Lucy Aylmer. By the author of 'The Curate of Overton.'

Chapter I

"And when thou wast gone, I felt an aching here. I did not speak To any one that day. But from that day Bartoleme grew hateful unto me." LONGFELLOW. The Squire was fairly beaten : Augusta on one side and Archer on the other, had argued and persuaded so successfully, that Mr. Nevdle actually agreed to allow Maude and Lucy to accompany their aunt on her return to town. Archer had particularly pressed it on his brother, pleaded the finishing their education, forming their ideas, &c. — but his real motive for wishing it so much was this : the Lady Flora had conceived a great attachment VOL. II. B for Lucy. Archer observed everything, and turned everything to account — even this girl ish friendship. In the latter end of April, the Countess and her daughters were to take up their residence in Park Lane.

What would then attract the Lady Flora so much to the house in May-Fair, as its being for a time, the abode of the gentle Lucy ? Archer looked forward into the future and foresaw this, foresaw op portunities, otherwise impossible, of frequent meetings with the Lady Flora, whom he adored all the more, because he could not openly declare it. The day fodowing that happy evening, when Lucy's paper gained so much applause, Lord Glendowan had been sent for suddenly from the Highlands, as it was supposed the Lady Damer was dying. Her noble brother departed in aU haste, after a warm adieu to his fiancee. Flora cried when he went, not from sorrow, but a melancholy feeling took possession of her, an augury of future ill, and she sat sadly in the Ghost's Turret that evening, resolved to keep out of the way of Archer Nevdle.

But this was im possible ; he remained at Castle St. Agnes, a week after Lord Glendowan. Oh ! how Flora wished him gone ! Never was she alone in the saloon, or wandering solitary in the Park, but Archer seemed to come across her. How cleverly did he converse — how kindly draw out her opinion on the subject of which they happened to be talking — how he concealed his own learning and encouraged hers ! and finally he flattered her so adroitly, so artfudy, that it would have required one keener than herself to perceive it ! Then also did he show her manifold little attentions, careful, unob trusive, visible to no one but herself ; winning, fascinating, but yet painful to the Lady Flora ; for she was not free, she was Lord Glen dowan's. What right had she then to receive attentions from Archer Nevdle ?

She longed for the week to be over — and it passed by and was gone hke a dream ! and she stood by Lucy's side and wished Archer good-bye in the had. She thought he pressed her hand, and she felt the look he cast on her was pleading and carried love in its glance. She coloured deeply and turned away, and when she looked again, he was gone ! The Lady Flora was absent and gloomy the rest of the day; a cold dreariness hanging over her. She missed Archer by her side at dinner ; she missed their evening hours at chess, when his voice ever and anon murmured soft and low some half-expressed sentence of devotion. And the Lady Flora wished Archer back, yet wept at the wish, for to her it seemed sinful, she the betrothed of Lord Glendowan ! And at night when her eyes closed in sleep, she dreamt that she was being married to Archer, then awoke and trembled at her dream, as though she could help it, poor Lady Flora !

Then a former desire came again into her heart, that there were Protestant convents : her life was useless ; she would so gladly enrol herself among a Protestant sisterhood, and give herself up to good works ! Ah ! Lady Flora, there are good works to be performed without convent wads. Read your Bible and you will find it so ! Augusta did not accompany her brother home ; the Countess persuaded her to remain till Lent commenced, when her nieces would return with her, for then, and not tid then, would the Countess part with Maude and Lucy. They were to live very quietly during Lent, pass their mornings in study, the afternoon in walking or driving, and occasionady enliven their evenings by an oratorio or a con cert. At Easter, Miss Nevdle always re paired to Brighton. It would be April then ; and the Squire was to join them in town, and either take his daughters home, or leave them for the season, as he felt inclined and they wished.

Hard frosts and severe snow-storms, considerably retarded the repairs at the Manor, which could not be completed until March or April. The Squire determined to take up his residence in the uninjured wing, and super intend in person the rebuilding, and thus hasten the workmen. Cecd Erresford left the Castle at the end of January for Park Lane, to be ready for the opening of Parliament -. he felt sorry to quit his home circle, his sister Flora, and Lucy whom he loved like a sister. It might have been something more, only that he saw how her heart clung to Robert, and Robert's to her. It was a keen disappointment, for he imagined there could be no one else on earth so good as Lucy. Augusta Neville's designs on him faded, but she was not daunted — wait till he sees me in town — she thought — where I am the centre of attraction in my circles, and he wdl be the first man who has been proof against me !

So reasoned hand some Miss Neville. Poor Augusta ! she was growing sadly ennuye'e, now the gentlemen of their party were so much thinned, and rather longed for the day of their departure. To pass the time, she occupied herself with Lucy, devoting some hours every day to practising music and singing and reading French with her. Maude had made friends with Agnese, and gained Lady Anne's permission to study Italian with her during her stay at the Castle. Agnese was a person of superior education ; she was a protegee of the Marchesa Elmo, where Lady Anne first met her. The Padre Anas tasio, the Marchesa's brother, had himself di rected the education of Agnese, who was now more a confidante than maid to the Lady Anne, who had other attendants under Agnese. It was the morning of Ash Wednesday. The Castle party was assembled in the breakfast room : the Lady Anne only was wanting ; a chair was left vacant for her beside Squire Neville, when the door suddenly opened and she came in.

Lucy started and turned pale — tad and stately looked the Lady Anne ; but what had happened? Wherefore was her Ladyship clad in robes of the deepest mourning? Why did black crape hang heavily over the bombazine of her dress, and not one particle of white appear either on collar or sleeves ? She could not have been more sable clad had it been the funeral-day of the Countess ? Maude opened her eyes with wonder and astonishment ; she did not comprehend it — nor could the Squire, unsophisticated man ! understand the meaning of this sudden change in her costume ; and he became still more puzzled, when the Lady Anne stedfastly refused ad the offered dishes, and made her breakfast off a single cup of tea, and slice of dry bread. Poor Lucy was alarmed, Lady Anne, she thought, must be very ill, or perhaps it was the anni versary of the death of some one she loved ! — Maude and her father were not so charitable in their suppositions, but set down this change of attire, as another of Lady Anne's eccentri cities.

Lucy grew more and more uncomfortable ; and, at last, summoning up all her slender stock of courage, and with cheeks of carnation hue, she said in meek tones, " I am afraid you are ill, Lady Anne ?" " Not in the least, Lucy, thank you," she replied courteously. " Oh I thought something was the matter," added Lucy bashfully. Lady Anne knew Lucy was in earnest, for she never ridiculed any one. Lady Flora whispered low to Lucy something in which the word " Lent," was heard ; but still innocent Lucy was in darkness. How was Lent possibly connected with Lady Anne's mourning attire ? Lent was a time when Lucy every year had gone more frequently to church, and offered up her holy prayers in the old pew near the font — and she had listened reverently to the lessons and liked to ponder over the beautiful history she learned from them — Religion to her was something very exquisitely simple ; she took it entirely from the Bible and there she learnt that the " pure in heart shall see God — that the merciful are blessed — that the ways of religion are ways of pleasantness and ad her paths are peace — that Christ loved little chddren." — She was not a little chdd now !

No, not in years, but she was a child in purity — in guilelessness — and she still read day by day our Saviour's words, " suffer httle children to come unto me" — and in her prayers, mentioned herself as a child. It never once occurred to her that a dark garb, or weeks of penance were necessary to win the heavenly crown she delighted to read of ; or that merit consisted in attending church day after day, till the services she loved, and the Sunday her heart delighted in more than any day in seven, became wearisome. She thought in her simplicity that the Bible and Prayer Book were the guides of all churchmen ; and that if they kept to them, they could not go wrong; but she had yet to learn how numbers, falsely called church men, altogether reject the Bible, and differ from the articles and creeds of the very Prayer Book they profess to set up as their standard !

Ah, fair child ! there is much which in thy quiet home is hidden from thee; much it were better thou should'st never know — much of the world's wickedness — its hypocrisies and its cheats that wdl make thy young heart sore, whde yet the sunshine should be playing o'er it, and the rough winds warded off, by the very hands that shall draw them down on thee ! "I wish, Anne," Lady Flora said after breakfast, when the Countess and the Squire had withdrawn, " you would not put on that ugly mourning every Lent. It is so unbe coming, if you only knew how much older it makes you look." " I think, Flora, it would be far better if you did not dictate," replied Lady Anne. " Oh, Anne 1 I do not dictate," said Lady Flora in an apologetic tone, " only it is such a pity : if I did not care for you, I should not say anything about it ; but I dislike to see you look so dismal."

" What is the use of wearing mourning in Lent ?" asked Maude. " I never saw it before." " Maude, you do not understand the Church's year," was the short reply. " What? Lady Anne !" exclaimed Maude. " I thought there was only one kind of year, with twelve calendar months in it ?" Maude looked dreadfufly impertinent. " The Church's year begins with Advent, and ends the last Sunday after Trinity," Lady Anne said coldly ; " and there are times and seasons in that year which we are enjoined to observe." " Most people go to church on Ash-Wed nesday, but why should they go into mourning for Lent? It is not dead, we shall see dozens more," said the saucy Maude. " We cannot ted but this may be our last," replied Lady Anne, in a' low, solemn tone, that made her sister shudder. " Do you wear mourning to-day because you think you may not live till next year ?" exclaimed Maude, with a look of astonishment.

" That is a new idea, Lady Anne, and at that rate, why not put on crape every Christmas, or even every day for the same reason ?" " You do not understand the days or seasons," replied Lady Anne, who was rather vain of her fortitude, and thought herself a martyr, because she occasionady got laughed at for her religious follies ; for she did what every one should so carefully avoid, she made religion appear ridiculous. " But what have the days and seasons to do with your wearing black to-day, Lady Anne?" persisted Maude. Lady Anne turned round to Lucy, who stood by, a silent and astonished hearer. " Lucy," she said, " you are more thoughtful and reverent than your sister. Tell me why is Lent observed ?" Lucy coloured at being so pointedly ad dressed, then replied in her gentle tones, "We celebrate in Lent, the forty days and forty nights which our Saviour passed in the desert."

Lady Anne looked satisfied. " Yes," she exclaimed, in an impassioned tone the girls had never heard her use before, " yes ! for forty days our Holy Church bows herself down, and we prostrate and humble our selves, and fast and mourn even as our Lord Himself fasted and mourned. Our souls are sorrowful — acts of penance, works of mercy, alone soften our hearts and sorrows, which in crease more and more tdl the awful day arrives, which is the climax of the Church's affliction. Then does darkness enshroud our churches, darkness enshroud ourselves ; and we lie prostrate before our altars, in weeping and supplication, tdl the Church's triumph day arrives : then do flowers adorn our churches instead of their sable hangings, and we ourselves in garments of brightness, rejoice that our Lord is risen !

Yes ! on Easter day, the Church's sud triumph comes. Oh, blessed day ! who does not hail its approach with great rejoicing !" She looked around ; her eyes met Lucy's so fidl of wonder, her face wearing that expression of almost painful surprise, which the propounding of any new and strange doctrine, for the first time sounding on our ears, often calls forth. Lady Anne said, in a voice of compassion. " Ah ! Lucy chdd ! you have yet to learn the sud blessedness of that Holy Catholic Church to which we belong." Maude had been silent. Her large, deep eyes were fixed in confused wonderment on Lady Anne's countenance, but now she burst forth in indignant tones. " Indeed, Lady Anne, neither Lucy nor I are Catholics. Our church is as Protestant as any in England, and we were christened there !" " Ah ! that Holy Baptism," murmured Lady Anne, " wherein the Church saved you, and made you all her own !"

" Did you learn all these strange things in London, Lady Anne ? Because if you did, I would rather not go there. I will not be made a Catholic, no, not for anyone !" " But you are a Catholic, Maude, and no thing will ever unmake you," rephed Lady Anne, coldly. " Prove it, Lady Anne !" exclaimed Maude. Lucy thought Maude spoke too warmly, and she feared Lady Anne would think her rude, so she said, in a soft tone of apology : " A great many years ago, one of mamma's ancestors was burnt by Catholics : you can read about it in the Martyrs ; and Maude and I do not like to be classed with them." " Lucy, you are mistaken," Lady Anne replied in her usual cold manner. " Those were Roman, but we are Anglo-Cathohcs. They differ from us slightly ; but the time may come when we shall be united." " Make them Protestants first," grumbled Maude.

Lady Flora bent over her work and sighed. " Oh ! these endless disputes !" she mur mured. Maude put her hands to her flushed cheeks, and sauntered out on the terrace, and began to sing, " Begone dud Care." Her first dis cussion with Lady Anne made little impression on her volatile mind, but with Lucy it was far otherwise ; she went slowly up the wide oak staircase to dress for church, her mind feehng painfully confused, and her young face looking grave. The first of Lady Anne's shadows had fallen upon her — Protestants were Catholics, and Baptism saved you ! This was strange, she wished she had never heard it ! " You must not attend to Anne." Lady Flora said, as Lucy and herself walked to church together. " Anne is so odd — she is half a Roman Catholic, though she pretends not to be." " Do many people think hke Lady Anne ?"

Lucy asked anxiously. " Oh, numbers !" rephed Flora. " I do not agree with her and never shad, and Cecil does not ; but mamma does in some measure ; it is fashionable — but mamma is not like Anne." Lucy looked disappointed and still more mystified — " Fashionable !" she murmured to herself — and a ' fashionable religion' seemed a strange sounding title ! Lucy was rather early in church, and she read in her old brown Bible a few of her favourite verses, which she had marked with a pencil ; and as she read, peace returned to her mind, and she ceased to think of the morning's conversation. That Ash Wednesday seemed all bustle to Lucy : they were to leave dear old Forsted on the morrow, and there was no end of people who wanted to bid Maude and Lucy farewell. Some of their poor vdlage friends had made them pin-cushions and needlebooks, they said, for the journey, as though London were America, or any such far off land ; and Lucy promised to write to one or two of her favourite old women, who kissed her hands and blessed her, and promised to pray for her when she was gone ; and then they cried and sobbed, as if the parting were for ever, and Lucy was quite distressed and cried too, till Robert came to find her, and carry her off for a walk in the fields.

Maude was detained behind by some farmers' daughters, who had visited the metropolis and were immensely proud of their journey, and talked a great deal of ' Busses and them lovely theatres /' and told Maude not to forget to be on the look out for the Ethiopian Serenaders, nor to omit a visit to St. Paul's ! The Miss Perkins had lodged hard by the Cathedral, and had been wonderfully impres sed with the " moniements !" When Maude had heard these young ladies out, Lucy and Robert were lost sight of — so she went to the Manor to look for her father. The poor Squire was, what he was pleased to style, rather down in the mouth ! Now the time came for them to leave, he was reluctant to part with his girls, and made many promises of soon having a run up to town to look after them. Something of the kind also entered Robert's mind, though he kept his thoughts a secret: he never knew how he loved Lucy, till he was parting from her ! — " You will not forget me, will you, Lucy ?" he asked as they walked along.

" Oh, no ! never Robert !" she replied, " and you will write and ted me all the news, and how my old women get on ?" Lucy and Robert had corresponded for years. " You shall have such long letters," he answered, " and I wid send you some flowers in them." " Poor dear flowers ! I shad not see many when I go," she observed mournfully. " Oh ! there are beautiful gardens in London," said Robert " where you wid see roses in summer, finer than you ever saw even at Lady Fairfield's." Lucy was sdent for some moments, and then she said, " I shall be glad to come home again, Robert." "And I shad be more glad than you can think to have you here again. Forsted will be so dull without you." " Lady Flora says she shall miss us very much ; it is nice to be missed, because it shows people love you !" said Lucy simply.

" Ah, it does indeed !" murmured Robert with feeling. :' Take care of papa for us," continued Lucy, " and poor old Tawney, and my garden ; do not let the workmen trample it down, if you can help it — and please plant those seeds Maude gave you, in your garden — you wdl want flowers to look gay when we return." " I shad have the church-beds rung when you do — such a peal !" said Robert. Lucy smiled. "Do you know, Robert, I have got such an odd wish into my head about the bells ?" " What is it, dear Lucy ?" " You will say it is silly, but I should so like to hear them ring once more before we leave to-night, before the ringers go to bed. Oh ! the sounds do come so sweetly across to the Castle, they seem quite heavenly." " Poor Lady Anne, if she hears them !" said Robert musingly. " I should like to oblige you dear Lucy, but then it is Lent."

" Oh ! never mind," replied Lucy, a little disappointed. Nevertheless in spite of Lent, a peal now soft, now loud, now falling, was wafted across the clear, stifl air, that night. Lucy was in her own room. She had retired to rest early, preparatory to the fatigues of the next day — so she cared not what Lady Anne thought. She only felt how heavenly the sounds were ! and how much Robert loved her ! Fond, affectionate Robert ! He was at Castle St. Agnes, early that parting morning, wished tender good-byes and watched the travellers off, then he went and strolled alone in one direction, whde the Squire quite heart broken at those last looks, those last kisses, wandered away in another. Lady Flora went into her own room to solace herself with her paintings ; but, instead, blinded her eyes with tears.

On the Saturday morning following, three little notes rested in the postman's bag, one for the Squire, one for Lady Flora, and another for Robert. In the Squire's, Maude wrote on one side the paper, and Lucy the other. Maude said, she thought the journey would never end ; that there was so much smoke in London, that her face was ad over blacks before she arrived at May-Fair; that the noise of carriages in the night was terrible ; that the houses looked dismal, and stood side by side in hundreds ; and that London might turn out jolly after ad, but it did not look so ! Lucy told her father how she missed him ; that the stars shone by night, though the sky was dark by day ; that Aunt Augusta had hyacinths in her windows ; and that the poor people in the streets looked so miserable, it made her sad ; and she wished they could see the fields and hids at Forsted.

She wrote much in the same way to Lady Flora and Robert. Only in Robert's letter she added messages to the villagers, and caded herself at the end, his " dear sister Lucy."

Chapter II

" Whatever wea or woe betide, Turn never from the way of truth aside." SOUTHEY. Cecil Erresford took a number of Black wood off a table strewn over with papers, and sat down in a window of his club to read. He had not, however, read long, before some thing reminded him, that he had unopened letters in his pocket. How could he have forgotten them so long ? Both bore the post mark of Sleebury and one had on its seal, the impress of the Aylmer Arms. He opened the first and read ; and so ran the letter : — " Dear Erresford, " You wid wonder why I have suffered so short a space of time to intervene between my last letter and this, but the reason is soon told. I have a request to make, not for myself, but for St. Walburga. Our organ is purchased. I concluded the bargain for Lady Anne, on Saturday.

Lord Glendowan was with me, and thinks we have chosen wed. He played " In verdure clad," from the Creation ; and the swell on the notes was perfect, and threw the Countess, who was one of our party, into ecstacies. But now, Erresford, comes the difficulty. Through the bounty of Lady Anne, we are presented with an organ ; our furniture is bought — but we have no room to put it in. In the body of the church, it is impossible, we have measured and tried every way, but in vain. The only place for our splendid instrument is the gadery ; with slight alterations, it would stand there admirably ; but the gadery is entirely appropriated to the use of Castle St. Agnes. In fact, as you know, it is your famdy pew. Now, the Countess and your sister suggest, that it should be given up to the new and good use 1 have mentioned ; and by throwing out the chancel, a pew could be made, more comfortable and better arranged, in place of the present one.

Lady Anne kindly volunteers to take upon herself the expense of the alterations, and nothing is wanting but your consent, for you know, Erresford, I would not undertake anything of the kind without asking it. We await it anxiously, and confidently rely upon not being disappointed. I have no news to offer you, and if I speak of myself, it wdl be but to say how I daily weary and sicken of a bachelor life ! Lady Anne would fain persuade me that a clergyman, to attain at ad to a state of thorough self-denial and alienation from the world, should renounce all thoughts of a married life ( mind, I have not been confessing to her my heart's hope), but in casual conversation she expressed these opinions, and I have no doubt they are correct, for those who have their hearts and minds given over to the Church and her alone ; but I fear I am not one of these — long ago my choice has been fixed, and I only wait tdl a few more months have rolled over my Lucy's head, before I seal my fate, either one way or the other.

All this, however, is strictly between ourselves, I ted you everything unreservedly; few men have a friend in whom they can so confide— but you are one in a thousand ! An early answer as to the pew question. I know you wdl consent ; it cannot signify where the prayers are said, so long as the church walls enclose you. " In haste, my beloved friend, " Your's in a world of gratitude, " Robert Aylmer." " P.S. Mostyn of Ackington is staying at the Castle, a noble fellow, but rather too high-soaring in views. He has inundated and rather puzzled me with books of his own school. Do not be afraid, I feel fire-proof." " So many a man has said who is now in the Church of Rome, my good fellow !" Erres ford said to himself as he closed Robert's let ter, and opened the other. It was from the Countess ; sud of the organ from beginning to end ; and impressing strongly on her son, the necessity of the new pew.

" Anne has it so much at heart," she concluded, "that if you refuse, it wdl seem like a personal opposition to her wishes." VOL. I. " There is no possible harm in an organ," so wrote Cecil in reply to Robert, "or any harm in rebuilding us a pew ; indeed, if you take away the old one, it is but fair (as we said in our school-days) to replace it. Enlre nous, I do not suppose the Countess and Flora would hke to put away all distinctions and sit down side by side with the worthy farmers, although poor Anne — but no, I wid let her religious peculiarities rest in peace. Do not allow Mostyn to have a finger in the alterations ; and mind, I strictly forbid any finery about the new chancel. A noble simplicity is what we should aim at in our churches ; the heavy architecture and rigid purity of the Reforma tion should never be deviated from.

Beware of Mostyn's books, and Mostyn's views. I en tertain no respect for him ; he would be much more noble in my eyes, if he walked straight over to Rome ! In this polite nineteenth century, when each one professes to be more enligh tened than his ancestors, I think instead of advancing in religion, we are fast going back to the thraldom of that yoke which our fore fathers cast off, but to which now, so many of our clergy incline, and cause their people to incline, the gentle yoke of Rome ! One is bored by controversies on ad sides, and bored with fooleries too. s< Young ladies turn their dressing-rooms into private oratories, and worship the long-coated gentry who hear their confessions. Ladies bordering on thirty eschew matrimony and form sisterhoods ! Heigh-ho ! what next ? " But a truce to this.