Lucy Crofton. By the author of 'Margaret Maitland' [i.e. Margaret O. Oliphant], etc

Chapter I

We have been married some years. All my youth, and all its hopes and disappoint ments, are so far off from me, that I could almost think them part of another life. I forget the long separation, the parting, which we once thought a parting for ever, which was made between Derwent and me. What did it matter? But noAV, though we are together, we are still solitary people, •with little natural occupation in this busy world. Denvent will be succeeded by his brother's son only, and not his OAvn ; and as for my Estcourt, it has no kin. If any one should chance to remember B Clara Nugent of Estcourt, that friend Avill not need to hear my story over again. I am Derwent Crofton's wife, at the head of the oldest family in the county — for Sir John is of the younger branch — I have brothers, sisters, nephews, and nieces beyond number on my husband's side ; but except some old cousins and distant kinsfolk, no friends on my own.

We are both rich, perhaps we are still richer iioav, that is, in a modest country fashion, the riches of our own lands, but in all this great house, save when Ave have visitors, there is nobody but Derwent and me. Only Mr. Crofton and myself, and some score of servants, indoors and out-of-doors, attending to us two, our house, our gardens, and our possessions. All the thoughts of all this little colony of people revolve around the all important questions Avhat shall be placed upon our table when we dine? AA'hat fruits and flowers shall make our rooms fragrant? when we will ride? how we shall amuse ourselves? what we shall put on ? I go and visit the old people in the village, and the housekeeper has dainties made for them when they are sick, and flannels Avhen the weather is cold. And Denvent hunts a little, rides a good deal, does some mild magisterial duty as seldom as he can, and takes care of me.

And the country thinks very Avell of us, and gives us high credit, and so Ave spend our life. Is anybody in this world ever content? Once upon a time we two, having every thing else we Avanted, broke our hearts for each other. Noav we are married, and breaking of hearts is at once and for ever totally out of the question; at least, after that fashion. But if all the rest of you are content, you good women Avho dwell at home, and take comfort in your life, you are not bke me. My husband is, I believe indeed without partiality, the best and kindest of men. I cannot trust myself to speak of Derwent; B but then he is so good that his very good ness troubles his impatient Avife. At the bottom of my heart I am happy ; but I am not content. He has what people call a great stake in the country — he is a great proprietor — a man of perfect leisure, and of very good talents.

When anything rouses him, his energy is fiery. I have never seen any one so prompt, so sudden, so sure; but then nothing does rouse him now-a-days. The greatest effort he makes at any time is a day's shooting. A mind more liberal, or a kinder heart, is not in Christendom; but then — I suppose after all, and in brief, it is just this — Derwent is content. Which is a very great deal more than I am. There is nothing much to be expected from me, and he is satisfied; but there is a great deal to be expected from him, and I am quite the reverse. He ought to be in Parliament, he ought to take a great place among public men, he ought to be a public strength and succour, a name for the Aveak to take refuge in. Perhaps feAv people knoAv that he is able to be all that, if he would but put forth his strength — but I know — anclit chafes me every day of my life.

For I think, perhaps, if he had children, young faces blooming up along his path, that Denvent would have had a motive for such exertion, Avhich he has not iioav. I used to fancy that I hoped we should have no children ; I used to persuade myself that I did not Avish to have the dangerous joy of one such child as I Avas, a child of old age, and love too great — so that when that hope came, as it did come, I Avas amazed at the very flood and deluge of secret delight which overpowered me almost against my will. I never told any one of this hidden and inexpressible joy, this joy that was to brighten out of hope into reality, only, Heaven help me, for one day, but when it was past and gone, and I kneAv that was all over for me, then this came to my mind about Derwent. What reason had he to rouse his heart into the din and toil of common life, what motive to seek fame?

We were alone, we two, in this world, when all the people thought us so rich and fortu nate; alone, far away doAvn beneath that heaven where my chdd was. For we have a child, thank God! we are father and mother, but not here. And this thought makes me still more and more discontented. Our free vacant lives, our minds without care, our great capabilities, are all unoccupied and useless ; and when I sit an hour with a sick old woman, Denvent and all his neighbours think me a Lady Bountiful, — and he, so far from seeing how much our existence lacks of attaining the true end of all ex istence, thinks honestly that what he calls my charities put a touch of perfection and beneficence, quite complete and satisfactory, upon the good order of our life. I do not say that the estates are badly managed.

I do not say that anything is positively neglected — only everything moves along at its own sweet Avill — and I do not feel that even the soil on which we stand will be any the better for us, when I and Derwent lie with all the Croftons in the family grave. And this makes me feel all the more strongly, too, that I am not a Crofton, but a Nugent. I have no children in this world. I am not thus charmed to the other house, which no son of mine will ever rule. I have to think of Estcourt, Avhich is my very own, and where I was born. Yet Avhy speak of all these secondary troubles ? But for this, that Ave have not the natural duties of a family, and that Denvent is somewhat idle, and does not care to exert himself, I do not suppose I have a trouble in my life, for we are still and always one heart and one soul.

We came to Hdfont when we were mar ried, and great rejoicings were made over us, I am bound to confess, by all our friends. I had made up my mind so decidedly before that time to live solitary at Estcourt all my life, and occupy my heart and leisure with the orphan children whom I had gathered there, that I rather feared to find myself ridiculous Avhen all my good resolutions fled before Derwent Crofton's familiar voice ; but nobody laughed at me after all — for everybody remembered, what I supposed all the world to have forgotten, that we Avere betrothed in our youth. When we left Estcourt, six little orphan girls kissed me at the door — my children Avhom I had taken to my solitude to share my older orphanage — and then I left them in undisputed possession. These seven years have seen them all grow up to be almost women ; — they are all my family stiU, and there are more of them now; but at Hilfont Mr. Crofton and I have lived for years alone.

Hilfont is a greater house than Estcourt. It stands on a hid — a lordly, gleaming Avhite house, not picturesque, but rather what is called imposing — for it has no antiquity to boast of, but Avas built grandly, and not Avithout ostentation, by Derwent's grand father — and may be seen by half the county, so striking is its position. The gardens are terraced, hanging on the sunniest slopes, the Avonder and pride of the neighbourhood ; and even the Duke's park is not finer than ours. From my morning room, which is stid all white and gold, and bridal-like, and which Derwent will not have changed, I can see some twenty miles of open country, and can watch my husband coming home, almost in any direction, an hour before he reaches me. Since that time when our great joy was quenched in a day into sorrow and loneliness, far more poignant than if that hope had never been, I do not think any trouble has crossed our threshold — for Derwent's brothers and sisters are pros perous, and I have neither.

We live in this great beautiful house, which is the most commodious and convenient of houses, nearly all the year through. We go up to toAvn generally for a feAv Aveeks in June ; sometimes we stretch our journey a bttle further, and cross the Channel. At Christ mas three or four Crofton families, and some of my ancient kinsfolk, come to Hilfont, and all the year through I go often for a couple of days at a time to Estcourt, to see my girls. The girls are good girls, affectionate and promising, so that establishment thrives. We have good neighbours, toler able society, friends who love us — and thus we five. It is not like the Use of a woman that one imagines in one's youth — that grand impossible existence in which the ideal tAvo of a young fancy live bke persons helping each other to all unthought-of achievements.

It is far too easy, too lei surely, too luxurious for that ; but it is what the other never comes to be, the common bfe. If Derwent were but to exert himself, and take in public estimation the place he deserves! But we are lonely — our heirs are other people's children — Ave have attained all that man likes to attain in this life, and have nothing to look for. Wherefore it foUows, by a natural conse quence, that the things Avhich Ave do here, leave at least one of us restless, and that I cannot accept entirely, and be satisfied with, our placid and gentle lot.

Chapter II

Not very long after our great trouble — but about that time I lost dates — for the first Aveek looked like so many years, and all the months folio wing that were such a blank, that to turn back upon them, passionless and uneventful, they look as if they must have slid past like a single day — Derwent showed me a letter he had just received. It Avas from a cousin a\1io Avas very ill — dying, indeed — at one of the German baths, Avhose illness had been so long taken for granted, that nobody could suppose it to be mortal. Mortal, however, it had suddenly turned out to be; and this Mr. Crofton Avrote in sudden alarm and terror to the head of his house. He had an only daughter — a motherless, and almost portionless child. What was to become of her when he died ? "It is for you to decide, Clara," said Derwent, putting the letter in my hand.

Of course there was but one decision possible. "She must come here," said I; "but who is to bring her? — must you? Poor child ! I grudge you to go, Denvent ; yet she must not come alone." " I grudge to leave my pale Clara," said Denvent; "but poor Crofton still lives. He may be making tAvice as much of it as is necessary — he always did so — Avell write and see." " I think the man was dying Avho wrote that letter," said I; and the hurried, un steady hand, the Avords too earnest in their diction for anything less than the last appeal of nature, Avere Avitnesses indis putable. And so it proved ; for even while we were discussing this letter, the Avriter of it Avas already dead. The next post brought us the intimation. His daughter, a girl of eighteen, Avas totally alone : avc Avere not even sure that she had a servant Avith her.

Derwent rose up on the moment in one of his rare bursts of rapid action. Almost before I could say good-bye to him self, or I had half realized his going, he was away. I Avas stdl heavy with the lassitude and dulness of great grief; weak in health too, for my sorrow had told upon me ; and exacting as lonely women are, I cannot justify it. I have never tried to justify myself; but the very suddenness Avith which Derwent set out upon this mission of mercy gave me an involuntary pang. When he was gone, I went to my AvindoAV to Avatch him, as I ahvays did, and he never looked back. My mind was ex hausted and irritable. I was not myself. I actually cried with a mortification and annoyance which amazed me. So that, from the very first moment, one might say that I was prejudiced against Lucy Crofton, and had in connexion with her coming a thrill of unaccustomed pain.

I shad not easily forget the night she came home. It Avas winter, a stormy night and snowing heavily. I expected them every evening, but was not sure that they were coming then. I AA-as by myself in the draAving-room. The draAvin«;-room at Hil font Avas a very large room, always bright and cheerful. It had been newly furnished at our marriage, furnished brightly, Avith a great deal of gilding, and as much white as Derwent could persuade his craftsmen into tolerating. Perhaps Mr. Crofton had rather a florid taste — certainly he liked, Avith a child's liking, all manner of pretty colours. The carpet had a white ground, with bouquets of the brightest floAvers on it. I remember how warm and velvety it looked under the glow from the low, bright fire place, where all the polished steel and gilt ornaments reflected ruddy light.

The cur tains Avere draAvn; the fire was bright; the unliffhted warm-coloured room looked the o very picture of home and comfort. I sat by the fire in a low, easy-chair, which Avas my usual seat. The clock ticked on the mantelpiece ; the fire sparkled in the grate ; the snow came with a muffled heavy fall upon the AvindoAV. I was longing for Denvent. I was anxious lest he and his young charge should be travelling on such a night ; but beneath all, I Avas sad in my own heart, which Avas closest to me, over my own trouble. Noav and then a sudden remembrance struck upon me, sharp and unlooked for, like an arroAV — remembrances of hopes I used to haA*e when I sat here in this same fashion before that grief came — but for all that I must haA*e looked, and no doubt did look, a very impersonation of domestic warmth and happiness.

I had a book in my hand, though I doubt whether I got through a page of it in an hour. My mind Avas very busy with my OAvn thoughts. I heard no sound of wheels, though my ears Avere sufficiently keen — the snoAv had impeded the road and made it noiseless — but I heard suddenly a bustle in the hall, and felt, or supposed I felt, the cold sudden blast of air from the open door. I rose up to listen, Avondering A\liat it might be, Avhen suddenly the door Avas throAvn open, and Denvent appeared leading the stranger in his hand. He Avas glad to see me, and glad to come home ; flushed by the cold and rapid journey, he looked exhilarated, bright, and cheered, more than seemed possible to me, and came in, in this sudden hurried Avay, rather to introduce his charge than to meet his Avife, from Avhom, since our marriage, he had never been parted before.

It Avas the most momentary pang in the Avorld, but it Avas a pang AAliich startled me out of my solitude. Then I Avent forward to meet them. " This is Lucy, Clara," said Der went, giving her over to me. I took her hand and kissed her, in an anxious revul sion of feeling, determined not to be unkind to the orphan ; and strange to tell, strange to think of, she, looking more self-possessed than I Avas, kissed me. When I felt the c firm light touch of her lips upon my cheek, I Avas more startled than I can describe, and involuntarily drew back a step to look at her. She was fair-haired and blue-eyed, a pretty girl. The journey and her grief, and her sudden entrance into a new home, had not discomposed Lucy. She looked at me, but not as a timid girl looks at the elder woman in whose hands the comfort of her life is henceforth to be.

There Avas nothing Avistful, nothing doAvncast, nothing propitiatory in her face. She looked so entirely able to take care of herself that insensibly my compassion evaporated. Every unconscious movement she made, every detail of her appearance, helped to extinguish my sympathy. Her big shawl was throAvn on firmly over her arm Avith not a shadoAv of drag in it. Her hair Avas so smooth on her forehead, her step so unhesi tating, one could not help feeling sure that everything Lucy Avanted was there, exact, and in the most beautiful order in that bag Avhich she carried in her hand, and that there was not the remotest necessity for untying her bonnet and loosening her cloak, and making her sit down by the fire, as I did instinctively. I said, " Welcome to Hilfont, my dear; are you very tired?" — me chanically.

They Avere such words as I should have addressed to another girl in her circumstances. And Lucy said, " How do you do, aunt?" The girl quite disconcerted me with her composure and sensibleness. I did not knoAv Avhat to say next ; whde she sat looking up at me, quite brightly, as if she rather compassionated my unreadiness. It Avas the oddest change of position I ever knew. " It is too late for dinner," said I. " Der went, you must be content with a nonde script meal, such as ladies love, for I daresay Lucy Avill like some tea. I did not know you Avere coming to-night." " I thought it better to push on than to waste time writing," said Derwent. " What c2 a famous fire! It is almost worth a ten miles' drive through the snow to enjoy it, eh ! You look quite bright to-night, Clara." "Yes," said I, hurriedly, " Ave ahvays look bright in this room, but I fear your rapid travelling may have been rather too much for Lucy.

Are you very tired, my dear?" " Not in the least, thank you, aunt," said that easy young lady, Avho sat upright in her chair, still holding the bag and shawl, and looking quite ready for action. " I Avas very glad Avhen uncle proposed to come on Avithout stopping. And Ave haA'e got in in very good time after all." " In capital time," said Derwent. " And noAV, Clara, for your nondescript meal." " Immediately," said I ; " but have patience, let Lucy rest for a moment ; remember Hilfont is not so familiar to her as to you. Do not mind Mr. Crofton's rapidity, my dear. There is no haste. You must rest and be refreshed noAV." " Then, please, I will go to my o*vvn room, aunt," said the prompt Lucy, " I will not keep you waiting; but I should like to leave my bag, and make sure that I am fit to sit at table with you who look so neat and nice.

Will one of the servants show me the way?" " I Avill show you the way," said I, as she ran and looked to the door, and I led her away accordingly. The room I had pre pared for her was a very pretty room close to my own, closer than I should have chosen had I knoAvn hoAV independent a young lady Lucy was. She looked round it with an approving glance as she put down her shaAvl and her bag. " How kind of you to have taken so much trouble," she said. " Thank you, I shall be ready directly. But please, aunt, don't let me detain you. I can quite Avell find my way doAvnstairs." Thus dismissed, I succumbed with quiet wonder, and left her to herself. Derwent Avaited for me on the stan*case to ask hoAV I was, and to make up, if that was wanted, for the coolness of his first salutation. " I think my fair Clara looks brighter to-night," he said, " and, my love, you Avill have a companion noAV."

" I have you, Derwent," said I. " Who am not a companion, madame, if it please you," said my husband, " but the other portfolios the same individual. Lucy is a nice little girl ; no nonsense about her ; don't you think so, Clara?" " Why did you have so little considera tion for her?" said I ; "so rapid and breath less a journey might make her ill. Did that never occur to you?" Derwent was only a man; -with all his exceUences, he never suspected me of dis agreeing Avith him about the nice little oiil, nor perceived Avhat my evasion meant. " I thought it the kindest thing I could do keep her from thinking," said Mr. Crofton • " besides that, I Avas very anxious for my own part to get home. Poor old Crofton Avas under the sod before I got there. She does not say much about him, and keeps up her spirits wonderfully for one so young, and has borne the journey like a hero.

I made her quite easy by telling of you, Clara. She knew, before she came, that you'd be a mother to her." " Ah ! if she does not turn out older than me," I said to myself, under my breath. Denvent did not hear me, Avhich was so much the better. We Avent into the dining room, Avhere the table had been spread for the travellers ; and by-and-by Lucy joined us, as calm and easy as though she had lived here all her life. She was really quite a pretty girl. Somewhat dismayed as I was at her self-possession, I was disposed to think her blue eyes cold, and even her prettiness of a common kind; but Lucy Crofton was really, truly, unmistakably pretty, and her mourning did not harm her appearance, though she was totally black from head to foot, dull, heavy, crapey, woollen black, which owned no sparkle, and enveloped her like a pall.

She took her chair and her supper Avith perfect propriety, but no symptom of indifference. She talked without hesitation, quietly, I cannot say without feel ing, but she Avas perfectly able to manage her soitoav. I, Avho could not divest myself of the idea that some chance Avord might Avake her dormant grief, and that one ought to be specially tender in her circumstances to this orphan girl, was much more disturbed and embarrassed than she. It seemed so odd and contrary to all established notions, that an orphan so young and so friendless should shoAV herself so entirely mistress of her feelings the first night of her entry into a strange house and a new life ; and I could not suppose any other explanation than that she Avas heroically subduing herself and by-and-by, Avhen she reached her oavii room would " give way."

Once more I ascended the stairs with her AA'hen it Avas quite bedtime. And then Lucy made a momentary pause of consideration, and spoke — " I hope I may not trouble you, aunt," were her first words, said with a very be coming gentleness of tone — then a little pause. I expected she Avould cry, and took her hand in mine to comfort her, but Lucy did not cry. " But I have ahvays been ac customed to be useful," she added, quietly; " uncle says you are a good deal alone, Aunt Clara. I should like to be of some use to you, and I hope you avIII let me try." " Time enough to think of that, Luc}^," said I, Avithdrawing my hand ; " in the mean time you must rest, and recover youv strength. I fear you are exercising an un natural self-control, and if it is so, you will feel the reaction all the more severely.

Have confidence in us, my dear, and do not think that anything is expected of you, just yet at least. I am almost afraid you are keeping up too Avell for your OAvn peace." " Oh no, Aunt Clare," said Lucy, Avith a tear in her eye — a tear which looked quite sincere, and really seemed to evidence the full extent of her emotion. " I am not re straining myself, I am not very tired, and I am sure I shall be aU right to-morroAV, but I wdl not keep you; good night." So saying, she took my hand again and bent forward to kiss me, Avhich farewell token I received in utter amaze and con fusion, humbly withdraAving thereafter; yet I could not find the very least fault with her, either. When I looked round from the door, I flattered myself I saw a half wistful, deprecatory look from Lucy, but she Avas busy opening her bag, and I had no en couragement to stay. And this was how Lucy Crofton came home.

Chapter III

That night was a violent, stormy No vember night — blasts of siioav driving against the AvindoAvs, and the fierce gale rushing back through the bare trees, Avhich groaned again, and sending melancholy echoes through the house, kept up a con tinual conflict of sound through the dark long wintry night. I did not sleep much, but so far benefited by this neAv interest, lay awake — half amused, half disappointed, and very considerably puzzled — thinking of our visitor. I did not " take to her " certainly at first sight, but I did my best to convince myself that it was, and must be, self-restraint stretched to an unlovely and undesirable extent Avhich made Lucy so calm and self-possessed. " It will be different to-morrow," I said to myself; "when she knoAvs us better, she will know that nothing which is unnatural is looked for here ; it will be different to-morroAV."

But even whde I said so I became aware that my heart, instead of opening to her, began rather to rise in involuntary antagonism ao-ainst this friendless youns* creature — ■ O JO though she teas friendless and of Derwent's blood. I Avas dismayed to feel this ; I ought to have loved her, received her, been, as my husband said, a mother to her. Can any one command love? I became dis gusted Avith myself. Was it not enough that Denvent liked her, that she was his near relation ? But reasoning did not im prove the matter. At last I found my spirit so unmanageable, so ill-natured, so determined to dislike and condemn, that I turned my head from the light, and obsti nately Avent to sleep. Our breakfast-room next mornino- Avas as pleasant an apartment as could be supposed in such Aveather. Like all the rooms at Hilfont, it had an admirable vieAv.

A great broad snoAv-covered slope of country, dropping down softly, Avith every angle cushioned into roundness by that Avintry veil ; from the heights where Ave stood, to the lower level of the plain through Avhich the river, no longer in motion, stretched its proper Hne, with one icebound barge in the centre of the vieAv, and lines of benumbed pollard Avillows, smitten to their hearts Avith the apathy of cold, tracing the chilly line of its further banks. The sky hung Ioav over all, a heavy grey vault of clouds. The trees and scattered houses, and even the far-off pinnacles of the Cathedral, far away yonder in Simonburgh, Avhich we could just see, were all distinctly touched and softened Avith drifts and droppings of the snow. I am ahvays young as regards snow. This landscape pleased me, cold though it was, and within Avas the bright breakfast table, with that little bouquet of flowers which Derwent had bound the gardener to provide for me eA*ery morning all the year round — a pale, cold cluster of tender blossoms now, yet stdl flowers ; the warm crimson curtains drawn quite back from the windoAV, to let in all the light there was, which was a softened snowy* light, pale, yet with a dazzle in it, a light Avhich radiated more from the white ground than the opaque sky — and the merry frost-exhilarated fire crackling with glee like a schoolboy, — and the sharp air and ice without.

I myself entered this room about nine o'clock of that snoAvy morning, and was hastening to take my place for prayers, Avhen some one rose to salute me — Lucy ! Wed ! it Avas very proper — she was an extremely good girl. Still one is human oneself, and prefers to see in one's friends something of the Aveakness of common nature. It was no doubt much better to o*et up early, to be ready in perfect time, to be down stairs before anybody else ; stdl — but of course she was perfectly right / ought to be the last person in the Avorld to blame her. When DerAvent pronounced her "a brick" at breakfast, I am afraid I must have looked rather doubtful. I said I feared she was quite over-exerting herself; at Avhich Lucy looked up quite seriously in my eyes. "Are you displeased, Aunt Clare?" she said ; and of course I said " No, no, certainly not ;" and felt very uncomfortable and ashamed of myself.