Tried in the Fire. A tale

Chapter I

Maurice had been gone about a week, and the mother and sister were beginning to recover a little from their first sorrow at his loss, when an invitation was sent to Grace to spend a long day at the cottage. Mr. Arnold had been over once since his friend's departure, and had held, on the occasion, a confidential conversation with Mrs. Clavering, of which Ellen heard none of the particulars, though she knew it referred to the engagement between her brother and Grace, who, Mr. Arnold vol. H. / R — h said, was still in a very delicate state of health, and unable to continue her usual visitings amongst the poor. Ellen would gladly have offered her own ser vices for a work she really liked, but as Mr. Arnold never even hinted at the possibility of her doing it, she feared he thought her unfit for anything so serious ; and the idea of a cold refusal, deterred her from speaking of her desire.

The day fixed for Grace's visit was one of autumn's loveliest, and both Mrs. Clavering and Ellen (who had grown somewhat tired of each other's constant society) were looking forward with satisfaction to her arrival. They imagined her brother would be her escort, and Mrs. Clavering had determined, in a very gracious mood — the exact origin of which nobody knew but herself — to detain him to an early luncheon. But when he came, bringing his weary-looking little sister, who brightened up, however, at the kind reception she met, he said he had another long walk before him, and the utmost he could do would be to rest for ten minutes, and take a glass of wine. Ellen poured it out for him, and presented it with one of her most winning smiles. " Thank you," he said ; and then looked into her face for a moment enquiringly.

" I suspect you have not had your usual exercise within the last week, Miss Ellen. There is something in your countenance which betrays jou. Crying and staying indoors are bad things for the complexion, I assure you." Mrs. Clavering glanced quickly at her daughter. " It is quite true, Mr. Arnold, but I must acknowledge that I have been as much to blame as Ellen. I ought to have insisted on her going out." " And gone out with her. It would have done you good also ; but for this morning I B will be your substitute, if Miss Ellen will entrust herself to my care, and does not fear a long walk. The air could not be purer or more healthy." " What do you say, my dear?" asked Mrs. Clavering, who scarcely relished the idea of having to entertain Grace entirely alone ; and yet wanted her daughter to have the benefit of the walk.

" I should like to go, mamma, if you can spare me, and if Grace will not think me un kind for leaving her a little while." Grace eagerly protested that she should not think it in the least unkind; Mrs. Clavering de clared that she could take care of their guest alone. Mr. Arnold added that he would not fatigue Miss Ellen too much ; and so the matter was settled. " If I walk too fast for you, tell me," were the first words the gentleman spoke, after they had gone two or three hundred yards from the cottage. " You do not," Ellen replied ; " I like to walk fast when the air is as fresh as it is this morning. Are we going over the common ?" " No, in quite a different direction ; through Dale wood, and along the valley on the other side. Don't you know it?" " I have been in the wood, but never beyond it.

Now that the trees are all changing their colours, it ought to be very pretty there." " No doubt it is. You find an interest in watching the variations of nature, do you not ?" " A very great one. Without this, indeed, a country life must be fearfully dull." " Not necessarily so. A person may have Sufficient duties to fill up every moment of his time, and love these duties well enough to pre vent all dulness or discontent." " A person like you, but " " But what, Miss Clavering ?" " I was going to say what may have the appearance of a compliment, though I do not mean it for one — that there are not many like you, Mr. Arnold." " That is a great mistake. There are thou sands more devoted, more zealous, and above all, more thoroughly in love with their duties than I am." " And yet you put your whole heart and soul into them.

What more can any person do ?" " Again I repeat, you are mistaken, though perhaps I should have difficulty in convincing you of it. My nature is essentially earnest, and whatever 1 do, I must, to a certain extent, do it with all my might ; but when I compare myself with others whom I know, or of whom I read, then believe me I discern plainly my own terrible short-comings, and recognise that I am very, very far from putting my whole heart and soul into my duties." He spoke conscientiously, and from that stern principle of justice within him which forbade his accepting, even from a young and simple girl, a praise he felt he did not merit; but this apparent confidence and strange humility on the part of one she had long considered as near perfection as sinful humanity could be, produced on Ellen's mind an impression very foreign to anything Mr. Arnold could have intended.

It brought him near enough to herself for the wandering heart to be at least arrested, and it broke down at once and for ever the cold barrier his former unbending re serve had erected between them. They got into more general and less interesting conversation before the wood was reached, and here Ellen, being really tired, begged to sit and rest for awhile under the pleasant shade of the rustling trees around them. She had come once to this same spot with Sydney Willand in the early part of their acquaintance, and the remembrance of the feelings that were then dawning in her heart — feelings which now had but a very shadowy and undefined existence, made her thoughtful, if not sad, even while she continued to talk with her present companion. " Perhaps," he said, seeing that her animation was flagging, and that she had less colour than when they started, " I had better leave you here, while I go on to fulfil my errand.

There is a farm house at the end of the valley, where a poor man is dangerously ill. The son came for me this morning, and I fear I have already spent too much time in obeying the summons." " Is it very much farther?" Ellen asked. " About three parts of a mile ; but I am afraid of tiring you." " No, 1 can walk that distance easily, and I daresay they can give me a glass of milk at the farm." " Very well, then let us come on at once Lean on my arm. It is strong enough to sup port you." When they were within a short distance of the house, a sudden thought flashed across Ellen's mind, and she asked eagerly the name of the people Mr. Arnold was going to visit. " Venning," he replied, surprised at this abrupt interest on her part ; " do you know anything of them ?" " Not much. I have never seen them, indeed, that I remember; but a friend, an acquaintance 1 mean, of ours, was lodging with them last winter, and until late in the spring.

You may have heard my brother mention him." " Possibly." Ellen was vexed with this brief, dry answer. She would have given a great deal to know whether Maurice ever had talked to Mr. Arnold of Sydney Willand, and if either of them had the least suspicion that this young man had been more to her than an ordinary acquaintance ; but glancing into her companion's face she felt convinced that hints, or even questions on the subject would be useless, and so she walked on in silence until they arrived at the farm. The sick man was very bad, his wife said, and would be triad to see the minister at once. The voung lady (whose unexpected appearance had caused Mrs. Venning to start and change colour) could walk into their bit of a parlour, and rest herself if she pleased, there was plenty of milk — and cider too, at the farm ; and Miss Clavering was welcome to the best the house afforded.

A seat and a glass of new milk were all that Ellen required ; and after having swallowed the refreshing draught, she thanked Mrs. Venning with her usual graciousness, and begged she would not stay away from the sick room on her account. The woman replied that it did not signify ; then fidgctted nervously about the room, took up the glass and put it down again, and finally made an abrupt exit, leaving Ellen in some doubt as to whether her hostess was in perfect possession of her senses. In less than three minutes she had returned, holding in her hand something that looked like a letter, and appearing even more nervous and uncomfortable than she had done before. To relieve, in some measure, this apparently mysterious embarrassment, Ellen began admiring some beautiful geraniums that were in the window ; but no sooner had she spoken than Mrs. Venning burst into tears.

" Oh, Miss Clavering, I'm feared you never, never will forgive me; but as I'm a living woman I forgot all about it till I set eyes upon you to-day. It came when I'd two of my poor children down with the fever, and they both died, blessed lambs ! one after the other ; and what with this trouble, and the master's sickness, I've been a'most crazed ever since; but, oh ! deary me ! deary me ! I ought to have managed to see you, as the young gentleman asked me to do in the cover of the letter." Before this lengthy and scarcely articulate speech was concluded, Ellen had begun to see clearly through the] mist that, at its commence ment, had dimmed her sight. And when poor, penitent Mrs. Venning held out to her the document (hitherto tightly grasped in the ner vous hand), she knew for a certainty that it was a letter from Sydney Willand, and which ought to have been in her possession at least three months ago.

Looking up as soon as her first agitation at this discovery had in some degree subsided, Ellen found she was alone ; and then choosing a shadier part of the room than that she had heretofore been occupying, she broke the seal of her letter with trembling fingers, and read the following — " My own Ellen, " I can think of no other means than the one I am now adopting, of getting a letter safely conveyed to you ; for until I can come for ward openly and demand your hand, your pa rents would naturally resent any attempt on my part to lure you into a correspondence. And yet, dearest, I must tell you how utterly wretched I have been since I parted from you ; how even in the midst of my father's illness (which as the papers will have informed you ended in death) your image was ever before me, and the fear that you might forget me, the heaviest of all my trials.

Ellen, my Ellen, I implore you to be true to me. It is not only my happiness, but my life that is bound up in your fidelity. I cannot return to claim you yet, though every hour that separates me from you is an age of torture ; but my mother is very ill, and will not hear of my leaving her for a single day. The brother I once told you of, has quarrelled both with her and myself. I believe he managed to do so to avoid behaving generously on the occasion of coming into his estate, but everything is miserably involved, somehow ; and even he has much less than we all expected. So he has shut up the old place, and gone with his wife and family to the East. This does not trouble me ; nothing seriously troubles me but being separated from you, dearest. And I dare not ask you to write to me. Oh, may the hour soon arrive when I can claim you in the face of the whole world.

Till then, my Ellen, may every blessing be yours — only sometimes, amidst the flowers that spring beneath your pathway, think kindly of one who lives but with the hope of adding to your happiness. " Yours for ever and for ever, " Sydney." Before Ellen had time to read these impas sioned words of her half-forgotten lover's a second time, and while her cheek was yet burning from the varied emotions they inspired, Mrs. Venning knocked timidly at the door, and said, without opening it, that the minister was waiting. "Are you quite rested?" asked Mr. Arnold, with a kindness of voice and manner that Ellen fancied she had never remarked in him before ; " because if not, I am in no hurry to go — speak frankly. Shall we wait a quarter of an hour longer ?" "Indeed, no," replied Ellen, feeling as if her inward agitation would speedily vent itself in a flood of tears.

" I am perfectly rested, thanks to Mrs. Venning, and ready to start at once." A few words from Mr. Arnold to the anxious wife, a respectful curtsey from the latter to Ellen, who in return took the poor woman's hand and shook it warmly in token of forgive ness — and the grave minister and his fair charge were on their way home again. They talked, of course ; two people, especially of opposite sexes, could scarcely be so long together without conversation of some kind ; but as Ellen had been the chief pro moter of it before, and the present excitement of her mind made every word she uttered an effort, the dialogue between them became ne cessarily flat and uninteresting, and perhaps both were equally relieved when their journey ap proached its termination. But just as they entered the road] at the be ginning of which the cottage was situated, Mr. Arnold said rather abruptly — " I had nearly forgotten, Miss Clavering, to ask you whether you would like to take my sister's duties while she remains too weak to perform them herself?

I am in hopes that another fortnight's rest will suffice for her." " I should like it exceedingly," said Ellen, "if you think, Mr. Arnold, that I am fit for them." " That is rather for you to decide than me. Talk to Grace about it to-day, and she will bring me your thoughts on the subject." " You are surely coming in ? Mamma will blame me if I let you go back again without even resting. Besides, why cannot you dine with us ?" " Thank you, but I have at least half-a dozen engagements between this and the evening, and the walk has been nothing to me. Good bye, Miss Clavering. My love to Gracie, and tell her if I cannot come myself, I will send Janet about eight o'clock to bring her home." Ellen went in alone, feeling more disappointed and depressed than she had any right to do, considering the letter that was lying so snugly hid at the bottom of her pocket. vol u. c

Chapter II

" Upon my word, Nelly, you are less amusing than even Grace Arnold," said Mrs. Clavering to her daughter, when, nearly an hour after their guest had left them, Ellen was still sitting, silent ;ind pre-occupied, looking out of the open win dow. " I am sorry to be so stupid, mamma, but I have been watching the effect of the moonlight, upon those silver birch trees in the garden. Did you find Grace very difficult to amuse while I was away ?" " No, I cannot sav that I did. There is an exceeding gentleness about the girl, that wins insensibly upon one, and almost takes the place of refinement. I believe in the end I shall like her much better than I do her brother." " Yes." " Come, Nelly, don't speak in that languid ■way, as if everything in the wide world were a matter of profound indifference to you.

Rouse yourself, my dear, for I want to talk seriously to you, and to impart some news, that I think you will be glad to hear." " I am quite awake, and prepared to be in terested, mamma." " Well then, agree with me, in the first place, that our life here is terribly dull and devoid of interest ; that it is the changeless monotony of your existence that makes you at times, — to night for instance, — so unnaturally dull and apathetic." Wondering to what this strange commence ment tended, Ellen replied rather evasively, " I really cannot say positively whether it is so or not, mamma ; I am inclined to think that, as far as I am concerned, you are mistaken. Hike our quiet life, and the country, and our little cottage, and " "And the Arnolds," interrupted Mrs. Claver ing, with an excitement she rarely evinced ; " be honest Ellen, and put these dear friends first, and not last, in your catalogue of agreeables."

" Be it so," said the daughter calmly but decidedly. " I do like the Arnolds, mamma, and should be very, very sorry to leave, or lose them." "That is a pity, since my arrangements are nearly completed for spending the winter in London." " In London, mamma ?" " In London, Ellen, where your voice can be cultivated by the instructions of the first mas ters, and where also I hope to find, sooner or later, an opportunity of introducing you into the society your birth and education have fitted you to adorn." " But I thought, mamma, that living in London was so very expensive. How, with our small income, shall you manage it?" " Leave all that to me, my dear. I am in treaty for a house, or rather part of a house, in one of the least expensive suburbs ; and I intend taking only sufficient furniture for absolute necessity.

The remainder will be left here, to let with the cottage, to which we can always return, when we are so disposed. I hope in about three weeks from this time, to be ready to go. " So soon as that, mamma ?" " Yes — but does not the plan delight you, Nelly ? Is it possible, that at your age, you can contemplate with indifference a removal from the centre of all dulness and insipidity, to the very arena of gaiety and pleasure ? I am sure when your poor father was alive, I used to think you were pining for the change and the excitement I was then quite unable to procure for you. But it is different now, and I am most anxious to atone to you for the past." " Thank you, dear mamma," said Ellen, recognizing the real kindness of her mother's intentions, and feeling grateful accordingly ; " I have no doubt that when once we are there, I shall be charmed with everything — too much so, perhaps," — she added with a sigh, though neither the sigh nor the fear were very intelligible to her companion.

" Then, my love," continued Mrs. Clavering, whose spirits were rapidly rising, now that her long-cherished plan was made known, " you will begin at once the numberless little preparations that will be required for our change of abode. It will be an amusement for you to pack up, to collect all your favourite books and music ; and to do what you can to improve (by little knick knacks) your own wardrobe and mine." " Yes, mamma." " And try to be rather more cheerful and animated, my dear, or I shall begin to think, — absurd and preposterous as such a supposition would be — that you do not want to go away, because you know that you shall leave your heart behind you." " Oh mamma !" " Nay, my love, I neither meant to woun d nor offend you. 1 spoke jestingly of course ; but it is getting late, Nelly, and I am tired of the long day.

Come and kiss me, dear, and then we will both go to bed." In the quiet of her own room, Ellen, who was not in the least sleepy, scribbled off a few wandering thoughts that were intended to be woven at some future time into one of her long, periodical epistles to Ireland. Here they are — " I really do not know why I should not be as much elated as poor mamma evidently ex pected me to be at the idea of spending a winter in London. Some time ago such a prospect would have had a thousand charms for me, and I cannot flatter myself that I am a bit more reasonable, or a bit more religious than I was then, in spite of the excellent examples that I have now constantly before me. Mamma's suggestion about leaving my heart behind me is simply ridiculous. With whom, indeed, could I leave it, even supposing it Were not already bestowed upon one who is hundreds and hun dreds of miles from Northumberland ?

And yet, Norah, I have felt again and again the wisdom of that sentence in your letter which condemns me with all the freedom of true friendship for having mistaken the gratification of being for the first time ardently loved for the awakening of real woman's love in my own heart. Four months' absence from the man to whom I so thoughtlessly engaged myself, have opened my eyes to our utter unsuitableness to each other, and not even his passionate declaration of continued devotion, which has this day been put into my possession, can bring back feelings whose vividness at least is gone for ever. How then, you will naturally enquire, can I still talk about my heart being given to him ? It is be cause I know that he has a claim upon it ; and, until this claim be renounced, I shall certainly never consider mvself free to love elsewhere.

At present, indeed, I have none, not the very slightest temptation to commit such a folly. I have told you, dear Norah, all about Mr. Arnold, and how happy it would make me to feel cer tain that he yielded me a distinct, though humble place in his regard ; but this is because I have, and justly, a higher esteem for him than for any man I ever knew. You may think what you please when I have assured you, as I do most emphatically and truthfully, that independently of his age, he is nearly, if not quite, the anti podes of all I ever imagined as calculated to win my heart ; and even were it otherwise, his palpable and unmistakeable indifference to me, (an indifference that I sometimes fancy amounts almost to contempt), would preserve me effec tually from the insane folly of giving him more than a sister's affection.

Perhaps you will say, Norah, that it is the consciousness of this very indifference which makes me so anxious to gain his esteem ; for you remember what you used to tell me about my craving for universal love and admiration, but I scarcely think I am yielding in the present case to this unhappy defect in my character, because Mr. Arnold, both from his age and his profession, seems a being totally apart from all those whom I could ever expect to like or admire me. I often wonder whether he has discovered how much I esteem him ; whether he has the slightest idea that his simple friendship would be more valuable to me than the passionate love of any other man. I am half inclined to efface these last words, Norah, lest you should give them a greater importance than they really merit ; but let them stay, for they express the pure truth, and vou will not cease to love me, because I am still the weak and inconsistent being whom you so generously took into your heart in the happy days of long ago.

" But now to begin from where I set out — why am I not enchanted at the thoughts of going to London ? I really do not know. Per haps I am indolent and apathetic, as mamma says ; perhaps I doubt her success in getting me introduced into the society she thinks I am entitled to ; perhaps I have a natural shrinking from the small rooms and the uncongenial sur roundings to which the ' cheap neighbourhood' will condemn us ; or it may even be that I dislike the chances I shall certainly have of meeting Sydney again. This would be no doubt extremely irrational and absurd, since one day or another we probably shall meet to part no more ; for I never, never will betray a heart that clings to me ; and yet, feeling as I do, you can imagine, Norah, that I am in no hurry for this meeting to take place. Time may change him, as it has done me ; or his mother may peremptorily refuse her consent, or one of life's countless accidents may occur to prevent that which I shall never have courage myself to prevent.

And if not — well, then, I must make the best of it, and endeavour to believe that destiny had no sweeter or more satisfying draught wherewith to quench the feverish thirst of this impatient and unworthy heart of mine. I will not write more now, Norah ; I am ashamed to see, in reading over these random thoughts, that self, self, self, has been as usual the burden of my song. Before I send the letter I must en deavour to atone for this odious and contemptible egotism." " I am so very, very much obliged to you, dear Ellen, for all you have done for me since I have been ill," said Grace Arnold one evening, as Ellen came in, looking somewhat tired, from her ministrations amongst Grace's proteges. " I am afraid you are quite worn out to-night, and your mamma will have difficulty in for giving us for having laid this burden upon you at a time when you have so much else to do."

" No fear, Gracie. I am stronger than I look, and what you call a burden has been a very pleasant occupation to me ; infinitely more so, I assure you, than joining in the preparations going on at home for our removal." " Yes, I believe that, and it makes me doubly unhappy at the thoughts of losing you. Just fancy, John, how quiet and lonely our lives will seem when Ellen has left us too." This last observation was addressed to Mr. Arnold, who was writing at a little table by the window, and had not appeared to be listening to the conversation at the other end of the room. " Yes," he replied, raising his head for a moment only, " I am afraid, Gracie, you will miss your friend very much." Ellen noted well the words and the tone in which they were spoken. Her spirits sank lower than before, and a little temper mingled in what she said next.

" I hate the idea of this journey to London, it is perfectly ridiculous to think of our doing any good there. Mamma does not know a single creature, and yet she expects to enter into the best society, and to be able to make our small income cover all our additional expenses, besides providing me with a singing-master. — And to what purpose ? as I have often asked her."* Again Mr. Arnold looked up from his papers ; but this time it was only the grave and surprised expression of his face that told Ellen his opinion of what she had been saying. The tears sprang to her eyes, but she concealed them, and began talking to Grace about Mau rice, and the last news they had received from him. It was now fast becoming dusk, and presently laying aside his writing materials, Mr. Arnold rose from his seat, and advancing towards the young ladies, asked if it was not time for Miss Clavering to return home ?

" I suppose it is," replied Ellen, " but as I shall not see Gracie again, I have been reluctant to say good-bye ; however, the moment must come, so just help me on with my shawl, dear, and set me an example of courage and cheer fulness, in this apparently inevitable parting." But Grace was weak from recent illness, and it was not only her friend, but the sister of her affianced husband, whom she was losing for an indefinite time ; so, in spite of Ellen's appeal, her tears flowed fast as she performed the latter's bidding, and hardly-suppressed solis mingled with them when the two girls clasped each other in the last affectionate embrace. "Don't cry, Gracie," said Mr. Arnold, standing a little apart, with a face of real concern. ■ It will make you ill again, and give additional distress to Miss Clavering.