much terrified by Blanche's despair and her illness actively to oppose the marriage, contented herself with shaking her head mournfully, and with secretly detesting her future son-in-law: but she spared Blanche many of the home truths and useful severities, which might have been of much service had they been duly attended to, but which, under the present circumstances, might have been productive of no good effect.

Blanche and De Molton, however, acquiesced in the truth of all that was urged by their other relations and friends, and declared, with the utmost sincerity, their contempt for filthy lucre; a contempt unconditionally expressed by Blanche, but by De Molton in more measured terms, as considering it unworthy to be put into a competition with the affections of the heart.

Immediately after their marriage, they were to repair to a very pretty villa belonging to a friend of Lord Cumberworth's; after which they were to pay several visits; and towards the autumn they were to join De Molton's regiment, which was quartered in one of the most lovely parts of Devonshire.

As they had no house of their own, there was no need to procure furniture. Lord Falkingham had already provided plate and linen; Lady Falkingham of course selected the trousseau; presents of all kinds flocked in from the numerous connexions of both families,—presents which, as they were known to be poor, were all intended to be useful: china ink-stands—Sèvres ornaments for chimneypieces—buhl clocks, and beautiful dressing boxes, with cut-glass bottles, mounted in silver gilt!

Nothing could exceed the happiness of the lovers,—nothing could exceed their gratitude to their friends for their considerate kindness; and Blanche felt how preferable were these tokens of affection, to the Glenrith diamonds, which she had received so coldly.

CHAPTER XIV.

Lordly gallants, tell me this: Though my safe content you weigh not, In your greatness what one bliss Have you gain'd, that I enjoy not? You have honours, you have wealth,— I have peace, and I have health; All the day I merry make, And at night no care I take. George Wither.

The honeymoon was spent at Sir Frederick Vyneton's villa; whose man-cook and whole establishment were devoted to the new-married couple, while the good-natured proprietor was making a tour in the Low Countries.

When Captain and Lady Blanche De Molton entered the dark-green travelling chariot which Lord Falkingham had given them, and drove from the portico of Sir Frederick Vyneton's villa, on their way to Cransley to pass a fortnight with the Westhopes, Lady Blanche exclaimed, "How strange it is that there should exist people who can sell themselves for money, or for an establishment! Should we be happier, Frank, if we possessed the mines of Golconda, than we are now?" She threw her beaming eyes upon him with an expression of joyous tenderness which made him indeed feel himself the happiest of men; yet he trembled to think how little she knew the details of that poverty with which he was already acquainted, although only in the limited degree experienced by a single man, whose wants, and consequently whose privations, are merely personal.

"Dearest Blanche," he replied, "you know nothing of poverty yet. Repeat what you have just said, two years hence, and I shall indeed esteem myself the most blessed of human beings. I hold it a matter of duty and of conscience to live within one's means whatever they may be; and if, when you really have learned what is the life of a soldier's wife, you still say you despise worldly wealth, I shall be happier—yes, still happier—than I am at this moment; for I now feel as if you had engaged yourself in a fate you are not prepared for. But I have warned you, dearest Blanche—I have not won you under false pretences!"

"We shall see," replied Blanche, smilingly. "I think I am made for a poor man's wife; for nobody can more heartily detest everything appertaining to pomp and splendour, and that odious thing called money."

Blanche expected a rapturous glance of gratitude from De Molton, and was surprised at hearing him sigh. The truth was, they knew little of each other's dispositions when they became irrevocably engaged. Blanche was warm, enthusiastic, inconsiderate; she followed her impulses, without looking forward beyond the present moment. De Molton was not without enthusiasm, but his was of a more thoughtful and serious cast. A high notion of honour was in him paramount to all other considerations. It enabled him to leave Paris when he found his friend was in love with Blanche,—it enabled him to quit England when he discovered that she was in love with himself,—it enabled him to stay in India while there was any military duty to be performed,—it prompted him to throw himself at her feet when he found her still free, although by so doing he scarcely hoped for anything but a contemptuous refusal on the part of her parents. It now made him resolve that his love for his beautiful wife should not lead him into any expenses which his limited income could not meet; and that, however painful he might find it to see her deprived of the luxuries to which she had been accustomed, he would never be tempted to run into debt, or to be a burthen upon his father, who was neither able nor willing to assist him.

But when he made this resolution, he did not look forward with unmixed pleasure to installing her in the temporary home which he should be able to procure for her, near M * * *. She watched the serious expression of his countenance; and she admired that expression, though she wished at this moment to dispel it;—nor was it long before she succeeded in driving away all traces of care from his countenance.

Several agreeable visits succeeded that to Cransley; and at last, when they approached the neighbourhood of M * * *, he left her for a few days at the house of a cousin, while he preceded her to his quarters, for the purpose of preparing some comfortable habitation for her reception.

He was fortunate enough to find a very pretty cottage, with a veranda and a garden, to be let, within a mile of the town. He arranged the furniture so as to make it look as little like a lodging-house as possible; he unpacked all the presents which had, at a considerable expense, been forwarded to M * * *; and before Blanche joined him, he had so disposed the buhl clock, the ink-stands, the paper-cutters, the letter-pressers, the Persian table-covers, and the low, luxurious, well-cushioned arm-chair which Lady Cumberworth insisted should form part of the camp equipage, as to give the room a look of home.

De Molton hastened to receive Blanche at the door, and ushered her, with more complacency and satisfaction than he had anticipated, through the narrow entrance, into the treillaged drawing-room.

It was a lovely evening! The flowers had not yet all faded,—the little garden was bright in the western sun. The view was enchanting!—rich varieties of luxuriant trees clothed the undulating slope to the sea-shore, and the clear blue sea, at a little distance, which from their elevated situation reflected to their eye the azure of the heavens, formed as it were a background to the wooded bank.

Blanche was enchanted. "How lovely, how beautiful! Oh, what are castles, halls, abbeys, parks, or palaces, to such a home as this, with the person one loves?"

De Molton was indeed happy—too happy for utterance. A tear gathered in his eye, which he was almost ashamed should be seen even by his wife,—and yet he could not avert his eyes from hers when she looked up so tenderly in his face. He gently drew her arm within his own, and they walked forth to enjoy in the fulness of their hearts the beauties of nature, and the delight of enjoying them together.

Thanks to the snow-white table-cloth, the handsome plate, the presents of Lord Falkingham; the pretty dinner service, that of Lord Cumberworth; the lovely dessert service, that of Lady Cumberworth; the cut-glass bottles, that of the eldest Miss De Molton; the tea-things, that of Miss M. De Molton; the breakfast-things, that of Miss J. De Molton; the silver urn, that of one of Blanche's married sisters; and the silver coffee-pot, that of another; the first four-and-twenty hours of Blanche's life as the mistress of her own house, passed in a state of rapture and of constant exclamations at the uselessness and contemptibility of money.

She forgot that she was all this time enjoying money's worth, and that indifference to worldly advantages is not put to the test while a person possesses every luxury, every elegance, though on a small scale,—at the moment of all others, too, when married lovers wish only for the enjoyment of each other's society.

One of the soldiers, who had been trained by De Molton to act as his valet, served as footman. His horses were, of course, taken care of in the barracks; and as he had a gig, they were able to drive every day in different directions, exploring new parts of the delightful country around. Blanche's life was a day-dream of delight—her rich hazel eyes sparkled with feeling and gaiety—her rosy lips smiled joyously whenever De Molton entered the room: to her

"This earth was all one beautiful dream."

Still, De Molton felt that Blanche had not steadily and dispassionately weighed the advantages and disadvantages of their present situation, and that it was not with a thorough knowledge of what she was undertaking that she had made choice of poverty with him.

Too much reliance must not be placed on those who, having never had a wish ungratified in the way of worldly conveniences, profess to despise them. If those who have already experienced privation deliberately form a poor marriage, we may conclude that they will know how to abide by the selection they have made, and we need not anticipate for them mortification and disappointment.

De Molton, from his early youth, had had many opportunities of seeing the real details of a married officer's life; and though, for the sake of the woman he loved, he gladly encountered the difficulties which he knew awaited him, he was thoroughly aware what they were, and he regretted that she should be exposed to them. He almost trembled at her exuberant happiness, knowing that he might not always procure for her a pretty cottage orné in the neighbourhood of his barracks, and that they should not always be quartered in so cheap a country as Devonshire.

He would rather have seen her more soberly contented; and when she, proud as it were of being so happy, looked towards him for applause, she was half-mortified at the flatness with which her unworldly sentiments were received.

These sentiments were not so frequently expressed as the season advanced. The flowers were all gone; the little garden was very damp; the veranda kept out the sun, and the windows did not keep out the wind; the roof did not always exclude the rain; and black beetles abounded on the ground floor, and sometimes a stray one mounted to the bed-rooms. The walks were muddy, the drives were windy, the trees had lost their foliage, and the chimneys smoked.

One evening, as they left the little dining-room, and entered the small drawing-room, they were half-stifled with smoke.—"Oh, dearest Frank! make haste and open the window, or we shall be smothered." But the window was a French window, and the wind set that way. There was no fastening it open so as not to run the risk of breaking it, or letting in a perfect hurricane. They agreed to open door, and window, and to return to the dining-room till the atmosphere was once more fit for respiration.

This desirable result was soon accomplished, as small rooms are soon filled with smoke, soon cleared, soon warmed, and soon cooled. Accordingly, when they re-entered their snug apartment, they might as well have established themselves under the veranda, for any benefit they derived from the fire, which was only now beginning to burn. "This is the only objection to small rooms!" exclaimed Lady Blanche. "If one keeps the doors shut, they become oppressively hot; and if one opens a door or a window, they are as cold as if they had never been inhabited."

"It is very true indeed," rejoined De Molton: "shall I fetch you a shawl, dearest Blanche?"

"Thank you, dearest Frank, I think it would be comfortable:" and she drew her chair close to the fire, and placed her feet upon the fender, when a great puff of black smoke turned back from the chimney, as if to fly in her face. She quickly pushed back her chair. "How stupid that Devonshire girl is—she always will heap the grate with small coals. Surely a housemaid's business is to know how to light a fire!"

"It is, indeed; but I am afraid a raw Devonshire girl is not likely to be an accomplished housemaid." And De Molton hastened out of the room to seek his dear Blanche's shawl.

"Now, Frank, you must read to me while I work: that will be so comfortable! and I have a great deal of work to do. I shall show you what a good poor man's wife I am!" She took out of her delicate ivory work-box a small cap of tiny dimensions, which she was beginning to embroider with the most intricate patterns.

De Molton looked really pleased, and smiled upon her with the gentle sentimental smile which had always appeared so bewitching.

The room became warmer, the fire clearer; the shawl was very tenderly arranged by De Molton himself; and they sat down to pass a comfortable, domestic, and rational evening.

"What book shall I read to you?" inquired De Molton. "Some of your own youthful library, which your mother so kindly sent after us?"

"Oh no! I know all those books by heart; but you have some of your own upon that shelf. I dare say they will be quite new to me."

"I dare say they will, dearest, for they are all upon military tactics, engineering, and fortification,—Vauban, Coehorn, and Jomini, &c."

"Oh, that will never do," rejoined Blanche. "But there are some novels from the circulating library at M * * *, which I have not yet looked at. I dare say that you will find something to amuse, though it may not instruct us."

He turned over the volumes—the usual trash of a country town library—Lady Evelinas and Altendorfs, and Cecilias and Mortimers, Albertinas and Ildelheims, Eleanoras and Miraldinis, by the dozen. They attempted one or two, but could not proceed beyond the first three pages.

"Dearest Frank, why would you not subscribe to a London library, as I begged you to do? You see these books are not readable."

"The expense of the carriage, dear Blanche, as well as that of the original subscription, made me very unwilling to do so. Moreover, even the London libraries do not supply one with very good books, when one is at such a distance in the country."

"Well! we will return these horrors, and you shall see what you can procure to-morrow. By the by, do send for the mason, or the bricklayer, or whoever the man may be, who does chimneys, and let him try to prevent the smoke. Look, again! now we have had fresh coals."

"I will send about it to-morrow; but I am afraid we shall not be able to effect much good in a lodging-house."

The next day "the man who did chimneys" came, and he proposed new setting the grate, contracting the sides, and altering the flue. Blanche said, by all means, if these measures would secure the absence of smoke. De Molton inquired what would be the cost of the alteration, and found that it would be nearly a third of the house-rent for the year. He paused, dismissed the man, and explained to Blanche, that as they were to pay her father and mother a visit in the spring, and as a great part of the winter was over, and as they would probably be quartered in some different part of the world the following winter, it would not be wise to spend much money upon this chimney; and he advised their sitting in the dining-room when the wind happened to blow from the smoky quarter.

To this she assented, but it was with an effort; and she evidently did so, to prove that she was indeed the good poor man's wife she had professed to be.

Colonel Jones, the colonel of the regiment, and his wife, on their return from a short absence among their friends, waited upon Lady Blanche. As she could not, in this remote corner of the world, enjoy the best society, Blanche would much have preferred living in complete seclusion. But De Molton, who thought any slackness on their part would be a want of attention from an inferior to a superior officer, did not allow her to put off the visit of propriety.

The weather was fine, though cold; and they walked to call on Colonel and Mrs. Jones, who lived in the town, close to the barracks.

As they entered the door, their noses were assailed by the smell of roast mutton and rice pudding; and they were ushered into a dark two-windowed country-town drawing-room, with a dirty green paper, and a high dado, which had once been painted white; while remarkably smart bell-ropes rendered the dinginess of the rest more conspicuous from the contrast.

Nine rosy children and the governess were seated at dinner; Mrs. Jones officiating as carver, and the head nurse assisting the youngest to guide its food safely to its mouth. A smell of pudding and of small beer pervaded the apartment, and greatly annoyed Lady Blanche.

De Molton introduced her to the Colonel's lady, who, relinquishing the carving knife to the governess, retired from the scene of action to the sofa with Lady Blanche, and apologised for her children being so late at dinner, saying, "The colonel had taken the boys out with him to see the itinerant menagerie in the market-place, and had kept them beyond their usual dinner-hour; or else," she continued, "I always make it a point to be fit to be seen at visiting hours, for when one lives in the world, one can never tell who may drop in."

The little Joneses, who, having always lived "in the world," were not shy, and were not more awed by the De Moltons than by Mr. and Mrs. M'Vining, or Mr. and Mrs. Green, or any of the other misters and mistresses who "dropped in," proceeded with their repast somewhat noisily: they were healthy, and there were nine of them!

Blanche could hardly hear herself speak, but she was too well-bred to be fine; and she contrived to look as if she heard all Mrs. Jones said, and as if she was quite accustomed to noisy children and clattering plates.

Dinner was over; grace was said in French by the eldest girl; they rose simultaneously; and, after being kissed by their mamma, were dismissed to have their faces washed, and their brown holland pinafores taken off, preparatory to the afternoon walk.

Mrs. Jones was an excellent woman, who was devoted to her domestic duties, and she considered the whole proceeding as so completely in the common course of things, that she made no apologies; and was so far from being distressed or annoyed by the bustle, the ferment, and the clatter, that she was scarcely aware a noise had existed, or that when the door closed upon the last child a calm succeeded to the storm.

When the De Moltons took their leave, Mrs. Jones good-humouredly ran to the top of the stairs and called aloud for John, at the same time complaining how troublesome it was that neither of the bells in the drawing-room would ring. John was not forthcoming; and a dirty housemaid appeared in his stead, hastily tying a clean apron over the very dirty one beneath: she opened the street-door, and Blanche squeezed past her into the welcome open air.

"Oh, Frank!" she exclaimed, "how can people submit to live in so wretched and vulgar a manner! Mrs. Jones is not so dreadful herself, but her entourage!"

"My dear Blanche, Colonel Jones is very poor: and he has nine children."

"But there is no occasion to have things about one so dirty, so untidy, so uncomfortable. We are poor, but how different!"

"Our cottage would not contain one ninth of Colonel Jones's children."

"But why have no bell? And why such bell-ropes?"

"Poor people cannot afford to furnish every temporary lodging-house with elegancies."

"But why have all the Master and Miss Joneses dine in one's drawing-room?"

"I dare say all the other rooms are pre-occupied as sleeping apartments for said Master and Miss Joneses."

"Now you are resolved to be provoking, and I could beat you for not agreeing with me."

"I am afraid, Blanche, that poverty is not a pretty thing in reality, though it sounds pretty in a book."

De Molton looked serious; he could not joke upon the subject. Blanche also looked serious, for she thought he was rather over solemn, and she firmly resolved she would not be poor after Mrs. Jones's fashion.

Blanche worked very diligently at the little cap; and when she had finished the cap, she embroidered the body of a little frock, and showed them exultingly to her husband. Still these preparations did not go far towards providing the expected scion of the house of De Molton with the necessary wardrobe, and Blanche feared she should be obliged to procure many articles ready-made in the town.

"Why should not your maid work at them, my dear?" suggested De Molton, as he found her considering, and wondering, and calculating what plan she had best pursue.

"Why, perhaps she would undertake the caps for me; but she has never been used to anything but dress-making. Mamma never expected her to do anything else."

"You have been working so much yourself, surely you must have done a great deal."

"Oh yes!—this cap and this body. Look, how beautiful they are!"

Blanche's distresses on this score were however soon relieved by learning from Lady Cumberworth that her good-natured sisters-in-law had amused themselves by making and providing everything she could want, and that a lovely set of baby-linen would meet her at Lord Falkingham's, where she was to pass some time previous to her confinement, in order that she might be under her mother's eye.

She was not sorry when the time came for leaving the pretty smoky cottage. The March winds did not agree with the chimney, and she was not well enough to be able to roam among the dells and dingles, the shaws and the banks, in search of violets and primroses; and she thought it would certainly be more desirable to enact the invalid, with all appliances and means to boot, in her father's luxurious mansion, than in the windy, smoky, creaking lath and plaster cottage, which looked so pretty in the beginning of September.

In London, Blanche would have been perfectly happy with her kind father,—her mother who loved her, though not with the usual melting tenderness of a mother,—with her husband, who was as handsome and interesting in appearance, and if possible more affectionate in his attentions than ever,—and with her husband's family doting upon her,—if it had not been that Lady Falkingham treated De Molton with a shade of superciliousness. She always spoke of her daughter as "poor Blanche," wondered to see her look so well after the terrible winter she had passed in a house scarcely weather-tight, alluded constantly to the great change that had taken place in her situation, and almost ridiculed the notion of the Miss Be Moltons having presented her with such pretty worked caps and embroidered frocks for the "poor little creature" that was expected!

These speeches, although they contained some undeniable truths, were extremely galling to De Molton, and very unpleasant to Blanche, for his sake, as well as for her own.

Blanche found herself infinitely happier with her husband's family, where, instead of being treated as a person who was now to be looked down upon by those who were once her compeers, she was considered the most charming of her sex; adored by Lady Cumberworth for having loved her son so disinterestedly; made a fuss with by the Miss De Moltons because they were good-humoured girls, by nature inclined to like rather than dislike any fine, natural, affectionate creature of their own age; and very much admired by Lord Cumberworth, who thought she was an exceedingly fine woman, and that Frank was a very lucky fellow, for the present at least, however the marriage might turn out in the long-run.

CHAPTER XV.

There little love or canty cheer can come Frae duddy doublets and a pantry toom. Allan Ramsay.

As De Molton expected, the quarters of his regiment were changed; and soon after Blanche's confinement, he left her to superintend the removal of their goods and chattels, and the arrangement of them in some other temporary domicile.

Unfortunately, the regiment was sent to a small town, built principally of red brick, situated in one of the midland counties,—ugly, bare, and bleak. There were no pretty cottages with nice gardens in the neighbourhood; not even a retired farm house, with a few rooms to be let; for the rustic inconveniences and rural inelegancies of a rambling farm house are infinitely preferable to the pert vulgarity of a red house in a street.

To this last alternative De Molton was most unwillingly reduced, and all he could accomplish was the acquisition of one of the few tenements to which was affixed a bright light-green balcony, which formed a brilliant contrast to the vermilion of the walls; at least, the untarnished freshness of the colouring gave promise of new furniture and cleanliness within.

He returned to London for his wife and child, and his delight at seeing them was somewhat alloyed by finding that, during his absence, Blanche and her father had ascertained that Turton was very little out of the way to Temple Loseley, and that, consequently, he and her mother would pass a night or two with Blanche on their way into the country.

If his heart had sunk within him at the thoughts of introducing his wife to the vulgar abode which he had been obliged to provide for her, how much more did it sink at the thoughts of exhibiting to her parents their graceful, their beautiful, their high-born daughter, as mistress of this same abode. Moreover, the house was not calculated to receive an influx of company.

Still every one ought to be proud and happy to receive their father and mother-in-law under their roof; and he was determined to be so. He reminded himself that, though he was poor, he had never pretended to be otherwise, he never would pretend to be otherwise: there was no disgrace in poverty; he had presented himself under no false colours; he knew his own situation, and he would not throw a ridicule over it by seeming ashamed of it.

Blanche had pictured to herself another cottage, of the same stamp as that in Devonshire: and as the country was now in full beauty, and as there was no occasion to put the chimneys to the test, she anticipated with pleasure showing her mother how happy and how pretty an humble home might be; how dignified De Molton could look, though employed in working in his garden; and how little she deserved the pity that had been lavished upon her.

She was extremely vexed when her dear Frank broke to her the nature of the country, the situation of the town, the sort of house he had been compelled to hire.

"Is there nothing else to be procured for love or money?"

"For money, yes; for love, not!" he replied.

"But if something else is to be got, for Heaven's sake make any sacrifice!"

"There is one house much larger than we require, which has been fitted up with every luxury by a retired brewer, who now wishes to travel, and would gladly let it."

"Oh, that will be just the thing!"

"My dear! the rent is far, far beyond our means."

"Oh! but for one year, dearest Frank!"

"With a limited income, one year's extravagance unavoidably entails many, many years of real distress. I will not run the risk of being unable to answer the just demands of my tradesmen. I never sent a creditor away without his money, and I never will."

De Molton spoke with seriousness, and something approaching harshness; for he suffered under the mortification of his wife, and the tone was meant to confirm his own determination, not to be unkind to her. She thought him stern.

"We had much better put off papa and mamma, and say at once we cannot receive them."

Her tone was a little pettish. De Molton's task was no longer so difficult; he dreaded seeing her unhappy, but the moment he perceived there was temper mixed with her sorrow, his fortitude returned, and he replied, "By no means: such as it is, our home is ever open to our parents; and we have only to regret that it is not in our power to make them more comfortable."

"I had a thousand times rather mamma did not come at all, than that she should see me in such a hole as you describe."

Her voice was half choked with rising emotion: she had led her mother to expect something so very different! The Devonshire cottage had grown under her glowing descriptions into a miniature terrestrial paradise.

"Blanche, this is not kind by your parents; you should wish to see them for their own sakes." Certainly De Molton did not wish to see them, but he would not have pleaded guilty to such a weakness for the world.

"I do not know how I can wish to be exposed to mamma's taunting expressions and contemptuous looks;" and partly from vexation, and partly from bodily weakness, she burst into tears.

"Blanche, this is childish! You chose to marry a poor man, and you must abide by it."

"You should not be the person to speak so coldly and unkindly. You know the thing I mind most of all is, that mamma always seems to despise you; and I had hoped to show her that, though we were poor, we did not deserve pity." Her sobs here interrupted her words. In addition to her other mortifications, she felt injured by the husband whose dignity she was so anxious to uphold.

De Molton was quite overcome by finding it was for him her feelings were so strongly excited. "Blanche, dearest Blanche!" he exclaimed, "you do not think me ungrateful for all you have given up for my sake! Oh no! you cannot think that!" And he soothed her by every attention and kindness in his power.

The effervescence of her mortification and vexation had exhausted itself, and she was sorry to have wounded him; he was also annoyed at having allowed an unkind word to escape his lips; and they were still sufficiently lovers for their little quarrel to be almost a renewal of love: almost,—but not quite. Blanche could not forget that he had said, "You have married a poor man, and you must abide by it;" and De Molton remembered that she had said, "She should be ashamed to be seen in such a hole" as the only home he could take her to.

These words recurred to his mind more and more frequently as they drew near the small town of Turton. He felt quite angry with the Horse-guards for having built any barracks in so frightful a country as that which they were approaching. It was all arable: but there were no enclosures, no hedges, no hill, no dale, no woods, no copses; merely a succession of fields; in the highest state of cultivation it is true, but that circumstance did not add to their beauty in Blanche's eyes. She would gladly have seen the wheat enlivened by some brilliant scarlet poppies, some beautiful old-fashioned blue corn-flowers, now almost exploded by the improvements in agriculture; she would gladly have been greeted with the fragrance of a distant field of charlock.

They had a good view of Turton long before they reached it; for it was placed in the midst of a large basin of land, divided into squares by the various crops, though by no other visible mark. From the last hill, as they looked down into the broad vale below, De Molton felt responsible for its ugliness, and tried to carry off a sensation something resembling shame, by remarking that, though such scenery was not to our English eyes picturesque, it was very like "la belle France." The day was grey and colourless: there were no gleams of sunshine, no passing shadows, which will invest any extensive view with a certain degree of beauty. The wheat was all green, the barley was green, the oats were green, the tares were green, the clover was green; there was no variety of hue, except where, here and there, a field lay fallow, or had been newly ploughed up.

De Molton looked cheerlessly upon Blanche's spiritless face, and fairly wished the first evening in their new domicile come and gone. Blanche wished, upon her arrival, to be able to say she found it better than she expected, but the words died away upon her lips. She walked to the window, and looked up and down the straight street. There was the lawyer's house opposite, with a brass knocker well polished; then came the Sun Inn, all new, and red, and staring; then a paltry shop; and then the apothecary's door, surmounted by a gilt pestle and mortar. The road was dusty, and the cut lime-trees before the houses on the other side of the lawyer's were rather whitish-brown, than green. The street ran north, and south; a gust of wind drove down it from the north, which gave the poor leaves a fresh coating before her eyes.

It was as cold as days sometimes are in June: she turned from the window, and proposed a fire; they both dreaded the attempt, but it succeeded, and there was no smoke.

Blanche wished the days had not been so long, that they might sooner have let down the green Venetian blinds (there were no shutters), drawn the short and scanty white curtains, and shut out the dismal prospect. She tried to place the furniture in such positions as to give the room an inhabited appearance, but she only succeeded in making it look untidy. The little dimity covered chaise-longue was wheeled out from the wall, and placed between the fire and the window, till they found that so sharp a draught cut across from the ill-closed sashes, that it was quickly wheeled back to its original situation. A card-table was set open, and made to enact the part of a stand for petits objets. Blanche collected all her baskets and boxes, in hopes of making the apartment look comfortable, but her efforts were not as yet crowned with success.

The next day she bought a square of dark red cloth, and she bound it with gold-coloured binding, and with it concealed a great portion of the card-table, and set off to better advantage the chef-d'œuvres of art and the souvenirs of sentiment. The arm-chair, the dear arm-chair, was unpacked; and the buhl clock, it was hoped by both of them, would be a redeeming object.

Alas! there was no part of the room in which the buhl clock could be safely and advantageously placed! The little chimney-piece was infinitely too narrow; the card-table was already filled; and the one other table which was not in constant requisition was by far too rickety to be entrusted with so precious an article.

At length the small souvenirs were removed to the rickety table, and the clock was established upon the card-table; and De Molton, when he looked upon his wife with her child upon her knee, saw no fault in the arrangement of the room.

There was, however, one misfortune to which even De Molton could not close his eyes or bar his senses,—a misfortune, too, which was utterly irremediable.

A kind of fixture,—half cupboard, half bookcase,—the lower part of which opened like a cupboard while the top finished in shelves, adorned each side of the fire place. Now, in the lower part of one of these nondescript things there was every reason to believe the predecessors of the De Moltons had been in the habit of keeping apples. When the room was closed, this dire smell of apples assailed their noses, and at length it was traced home to the guilty spot.

Chloruret of lime, eau de Cologne, every sort of fumigation was tried, but the indomitable smell was only quelled for the time: it returned with fresh vigour! Blanche was in utter despair, for Lady Falkingham was expected in a day or two, and she was renowned for the extreme acuteness of her olfactory nerves! Blanche had repressed any expression of her feelings, till this last blow quite over-came her fortitude.

"Can nothing be done about this smell, Frank? It will distract mamma!"

"Upon my word I do not know what more to recommend. Let us wash it again with chloruret of lime just before your mother comes."

"I would not mind all the rest if we could but get rid of this smell of apples!"

That expression—"all the rest," spoke volumes. De Molton was fully aware how much it implied of discomfort.

Love in a cottage is a thing very frequently met with in books, and not unfrequently in actual life; but love in a red-brick house in the street of a country town can never exist in poetry, and seldom in reality.

"There is one other thing I would fain alter, Frank, and I think it might be accomplished without much expense."

Blanche spoke timidly, for she had learned to be afraid of proposing anything which he might deem extravagant. "Could we not get rid of the knocker on the door? It looks dreadful; but the horrid vulgar sound is worse than the appearance. It is impossible to forget where one is, when one hears that rap-a-tap!"

De Molton sighed to think she should so wish to forget that she was in her home, with her husband and her child; and Blanche, two years before, would not have believed she could ever have been otherwise than contented, when certain of De Moltan's constancy, of his undivided affection, and when united to him by the holiest ties.

The day arrived on which the almost dreaded parental visit was to be paid. De Molton proposed driving to a nursery-garden at no great distance, and buying some flowers, which would make the room look rather more gay and countryfied. To this Blanche gladly assented; and she took great pains to fill all the little ugly vases upon the chimney-piece, and all the finger-glasses which were not wanted after dinner, with such flowers as could be procured. They had arranged everything for the accommodation of Lord and Lady Falkingham as well as the capabilities of the house permitted. Blanche's maid was turned out of her room, and into the nursery, for Lady Falkingham's maid; an arrangement which by no means met with her approbation, and which had not been accomplished without considerable difficulty.

De Molton relinquished his dressing-room to his father-in-law, and, unknown to any one, as he hoped, performed his toilet very early in the morning in the dining-room; the little back-parlour having been consecrated to the ladies'-maids, and anything being more practicable than to interfere with their morning repast.

Both Blanche and De Molton had looked repeatedly into each room, and had ascertained that everything was as comfortable as they could make it, and they sat waiting in some agitation for the arrival of their guests.

Generally speaking, if there is a moment of unmixed happiness, it is that in which parents pay their first visit to a married child, and in which children receive the first visit from their parents.

The pretty, half-childish, half-matronly pride with which the young wife does the honours of her domestic arrangements; the tearful joy of the mother as she inspects and admires; the honest happiness of the father; and the modest exultation of the bridegroom who has installed the creature he loves in all the comforts with which she is surrounded,—render the moment one of pleasing interest to the most careless bystander.

But such were not the feelings which animated any of the present party.

CHAPTER XVI.

Some difference of this dangerous kind, By which, though light, the links that bind, The fondest hearts may soon be riven; Some shadow in Love's summer heav'n. Which, though a fleecy cloud at first, May yet in awful thunders burst. Lalla Rookh.

The Falkinghams did not arrive till very late. Blanche knew that every moment's delay was injurious to the repast she was so anxious should be tolerably well dressed. She several times ran down into the kitchen herself, to enforce upon the cook that she must contrive to keep back the dinner without letting the meat be over-roasted.

At length they heard a great rumbling of wheels and hallooing of little boys, and the well-known carriage with four horses drove rapidly by, and drew up at the Sun Inn opposite. The postillions were soon directed to the right house; the whole equipage was turned round, and at length drew up before the little door.

All this caused a sensation; and well crêpé'd heads were seen popping up above the white blinds of the lawyer's opposite, and frilled caps appeared at the windows of the house with the cut lime-trees, and waiters, chamber-maids, and boots thronged to the door of the inn, hoping the coroneted carriage was going to put up at the Sun.

The first greetings were over, and Blanche was eager to show her mother to her room, for, "on hospitable thoughts intent," she was reflecting on the over-boiled chickens and the over-roasted beef. But their progress was arrested by the imperial! It was stuck in the turning of the stairs; and Lady Falkingham's tall footman, who measured six feet two inches and a half, and De Molton's omnipresent John Benton, were struggling, and lifting, and pushing, and shoving in vain!

This was an unlooked for misfortune; one which might have been laughed at, among people so nearly and intimately connected, and one which might have been an excuse for dining very merrily in travelling costume; but with Blanche's feelings, with Lady Falkingham's, with De Molton's feelings, the misadventure had a contrary effect. Blanche was extremely annoyed, and led her mother back to the drawing-room; while De Molton hastened to lend his assistance, and, with the help of his more judicious mode of turning the imperial, it was extricated from its inconvenient position, and was safely deposited in Lady Falkingham's room.

All this produced some delay; then came their respective toilets; and they were not seated in the dining-room till an hour and three quarters after the cook had expected to "dish up."

It requires the coolness, the presence of mind, the decision of the bolder sex, to be able to accelerate or to retard the dinner-hour. The humble cook of the De Moltons was thoroughly feminine in her timidity, and the consequence was, that the chickens fell to pieces in the dish, that the beef crackled under the teeth, that the potatoes were watery and sodden, that the greengages of the pudding had burst through their surrounding paste, and presented a shapeless, confused, and uninviting mass to the eye, while the maccaroni was stringy, strong, and burned.

De Molton had wished the dinner to be plain and without pretension, and he had flattered himself that, by attempting nothing, they must be secure from a failure. Alas! they had the mortification of seeing both their guests scarcely able to finish what they had upon their plates, and of perceiving that Lord Falkingham helped himself three times to cheese, and that Lady Falkingham demolished full half the sponge-cake at dessert! De Molton, who was habitually reserved and possessed much self-command, maintained a calm exterior; but Blanche, who, whatever might be her wish to do so, was never able to conceal her feelings for any length of time, was in a fussy state of agitation, and was the first to complain of the badness of the dinner.

Her remarks disturbed the equanimity of John Benton, who was most anxious that all should go off well. In his eagerness, he made more noise, jarred the plates, knocked the glasses together, clattered the knives and forks, and placed the dishes on the table in a more fearful undecided manner than he was ever known to do before; constantly brushing by Lady Falkingham's cap to give a finishing touch to the arrangement of the table. Blanche's martyrdom increased every moment!

It is very easy to be tranquil, composed, and agreeable at the head of one's table, if one has the comfortable assurance that all will proceed properly and decorously; but when one has no reliance that such will be the case, it is not so easy to preserve the careless air of perfect good-breeding; still less so, should one actually see one's guests hungry and incommoded: such tranquillity amounts to a lofty pitch of stoicism scarcely attainable by common mortals.

If the Falkinghams had smiled good-humouredly, it might have been better; but the mother preserved a civil semblance of not perceiving what was amiss, evidently treating the present, as the best entertainment it was in the power of the De Moltons to give, and considerately sparing their feelings. When the ladies retired after dinner, Lady Falkingham made no allusion to the house, the establishment, the cookery, or any part of the ménage, except the baby, on whose growth she expatiated, and whom she wished to see in its crib.

Blanche accordingly took her mother upstairs to the garret, where Lady Falkingham was shocked at finding two beds in the small room. "My dear Blanche, do you allow two people to sleep in such an apartment as this? It is very bad for the baby to be so confined as to air and space."

"My maid sleeps here just now," Blanche replied; "it cannot hurt the baby for a little while."

"The weather is so hot, I own I should dislike it very much; I always was very particular about giving you all an airy nursery;—but I suppose it cannot be helped," added Lady Falkingham, checking herself.

"Oh this house is horrid!" exclaimed Blanche; "if you had but come to see us in our Devonshire cottage, mamma—!"

"I wish I had, my dear."

"But you know we have this only for a time, mamma; and next year we may be quartered in a prettier country, and a nicer neighbourhood, and where we can get something out of a town."

"I hope you will, my love," replied Lady Falkingham, who was resolved to dwell as little as possible upon her daughter's present discomfort, and who thought herself very kind and very meritorious in not saying what she thought, felt, and looked,—viz. "I told you how it would be."

The breakfast was not more prosperous. The bread was baker's bread: the French rolls, well rasped and very tough, were exceedingly unlike the rolls and cakes of every variety which graced the breakfast-table of Temple Loseley. The butter was bought at the shop; and Turton was situated in an arable, not a grazing country: they churned every morning at Temple Loseley. The cream was thin, colourless, and tasteless: the Alderneys at Temple Loseley were renowned for their perfection in beauty and breeding.

Most assuredly, urban and rural poverty are very different things. With a pretty garden; with flowers, poultry, cream, butter, eggs, and vegetables in profusion; vulgarity and discomfort may always be avoided, though splendour may not be attained.

The Falkinghams went away, sincerely commiserating their daughter, although Lady Falkingham's sincere sorrow was somewhat alleviated by being able to remark to her husband how precisely everything had turned out as she had foreseen and predicted.

When they had driven from the door, Blanche sat down to work at her needle, with a sensation of depression more over-whelming than she had ever felt before. "I am glad mamma is gone!" she exclaimed, after having hemmed nearly a yard of muslin without uttering: "when people are no longer young, they miss the comforts to which they have been accustomed!"

De Molton said nothing. He also had been deeply hurt, mortified in every way; hurt to see his wife exposed to mortification, and mortified to see her feel it so keenly.

"Not but what mamma behaved beautifully," continued Blanche, for she was half angry with her husband for his very silence:—she wished him to declare how annoyed and unhappy he also was; but he was a proud man, and when such a man does feel mortification, it does not find vent in words. Being somewhat displeased at his silence, she did not spare him. The feelings of the daughter got the better of those of the wife, and she proceeded: "Mamma never complained of anything. It was only through her maid that I heard she could not sleep a wink on account of the baby crying over head; and the partition being so thin, she heard her as plainly as if she had been in the same room. Mamma was very kind, she took care to say nothing to vex me."

De Molton thought mamma would have been infinitely more kind if she had appeared a little less miserable, and had not looked at Blanche as if she thought her a victim. He did not feel in charity with Lady Falkingham; he found no pleasure in hearing her praised.

"I am going to call on Colonel Jones," said De Molton; "I shall be at home again in time to walk with you." He took his cap and his stick, and sallied forth; but he had walked far beyond Colonel Jones's, before he recollected his intention of calling upon him, and he had to retrace his steps for some quarter of a mile. He found him just returning from a long walk with some of his children, who were joyously sporting around him; and they all together mounted the narrow staircase which led to a drawing-room much in the same style as Blanche's, though somewhat larger in its dimensions.

Mrs. Jones and her eldest girl were busily engaged in needle-work, while the second daughter was reading history aloud. She cordially greeted De Molton, and said they had been taking advantage of the Colonel's having cleared the house of the boys to get on with the education of the girls; "for in a small house, and with such a family, it is difficult to find a quiet moment," added Mrs. Jones, with a cheerfulness and good-humour which seemed to prove she found nothing unpleasant or disgraceful in poverty.

She was the daughter of a country curate, and although well educated, and tolerably well born, she did not feel the want of luxuries and elegancies to which she had never been accustomed, and which none of those with whom she associated missed any more than herself.

De Molton wished he could teach his wife to accommodate herself to her circumstances, as Mrs. Jones did. But how many habits had she to unlearn and to forget before she could be happy as Mrs. Jones was happy!

He resolved to cultivate the Joneses, and he asked them to dinner that very day, frankly bidding them come and feast upon the remains of the provisions they had laid in for his father and mother in law. The happy and good-humoured Joneses accepted the invitation in the same unceremonious spirit in which it was made, and De Molton returned home to inform his wife of the company she might expect. She detested the thoughts of encountering another dinner in her own house; but De Molton was not a person who would ever condescend to ask his wife's permission before he invited a friend to dinner, and of that she was fully aware.

The Joneses arrived just five minutes before the appointed hour; and Mrs. Jones asked Blanche's leave to take off her bonnet, and arrange her hair at her looking-glass, as she had walked from her own house. She shortly re-appeared with her bows and her ringlets in the most perfect order, for she had never been in the habit of depending upon the services of a maid. She also appeared in a smart silk gown; her fair, fat, handsome arms uncovered, a necklace on her neck, and ear-rings in her ears.

Blanche, on the contrary, was in a more seemly costume for a country dinner by day-light; and Mrs. Jones wondered her hostess should wear in the evening what seemed to her a morning dress.

The cook's nerves had not been agitated, and the dinner was very good. Colonel Jones was gay and conversible: he had served in the Peninsula; he, and his wife also, had been at Paris when the allied armies entered it; they had seen many different countries, had been mixed up in many of the events of that period, when every day brought changes which affected empires; they had been thrown with many of the personages who already figure as historical characters. They were delighted with De Molton, who was an excellent listener; delighted with Lady Blanche, who possessed the charm to which all people in all ranks are sensible,—the real good-breeding of real high fashion; and Blanche was astonished to find herself in better spirits than she had been in for some days.

No fund of natural spirits, however inexhaustible it may be, can stand the trial of seeing the guests under your roof, cold, abstracted, and comfortless; whereas the phrenologists could certainly point out some organ in the human head which takes pleasure in being developed when you feel that those towards whom you are exercising the rites of hospitality are really and thoroughly enjoying themselves.

There was a good deal of broad humour about Colonel Jones, and no shyness; he was animated in his descriptions. De Molton's wine was good of its sort; and the dinner was gay,—noisily gay. Blanche thought them a little vulgar, but still she liked them both; and after the cheerless restraint which had prevailed during the two preceding days between the nearest and dearest relations, there was something which expanded the heart in the warmth and cordiality of the Joneses.

The dinner which they gave the De Moltons in return proved less agreeable. The astonishing clatter made by the servants, the badness of the cookery, the multitude of children, and the friends who were invited to make up the party, did not conduce to reconcile Blanche to the real work-day details of poverty, as De Molton had at first intended it should, by showing her how happy people could be in its despite.

The summer wore away, but without any summer enjoyments; the autumn succeeded, and winter followed in due succession. They had many invitations from different friends, but travelling was expensive; and having been in London for some months during the spring, they could not obtain leave of absence for any length of time which might make it answer to leave home.

The following year saw them removed to a fresh habitation, and saw another olive-branch added to the parent stock.

The nurse now professed her inability to attend to two children, "both babies as it were; she could not do justice to the dear little loves. Miss Emma, she was just old enough to get into mischief; and she was more work, a body might say, than the infant himself." There was no denying the reason and truth of the nurse's statement. It was also true, as the nurse added, "that my lady was very particular, and liked to see the children always nice; that it was not as if she did not mind their being just dressed in brown holland pinafores, and such like, as the little Master Joneses were; that, for her part, she could not a-bear to see children look so,—just like anybody's children."

De Molton, as well as Blanche, was proud of little Emma's exquisite beauty, and they could neither of them endure the thoughts of their children not being thoroughly well taken care of. "Could you not ask Mrs. Green to help nurse?" suggested De Molton; "she might walk out with Emma, and might make her clothes. Our life is such a quiet one, surely she must have a great deal of time upon her hands."

Blanche stood rather in awe of Mrs. Green, who was a regular fine lady, and who felt the change in her situation to the full as acutely as Blanche herself could do, and who had not the same strong motive for bearing it with uncomplaining fortitude, inasmuch as she was not married to the man of her choice, neither had she any character for consistency to maintain. In many of the minor distresses and difficulties which had occurred, Mrs. Green had not failed to make her mistress feel how great was her merit in submitting to them; and Blanche knew it was utterly impossible to accomplish what De Molton (who was not so well versed in the nice limits and boundaries of the honourable office of lady's maid) thought could be so easily arranged.

"It is quite impossible, my dear Frank! Green has already put up with a great deal to oblige me, and I could not ask her to wait upon the nursery."

"I do not want her to wait upon the nursery, but she might assist the nurse."

"I can part with her, Frank; but I cannot propose to her to attend upon the children."

De Molton, who saw no reason why one woman should sit idle, while another had more to do than she could well perform, was half annoyed with Blanche, and he answered rather quickly, "All I can say is, I cannot afford to keep another servant."

"I will tell Green what you say," replied Blanche, with the tone of a heroine and a martyr; and accordingly she lost no time in informing Green that she must look out for another situation unless she would wait on Miss Emma, as Captain De Molton wished; and as, of course, Mrs. Green declined to do.

So much separated from all former connexions, friends, and relations, as Blanche had been of late, she naturally felt a good deal annoyed at parting with a person whom habit had rendered agreeable to her, who was an excellent lady's maid, and was pleasing in her manners. De Molton could not sympathise in her annoyance at getting rid of a fine lady, and infinitely preferred the stout good-humoured girl who came in her stead, and who was too happy to fetch and carry, and was too much honoured by being allowed to wait on my lady.

Unfortunately, the last remnant of Blanche's trousseau was growing very shabby, and her wardrobe needed recruiting. Green was gone; the girl Phœbe was no milliner; Blanche could embroider beautifully, and she could now accomplish children's frocks with considerable success, but she could not make her own clothes. How should she? She was obliged therefore to have her wants supplied by the country milliners, and both she and De Molton were appalled at the bills which were the inevitable consequence.

Blanche wished exceedingly not to be expensive, but she knew not how to avoid being so. She had never had any allowance when a girl: she had been so amply supplied with every article of dress upon her marriage, and had since led so retired a life, that little occasion to spend money had occurred until now; and she was ignorant how miraculously, when once the purse-strings are opened, the contents vanish as it were of themselves.

It is a great fault in the education of girls, to omit teaching them, in some measure, the value of money. They suddenly find themselves at the head of an establishment, in which, if large, considerable sums pass through their hands; if small, on them depends the comfort, or discomfort of the ménage; and they are not aware, (except from theory, which has little to say to practice) that twenty shillings make a pound.

The loss of Green was an annoyance of daily recurrence. Blanche could not dress her own hair; and the awkward attempts of the shy and frightened red-fisted maid to brush and to curl, to braid and to crêper, made her every morning come down to breakfast in a ruffled and uncomfortable state. She found it necessary now and then to buy herself a cap, and unluckily the bill for these caps came in at a time when De Molton's finances were at a very low ebb. Blanche had no pin-money, and she applied to him for the requisite sum.

"What nonsense, Blanche, to buy tawdry caps, when you have all that beautiful brown hair, which is so much prettier and more becoming than any cap that can be made."

"I never learned to dress hair; and since Green is gone, I find it impossible to do without a cap. I have not quite made up my mind to go about a perfect figure, yet; but I dare say I soon shall. It is impossible to be well-dressed without a maid."

"But surely you could soon learn to arrange your hair. You told me Mrs. Jones always dressed her own, and I am sure it is very smart—in bows, and all kinds of things."

This was too much for Blanche to endure. To have been forced to part with her maid! To be refused a cap! To be twitted with Mrs. Jones! To have Mrs. Jones set up as a pattern! "Indeed I should be very sorry to look like Mrs. Jones!" she exclaimed, with a heightened colour, and an eye which was very beautiful in its increased brilliancy: "if you wished to have a wife who should look and dress like Mrs. Jones, you should not have selected me! I hope I may never arrive at such a pitch of vulgarity as that! I had rather look like anybody in the whole world than Mrs. Jones!" and in her anger and petulance, she spoke, as she would not have done in a cooler moment, of a person whom she both respected and liked.

"Mrs. Jones is a most excellent and exemplary woman," replied De Molton, with some solemnity of manner; "one who performs the duties of her situation in life cheerfully and admirably. I have a very great regard for Mrs. Jones. Where is this bill?" he added, with an awful calmness: "I am sorry to say you must buy no more caps. I have not the means of paying for them!" He gave her the money, which she took with pain and indignation.

It is very disagreeable to ask for money,—very disagreeable to receive it when it is given grudgingly. Women should have, settled upon them when they marry, the sum which, in proportion to the income of their husband, they may in fairness spend upon their dress; otherwise, if extravagant, there are no regular limits to their extravagance: while, on the other hand, however economical they may be, and however liberal the husband may wish to be, they may chance to ask for money at a moment when it may prove inconvenient to produce a sum which the man had not calculated would be called for at that particular moment.

An expression of annoyance will wound and distress a high-minded woman, will anger a high-spirited one, or will induce a timid one to conceal her bills, and to acquire the habit of contracting debts unknown to her husband.

Blanche received the money with a swelling indignant heart, and her feelings were not soothed when a tradesman entered with a long bill, for which De Molton drew a draft without a remark or a murmur, and most politely dismissed the man, pleased with his exactness and punctuality.

Blanche thought, "After all, he is not really so poor as he pretends to be. He only talks thus to prevent my spending anything. He has money enough for every one else."

De Molton had appointed that very morning to pay that very bill. He had purposely reserved the requisite sum, and he remained with scarcely enough for the weekly unavoidable expenses. But he did not explain all this to his wife. He was resolved never to run into debt, and he was unapproachably serious and correct upon the subject. If he had candidly explained the state of the case to her, shown it her in black and white, perhaps she would have joined with him in cheerfully accommodating herself to existing circumstances; but he dealt in general expressions of poverty and distress, and yet, at the very moment he complained most bitterly, the money was forthcoming for those things which must be paid for. It was exactly because he would have wherewithal to meet necessary expenses, that he so strenuously opposed any which he deemed unnecessary.

Having once come to the conclusion that he had acquired a habit of complaining, and that he could find money if he chose to do so, she only felt injured when he enforced economy, and mentally accused him of making needless difficulties.

Two more years elapsed, and their family consisted of four promising children, when De Molton's regiment was ordered to Brighton: they were again thrown among people of their own class, and friends of former days.

They had been married nearly five years, and during those years words had been spoken which could not be forgotten. Poverty had come in at the door, and if Love had not quite flown out at the window, he fluttered on the window-sill.

CHAPTER XVII.

And ruder words will soon rush in To spread the breach that words begin, And eyes forget the gentle ray They wore in courtship's smiling day, And voices lose the tone that shed A tenderness round all they said; Till, fast declining one by one, The sweetnesses of love are gone.

Lalla Rookh.

Among other old acquaintances, the Westhopes were established at Brighton; and it was with mixed feelings that Blanche prepared herself to meet the friend of her youth, the person who had most unintentionally assisted to foster her love, by always appearing so impressed with De Molton's attractions. Upon that subject both men and women are more influenced by the estimation in which the object is held by others, than they would willingly allow: they are ashamed to be so easily pleased as to prefer a person whom no one else thinks pleasing, and they are decidedly proud of being preferred by one whom every one else admires.

Mingled with her desire to see her early friend, Blanche experienced a certain dread of the scrutinizing eye of intimacy. She felt she should never be able to echo, with the accent of truth, the romantic sentiments in which they used once to indulge; and she did not wish her friend to discover that the love which she had spoken of as equal to endure any trials, had nearly sunk under the petty and undignified vexations of pecuniary difficulty.

Time, however, had worked some changes in Lady Westhope. She had long conquered her incipient inclination towards Mr. Wroxholme; she had learnt that a well-regulated mind can make itself contented, if not happy, under almost all circumstances; she had quite given up the point of being the youngest and most admired person in her circle; and she had convinced herself that she ought to be grateful for the worldly comforts with which she was surrounded, for the ample means of doing good which were within her reach, and for the circumstance of having a very good-humoured husband, who, whatever might be his faults, was no tyrant.

Lord Westhope, also, was somewhat altered. He was now eight years older than when we began our story, and twenty-two years older than when he began his infidelities. It was, indeed, time he should have sown his wild oats, and accordingly he was become infinitely more domestic. Although love was a feeling which could never again exist between them, there subsisted a considerable regard, and their society was far from disagreeable to each other.

On the morning after the arrival of the De Moltons, when Lady Westhope called upon Blanche, one of the disputes, which were now of too frequent occurrence, had just taken place between her and her husband. Blanche had made a desperate effort to persuade De Molton to take a house which was to be let at a rent, low in proportion to its size, but still higher than he thought he could afford. Blanche shrank from being seen by her former associates in the mean and paltry lodging which, in so expensive a place as Brighton, was the only one he found within his means. He persisted in his usual resolution, never to do anything which might eventually lead to a shabby action, for the sake of avoiding a shabby appearance. He had not long left the room, after a peremptory refusal to accede to his wife's request, when Lady Westhope entered.

After the first greetings were over, and Lady Westhope had admired Blanche's beautiful children, they drew their chairs to the fire, and Lady Westhope exclaimed, "How I envy you those lovely children, Blanche! I think, if I had four such enchanting creatures, I should be quite happy! I should so like to have a large flourishing family growing up around me!"

"Heavens! dear Lady Westhope! and I consider each addition to mine as a visitation which gives me the blue devils for months! When once they are there, and they have made themselves beloved, one would not part with them for worlds; but if you knew what unceasing trouble they give, and how difficult it is to do one's duty by them, you would not wish for a large family."

"Well! perhaps there are advantages, as well as disadvantages, in everything. I have schooled my mind, and brought myself to think everything is for the best. I am a much more contented person, Blanche, than when we used to talk over your love affairs in former days. Now, tell me a little about Captain De Molton. Is he as handsome as ever? and are you as much in love as ever? I certainly never did see such a regular love-match as yours! The longer you were separated, and the more you were thwarted, the more desperately constant you both were!"

"Opposition has always been supposed to have that effect: I believe it has often turned many a passing fancy into a grande passion."

"Why, you are not implying such treason against yourself as to say that opposition assisted to foster your grande passion?"

"Oh dear, no! I only spoke generally. But do you tell me a little about Lord Westhope," she added, to turn the conversation from her own affairs.

"Oh! he is grown so kind and attentive! I assure you we are settling down into a most domestic comfortable old couple."

The entrance of Mr. Stapleford interrupted the mutual investigation of conjugal felicity which the friends had set on foot. Mr. Stapleford said he had just met De Molton in the street, who had told him where he should find Lady Blanche, and he had lost no time in paying his respects to her. "But, dear Lady Blanche, you are going to remove from this horrid place? In such a situation too! A mile and a half from the sea. I could scarcely believe De Molton, when he pointed out this as your abode; and should have imagined he was playing off a practical joke upon me, if I had not known he was not given to being facetious. But I suppose you are only here till you can procure something in the land of the living."

Blanche did not wish Mr. Stapleford to perceive she was not perfectly contented with her fate, and she replied that she did not like being within hearing of the sea,—the constant monotonous breaking of the waves upon the shore made her melancholy.

"There is no accounting for tastes," he replied, with a polite bow, and a glance which quickly ran over the shabby furniture, the once smart trellised paper, (a sort of paper peculiarly in vogue at sea-bathing places, where real flowers and real green leaves are rare,) the little round convex mirror surmounted by an eagle with a chain in its bill, and the other lodging-house elegancies which adorned the room, especially the bell-ropes, which were as fine, and much more dirty, than those at Mrs. Jones's, which, four years before, had excited such strong feelings of horror in Blanche's mind. She saw the excursive glance of his eye, and she saw the affectation of politeness with which he then let it fall on the ground, while a slight smile just played about the corners of his mouth. She always disliked him; and she now most devoutly wished he had not fancied the sea-air bracing, and the society of Brighton agreeable.

"You will be at Mrs. L.'s this evening, shall you not?" inquired Stapleford.

"No!" replied Lady Blanche; "I am not acquainted with her."

"Ah! by the bye, she has come into fashion since your time. How long is it since we lost sight of you?"

"I have been married five years."

"Married! Ah! marriage is a holy rite, synonymous with honourable sepulture. You have, from that day, been dead to all your friends! By the bye, I was with the Wentnors a month ago. You know your old friend Glenrith is become Lord Wentnor now. He, however, seems determined not to be buried alive. He is giving balls and fêtes of all descriptions; or rather she is, for he is such a doting husband, that every fancy of hers is a law to him. It is quite pretty to see such love-making after eight years of marriage, especially as the result of this Arcadian conjugality generally is a splendid entertainment by which half England profits."

Stapleford's instinct for saying the disagreeable thing had not deserted him; and he left Blanche to ponder on the fate she had rejected, and to compare it with that she had persisted in choosing. Lady Westhope, too, was happy! She rejoiced that such should be the case; but certainly the reflections she made during the rest of that day were not unworldly ones.

De Molton had again met Stapleford in his morning walk, who, after complimenting him upon the unimpaired beauty of his wife, attacked him most unmercifully for having kept her so long in seclusion, and for now burying her in such an out-of-the-way place, and implied (what he had no right to know, but what he had guessed from the expressive countenance of Blanche, in which her feelings might always be read as in a mirror,) that she was an unwilling denizen in that remote suburb.

De Molton returned home somewhat displeased at having been, as he imagined, spoken of as a tyrant and a miser. The tête-à-tête in the evening did not promise to be agreeable.

"Mr. Stapleford called this morning," Blanche began.

"So he told me," replied De Molton.

"And Lady Westhope has been here."

"Did they tell you any news?

"Mr. Stapleford told me he had been staying at Wentnor Castle; and he gives such a description of their happiness! They seem to be giving splendid fêtes and beautiful entertainments, all to please her; for, he says, that every wish of Lady Wentnor's is a law to her husband."

De Molton felt this last sentence as an implied cut at him. "It is very fortunate for Glenrith that he has money to throw away in gratifying every foolish whim of a fantastical woman."

Blanche felt that this was a hit at her; and forgetting that by applying to herself what her husband said, she gave him a right to conclude she meant to be personal in her account of Lord Wentnor as a husband, she followed her impulse, and replied:—

"I cannot see that there is anything fantastical in wishing not to be laughed at by all one's acquaintance, and in disliking a house one's friends can hardly bring themselves to enter."

"Blanche, when you married me, you knew you married a poor man: if you wished for riches and splendour, why did you not marry Glenrith?"

"I am sure, if I wished for kindness and for good-humour I had better have married Lord Glenrith. I do not know what foolish, girlish infatuation came over me."

"It is, indeed, unfortunate, that in consequence of this foolish, girlish infatuation, which are the terms by which you designate your attachment to your husband, you should have thrown away a situation in which you would have been so much happier. I have but to regret that I should have marred your fortunes—so unwittingly marred them,—for neither Glenrith nor yourself can accuse me of having, by any arts or underhand practices, attempted to win your affections from him."

This implied, according to Blanche's interpretation of his words, that she had allowed them to be gained before he had made any attempt to do so; and, as angry people usually do, answering to the sense she chose to attribute to his speech, rather than to its plain and obvious meaning, she replied,—

"If it was only pity for the unfortunate passion which you supposed me to entertain for you, which induced you to profess love at Cransley, it is indeed unfortunate that you allowed your pity so far to overcome your prudence. If I had imagined such to have been the case, I should most assuredly never have broken off my engagement with Lord Wentnor."

"I can only again lament that I should have been the cause of your doing what you so much regret."

"If this is my reward for having rejected, for your sake, the best parti in England, a good man, too, and one who loved me; for having disappointed and angered my parents; for having preserved an undeviating constancy for three years to a person who now laments that I did not marry his rival, and confesses he only married me out of pity, I am indeed the most unfortunate woman in the world!" She burst into a flood of tears of anger and vexation.

"Blanche, you wilfully pervert the meaning of all I say. When did I imply that I married you for anything but love? But these reproaches, this petulance, are not the right method to preserve a husband's affection."

"If nothing but a slave,—a patient, meek Griselda,—a Mrs. Jones,—can preserve your affection, I am afraid I have no chance of preserving it! I do not know what I can do more than I already do. I work for my children; I go without all the comforts I have been used to; I have no maid; and I must refuse going to Lady Westhope's to-morrow night, because the nursery-maid cannot dress my hair, and because I have no gown fit to appear in."

"I am very, very sorry I have not the means of providing you with the luxuries you regret, and I am very sorry you refuse yourself the pleasures and amusements that so naturally fall in your way. I had hoped that at Brighton, where people may join in society without much expense, and where it is not necessary to keep a carriage, you might have mixed with your friends. I should have thought the art of hair-dressing was not so very difficult to acquire, when one sees every attorney's daughter, every milliner's apprentice, every shop-girl, with hair which puts to shame all the exertions of M. Hippolite."

"I am not a shop-girl or a milliner's apprentice," answered Lady Blanche, while all the blood of the Falkinghams mounted to her cheek, and all the spirit of an ancient race flashed from her eye.

"But you are the wife of a poor man, although of one as nobly born as yourself!" and all the pride of the De Moltons rendered the brow of her husband absolutely awful.

"I know full well that I am the wife of a poor man; there is no need to remind me so often of that truth," replied Lady Blanche, with some bitterness in her tone; "and therefore I shall stay at home, and not expose my poverty to the eyes of the pitying world, or to the sneers of a Mr. Stapleford."

"You will do as is most agreeable to yourself. I shall certainly go to Lady Westhope's, as I shall feel sincere pleasure in seeing my old friends again."

To Lady Westhope's went De Molton; and Blanche stayed at home. She had originally intended, for the sake of enjoying agreeable society, to brave the slight mortification of not finding herself, as was once the case, the best dressed woman in the room; but the conversation of the preceding evening had left her so unhappy, so discontented, and so indignant, that she found a certain pleasure in martyrdom. It was, however, only in the eyes of her husband that she wished to enact the martyr; from the world she would fain conceal that she had so misjudged the strength of her own attachment: she meant to persuade others that it was from choice, from bad health, or from any motive rather than the true one, that she persisted in leading a retired life.

But with her candid disposition, and her speaking eyes, it did not require the malicious tact of a Stapleford to read the true state of her feelings. With Lady Westhope, especially, she could not always be on her guard; and to her it was soon only too evident that the love for which she had given up everything else did not repay her for the sacrifices she had made. Lady Westhope began indeed to doubt whether this much-vaunted love had not, when tried in the balance against privations of every sort, been found utterly wanting.

It may be asked, should then Blanche have married Lord Glenrith? No, certainly; for she was not in love with him. More especially no, for she was at the time in love with another. But we would urge that if affluence without love is insufficient to wedded happiness, so is the most romantic love without those habitual luxuries, and that dispensation from sordid details, which, to persons in a certain situation, may almost be termed the necessaries of life.

Let not those who, valuing the good things of this world, are dazzled into forming an interested marriage, anticipate the delights of sentimental affection, nor be disappointed if one whose situation was the attraction prove destitute of those qualities which were not sought; and let those who are "all for love and the world well lost," keep in mind the latter half of the sentence, and not expect to find both that which they prize, and that which they profess to contemn. Above all, let not those who have an opportunity of uniting in their choice true affection with the enjoyments of those comforts to which they have been accustomed, be induced, by any temptation of rank, wealth, or power, to give up virtuous happiness for heartless splendour.

CHAPTER XVIII.

The path of sorrow, and that path alone, Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown; No traveller ever reach'd that blest abode, Who found not thorns and briers in his road.

Cowper.

In her intercourse with the De Moltons, Lady Westhope observed that they seldom addressed each other; and that, in speaking of her husband, Blanche invariably called him Captain De Molton, instead of Frank, as she had formerly done; and that De Molton also, when speaking of his wife, added the title to her name, and even occasionally addressed her as "Lady" Blanche.

These were trifles, but yet they indicated much. Though grieved for her cousin's sake, Lady Westhope's reflections served to reconcile her to her own fate, and to confirm her in her opinion that

Every black must have its white, And every sweet its sour,

and that true wisdom consists in dwelling on the "sweets" of one's own peculiar lot, and striving to forget the "sours;" and though for herself she would still have chosen Blanche's trials rather than her own, it might be that she knew her own, and was not so well versed in Lady Blanche's. Yet her character was better fitted for Blanche's situation: she had more decision, more strength of mind, more pride,—not worldly pride, but pride of soul to persevere in the path which she had once chalked out for herself.

De Molton had keenly and painfully felt the coolness which had for months, nay almost years, been gradually increasing between them; and he was still more deeply wounded when she nearly confessed, or at least did not deny, her regret at having rejected Lord Glenrith for him. He could have found excuses for anything else. The pride of man, the tenderness of the husband, the sensitiveness of the individual, were all touched in the tenderest point.

"Could this," he thought, "be the same creature who was such a contemner of worldly wealth, so ardent a votary of love in a cottage, such an enthusiast for the pleasures of nature?" Alas! for poor Blanche! it was love in a lodging-house, not love in a cottage, that she had tried; and as to the pleasures of nature, the dusty suburbs of a country town are scarcely "the country" to a person brought up in the midst of an extensive park, in a wild and woody country.

De Molton recollected how, out of consideration for her, he had concealed his own feelings at Paris; how scrupulously he had avoided interfering with the more brilliant prospects which were opening before her; how, far from taking advantage of her unguarded confession of preference, he had banished himself from his native land; how, though hopeless, he had remained constant to her image for three long years; how, when he found her free, he had hastened to throw himself at her feet; how, without murmuring or repining, he gladly endured privations, the same that she did, and thought himself only too well rewarded if she would cheer their humble home with a smile. He thought over all these things, and he felt himself the most injured of men. Did he not deny himself every indulgence? Did he not even refuse himself the satisfaction of asking a friend to share his morsel?—the most galling self-denial enjoined by absolute poverty! Did not the responsibility of providing for their children weigh upon his mind? Was it not his duty to look forward to the time when education must commence; when boys must be sent to school, when girls must have masters? What parent will set down contented under the notion that his children will not be fitted by manners and education to move in the sphere in which they were born?—None, who are not without that commonest and strongest feeling in all created beings, parental affection—or who are not without the power of reflection! And how were these expenses to be met? How, but by increased economy on their part?

Such were the cares which pressed on De Molton's mind. How much better would it have been had he fairly communicated them all to his wife; had he frankly counselled with her upon the best plan to be pursued; had he openly laid before her his actual income, his actual expenses! But the constitutional reserve to which we have alluded prevented his pursuing this course.

It was most painful to him to refuse any of her wishes, and the very pain it gave him imparted to his manner of doing so a certain harshness which prevented Blanche from entering into his views. Her resistance to his views, or her martyr-like acquiescence in them, rendered him still less communicative, when, perhaps, had he pursued a more open line of conduct, a person who married with such good intentions as she did (though with little knowledge of things as they are) might have been led to suggest the very sacrifices at which she repined when they were demanded as a right.

Each succeeding day seemed to widen the breach between them. This result of a love-match afforded the materials for many a bad jest among some who called themselves their friends, while others saw nothing entertaining in the wreck of happiness to two people possessing many amiable qualities, though neither of them might be faultless. Some pitied Lady Blanche for having such a harsh and ungrateful tyrant for a husband; and some felt for the noble, uncompromising De Molton, whose home was evidently rendered miserable by a wilful, discontented wife. Some predicted a separation: some predicted that, beautiful as was Lady Blanche, and tired as she was of her home, the time would arrive when she would be induced to leave it, for one more brilliant, though less respectable;—although her manners were now so reserved, so decorous, a few years, and people would see the difference; a woman who had once loved so passionately, would not remain contented to pass her life from the age of twenty-eight in a state of cold indifference, if not of absolute dislike.

But those who thus prognosticated, proved uninspired prophets. Affection was still deep-rooted in both their hearts. The noxious weeds of petty grievances had choked, but not destroyed, the goodly plant. It still retained sufficient life, when moistened by the waters of affliction, to spring up with renewed vigour, and overcome in its growth the weeds which had almost stifled it.

CHAPTER XIX.

And dearer seems each dawning smile For having lost its light awhile. Lalla Rookh.