One Trial. A novel ... By H. R. C

Front matter

IN ONE VOL., FOOLSCAP OCTAVO, PRICE 4s., CLOTH, GLAD TIDINGS. From "The Times," Nov. 7th. When we say that the scene on which the actors in this little story move is laid at Athens, that the date of the action is the year 65 A.D., and that the chief personage in it is St. Paul, assisted by " Dionysius the Areopagite," and "a woman named Damaris," our readers will have no difficulty in guessing that this is a religious story, and that the " glad tidings " here announced relate to the preaching ofthe Apostle to the Gentiles on Mars' Hill. The question arises, why tell a story about a truth 1 Why embody in a work of fiction scenes so sacred as those described in the Acts of the Apostles ? The answer is that there have been Tales before this in which characters more sacred than that of St. Paul have been brought upon the stage of fiction, and in which religious subjects bave been handled with a freedom — nay, with a licence— of which there is not a trace in this little book.

This is a religious book on a sacred subject, and its sole intention is to edify the Christian reader by imaginary examples of the faith and constancy which enabled the converts of the early ages to triumph over death itself. But now another question arises — Is the subject well treated 1 Is it, so far as so slight a story can be, a work of art ? We think it is. The plot is simple enough. Damaris mourns for Callias, her ab sent lover, and finds no comfort in prayers to any of the gods. There is a shipwreck off the Piræus, and in that ship are St. Paul and Callias, the author supposing, as we infer, that this was one of the occasions unrecorded in the Acts, but indicated in the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, in which the Apostle to the GentileE endured the dangers of the deep. St. Paul saves the life of Callia3 after he has sustained the spirits of all on board by his faith ; but the lover only reaches the shore to fall into a fever, and Damaris Still mourns her lost Callias.

The shipwrecked mariners noise the Apostle's fame throughout the city ; then follows the scene on Mars' Hill and the rebuke of the superstitious worship of " the unknown god." Shortly after St. Paul meets Damaris by accident at the altar of that dark divinity, whither she had gone to pray, for she had heard that this, after all, was the true God. She reveals her grief, and after words of comfort she promises to see him again, and says her name is Damaris. " Damaris !" repeated the Apostle '• and he for whom thou would'st pray is named Callias ; give me thy hand, and I will lead thee to him." Callias, of course, recovers, and thus the story goes on, the Apostle making converts among the seniors of the city, and among others Dionysius the Areopagite, besides especially instructing the youthful pair in Christian truth, and advising Damaris to lay aside her gay attire and plaiting of the hair, and to put on a garb becoming to a Christian woman. '"-. '> On one occasion, when Damaris has been chosen to fill the chief place among the maidens of the city in the Pan-Athenaic procession, a tumult arises, because Damaris, chosen against her will, ap pears in homely dress, and refuses to take part in the idolatrous ceremony.

Chapter I

It was the day before Ethel's wedding, and on the terrace where first she was introduced to our readers, she and Lord Egmont were pacing. The red tints of Autumn clothed the woods, and the sea sparkled in the sun ; busy groups of men erecting floral arches in the avenue, and at the gates, lingered over their work to admire its progress. It was getting late in the after noon, and the air was chill, so Lord Egmont VOL. II. B and his betrothed, walked quickly up and down arm in arm. She looked calm, but so pale ! all that morning had been devoted to seeing her old people : and she paid a visit to poor Janet, who wept abundantly, and prophesied that the great earl was taking her away never to return. More or less, her occupations on that day had been sad ones. Tears, not smiles, were show ered on the young bride She had come into luncheon, tired and dispi rited.

Lord Egmont watched her, said nothing, but quietly placed a glass of wine and a biscuit near her, and by answering those who addressed her, enabled her to remain quiet and undisturbed. He asked her in the course of the afternoon, to take one turn with him on the terrace, and she gladly acquiesced. She seemed always cheered and supported by his presence, and was beginning to turn to him for help and advice, as she had never done to any before. They were both, however, this afternoon, un usually silent. The sun was sinking in a gorgeous bed of red and gold, flushing the sky and the ocean, and mellowing the beauty of the many tinted leaves clothing the hills. " When that sun rises again, Ethel, we shall be on the threshold of a new (and God grant it) a happy life. Every day I feel more and more grateful to you for shedding such joy on my existence.

It is not too much to say that my fondest earthly wish is to make you the most enviable of your sex. My whole endeavour will be to cheer, guard, and protect you from all that can hurt or vex; as far as human care can avert evil, trial shall long be warded off. I have that confidence in my love for you, and in my earnestness to be your help and comfort in this life!" " Dear, kind Lord Egmont," said Ethel softly, " I am indeed sensible of your love and goodness; oh, that I felt more worthy of such aflection, could make you a better return for it. I do hope earnestly that I may reward you somewhat for so great a love." B Lord Egmont said nothing, if looks could, confirm his words, they did ! the overweening pride and tenderness with which he watched his bride ! " One thing more, Ethel mine, before we go in ; this is our last walk as betrothed ; our next will be when united for ever.

I would wish to make one compact, let there be no concealments between us; let us rest entirely in each other's confidence. Our perplexities, our joys, let them find a response one in the other. / promise you this ; do you promise me, Ethel, or is it too much to ask?" "No, no; hardly too much," hurriedly re joined Ethel, " I think there can hardly be a subject on which a wife would not thankfully consult her husband." "Ah ! that is not enough ; it is not the mere con sulting I mean ; there are many things on which I would not trouble you. I no not mean these. It is the mutual confidence, the blind confidence I would wish to establish. But I fear I ask too much, Ethel. Never mind, I give my pledge, and will trust to time to show you I am worthy of yours." " Good, kind, generous man!" thought Ethel; " why not now tell him all?"

She looked up affectionately at him. "Why should she em bitter his present feelings by a discovery of her unhappy past? No, all that should rest. Wil liam's deceit had made enough misery ; the con fidence he asked was not for the past, but for the future. She hoped, she believed, she could promise this." (Ah ! Ethel, you forgot then that you were in reality deceiving that man, so worthy of entire trust and devoted confidence and love ! That bane, your pride, was clogging your better nature, and prompting you to an act of which some daj you would see the injustice and the sin.) Cresswell now came on the Terrace to tell his mistress that Lady Jane, with Mr. and Mrs. Clare, had arrived. Ethel gave Lord Egmont one look of grati tude and affection, and returned to the house. There were her friends gathered round a cheerful fire, lit in consideration of Mrs. Mars don and the travellers.

They one and all sur rounded Ethel with cheerful voices and many congratulations. Pretty Henrietta looked still prettier; her husband the picture of happiness. " Miss Vane, how can I thank you enough for my room in Eccleston Street. When we drove home, and the man mysteriously showed me into the study, I was quite transfixed. Henrietta and I have never sat in any other apartment since. If ever I read, it will be owing to you ; those beautiful books and that arm chair ! How kind and thoughtful of you." " Arthur will sit nowhere else, I assure you, Ethel," chimed in his wife; " and has had my work-table put on one side of the fire-place, that we may use it as our morning room." Ethel looked pleased, and for the moment animated and happy. " And now we've come to your wedding, I can hardly believe it, Miss Vane," said Arthur.

" I wish you all happiness, and," added he in a low voice, and seriously, " if any man was ever worthy of a lovely, peerless bride, it is Egmont. I know no one like him; I have heard a good deal about him since we met last, and the more I hear, the more I revere, and almost love him !" Ethel looked pleased and grateful. To Arthur, however, she appeared too calm, too cold : he turned away, half disappointed. The Fairfax's arrived; that is to say, Sir Henry, his meek wife, and fiery daughters. The delectable Jemmy had been unavoidably called abroad at this time; so they said, but no one believed it. Beyond the sight of the heliotrope bouquet, Ethel had observed no farther advances towards her, or at least cared so little about the matter, as to pay no heed to his feeble atten tions. An uncle and aunt of Lord Egmont's now arrived, and one or two of his bachelor friends, on whom the two Misses Fairfax cast looks of determination.

They seemed pleased to see two such pretty bridesmaids, and were on the most satisfactory footing in a very short time. Lord Egmont proudly led his uncle and aunt up to his bride, whose grace, beauty, and sweet manners at once captivated them. Mr. Thelluson took his nephew by the arm, and drew him into a bay window, leaving his wife with Ethel. " You have indeed won a prize, Henry. What a lovely creature! Of course it is no good to ask you, but is she as good as she is beautiful?" Lord Egmont smiled; his looks expressed proud confidence. " You shall see for y ourself some day, my dear uncle; in the mean time, try and believe the best of her." Mr. Thelluson was satisfied ; he doated on his nephew, and was inclined to regard Ethel with a jealous and criticising eye, fearing she might not be worthy of him.

He turned to where she stood, and where Lord Egmont had joined her. Their tall, graceful figures, and high-bred looks, made them a striking pair. He was bending over her, and whispering his entreaty she would go to her room and rest before dinner. She looked up at him gratefully, and the good uncle, in his admiration of her beauty, might be excused in overlooking the fact that it was gratitude, not love, that shone from her eyes. Sir Henry was in his glory, going over with his friend, the steward, the ground prepared for the next day's festivities, to see the marquees erected for the village dinner, the preparations for the games and amusements. The pig even, that was to be climbed for by the boys, and the handsome horse, to be shot for by the farmers on the estate. Ethel had forgotten no one.

The old people were to have a dinner prepared for them in the house ; each female guest had been provided with a dainty bonnet and plain dress for the great day ; and each male with a neat suit of country clothing. The tailors and dress makers had been busy for weeks. All was bustle out of doors ; all was excitement within. Cress. well, and his ally the housekeeper, were wel coming Mr. Simpson, and old Mrs. Scott, of B Egmont, who had come over express to see their dear young lord married. Poor Cresswell was melancholy ! Much as he considered his pride flattered by the alliance of the two houses, yet he should lose his dear young mistress ! One room in the house was a mass of white ribbons. Since dawn that morning three maids had been busy mingling orange blossoms and myrtle, and silver leaves and acorns.

Ethel at last went to her boudoir tired and worn. In all this hurry she seemed like a dull frag ment of stone. When she thought of her future husband, it was with a sense of deep injustice towards him ; she could not return the love he so lavishly bestowed on her, and he was marry ing her, believing that her heart was not wholly his, yet not for an instant imagining that it was another's. The buoyancy of her spirits, where was it now? the keen sense of enjoyment of life, whither had it fled? Her mind and body alike wearied, she sank back on her chair. The sounds in the house became fainter and fainter, the hammer ing without ceased ; in a few moments she was asleep; her head supported on one hand, the other hanging listlessly by her side. A tap at the door ; quite gently another, and hearing no reply, and supposing the room un tenanted, Lord Egmont entered with a case in his hand.

He thought Ethel might be in her room, and was anxious to put this case on her table in the boudoir. He caught sight of her in her low chair. He saw she slept ; he stopped for a moment to look at her — on that pale and worn face, which, now no expression lit it up, looked wan and ghastly ; he paused, half scared to see the lines of anxiety and the expression of distress, which leave their mark unmistakeably on a face when the spirit is resting, and for the time not striving to give a false interpretation to its inner self. Her eye brows were knit, the mouth compressed, and the whole face breathing a sort of despair. By the light of a small lamp Lord Egmont \ooked at her fixedly. " How ill she looks ! how tired ! my poor darling, my Ethel," murmured he, " what will I not do to smooth your path for you ? what not sa crifice? may heaven give me grace to help you."

And he clasped his hands, and gazed down at her lovingly and tenderly. At that instant a smile broke over those pallid features; the brow unbent, the mouth relaxed, and he heard her murmur : " Good, kind Egmont." He stole from the room, having first taken up a pen, written on a card, and left it on the case. Ethel still slept on, a peaceful, happy sleep; when she awoke it was with a feeling of refreshment. The first thing she saw was the jewel case; on a card which lay on it, was written, " For my Ethel." She unfastened the velvet casket, there re posed on their satin beds, two suites of jewels, which had been re-set for her. One bandeau of brilliants he had mentioned to her, begging her to wear it on her wedding day. His mother had been married in it, and he longed to see it on his own bride.

Two bracelets she then examined; on one clasp was the likeness of " dear Aunty," done by that good lady's connivance, and kept a pro found secret from the petted niece. In the other was a picture of Lord Egmont. The calm dignified expression, and the gaze of tenderness which seemed to dwell on her from the ivory, reminded her forcibly of him soon to be her husband. " It were hard if I could not love you," she said, as she held the miniature in her hand. Simpson came in to summon her to her toi lette, and fastening the case, but retaining the two bracelets, she left the room. In the meantime Arthur had, with the privi lege of his new condition, installed himself in an easy chair by his wife's fire. She sat on a stool at his feet, and dismissed the maid, who was disgusted at having to leave the finery at sixes and sevens.

" That's why I hate to be maid to a married lady," grumbled she. " She is sure to have her husband about, interfering and giving his opinion on her hair or her dress, and thinking one's dawdling if we take a decent time for dressing." " Now, Henrietta, answer me one question candidly, as a subordinate to a superior." Henrietta smiled derisively at this grand be ginning. " Is Ethel Vane happy, or is she not? I will not prejudice your mind by giving my opinion; I simply ask you to tell me yours?" " Why, what should prevent her being happy ? " " That is not the point. Happy or not happy ? Keep to the question, if you please." " Well, then, I say yes — decidedly yes ! How is it possible to be otherwise ? That charming Lord Egmont ! that beautiful place ! * " Stay!" cried this lord of creation, " that is so like a woman — giving reasons why a thing should be, all the time knowing it is not."

" Then you do not think she is happy, Arthur? Poor Ethel !" " No ! decidedly no ! As to riches and title, Ethel has a soul above being flattered by them. I want to know why she is so pale and thin? why so depressed in spirits ? And where, too, is that laugh — that silvery laugh which sounded so musically in these old oak galleries?" " Mercy ! how poetical you are, Arthur, to night. But seriously now, how can you expect any one to have anything but a pale face and a serious air the day before her wedding?" " Then, Henrietta," returned her husband, with a solemn air, " you were a brilliant excep tion, for on the eve of my execution I never saw you look jollier ?" " That's a libel ! I never yet heard or wish to hear of any girl looking jolly on such occasions. Think of her separation from her family — her farewell to all her old friends and old haunts.

" " Ah, all very fine ! but three fourths are very glad to have got a husband, notwithstanding the old friends and the old haunts. They're not so easily had, let me tell you, Mrs. Hen rietta." And Arthur, with a mocking smile, drew his collars up, and settled his moustache in a graceful curve. " Many thanks, I am sure, for the honour you have done me, my lord and master," gaily responded the pretty wife, as she rose from her seat to make him a low curtsey ; ' ' but now se riously, tell me what you mean about dear Ethel?" " Well, then, seriously; her heart is not in this marriage. Depend on it, my dear, she was in love with that handsome young fellow, Dillon, and she can't forget him !" "Nonsense, Arthur! don't be so gloomy; it was nothing but an idle flirtation, and Ethel must have known all the time of his engagement."

" As to idle flirtation, I don't believe Miss Vane has it in her. No ! this Dillon was and is the only one she loves. Don't tell me a girl could alter so in a few months. So beautiful as she is, the character of that beauty is altered; she reminds me more now of that statue we saw at Lord R.'s of Regret. That pensive, down ward look ; that sad gaze resting on the withered flowers in the hand." " Really, Arthur, I do not know you to day!" And indeed Arthur was very pensive and un like himself as he looked dreamingly into the fire. " Let us hope, however," rejoined he, rousing himself, " that she will forget all the past. Now don't say a word to your mother, Henrietta. I am half afraid you will when you get over that revealer of many a cherished secret — a sociable cup of tea." " No, no, I will not, I promise you.

And now, dear, do go ! There is the first dressing bell, and remember you have no hair to arrange." "No hair, indeed!" cried Arthur, running his fingers through his scented locks; "let me tell you my hair takes a long time to dress." " Well, then, it shouldn't, that's all I can say. Here is Evans; so do go, there's a dear boy." Arthur, lazily rising from his comfortable seat, and kissing his little wife, retired to the sanctity of his dressing room. He left Henrietta somewhat disturbed by his remarks. What if Ethel was really marrying Lord Egmont, loving only William Dillon? But it must be nonsense; it could not be! She dismissed the thought as Evans sulkily appeared, and said it only wanted twenty minutes to dinner. If only Ethel could have heard this conversation! Our heroine awoke from her short slumbers to hear the bells of the village church ushering in the day that was to take her from her home, to launch her into a new existence, in which the happiness of another was bound up with her own.

She started up confused, bewildered, by degrees realising that this was her wedding morn. The sun was rising, and the villagers already trooping forth, completing the arrangements for the day. The gardeners were appearing with baskets of fresh flowers, to put the finishing touch to the decorations. It was a lovely morning, and the dew was glistening bright and fresh on the lawns. Until two o'clock Ethel had been up, pacing to and fro in her room, wearied but unable to rest. She went into her boudoir, there lit the lamp, and looked on her mother's picture, from which the green curtain was withdrawn. The sweet face looked down on her with an expression of such exceeding tenderness and love. " Oh, my mother, had you but lived, what, what would you not have been to me now? In this moment of my weary life, when I feel all that is good is dead within me !

Oh ! for the help, the comfort of a mother ! Alas ! and alas !" And for the first time since that dreadful night in Grosvenor Square, the tears gushed from her eyes, and deluged her cheeks. As the touch of a soft, cool hand on the heated forehead of fever, were these tears to Ethel's dried and withered heart. Oh! the luxury of those tears as they rose and fell abundantly. The chair on which she had hidden her face, kneeling by its side, shook with her sobs. At last her spirit rose in prayer to the great and good One. Long she murmured broken sentences of repentance and prayer for forgive ness. Humbly she prayed for help and grace in the new lot on which she was entering. Fer vently she entreated for God's blessing on him to whom she was to pledge herself on the morrow ; and lastly, that He who could forgive so much, would give her the power to do so to wards one whom she felt had cast a deep shadow on her life.

Strengthened, supported, soothed, she went to her room; when she sought her bed, sleep, gentle and undisturbed as that of an infant's, wrapped her in forgetfulness. When she awoke, it was to hear the merry bells pealing, and to see the glad, bright sun rising in the pure and lofty heavens. The house was speedily astir; Simpson came in, and found her mistress leaning by the window, watching the outward scene. She brought in a cup of coffee on a beautiful white china tray, a small dejeuner set, the joint gift of her old servants. Ethel, with tears in her eyes, received this simple token of their attachment, and in a faltering voice told Simpson how she should value this souvenir. Aunty now stole in tremblingly. Visions of her own marriage day were floating in her mind, the distress, the excitement, the hurry of it She was half afraid to look at her precious niece, fearing her fortitude would give way, but Ethel went up to her, kissed her, and spoke in so cheerful a tone, that it relieved Aunty in tensely.

"lam ready dressed, you see, darling, that I may sit with you, and not lose sight of you until you are the Countess of Egmont !" " Dear Aunty ! rest here in this chair, and look at all the villagers out there, and I will go on with my preparations." First, she went to her writing table, and finished calmly the letters she wished to sign with her maiden name. Then arrived Simpson, with her wedding dress, the white veil hanging in rich folds over her arm. By this time it was nearly ten o'clock. Her father's old friend, Sir Henry Fairfax, was to give her away, and a message came from him to hope Miss Vane would be ready in half an-hour. Ready, and dressed, she stole into her boudoir, and now alone, she knelt once more before her mother's picture, to crave as it were a maternal blessing on this day.

Again, too, she prayed to her Heavenly Father, and then, composed, but pale, she rose to leave the room in which she had seen so many happy, peaceful days. She looked around; took in at a glance all the familiar objects, the pictures, the instru ments, and the little gifts she had carefully preserved from childhood. She sighed and turned. There was Lord Egmont, looking at her with such love and pride ! " Fear not, my Ethel, to go forth with me into life. I think you may trust me; and if she," turning to her mother's picture, " were here, I could as conscientiously say to her, trust me with your child." " I do trust you, indeed I do," faltered Ethel, voluntarily she leant her young head, glittering with its bridal wreath of diamonds, on the breast of her future husband; he placed his hand on it, as it rested there, as he would on that of a helpless child, and inwardly he vowed to cherish and support her through life's thorny scenes.

The carriage was at the door. Ethel's old coachman driving, with a new livery, and an enormous bouquet. The rest of the bridal party had left for the church. The servants were drawn up in two rows, to see their beloved mistress depart for the last time as Miss Vane. She passed slowly between them, giving kind glances for the tearful ones she met on each side. She and Aunty came down together, Sir Henry awaiting them at the door. She wore no ornament but the beautiful ban deau of Lord Egmont's. The veil depended from this, and swept in graceful folds to the ground ; her head looked like that of a statue, and almost as colourless; but still the expression of hope and confidence on her countenance nearly satisfied all who loved and looked on her now. The church was crowded; not 'a soul who lived within reasonable distance but was there, in their best attire; the school children strewed flowers in the biide's path, looking at her with wondering eyes the while.

And now she stood before the altar, within the rails of which was her old friend, Doctor Malvern. Lord Egmont took his place by her side, and the service began. The old Rector's voice faltered out the first few sentences, but the sight of the bride reassured him ; she looked happier, better, than he had seen her for months. Once only she raised her eyes to her bridegroom, and then with an expression of trust and affection not lost on her old friend. A pause, and Ethel and her husband rose from their knees, and Aunty tearfully and voicelessly claimed the first kiss. A delicate colour had risen to our heroine's cheek, and she received the congratulations of her friends with gentle, modest grace. Her husband took her hand and led her to the door. Once outside the sacred edifice, such a shout arose !

The old church yard was alive with joyful voices; the trees which surrounded it crowded with spectators, who could get no standing room elsewhere, all determined to have VOL. II. C a sight of the beautiful bride and her lordly husband. For a moment they paused on the steps leading from the building to the path through the church yard. Lord Egmont stepped back a pace, that she, and she alone, their beloved young mistress, should receive the greetings of her friends, amongst whom she had grown up, and been cherished from her earliest years. Many a one there said she was more like an angel than a human being, as she stood in her pure bridal dress, with the autumn sun shining on her, and playing with the diamonds which were set on her head as a crown. The sight was talked of for many a day ; all acknowledged, too, that the bridegroom, hand some and distinguished, was worthy of her, and his old servants and tenants, who had come over for the occasion, had not failed to let Miss Vane's people know that never was so good a master, so good a man.