Our Guardian. A novel

Chapter I

€'Pure spirits mourn to hear our dying wail O'er wasted days — and rainbow hopes that shone Like beacons of a life — telling their tale How buds they blossomed — flowers were briefly blown, Were gazed on, fanned by fame, and then were gone." " Vanity of vanities, saith the preacher, all is vanity." We hear this sentence read over and over again as children; we pass it by impatiently in youth ; we give, perhaps, a vague assent to it in maturer age — but we never VOL. I. B quite enter into its spirit, nor feel its sober and eternal truth until the first pause in the restless struggle of life occurs, until we can stand still and look back calmly upon our past career as upon a moving picture, listening to the busy clamourings of memory, as to a tale that is told. Then indeed, unless conscience has been altogether seared, and reason utterly blinded, the words so long familiar, but so long disregarded, return to us like some haunting spell, and our hearts rather than our lips echo the judgment that the preacher passed on all that is in the world, " Vanity of vanities — all is vanity."

It is a strange and solemn moment when a human soul first gathers in its reminis cences of the past, collects into one vast account the thronging errors and sins of by-gone years — when the startling question arises, N " How have I fulfilled the object of my creation — have I served as an example, or a warning to my fellow beings?" Alas ! how few can answer this question satisfactorily — how few can feel that of the one talent committed to them they have made even two ; and though some may en deavour for a season to delude themselves with the idea, that in the busy and cease less struggle of life they had no time to pause and think soberly of the end for which they were created, the still, small voice will whisper that all for which they have toiled has been but vanity and vexa tion of spirit.

Earthly happiness, earthly honours, earthly affections even — where are they? The eagerly desired, the madly pursued, the ever visible, yet ever retreat ing objects of our human craving — what aspect do they present to us now ? Vanity of vanities, saith our trembling souls, all is vanity ! And what then remains to be done? Can we hope to reap where we have not sown, b to receive a reward for work not yet com menced? And must we sit calmly down with folded hands, and feel that our day of usefulness has gone by, that our life must end as it began, in selfish ease and inac tivity. Surely none need abandon themselves to a fate like this. Has not every human being experience that may profit others? Cannot every human heart, by searching diligently discover still in its inmost recesses some hidden seeds of knowledge or of wisdom that may serve to scatter in the great harvest ground of the world ?

And will they not be well rewarded if, at the final and universal harvest, they are accounted worthy even to glean the few ears of corn that fall from the golden sheaves 1 I have undertaken a record of my own life and experience ; in the first place, be cause I sincerely hope, and conscientiously believe, that many may profit by it if they choose, and, in the second place, because now the pause from excitement has oc curred in my existence, and the quickly thronging memories of years lie heavy on my soul, I am impelled by the same irre sistible feeling which possessed the ancient mariner, to tell my tale to any who I can lure to stand still and listen to it."

Chapter II

Making my memory bear me back to the very farthest period it can reach, I find myself surrounded by bright and pleasant scenes, and happy, loving faces. I must have had a particularly joyous childhood, for all my reminiscences of that early period of life are agreeable ones — I could not detect a single thorn amongst the roses, to warn me that their beauty was but a deceitful lure, and that they must be cautiously and sparingly gathered, if we would avoid their often deadly wounds. Many incidents of my earliest life are necessarily much confused or wrapt in mist and shadow, but a few still stand out promi nently and distinctly, bearing testimony to the fact that children's minds are ever ready to receive and retain the very impres sions that those around them are most anxious for them to escape.

I was ten years old when the scene 1 am about to record took place. We were sitting on the lawn, one sweet summer evening, my mother, my two sisters, my twin-brother and myself: we were all prattling so merrily, telling our little adventures of the day to such a gentle, patient listener, when suddenly the sound of carriage-wheels interrupted our enjoy ment, and some of us exclaimed, im patiently, " Oh, there is papa come home, and now we shall be sent to bed." " No, no," replied my mother, quickly ; " you shall stay, if you please — your papa will like to have you with him." In a few minutes he was amongst us, looking round smilingly on the group. " How well you appear, Dora, encircled by your pretty little children," he said, bending down to kiss our beautiful young mother. " I wish I could see you often so surrounded — you would cease to feel your life irksome, I think."

"Who says I feel it irksome?" was the low reply. " I never complain — I am very happy." "Thank God!" There was something peculiar in my father's voice as he uttered those words — something that impelled me to go round to where he stood, and stroke the hand that was resting on his wife's chair. " Who is that?" he said, turning sud denly and with a look of surprise. " Ah, my wild little Ina, what have you come to coax your old father for?'' " Nothing," I replied, my heart bounding at his unusual tenderness ; " only I like standing beside you." " Do you ? — well then, stay. Dear little children! I must see more of you now. Dora, you will be glad to hear that the business that has kept us so much apart lately, is concluded at last, and I have obtained a whole month's holiday, to re cruit my health."

I think my mother said something about its being very fortunate, or very agreeable, but I was not attending to her, just then, because my father had seated himself on the grass, and was actually commencing a game at romps with his almost stranger children. "How joyous they are, Dora; what a sweet, wild little flock you have got. Come, won't you join in our game? Surely you are not too old." He spoke so kindly, so affectionately, but my mother only shook her head, and drew Lilias, her eldest child, closer to her. " My fair Lily," she whispered tenderly, " we are not strong enough to romp, are we?" B " They are so rough and noisy," replied Lilias, drawing up her slight figure, and throwing back her clustering ringlets with an admirable assumption of dignity, " that I never choose to play with them when I am dressed.

Ina does not care how she looks." " And who taught you to care, my little princess?" asked our father, smiling at the tone of pretension Lilias had assumed. " Oh, you know I stay a good deal in the drawing-room with mama, and I go out in the carriage with her! and she likes me always to look nice." Here my father whispered something to my mother which I did not hear, but the latter became rather red, and said aloud : " I acknowledge no favourites, but I must have some companion, and Lilly is very forward for her age." " Take care, Dora, she does not become too forward. And now my pretty ones let us have another romp." Long before our new playfellow was tired of us, or we of him, my mother and Lilias had returned to the house, and when we went in, we found the former amusing her self with twisting strings of pearls and wreaths of flowers round her fair Lilly's head.

From this evening my opinion on several subjects changed. Ihad heard our nurses and governesses say, that the reason we saw so little of our parents, was that " Mr. Arun del did not like children." My own obser vation had also led me to think this pro bable, for whenever we were admitted into the presence of our beautiful mama (as on the evening above-mentioned) she re ceived and treated us all with the greatest kindness and gentleness; we knew that Lilias was the pet, but as we had every one of us, since our infancy, looked up to her as a sort of oracle, this partiality excited neither surprise nor envy. Our father we rarely saw for more than a few minutes at a time; he filled at this period a situation of trust under government, and had little leisure to bestow upon his family ; but no one explained this to us then, and we had been suffered to remain under the impression that he was cold and indifferent towards us all.

But from the evening he joined so heartily in our play, two of us, at least, thought otherwise — my brother Clancy and myself; neither was this the only point on which our young eyes had become opened — but during the ensuing month, (the holiday month which our father had announced to us), we were much too happy to think deeply on any subject whatever. Always with him, walking, riding, or sitting at his feet in his own favorite, quiet room, the hours flew by so swiftly and pleasantly, that we could scarcely believe they were really gone. To me it was the commencement of rational life, for happy as 1 had hitherto been, my enjoyments were necessa rily only of an animal kind — health, sunshine, freedom from restraint, and that undefined sense of pleasure from mere existence, which children, before their in tellectual faculties are awakened, share iu common with the brute creation.

I believe my father felt as much, if not greater satisfaction, in imparting knowledge than I did in receiving it. How cruelly we had misjudged him ; his nature must have been the very essence of goodness and tenderness, mingled, however, with an al most severe moral sense, which shone forth pre-eminently in all he did himself, and all he attempted to teach his then docile children. To Clancy he would often say — " If ever you should be called upon, in after life, to decide between two lines of conduct of which your inclination leans towards one, your conscience towards the other, don't pause a minute. Though the path you choose should lead to prison or to death, enter upon it boldly, for there are no bonds so galling as those your own self contempt would impose upon you, and no death so bitter as that of honor in the soul of man."

To me he would preach patience, gentleness, submission and forbearance, for I be lieve at this time my father did not hold the opinion that women were often called to exercise any of the higher, sterner virtues of society, and perhaps, too, he may have thought, from my wild, spirited nature, that I should be less likely to fail in the latter than in the former. At all events, such were his counsels, and, young as I was, I treasured them in my heart, and resolved to make them, as far as I was able, my rule of life and conduct. My mother and Lilias were not much associated with us during this period. The former had her own avocations in the morn ing, and no one ever intruded upon her while she remained in her dressing-room. At two o'clock, which was the hour my eldest sister was released from her governess and masters, the mother and daughter drove out together, and though Clancy and myself were sometimes invited to accompany them, we always preferred our father's society, and he never ventured into his wife's carriage.

The evenings, until our bed time, we all spent together, and, as far as my observation went, every member of the party appeared as happy and contented as could be desired. No looker-on, however vigilant and clear sighted, could have discovered then that the old husband and his young wife were not as well matched as any youthful couple in England. At length, the holiday month was over, and my father had to return to his duties, while my brother and myself were again consigned to the tutors and governesses from whom we had so joyfully escaped. They never taught us anything we cared to learn ; they never made instruction pleasant, and so we soon resumed our old habits of agreeable indolence, and favored by our mother's apparent indifference to our pro gress, spent the most of our time as before, rambling about the sunny gardens, playing with little Nelly, and leaving the fair and accomplished Lilly, sole mistress of the gloomy and hated school-room.

It was all very well for her to study so patiently, be cause there was ever a reward in store — the smiles and caresses of that beautiful mother who we regarded as some bright and mysterious being, too strange for us to com prehend, and sometimes too dazzling even to be approached by such wild and naughty little children as ourselves. Yet, in spite of this estrangement, we entertained, both of us, but particularly Clancy, a strong and profound affection for her — very different from that which we now experienced towards our father, but making up, in the sort of awe that sur rounded it, what it v7anted in that clinging tenderness, which should have been its chief characteristic. During the two following years, there occurred no incident of which my memory has taken particular note ; the love always existing between my brother and myself had grown deeper and stronger in this time, for we were not separated yet.

Our idle, wandering habits had been somewhat interrupted by the arrival of a more con scientious tutor and governess than those who had formerly ruled in the school-room ; but we still passed every moment of free dom together, and became convinced that it would be a moral impossibility to exist apart. Little Nelly, who was now nearly eight years old, had for some time deserted our standard, and enlisted under that of Lilias, and Lilias, improved in beauty and accomplishments, deeming herself at thir teen a young lady of fashion and preten sion, looked with greater contempt than ever on our childish and unrefined amuse ments. It was at this time that the incident oc curred which occupies the next conspicu ous place in my memory, and to the re lation of which I must devote another chapter. CHAPTER HI.

We lived about twenty miles from London, at a small estate belonging to my father, situated between two villages, both remark able for the beautiful scenery that sur rounded them, but scarcely known at that period to those lovers of the picturesque who have in later years, with the assistance of the railroads, made every secluded spot in England, with any pretensions to fine views, as common as the most fashionable watering place, or even our great city itself. Byfleet and Weybridge, at the period of which I am writing, were really quiet villages in the summer, as well as in the winter. The few gentlemen's seats scat tered about were seldom occupied for more than a few months in the year, and the genteel residences advertised and placarded, " To be let, furnished or unfurnished," remained as mute witnesses to the insignifi cance of our neighbourhood, growing grey, or rather green, while they told their story to unheeding ears.

One of these, a really beautiful cottage, built in the gothic style, stood about a quarter of a mile from our house, and whenever we passed it in our walks, we used to observe, with regret, the progress made by the weeds and brambles that over ran the once pretty garden, and now threatened to choke up the elaborately carved windows of the ground floor, and destroy the delicate creeping plants that had formerly been trained with such taste and care round the wooden pillars of the charming portico which had always been the especial object of our admiration and envy. But at length, one memorable day in the middle of summer, we found, to our great surprise and joy, the garden of our favorite cottage filled with laborers — some digging, some planting, some hewing down, but all appearing wonderfully active and busy, as though a necessity existed for having their work finished within a given time.

And thus it proved to be ; for we coaxed our good-natured old nurse to go and en quire the meaning of such unusual signs, and she soon returned with the intelligence that the house was taken by a gentleman who wanted to enter on the following week, and that it was consequently undergoing a thorough renovation, both within and with out. A few years later, and the delight we testified at this simple occurrence, would probably have had a different source. As it was, our satisfaction had reference only to OUR GUARD'AN. < the pretty cottage itself, and was in no way connected with the new tenant, who, in all likelihood, we might never even see. For several days after this we took the same walk, for the purpose of watching the progress of the gardeners, and in less than a week, a perfect transformation had taken place.

It was now, in fact, as nurse observed, " fit for any lord in the land," and Lilias, who had on this occasion accompanied us, expressed a little curiosity about the gentleman for whom such elaborate pre parations had been made. There were no workmen or servants of any kind to be seen about the premises now, and Clancy pro posed our climbing over the low railing and penetrating to the back garden, to see if the fish-pond had been cleared out. This fish-pond had formerly been an endless source of amusement to my brother and myself. We had no water in our own grounds, and having in our very juvenile days discovered this, we easily persuaded the indolent governess who then took charge of us, to sit quietly on the grassy bank while we played at ducks and drakes, or threw in our mimic fishing-lines, or launched the wooden boats with their bright and streaming flags that Clancy had managed to construct.

It is true that for more than a year we had given up this pleasant pastime, but still the old fish-pond had many agreeable associations, and the idea of taking a last look at it was as charming to me as to my brother. " Now, do let us go, you dear old thing," we whispered coaxiDgly to our attendant. (Fortunately for our enjoyment thegoverness we now had was much too grand and fine to walk out with us, and this nurse whom we treated so unceremoniously, had been at tached to my mother's family before she married, and was consequently a privileged person. ) " But I won't let you, master impu dence," was the reply to my brother; " and as for you, Miss Ina," turning with a pretended frown to me, "you ought to be ashamed of yourself, for wanting to be climbing like a boy — a nice example for Miss Ellen, and very pretty conduct before Miss Lilias, the first time she's good enough to walk out with you." •■ Thev are indeed troublesome and un- J ruly children." the fair Lilly answered ; " but you may as well let them go this once.

I should like a bunch of those wild honeysuckles that grow in the garden hed_e." __ " Should you really, Miss Selfish !" said Clancy, who never of late agreed with Lilias ; " then go and gather them yourself. Come, Ina." And in another instant, he was standing within the garden, and laughing heartily at nurse's astonished looks while he assisted me over the railing. •• Come back — come back, you young scape-grace — you naughty, wicked, boy; you — " but the rest of the worthy soul's eloquence was given to the winds — for the instant I was safely landed we both started off, and were soon forcing our way through the laurel hedge that separated the front from the back garden. This hedge had grown so much higher and thicker since we were here last, that we had considerable dif ficulty in finding a passage through it ; and, when this feat was, at length, accomplished, we stood flushed and panting, looking at each other in rather whimsical dismay.

" We shall have to go back through that abominable hedge," said Clancy, brushing the sleeves of his coat impatiently. " That's the worst of it," I replied, ex hibiting a serious rent in my muslin frock; " I'm sure I don't know what I shall do." " Unless I break off a branch for you — it will do harm." It seemed, for a second, as if a voice from the ground replied to us; for, slowly and distinctly came to our frightened ears the words — " It will do harm, you young trespassers; and, if you don't want a thrashing, you had better never force your self into these premises again.'' We both turned round and beheld, with shame and confusion, a gentleman, advancing with a book in his hand, from a little rustic temple, which had recently been added to the scene, aud stood between some laburnum and willow trees that grew close to the water.

Even, at that moment of surprise and terror, I observed that he was strikingly, singularly handsome — but, with an expression — for which I knew, then, no other term than ill-natured. And ill-natured, in an eminent degree, he certainly did look, as he came nearer and scanned us from head to foot, with a perfect disregard to our evident annoyance and indignation at this scrutiny. Clancy was the first to recover himself; and, indeed, his nature was too daring and fearless to admit of more than a moment's embarrassment. " I am no trespasser, sir," he said, throwing backing his head with a glauce of de- VOL. I. C fiance ; and, placing himself so as to screen me from the observation he deemed so imperti nent. " I believed this house to be still un occupied; and I only came to look at the old fish-pond, where I used to come nearly every day."

Still the same earnest observation; still the same ill-natured, almost fiendish look. " And you, young lady," he said, at last, walking round my brother, that he might see me better; " did you come to take a farewell of the old fish-pond, too?" " Yes, I did," I answered shortly, and then Clancy spoke again. " Having explained this, sir, we are quite ready to go — you need not be afraid of our ever trespassing on your property again." " But your object is yet unaccomplished — you have not even given one glance to that magnificent piece of water there. Pray, let me be no hindrance to your affec tionate farewells — that is only my son — he won't eat you or push you into the pond." I now first perceived a young boy, of about Clancy's size, standing among the trees with his back towards us, apparently engaged in mending a line, for his head was bent down, and he did not appear to hear the voices above him.

His father's last speech was too much for my hot-headed brother to endure calmly. " Your son eat me or push me into the pond !" he exclaimed, every feature glowing with passion ; " he'd better not try it, I can tell him; but, come Ina," seizing my hand, " we won't stay to be insulted any longer. I don't care, now, if I break every tree and bush in the garden to get out." Our adversary only laughed at this ebullition, but his laugh seemed to me even more fiendish than his frown. " Having more respect unto my poor garden,'' he said, mockingly, " I will fa cilitate your exit through a more legiti mate channel. Be good enough to follow me. However much I may lose in the estimation of the reader, I must candidly con- C fess that my tears had long been threaten ing to burst forth, and in spite of all my superhuman efforts to check it, a loud sob just at this juncture betrayed my feminine weakness, and afforded, I had little doubt, new cause of triumph to our mysterious tormentor.

But it did more than this ; it added another actor to the scene in the person of the young boy, who having caught the sound, had turned round with a glance of astonished enquiry, and was standing in another moment at our side. " What is all this, father — who are these — and why is that little girl crying so?" This was said in such a pleasant, agreeable voice, that Clancy condescended to answer, and explain what had just passed, adding in conclusion — " Your father has insulted us, and that is why my sister cries — we only ask now to be let out quietly." Here the new comer drew his father a little apart, and whispered a few words ♦ with seeming earnestness, upon which the latter, looking up, said, with a rather sof tened countenance — " My son will take charge of you now, and show you out through the house; but remember this — you won't be let off so easily another time.'' Without even looking at the detestable father again, we followed our new ally with rapid steps, and my tears were dried before we had reached the entrance door.

" Now do let me get you a glass of wine, before you leave the house," said our kind conductor, pausing for a moment in the hall — "I am sure you require it," — taking my hand with much gentleness; "but I am glad you have left off crying; my father has a rough manner, sometimes — he can't sympathise with young people as I can, you see — but he would be sorry, I think, to -distress you seriously." " I like you very well," replied Clancy, shaking heartily the hand that was now offered to him, " and I thank you for being kind to my sister ; but she should not, she would not taste your father's wine if she were fainting. 1 would rather, if it were necessary, carry her all the way home in my arms, though I knew I should die when I got there, than let her take a thing in this house." The boy looked distressed, though not offended, and after he had opened the door, he shook hands with us both a second time, and said he hoped, in spite -of what had occurred, we should meet again, and be good friends.

" As I never could do anything but hate and detest your father, I don't see how you and I can be very good friends," was Clancy's rather ungracious reply. And thus we parted with our new and agreeable acquaintance.

Chapter IV

I must leave to the reader's imagination the ire and dismay of nurse, and the horror and indignation of Lilias, when we made our adventure known to them. It was voted unanimously, however, first that the whole affair should be kept a profound secret, and secondly that the neighbourhood of our favourite cottage should be studi ously avoided in our future walks This settled, Clancy and myself amused ourselves with uttering invectives against the elder gentleman, and cautious praises of the younger one, towards whom I, at least, felt irresistibly but strongly at tracted. It was during one of our dear father's frequent absences from home, that this lit tle incident had occurred, and a few days after, or it might be about a week, an order came to the school-room that Lilias should be dressed with the greatest care, to ap pear at the five o'clock dinner, " in conse quence," the lady's-maid observed, " of company being expected."

" Company !" echoed our very matter of fact and straight laced preceptress, " and Mr. Arundel not at home?" " I have delivered my message, ma'am," was the answer, " and I have nothing more to say about the matter." Lilias was, of course, enchanted ; she had never dined with company yet, and her head was so silled with thoughts of what she should wear, that all hopes of study were abandoned for the remainder of that day. At an early hour we were despatched to the nursery, where our old friend awaited us with the charming intelligence, that if we continued good children we were all to go down to dessert. She was then em ployed in spreading out a new white muslin dress for Lilias, and I fancied there was a look of discontent on her features, very foreign to their general expression. " Why you horrid old thing, you don't seem glad that we are going to enjoy our selves," I said with my usual sauciness, " you look as cross as two sticks, and when Clancy com _s up, I'll make him tease you to death, if you don't look pleased and happy this very moment."