Anne Cave. A tale, etc

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■ I ■ I ■ ■ BOOKS JUST PUBLISHED. " THE MAN OF THE HOUR." By ALFRED GLADSTONE. "THE MORTONS OF BARDOM." A LANCASHIRE TALE. "HEATHSIDE FARM." Edited by MRS. MARSH, Author of "Two Old Men's Tales," "Emilia Wyndham." " MAPLE HAYES." "AFTER LONG YEARS." By MRS. MACKENZIE DANIELS. "SKATING ON THIN ICE." By the Author of " Reca Garland." "THE SCHOOLMASTER OF ALTON." By the Author of "The Dull Stoke House." > ANECDOTAL MEMOIRS OF ENGLISH PRINCES, WITH SOME ACCOUNT OF THE ROYAL HOUSES OF ENGLAND. Br W. H. DAVENPORT ADAMS, Author of " Memorable Battles in English History," 4c. "THE PIRATES OF THE FOAM." By the Author of " The Two Midshipmen." " IL PELLEGRTNO." By CAPTAIN J. W. CLAYTON. " SNOWED UP." By MRS. OCTAVIUS FRIERE OWEN. "YESTERDAY AND TO-DAY." By CYRUS REDDING. "A COUNTRY VISIT." By the Author of " Constance Dale."

"THE LIFE OF SIR TIMOTHY GRACELESS Bart." written by himself— edited by omega. A TALE. IN THREE VOLUMES. BT KENNER DEENE, AUTHOR OF " The Dull Stone House," " The Schoolmaster of Alton," &c. VOL. II. button: T. CAUTLEY NEWBY, PUBLISHER, 30, WELBECK STREET, CAVENDISH SQUARE. 1864. [THE RIGHT OP TRANSLATION 18 RESERVED.]

Chapter I. The Curate

Charles Higham, the new curate of Yanly and its two adjacent parishes of Skelton and Bartworth, which were both a continuation of the village of Yanly, had entered upon an arduous undertaking when he became sole curate of the rich and almost superannuated Incumbent, Mr. Brett. Another young man had filled the situation up to this time ; but old Mr. Brett laboured under the impression that he could preach as well and as coherently as in the days of his youth, consequently his vicegerent was never permitted the privilege VOL. II. B of displaying his oratorical powers to the large congregation assembling weekly in the church for three parishes ; and the county families, farmers, innkeepers, and peasantry, were all alike condemned to sit for one hour attempting to listen to the discourse of the old clergyman, delivered in an inarticulate and feeble whisper.

Mr. Page, the late curate, therefore found himself consigned to a dreary and uninteresting round of sick visiting and Sunday School superintendence, unre lieved by any opportunity of shining in the eyes of the Yanly world. Disgusted at the irksomeness of soothing the dying pillows of ignorant, vulgar rustics, and explaining the Bible to dirty, sunburnt children, Mr. Page threw up his really arduous office, with its paltry salary of eighty pounds per annum, and Charles Higham. by a strange coinci dence was appointed in his room, and thus found himself thrown into close proximity with the family of his old college friend. At this time Mr. Brett was attacked by an illness, which being of a rheumatic tendency, threatened to confine him to the house all the winter, the drudgery, therefore, together with the responsibility of the three parishes, fell all at once on the hard-worked curate ; he was expected to preach likewise, and his re muneration was eighty pounds a year.

He had a pale face, a noble brow, from which the auburn hair had slightly worn away ; he was tall and thin, and he stooped a little ; he was a few years older than Robert ; one would have set his age down at thirty ; such was the curate outwardly. Already Anne's in stincts told her he was made the laughing; stock of the fine folks in the Aubrey pew. Mrs. Power would be mocking his slightly awkward gait, and George Aubrey was grace full y ridiculing him, even at the moment that his eyes were apparently fastened on his prayer book. Yet Mr. Higham read the ser vice impressively, solemnly, fearlessly, al though it was his first appearance before his congregation. b — " When the wicked man turneth away from his wickedness that he hath committed, and doeth that which is lawful and right, he shall save his soul alive."

Mocking still? Yes, mocking still — all through the pathetic pleading of the liturgy, and even when, standing before the altar, the curate spoke forth firmly the words of that law which was thundered from Mount Sinai, and engraven on the tables of stone — " Thou shalt not commit adultery ; thou shalt not steal ; thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbour ; thou shalt not covet anything that is thy neighbour's — " Still, still, were George Aubrey and Mrs. Power smiling, whispering, mocking. At length the pale curate, in his gown mounted the pulpit, and after a short, earnest prayer, he stood forward and gave out his text : Psalm lxxvii, verse 19 — " Thy way is in the sea, and thy paths in the great waters, and thy footsteps are not known." It was an address to the afflicted on this earth ; in the first place a comforting assurance to those trouble-worn children of Adam to whom God has given plenteousness of tears to drink, to whom ex istence is a burden ; who, lonely, uncheered, perchance unloved, and by man unpitied, wade wearily through the waters of affliction — that God is not unmindful — that their tears are garnered in his bottle — that He careth for them and pitieth them, even as a father pitieth his children ; that, although his footsteps are not known, that still, their impress, though invisible, is really and truly in every man's path in life ; he called affectionately on these afflicted ones to plead their own cause with the Father of all Mercies, and he pointed to the time when God should wipe away all tears from off all faces, in the kingdom of his Son, their Saviour.

Then he admonished those, who, in full and fearless prosperity, went on still in their wickedness, that the 0 day of reckoning must come, was coming, that the Almighty was still about the path way of the sinner, marking all that was done amiss — that he slumbered not, neither winked at their sins — that the ungodly flourishing like a green bay tree, was sure, sooner or later, to be cut down untimely, and that his place should know him no more ; he ended by an earnest exhortation to repentance, faith and love ; and Anne came out of church with wet eyes and softened heart, delighted with the new curate. George Aubrey came and walked by her side, as they entered the fields leading to wards home. " What did you think of the sermon, Miss — Miss Cave ?" He seemed to think it proper to hesitate over her name.

" I think it was beautiful," she answered, warmly. " You do," with a glance of surprise. " I should not have thought it the style of thing to interest a young lady. It was pretty well got up too ; if he goes on as well as he has begun, he may get appointed to the living at old Brett's death; that's what he is up to, he is a terrible specimen of the milk-and-water style of curate though, is he not?" " What do you mean ?" " I mean," he answered, laughing, " that he has a milk-and-water complexion ; that he stoops ; that he blushes like a great school girl, and that he is a sheepish looking, awkward lout. You seem smitten with the poor fellow ; how flattered he would be," for dropping his voice to a whisper, "you are a very pretty little girl." Now we suppose Anne ought to have felt highly indignant at this somewhat coarsely delivered compliment, but she did not; she thought that George Aubrey really considered her pretty, and she felt pleased thereat.

Not that she cared one button for his opinion, for his own sake, but she was by no means sure or confident about her own good looks. At school she had been voted pretty by some, pale and dowdy by others. She had not cared very much for this at the time, but now — now, one of her deepest aspirations was to be fair and comely, because she perceived Robert's innate love of the beautiful. She marked how he dwelt on the grace and beauty of Jane Vaughan, although he affected to make light of her charms. She perceived that it was what he was pleased to call her good ness which had won him, added to her love for him, her poor face had small share in the gaining of his affections. What if some being of surpassing loveliness, were to cause him to forget the humble plain little Anne Cave ; but George, the man of taste and of the world, had told her she was pretty.

She looked up brightly in his face and smiled a grateful smile, which was meant for the memory of the absent brother, but George took it to himself. As he assisted her over the next stile, he carried her hand to his lips, and kissed it fervently, squeezing it also in his, in a way she did not at all like — she looked at him angrily, but before she could speak Mrs. Power was upon them. She had not per ceived the action, but she perceived that George was attentive to the governess, and she was jealous and angry ; that poor woman never attempted to conceal her feelings. She was a violent, vulgar, weak-minded woman, with strong passions and weak judgment, and she was totally wanting in all delicacy and refinement ; she had been brought up amid scenes of coarse depravity, and squalid poverty, and no associations could now make her a lady.

" Governesses have pleasant times now-a days, making love with the young gentlemen of the house, while the pupils run wild in the wet grass." George's retort to this lady-like speech was delivered in a low key, it was emphatic, and it reached Anne's ear. " Don't be a fool, Sophia." She turned quite savagely round upon Anne — " You would rather I left you alone to your courting, would'nt you ? but I tell you this B for your good, that it doesn't do for people in your rank to go on too far with young men in his, and I warn you that he is only making fun of you all the time, or he means worse;" she paused for sheer breath, and, turning upon her calmly but wrathfully, Anne said — " Your advice and your warnings are not asked for, neither will your insults be received tamely by me. Because you happen to be a rich visitor at Yanly Manor, and I am only a poor dependent there, you think you have a right to insult me.

You are hugely mis taken, my spirit is, perhaps, as haughty as your own. I will not submit to unmerited insult from any person. I warn you not to interfere with me." Anne looked very white and angry when she spoke thus, anyhow she had the consciousness of rectitude within her, and she felt per fectly fearless. Mrs. Power, like all bullies, was a coward, she hardly answered her, turned away, thrust her arm through that of George, and began to talk on indifferent subjects. Anne meanwhile hurried on with Elsie, and the Daltons, who were ahead of them all, and who were totally unconscious of the vulgar squabble of Mrs. Power and the governess. It so happened that very evening that as Anne sat pouring out the tea in the school room, Elsie came to take her place at the table, and brought to her a piece of news or gossip, as she was often in the habit of doing, and this was the sum of her narration : — She had pursued her little puppy, Fido, into her mother's chamber, believing that she was dining with the company ; the dog had run into the private closet of Mrs. Aubrey, and Elsie had followed ; scarcely had she entered when she heard her mother and Christine come into the room, and she had been afraid to present herself, as in that case a tremendous ear-boxing would have been the consequence; thus she had overheard their conversation, and the news that Emily had been charmed with, the rent-roll and title of a certain Lord Lil burne, who was coming on a visit to the Stanby Viners, a family, whose seat was only two miles from Yanly Manor, and Emily hoped to see much of him.

So you see we shall have lots of company and visiting here, Miss Cave, and Emily is so handsome, she is certain to marry this Lord if she wants him. " How did you manage to escape from this closet, Elsie ?" " I did not escape ; mamma came in and boxed my ears when she found me there nursing Fido, but she did not think I had heard the news about Emily and the Lord — heigho, I hope Emily will get married ; it is so nice whilst she is away." The following Tuesday evening Anne received an invite from Harvey Aubrey to dine for once with the great folks, and, as he said, to meet her favourite curate, for Mr. Higham had accepted an invitation to dinner on this day. Elsie was also to be of the party, and they sat apart before the summons to the dining room, both feeling they had nothing in com mon with the gay folks, who were laughing and chatting around them.

Emily, in dinner dress of rich rose colour brocade, looked lovely, and never had ap peared so lively and animated before. She nodded kindly and cheerfully to the governess from the other end of the room, and presently she came over and shook her hand in her own frank, charming manner so delightful at first acquaintance, so hollow and meaningless when you came to know her better, and began to understand that she did not care one farthing for you or your concerns, that you were to her indifferent as the very fly that buzzed about the window panes, but the gleaming of her matchless teeth, the expression of her faultless mouth when she smiled, had a fasci nation even for those of her own sex. No Lord Lilburne need have hoped to escape her influence if she once resolved to conquer him. "How well you are looking, Miss Cave, and black silk suits you charmingly."

This was in a confidential and complimentary whisper. " Who can hope to look well by your side, Miss Aubrey ?" This was not uttered with any sentiment of common place, or vulgar flattery, but perhaps she judged it so, for she passed on with a slight, a very slight, curl of the lip. At this juncture the footman announced Mr. Higham, and there entered the pale stooping curate, blushing, as George had said, like a school girl, and yet with his bright intelligent eyes cast calmly over the company. He bowed, and then Mrs. Aubrey advanced to meet him ; they shook hands, and she presented him to the Hon. Charles Dalton, Mrs. Dalton, Captain Power, Mrs. Power, Miss Cave, my little girl's governess. He seated himself beside Anne on the sofa. She was glad, was he not Robert's friend, but where was Emily?

She had escaped into the conservatory — Emily, who had once been fond of him, as Elsie said. Was the meeting too much for her ? " Impossible, Emily had no heart," so Anne said to herself, and thus we often judge and misjudge one another, because Emily had no heart for the governess, was that a reason that she had none for the curate ? The entrance of George, who cordially shook hands with Mr. Higham, was followed by the announcement of dinner, and Anne somehow found herself led down stairs by Mr. George Aubrey, while Emily and the curate followed close in their rear, and Anne heard Emily whisper — " Charles, I must speak to you to-night." She did not hear his response, but she found herself placed next to him at dinner, and he paid her the most kind and delicate attention during the repast.

They talked, too, of Robert, on whom she dexterously turned the conversation, and he told her many incidents of his foreign travel. He did not ob trude religion into the conversation, but yet you felt that you were not talking to a man of the earth — earthy; there was a high souled purity about his thoughts and words that made you instinctively look up to him as to a superior being, and yet he was humility it self, gentleness personified. Anne was more than ever pleased with the milk-and-water curate, as George Aubrey designated him. " I wrote to Robert last night," said Mr. Higham, " he will be very much astonished at my being located at Yanly." " Do you like Yanly, Mr. Higham ?" " Yes, the country is in my idea the most beautiful in England, or, at least, any that I have ever seen." " And the people — the society ?*' " I scarcely think of the society," he answered, with a smile.

" I shall have too much to employ me here to think of the society for my own pleasure. The parish is very large, you must understand, Miss Cave, and there is an immensity for the clergyman to do ; there are always sure to be several sick in the different villages; there are also the schools to superintend, and many other things, so that I shall really have no time for visit- )> ing. " Mr. Brett ought to keep another curate," said Anne, warmly. He slightly shook his head. " He has never been accustomed to keep more than one." " More shame to him, with his large income. He is too greedy to pay more than one, and he does not care how hard he works him." " In this sweet, pure air, hard work does a man no harm, but rather good," said the patient curate, " it is not like a close, unwhole some London district."

" Mr. Page, the last curate, used to find time to visit, Mr. Higham, notwithstanding all these arduous duties." He must have thought that Anne was de generating into scandal, for he almost immediately turned the conversation towards the general topics of those days, the exile of St. Helena and the late war. He told Anne, that he could not divest himself of a feeling of deep pity for the pent-up mighty spirit who was imprisoned on that rock-bound island. The ambitious master mind which had made the nations tremble, must chafe indeed under confinement, and he hinted distantly at the gloom that must spread before the eternal future of a man, ignorant of the great simple gospel truths as Buonaparte undoubtedly was. " After all," he continued, " I wish we could, as a nation, have afforded to treat him less rigorously.

The French are ■very angry with us, and they will teach their children's children to cherish a revengeful feeling towards us. When I was in France, I lodged in Paris, at the house of a wine mer chant, who was a great republican, and an enthusiastic worshipper of Napoleon. Robert Aubrey was with me. One morninowe heard Jules Dubois in the yard below our windows, making his little son, Edouard, of live years old, repeat his paternoster. When the Latin prayer was over, the father said in French, ' Now my son, say after me thus : God give me a heart to love my parents and my country people, and to adore Napoleon the Great. God give me a mind to hate the English people, who have made him prisoner, and God give us one day revenge for Water loo and the hearts' blood of these islanders.' Many, I am aware, would have been inclined to smile at the rhapsody of Jules Dubois.

For my part, I looked upon it as the serious outpouring of the present postulate of French thought at large ; not that of the noblesse, or the princes, but the strong body of the people, and it may so happen in years to come, that a descendant of this island hero may sit on the throne of France, and the Bourbon dynasty be again abolished. In that case, Waterloo and St. Helena will not be forgot ten, and though policy may induce the French to cry peace, peace, for a season, depend upon it we shall tread over a volcano. They have yet to learn how divine it is to forgive." " And pray, Mr. Higham, what would you do with Buonaparte," asked Captain Power, who sat opposite to him, and who had for the last few moments, been listening to the curate's conversation, " would you set him at liberty ?" " No ; because in that case, the liberties of our country would be endangered."

" Then what was the meaning of your com passionate remark, just now, Mr. Higham ?" asked the Hon. Charles Dalton, helping him self to a bunch of fine grapes, " you appeared to me to be advocating the cause of the up start Corsican rather warmly, and blaming our Government for its coercive measures, which are only too mild, in my opinion. If I had my way, now, I would have him brought a prisoner to England, and shot down like a dog on Tower Hill, in the sight of all the people." Now the Hon. Charles Dalton was a very fair-complexioned, small, effeminate-looking person. His physiognomy did not indicate much courage or ferocity. We do not think he was constitutionally at all cruel, and it always struck Anne that the term " milk-and water " was far more applicable to him than to Mr. Higham, who, with all his meekness, was free from the slightest tincture of effem inacy.

This very murderous speech, then, we will set down as only spoken to give the assembled company an idea of the unexam pled determination and energy of the Hon. Charles Dalton, future M.P. for the county. Perhaps the rest of the company were of this opinion, more or less, for no person gain said him, only Mr. Higham said to Anne softly, " Is that gentleman going to contest the county ?" and she answered in the affirmative. Captain Power returned to the charge ; " You have not replied to my question, Mr. Higham ; What would you do with Buonaparte ? You regret our harsh measures — what would you advise?" " You must be aware, Captain Power, that it is far easier to discover a wrong, than to suggest a remedy," replied the curate. u I confess that I cannot answer your question : the subject is fraught with difficulties."

" Then you have no right to find fault with the Government," said the Hon. Charles Dalton, who, this evening seemed quite raised out of himself ; " you have no right to find fault with the Government," and he looked quite defiantly over at Mr. Higham. " I think," said the curate, with a smile, " that I did not exactly find fault with the Government, I only regretted that we could not afford to treat Buonaparte less rigorously." " Yes, Mr. Higham, those were your words," exclaimed Anne, " and of course it is to be expected that a nation like the French will cherish feelings of revenge towards those who have taken captive the god of their idolatry." She spoke without thought, without a notion, that she was the only lady who had taken part in this political discussion, but the quick blush of shame burned in her cheeks when Mrs. Aubrey rose, tall and stately, in her black velvet dress and flashing diamonds, and signed to her to leave.

The Hon. Charles Dalton darted at her a look of unutterable contempt, and leant back in his chair, without condescending to reply to her. His face said plainly, " Have you lost your senses, young person ?" George Aubrey held the door open for them, and as Anne passed him he whispered, "What a flirt you are; I am desperately jealous." His tone was not altogether ban tering, and she left the room, puzzled by his manner. Could he be really in love with her ; vain, silly thought ; what Mrs. Power said must be the true version ; he was making game of her. Well, let him amuse himself, she wanted neither his love nor his admiration. True, he was a very handsome, elegant, sensible young man, but he was to her indifferent as the veriest peasant lad in Yanly village. Now, as she sat in the drawing-room window that evening, amongst the group of fair ladies, none of whom condescended to address a word to her, she felt sad.

Mrs. Power chatted with Mrs. Aubrey, and the very haughty Mrs. Charles Dalton, who had never addressed a word to the governess since her arrival at Yanly Manor. Emily had withdrawn. Anne heard of an electioneering ball to be given at Felton, talked of enthu siastically, but the meaning of what was being said came to her ears without her attending to the words themselves. Elsie sat on a low, soft stool, reading by lamp-light, a book of fairy tales, exquisitely bound in light green morocco, embossed with gold, and full of beautiful wood-cuts ; this was a present Robert had sent her from Paris, where he was now sojourning with Lord Courtenay ; so Anne had nobody to talk to. What if she could escape from the drawingroom, and go down to Nelly's cottage to see her. She actually put this scheme into execution ; no one missed her from the room ; and in a few moments, wrapped, in a large shawl, and with a close bonnet on her head, she was scampering across the wet grass of the park, under cover of the dark night sky of October ; the clouds hung low, and the moon had not risen, when she tapped timidly at the door of Nelly's cottage.

It was opened cautiously, and Nelly whispered mysteriously in her ear, "Hush; don't speak," she said, " they'll be gone directly ; come in," and she led Anne through the kitchen, which had no light save that of the fire, into another room, her sleeping apartment, which was in total darkness; "get behind the curtain." Obeying Nelly's orders not to speak, Anne crouched behind the window curtain, and then she became sensible, when the beating of her own heart would let her listen, that there were voices, a man and woman's, in the sitting-room, which went out of this bed- VOL. II. c room ; her first thoughts were that a clan destine meeting between Mrs. Power and George Aubrey was taking place under Nelly's roof. A moment's reflection shewed her that the well-principled creature would never lend herself to a deed of shame, and she soon recognised the clear, beautiful sound of Emily Aubrey's voice, and the gentle, deep tones that answered her, were those of the curate, Charles Higham.

She was, of course, afraid to stir, and she therefore remained, cowering down in the ridiculous hiding place, where Nelly had stationed her, and thus, could not avoid hearing a colloquy never intended for her ears. " But you were cruel, Charles, cruel ; why not have waited a little while longer, another six months, and Sir John Higham would have breathed his last. You might then have gratified your whim, and taken orders, and you would have possessed the good knight's fortune also." "Whim, Emily?" " Yes, whim," she answered hotly ; " what was it but a whim, or crotchet. Why could you not have been as good, as honourable, as pious with Sir John's fortune and in the position to which you were born ; it is only a late thing, this desire to enter the church ; four years ago when you went abroad, with Robert, you never thought of it.

When first you made love to me, Charlie — Charlie in a deep tone of tenderness — I thought you were a rich man's heir ; I never dreamt you would become a poor, hard-worked curate, with eigty pounds a year, and your lodging paid extra." The last words had a tinge of sar casm mingled with sadness. " Oh, Emily, you know you were not, you are not, bound to the poor curate ; when I heard my uncle threaten to disinherit me if I persisted in taking orders, I wrote and told you what my fear was, but that my determi nation was in no wise weakened, and you did not then reproach me, Emily, your letters were still full of love and sweetness." c " Because I did not for a moment believe your uncle would really be such a madman as to leave all his property to charities, and make you a beggar." " Emily, when the will was opened, I wrote and told you all, I wrote to release you from the promises you had made me if you so willed it.

I received my letters back, and a kind, friendly letter, from Mrs. Aubrey, re gretting the turn affairs had taken, and ex plaining that Mr. Harvey Aubrey would give no fortune to his daughters until his death, and then only, small ones, consequently, that you would have literally nothing but a trous seau which she herself would provide when ever you married, and that therefore it was essential your husband should be a man of fortune ; she added that you were of her opinion, and that you thought it best for us to part. Emily, your name was signed at the foot of that letter. I accepted that dismissal — I left you free." " Free !" echoed Emily, in a wild hysterical voice, " free ! with my heart yours as it was, and as it will be irrevocably while it beats ; free ! with all the memories of our long, long plighted love to haunt me ; free ! with the music of your loved voice sounding in my ears, in dreams, when I started from slumber only to weep wearily at your desertion, and, at the eternal crushing of my hopes.