CHAPTER XXVIII.
IN WHICH PEN BEGINS TO DOUBT ABOUT HIS ELECTION.
While Pen, in his own county, was thus carrying on his selfish plansand parliamentary schemes, news came to him that Lady Rockminster hadarrived at Baymouth, and had brought with her our friend Laura. At theannouncement that Laura his sister was near him, Pen felt ratherguilty. His wish was to stand higher in her esteem, perhaps, than inthat of any other person in the world. She was his mother's legacy tohim. He was to be her patron and protector in some sort. How would shebrave the news which he had to tell her; and how should he explain theplans which he was meditating? He felt as if neither he nor Blanchecould bear Laura's dazzling glance of calm scrutiny, and as if hewould not dare to disclose his worldly hopes and ambitions to thatspotless judge. At her arrival at Baymouth, he wrote a letter thitherwhich contained a great number of fine phrases and protests ofaffection, and a great deal of easy satire and raillery; in the midstof all which Mr. Pen could not help feeling that he was in a panic,and that he was acting like a rogue and hypocrite.
How was it that a single country-girl should be the object of fear andtrembling to such an accomplished gentleman as Mr. Pen? His worldlytactics and diplomacy, his satire and knowledge of the world, couldnot bear the test of her purity, he felt somehow. And he had to own tohimself that his affairs were in such a position, that he could nottell the truth to that honest soul. As he rode from Clavering toBaymouth he felt as guilty as a school-boy, who doesn't know hislesson and is about to face the awful master. For is not truth themaster always, and does she not have the power and hold the book?
Under the charge of her kind, though somewhat wayward and absolute,patroness, Lady Rockminster, Laura had seen somewhat of the world inthe last year, had gathered some accomplishments, and profited by thelessons of society. Many a girl who had been accustomed to that toogreat tenderness in which Laura's early life had been passed, wouldhave been unfitted for the changed existence which she now had tolead. Helen worshiped her two children, and thought, as home-bredwomen will, that all the world was made for them, or to be consideredafter them. She tended Laura with a watchfulness of affection whichnever left her. If she had a headache, the widow was as alarmed as ifthere had never been an aching head before in the world. She slept andwoke, read, and moved under her mother's fond superintendence, whichwas now withdrawn from her, along with the tender creature whoseanxious heart would beat no more. And painful moments of grief anddepression no doubt Laura had, when she stood in the great carelessworld alone. Nobody heeded her griefs or her solitude. She was notquite the equal, in social rank, of the lady whose companion she was,or of the friends and relatives of the imperious, but kindold dowager.
Some, very likely, bore her no good-will--some, perhaps, slighted her:it might have been that servants were occasionally rude; theirmistress certainly was often. Laura not seldom found herself in familymeetings, the confidence and familiarity of which she felt wereinterrupted by her intrusion; and her sensitiveness of course waswounded at the idea that she should give or feel this annoyance. Howmany governesses are there in the world, thought cheerful Laura--howmany ladies, whose necessities make them slaves and companions byprofession! What bad tempers and coarse unkindness have not these toencounter! How infinitely better my lot is with these really kind andaffectionate people than that of thousands of unprotected girls! Itwas with this cordial spirit that our young lady adapted herself toher new position; and went in advance of her fortune with atrustful smile.
Did you ever know a person who met Fortune in that way, whom thegoddess did not regard kindly? Are not even bad people won by aconstant cheerfulness and a pure and affectionate heart? When thebabes in the wood, in the ballad, looked up fondly and trustfully atthose notorious rogues whom their uncle had set to make away with thelittle folks, we all know how one of the rascals relented, and madeaway with the other--not having the heart to be unkind to so muchinnocence and beauty. Oh happy they who have that virgin, loving trustand sweet smiling confidence in the world, and fear no evil becausethey think none! Miss Laura Bell was one of these fortunate persons;and besides the gentle widow's little cross, which, as we have seen,Pen gave her, had such a sparkling and brilliant _koh-i-noor_ in herbosom, as is even more precious than that famous jewel; for it notonly fetches a price, and is retained by its owner in another worldwhere diamonds are stated to be of no value, but here, too, is ofinestimable worth to its possessor; is a talisman against evil, andlightens up the darkness of life, like Cogia Hassan's famous stone.
So that before Miss Bell had been a year in Lady Rockminster's house,there was not a single person in it whose love she had not won by theuse of this talisman. From the old lady to the lowest dependent of herbounty, Laura had secured the good-will and kindness of every body.With a mistress of such a temper, my lady's woman (who had endured hermistress for forty years, and had been clawed and scolded and jibedevery day and night in that space of time), could not be expected tohave a good temper of her own; and was at first angry against MissLaura, as she had been against her ladyship's fifteen precedingcompanions. But when Laura was ill at Paris, this old woman nursed herin spite of her mistress, who was afraid of catching the fever, andabsolutely fought for her medicine with Martha from Fairoaks, nowadvanced to be Miss Laura's own maid. As she was recovering, Grandjeanthe chef wanted to kill her by the numbers of delicacies which hedressed for her, and wept when she ate her first slice of chicken. TheSwiss major-domo of the house celebrated Miss Bell's praises in almostevery European language, which he spoke with indifferentincorrectness; the coachman was happy to drive her out; the page criedwhen he heard she was ill; and Calverley and Coldstream (those twofootmen, so large, so calm ordinarily, and so difficult to move),broke out into extraordinary hilarity at the news of herconvalescence, and intoxicated the page at a wine shop, to _fete_Laura's recovery. Even Lady Diana Pynsent (our former acquaintance Mr.Pynsent had married by this time), Lady Diana, who had had aconsiderable dislike to Laura for some time, was so enthusiastic as tosay that she thought Miss Bell was a very agreeable person, and thatgrandmamma had found a great _trouvaille_ in her. All this good-willand kindness Laura had acquired, not by any arts, not by any flattery,but by the simple force of good-nature, and by the blessed gift ofpleasing and being pleased.
On the one or two occasions when he had seen Lady Rockminster, the oldlady, who did not admire him, had been very pitiless and abrupt withour young friend, and perhaps Pen expected when he came to Baymouth tofind Laura installed in her house in the quality of humble companion,and treated no better than himself. When she heard of his arrival shecame running down stairs, and I am not sure that she did not embracehim in the presence of Calverley and Coldstream: not that thosegentleman ever told: if the _fractus orbis_ had come to a smash, ifLaura, instead of kissing Pen, had taken her scissors and snipped offhis head--Calverly and Coldstream would have looked on impavidly,without allowing a grain of powder to be disturbed by the calamity.
Laura had so much improved in health and looks that Pen could not butadmire her. The frank and kind eyes which met his, beamed with goodhealth; the cheek which he kissed blushed with beauty. As he looked ather, artless and graceful, pure and candid, he thought he had neverseen her so beautiful. Why should he remark her beauty now so much,and remark too to himself that he had not remarked it sooner? He tookher fair trustful hand and kissed it fondly: he looked in her brightclear eyes, and read in them that kindling welcome which he was alwayssure to find there. He was affected and touched by the tender tone andthe pure sparkling glance; their innocence smote him somehow andmoved him.
"How good you are to me, Laura--sister!" said Pen, "I don't deservethat you should--that you should be so kind to me."
"Mamma left you to me," she said, stooping down and brushing hisforehead with her lips hastily. "You know you were to come to me whenyou were in trouble, or to tell me when you were very happy: that wasour compact, Arthur, last year, before we parted. Are you very happynow, or are you in troub
le, which is it?" and she looked at him withan arch glance of kindness. "Do you like going into Parliament? Do youintend to distinguish yourself there? How I shall tremble for yourfirst speech!"
"Do you know about the Parliament plan, then?" Pen asked.
"Know?--all the world knows! I have heard it talked about many times.Lady Rockminster's doctor talked about it to-day. I daresay it will bein the Chatteris paper to-morrow. It is all over the county that SirFrancis Clavering, of Clavering, is going to retire, in behalf of Mr.Arthur Pendennis, of Fairoaks; and that the young and beautiful MissBlanche Amory is--"
"What! that too?" asked Pendennis.
"That, too, dear Arthur. _Tout se sait_, as somebody would say, whom Iintend to be very fond of; and who I am sure is very clever andpretty. I have had a letter from Blanche. The kindest of letters. Shespeaks so warmly of you, Arthur! I hope--I know she feels what shewrites. When is it to be, Arthur? Why did you not tell me? I may comeand live with you then, mayn't I?"
"My home is yours, dear Laura, and every thing I have," Pen said. "IfI did not tell you, it was because--because--I do not know: nothing isdecided as yet. No words have passed between us. But you think Blanchecould be happy with me--don't you? Not a romantic fondness, you know.I have no heart, I think; I've told her so: only a sober-sidedattachment: and want my wife on one side of the fire and my sister onthe other, Parliament in the session and Fairoaks in the holidays, andmy Laura never to leave me until somebody who has a right comes totake her away."
Somebody who has a right--somebody with a right! Why did Pen as helooked at the girl and slowly uttered the words, begin to feel angryand jealous of the invisible somebody with the right to take her away?Anxious, but a minute ago, how she would take the news regarding hisprobable arrangements with Blanche, Pen was hurt somehow that shereceived the intelligence so easily, and took his happinessfor granted.
"Until somebody comes," Laura said, with a laugh, "I will stay at homeand be aunt Laura, and take care of the children when Blanche is inthe world. I have arranged it all. I am an excellent house-keeper. Doyou know I have been to market at Paris with Mrs. Beck, and have takensome lessons from M. Grandjean. And I have had some lessons in Parisin singing too, with the money which you sent me, you kind boy: and Ican sing much better now: and I have learned to dance, though not sowell as Blanche, and when you become a minister of state, Blancheshall present me:" and with this, and with a provoking good-humor, sheperformed for him the last Parisian courtesy.
Lady Rockminster came in while this courtesy was being performed, andgave to Arthur one finger to shake; which he took, and over which hebowed as well as he could, which, in truth, was very clumsily.
"So you are going to be married, sir," said the old lady.
"Scold him, Lady Rockminster, for not telling us," Laura said, goingaway: which, in truth, the old lady began instantly to do. "So you aregoing to marry, and to go into Parliament in place of thatgood-for-nothing Sir Francis Clavering. I wanted him to give mygrandson his seat--why did he not give my grandson his seat? I hopeyou are to have a great deal of money with Miss Amory. I wouldn'ttake her without a great deal."
"Sir Francis Clavering is tired of Parliament," Pen said, wincing,"and--and I rather wish to attempt that career. The rest of the storyis at least premature."
"I wonder, when you had Laura at home, you could take up with such anaffected little creature as that," the old lady continued.
"I am very sorry Miss Amory does not please your ladyship," said Pen,smiling.
"You mean--that it is no affair of mine, and that I am not going tomarry her. Well I'm not, and I'm very glad I am not--a little odiousthing--when I think that a man could prefer her to my Laura, I've nopatience with him, and so I tell you, Mr. Arthur Pendennis."
"I am very glad you see Laura with such favorable eyes," Pen said.
"You are very glad, and you are very sorry. What does it matter, sir,whether you are very glad or very sorry? A young man who prefers MissAmory to Miss Bell has no business to be sorry or glad. A young manwho takes up with such a crooked lump of affectation as that littleAmory--for she is crooked, I tell you she is--after seeing my Laura,has no right to hold up his head again. Where is your friendBluebeard? The tall young man, I mean--Warrington, isn't his name? Whydoes he not come down, and marry Laura? What do the young men mean bynot marrying such a girl as that? They all marry for money now. Youare all selfish and cowards. We ran away with each other and madefoolish matches in my time. I have no patience with the young men!When I was at Paris in the winter, I asked all the three attaches atthe Embassy why they did not fall in love with Miss Bell? Theylaughed--they said they wanted money. You are all selfish--you areall cowards."
"I hope before you offered Miss Bell to the attaches," said Pen, withsome heat, "you did her the favor to consult her?"
"Miss Bell has only a little money. Miss Bell must marry soon.Somebody must make a match for her, sir; and a girl can't offerherself," said the old dowager, with great state. "Laura, my dear,I've been telling your cousin that all the young men are selfish; andthat there is not a pennyworth of romance left among them. He is asbad as the rest."
"Have you been asking Arthur why he won't marry me?" said Laura, witha kindling smile, coming back and taking her cousin's hand. (She hadbeen away, perhaps, to hide some traces of emotion, which she did notwish others to see). "He is going to marry somebody else; and I intendto be very fond of her, and to go and live with them, provided he thendoes not ask every bachelor who comes to his house, why he does notmarry me?"
* * * * *
The terrors of Pen's conscience being thus appeased, and hisexamination before Laura over without any reproaches on the part ofthe latter, Pen began to find that his duty and inclination led himconstantly to Baymouth, where Lady Rockminster informed him that aplace was always reserved for him at her table. "And I recommend youto come often," the old lady said, "for Grandjean is an excellentcook, and to be with Laura and me will do your manners good. It iseasy to see that you are always thinking about yourself. Don't blushand stammer--almost all young men are always thinking aboutthemselves. My sons and grandsons always were until I cured them. Comehere, and let us teach you to behave properly; you will not have tocarve, that is done at the side-table. Hecker will give you as muchwine as is good for you; and on days when you are very good andamusing you shall have some Champagne. Hecker, mind what I say, Mr.Pendennis is Miss Laura's brother; and you will make him comfortable,and see that he does not have too much wine, or disturb me while I amtaking my nap after dinner. You are selfish; I intend to cure you ofbeing selfish. You will dine here when you have no other engagements;and if it rains you had better put up at the hotel." As long as thegood lady could order every body round about her, she was not hard toplease; and all the slaves and subjects of her little dowager courttrembled before her, but loved her.
She did not receive a very numerous or brilliant society. The doctor,of course, was admitted as a constant and faithful visitor; the vicarand his curate; and on public days the vicar's wife and daughters, andsome of the season visitors at Baymouth were received at the oldlady's entertainments: but generally the company was a small one, andMr. Arthur drank his wine by himself, when Lady Rockminster retired totake her doze, and to be played and sung to sleep by Lauraafter dinner.
"If my music can give her a nap," said the good-natured girl, "ought Inot to be very glad that I can do so much good? Lady Rockminstersleeps very little of nights: and I used to read to her until I fellill at Paris, since when she will not hear of my sitting up."
"Why did you not write to me when you were ill?" asked Pen, with ablush.
"What good could you do me? I had Martha to nurse me; and the doctorevery day. You are too busy to write to women or to think about them.You have your books and your newspapers, and your politics and yourrailroads to occupy you. I wrote when I was well."
And Pen looked at her, and blushed again, as he remembered that,during all the time o
f her illness, he had never written to her, andhad scarcely thought about her.
In consequence of his relationship, Pen was free to walk and ride withhis cousin constantly, and in the course of those walks and rides,could appreciate the sweet frankness of her disposition, and thetruth, simplicity, and kindliness, of her fair and spotless heart. Intheir mother's life-time, she had never spoken so openly or socordially as now. The desire of poor Helen to make an union betweenher two children, had caused a reserve on Laura's part toward Pen; forwhich, under the altered circumstances of Arthur's life, there was nowno necessity. He was engaged to another woman; and Laura became hissister at once--hiding, or banishing from herself, any doubts whichshe might have as to his choice; striving to look cheerfully forward,and hope for his prosperity; promising herself to do all thataffection might do to make her mother's darling happy.
Their talk was often about the departed mother. And it was from athousand stories which Laura told him that Arthur was made aware howconstant and absorbing that silent maternal devotion had been, whichhad accompanied him, present and absent, through life, and had onlyended with the fond widow's last breath. One day the people inClavering saw a lad in charge of a couple of horses at thechurch-yard-gate: and it was told over the place that Pen and Laurahad visited Helen's grave together. Since Arthur had come down intothe country, he had been there once or twice: but the sight of thesacred stone had brought no consolation to him. A guilty man doing aguilty deed: a mere speculator, content to lay down his faith andhonor for a fortune and a worldly career; and owning that his life wasbut a contemptible surrender--what right had he in the holy place?what booted it to him in the world he lived in, that others were nobetter than himself? Arthur and Laura rode by the gates of Fairoaks;and he shook hands with his tenant's children, playing on the lawn andthe terrace--Laura looked steadily at the cottage wall, at the creeperon the porch and the magnolia growing up to her window. "Mr. Pendennisrode by to-day," one of the boys told his mother, "with a lady, and hestopped and talked to us, and he asked for a bit of honeysuckle offthe porch, and gave it the lady. I couldn't see if she was pretty; shehad her veil down. She was riding one of Cramp's horses, out ofBaymouth."
As they rode over the downs between home and Baymouth, Pen did notspeak much, though they rode very close together. He was thinking whata mockery life was, and how men refuse happiness when they may haveit; or, having it, kick it down; or barter it, with their eyes open,for a little worthless money or beggarly honor. And then thethought came, what does it matter for the little space? The lives ofthe best and purest of us are consumed in a vain desire, and end in adisappointment: as the dear soul's who sleeps in her grave yonder. Shehad her selfish ambition, as much as Caesar had; and died, balked ofher life's longing. The stone covers over our hopes and our memories.Our place knows us not. "Other people's children are playing on thegrass," he broke out, in a hard voice, "where you and I used to play,Laura. And you see how the magnolia we planted has grown up since ourtime. I have been round to one or two of the cottages where my motherused to visit. It is scarcely more than a year that she is gone, andthe people whom she used to benefit care no more for her death thanfor Queen Anne's. We are all selfish: the world is selfish: there arebut a few exceptions, like you, my dear, to shine like good deeds in anaughty world, and make the blackness more dismal."
"I wish you would not speak in that way, Arthur," said Laura, lookingdown and bending her head to the honeysuckle on her breast. "When youtold the little boy to give me this, you were not selfish."
"A pretty sacrifice I made to get it for you!" said the sneerer.
"But your heart was kind and full of love when you did so. One can notask for more than love and kindness; and if you think humbly ofyourself, Arthur, the love and kindness are not diminished--are they?I often thought our dearest mother spoiled you at home, by worshipingyou; and that if you are--I hate the word--what you say, her too greatfondness helped to make you so. And as for the world, when men go outinto it, I suppose they can not be otherwise than selfish. You have tofight for yourself, and to get on for yourself, and to make a name foryourself. Mamma and your uncle both encouraged you in this ambition.If it is a vain thing, why pursue it? I suppose such a clever man asyou intend to do a great deal of good to the country, by going intoParliament, or you would not wish to be there. What are you going todo when you are in the House of Commons?"
"Women don't understand about politics, my dear," Pen said, sneeringat himself as he spoke.
"But why don't you make us understand? I could never tell about Mr.Pynsent why he should like to be there so much. He is not aclever man--"
"He certainly is not a genius, Pynsent," said Pen.
"Lady Diana says that he attends Committees all day; that then againhe is at the House all night; that he always votes as he is told; thathe never speaks; that he will never get on beyond a subordinate place,and as his grandmother tells him, he is choked with red-tape. Are yougoing to follow the same career, Arthur? What is there in it sobrilliant that you should be so eager for it? I would rather that youshould stop at home, and write books--good books, kind books, withgentle kind thoughts, such as you have, dear Arthur, and such as mightdo people good to read. And if you do not win fame, what then? You ownit is vanity, and you can live very happily without it. I must notpretend to advise; but I take you at your own word about the world;and as you own it is wicked, and that it tires you, ask you why youdon't leave it?"
"And what would you have me do?" asked Arthur.
"I would have you bring your wife to Fairoaks to live there, andstudy, and do good round about you. I would like to see your ownchildren playing on the lawn, Arthur, and that we might pray in ourmother's church again once more, dear brother. If the world is atemptation, are we not told to pray that we may not be led into it?"
"Do you think Blanche would make a good wife for a petty countrygentleman? Do you think I should become the character very well,Laura?" Pen asked. "Remember temptation walks about the hedgerows aswell as the city streets: and idleness is the greatest tempterof all."
"What does--does Mr. Warrington say?" said Laura, as a blush mountedup to her cheek, and of which Pen saw the fervor, though Laura's veilfell over her face to hide it.
Pen rode on by Laura's side silently for a while. George's name, somentioned, brought back the past to him, and the thoughts which he hadonce had regarding George and Laura. Why should the recurrence of thethought agitate him, now that he knew the union was impossible? Whyshould he be curious to know if, during the months of their intimacy,Laura had felt a regard for Warrington? From that day until thepresent time George had never alluded to his story, and Arthurremembered now that since then George had scarcely ever mentionedLaura's name.
At last he came close to her. "Tell me something, Laura," he said.
She put back her veil and looked at him. "What is it, Arthur?" sheasked--though from the tremor of her voice she guessed very well.
"Tell me--but for George's misfortune--I never knew him speak of itbefore or since that day--would you--would you have given him--whatyou refused me?"
"Yes, Pen," she said, bursting into tears.
"He deserved you better than I did," poor Arthur groaned forth, withan indescribable pang at his heart. "I am but a selfish wretch, andGeorge is better, nobler, truer, than I am. God bless him!"
"Yes, Pen," said Laura, reaching out her hand to her cousin, and heput his arm round her, and for a moment she sobbed on his shoulder.
The gentle girl had had her secret, and told it. In the widow's lastjourney from Fairoaks, when hastening with her mother to Arthur's sickbed, Laura had made a different confession; and it was only whenWarrington told his own story, and described the hopeless condition ofhis life, that she discovered how much her feelings had changed, andwith what tender sympathy, with what great respect, delight, andadmiration she had grown to regard her cousin's friend. Until she knewthat some plans she might have dreamed of were impossible, and thatWarrington reading in her h
eart, perhaps, had told his melancholystory to warn her, she had not asked herself whether it was possiblethat her affections could change; and had been shocked and scared bythe discovery of the truth. How should she have told it to Helen, andconfessed her shame? Poor Laura felt guilty before her friend, withthe secret which she dared not confide to her; felt as if she had beenungrateful for Helen's love and regard; felt as if she had beenwickedly faithless to Pen in withdrawing that love from him which hedid not even care to accept; humbled even and repentant beforeWarrington, lest she should have encouraged him by undue sympathy, orshown the preference which she began to feel.
The catastrophe which broke up Laura's home, and the grief and anguishwhich she felt for her mother's death, gave her little leisure forthoughts more selfish; and by the time she rallied from that grief theminor was also almost cured. It was but for a moment that she hadindulged a hope about Warrington. Her admiration and respect for himremained as strong as ever. But the tender feeling with which she knewshe had regarded him, was schooled into such calmness, that it may besaid to have been dead and passed away. The pang which it left behindwas one of humility and remorse. "O how wicked and proud I was aboutArthur," she thought, "how self-confident and unforgiving! I neverforgave from my heart this poor girl, who was fond of him, or him forencouraging her love; and I have been more guilty than she, poor,little artless creature! I, professing to love one man, could listento another only too eagerly; and would not pardon the change offeelings in Arthur, while I myself was changing and unfaithful." Andso humiliating herself, and acknowledging her weakness, the poor girlsought for strength and refuge in the manner in which she had beenaccustomed to look for them.
She had done no wrong: but there are some folks who suffer for a faultever so trifling as much as others whose stout consciences can walkunder crimes of almost any weight; and poor Laura chose to fancy thatshe had acted in this delicate juncture of her life as a very greatcriminal. She determined that she had done Pen a great injury bywithdrawing that love which, privately in her mother's hearing, shehad bestowed upon him; that she had been ungrateful to her deadbenefactress by ever allowing herself to think of another or ofviolating her promise; and that, considering her own enormous crimes,she ought to be very gentle in judging those of others, whosetemptations were much greater, very likely; and whose motives shecould not understand.
A year back Laura would have been indignant at the idea that Arthurshould marry Blanche: and her high spirit would have risen, as shethought that from worldly motives he should stoop to one so unworthy.Now when the news was brought to her of such a chance (theintelligence was given to her by old Lady Rockminster, whose speecheswere as direct and rapid as a slap on the face), the humbled girlwinced a little at the blow, but bore it meekly, and with a desperateacquiescence. "He has a right to marry, he knows a great deal more ofthe world than I do," she argued with herself. "Blanche may not be solight-minded as she seemed, and who am I to be her judge? I daresay itis very good that Arthur should go into Parliament and distinguishhimself, and my duty is to do every thing that lies in my power to aidhim and Blanche, and to make his home happy. I daresay I shall livewith them. If I am godmother to one of their children, I will leaveher my three thousand pounds!" And forthwith she began to think whatshe could give Blanche out of her small treasures, and how best toconciliate her affection. She wrote her forthwith a kind letter, inwhich, of course, no mention was made of the plans in contemplation,but in which Laura recalled old times, and spoke her good-will, and inreply to this she received an eager answer from Blanche: in which nota word about marriage was said, to be sure, but Mr. Pendennis wasmentioned two or three times in the letter, and they were to behenceforth, dearest Laura, and dearest Blanche, and loving sisters,and so forth.
When Pen and Laura reached home, after Laura's confession (Pen's nobleacknowledgment of his own inferiority, and generous expression of lovefor Warrington, causing the girl's heart to throb, and renderingdoubly keen those tears which she sobbed on his shoulder), a littleslim letter was awaiting Miss Bell in the hall, which she trembledrather guiltily as she unsealed, and which Pen blushed as herecognized; for he saw instantly that it was from Blanche.
Laura opened it hastily, and cast her eyes quickly over it, as Penkept his fixed on her, blushing.
"She dates from London," Laura said. "She has been with old Bonner,Lady Clavering's maid. Bonner is going to marry Lightfoot the butler.Where do you think Blanche has been?" she cried out eagerly.
"To Paris, to Scotland, to the Casino?"
"To Shepherd's Inn, to see Fanny; but Fanny wasn't there, and Blancheis going to leave a present for her. Isn't it kind of her andthoughtful?" And she handed the letter to Pen who read--
"'I saw Madame Mere who was scrubbing the room, and looked at me withvery _scrubby_ looks; but _la belle_ Fanny was not _au logis;_ and asI heard that she was in Captain Strong's apartments, Bonner and Imounted _au troisieme_ to see this famous beauty. Anotherdisappointment--only the Chevalier Strong and a friend of his in theroom: so we came away, after all, without seeing the enchanting Fanny.
"'_Je t'envoie mille et mille baisers_. When will that horridcanvassing be over? Sleeves are worn, &c. &c. &c.'"
After dinner the doctor was reading the _Times_, "A young gentleman Iattended when he was here some eight or nine years ago, has come intoa fine fortune," the doctor said. "I see here announced the death ofJohn Henry Foker, Esq., of Logwood Hall, at Pau, in the Pyrenees, onthe 15th ult."