For Mrs. Grundy's Sake. A novel

Chapter I. Burnston

Priory was an old-fashioned country mansion, built in the early part of Queen Anne's reign, stiff, polished, and uncomfortable as a house could well be ; here and there beginning to fall to decay, and suffered to do so for want of the necessary funds required to repair it ; some parts (more dilapidated than the rest) covered with ivy, others with dainty purple and white clematis, which contrasted strangely with the solid, square, matter-of-fact appearance of the rest of the building. The gardens, which were rather extensive, were formed on the same plan — trim, neat, square, straight walks, flower-beds all cut to the same patterns, circles, triangles, or scollops, fruit trees trained stiffly on frames, ornamental foliage forced FOR MRS. GRUNDY'S SAKE. to represent bird, fish, or animal, the whole place giving one the impression that the world was still in the commencement of the eighteenth century, and one almost expected to meet with men in white wigs, each carrying a snuff-box, and ladies wide-hooped, all powder and patches, on every walk.

The house had been originally built by a Mr. Burnston, a man who had devoted himself to the Hanoverian cause, and in consequence spent his substance pretty freely on it, in return for which service he had been in high favour at Court. In character, one of the old school of Whigs, pre judiced and narrow-minded, but truthful, honest, and sincere to his very heart's core, a good friend, and a dangerous, bitter, relentless foe. Generation after generation of the Burnstons were born, lived their lives, and died in the old mansion, and each successive one was almost an exact reproduction of the first. The present Mr. Burnston was a trifle more genial, a trifle perhaps more modern than his forefathers, and he was the first of the family to discard the traditional wig and high black stock, but he still retained a love for snuff and knee-breeches.

The most modern thing about him, undoubtedly, was his wife. How in the name of wonder he had ever come to choose such an one as he possessed was a source of endless amazement to all his acquaintances. Mrs. Burnston was a hearty, loud-voiced, hand some, fashionable woman of the world, who de lighted in surrounding herself with brand-new furniture, clothes, and gew-gaws, and who ruled all the other members of the household with a rod of iron. Not bad-hearted, and capable of occa sional fits of real kindness and generosity, but as a rule thoroughly ambitious and domineering, and utterly and entirely wrapped up in her only son Godfrey, for whom she had marked out a rapid and brilliant career in the cause of his country, beginning with being the member of Parliament for his own county, and ending as perpetual Prime Minister.

Now, perhaps the worst obstacle she had to contend with against the fulfilment of these hopes was Godfrey Burnston himself, who had inherited all the good nature, good looks, courage, and straightforwardness of both his parents, but who was singularly deficient in energy. I may even go farther and say that in him laziness was per sonified. This was a terrible grief to his mother, who tried every means of persuasion to make him rouse himself, but in vain; and sometimes, when more discouraged than usual, she had been known FOR MRS. GRUNDY'S SAKE. to weep over her disappointment, so greatly did she take it to heart. No one in this world is without some skeleton in the cupboard or trouble in the heart, and this was hers. Another member of the household was a young lady named Adelaide Brase. She was the daughter of an old schoolfellow of Mrs. Burnston, who had died, leaving her only child Adelaide to the care of her school friend.

Mrs. Burnston accepted the charge very gracefully, and endeavoured to fulfil the duties so unexpectedly thrust upon her to the best of her ability. Perhaps it was a good thing for Miss Brase that she was possessed of a moderate fortune of her own (for her guardian had a great contempt for poverty), and also that Mrs. Burnston had no daughters to interfere with her in any way. As it was, she had on the whole a very nice time indeed, for Mrs. Burnston, who was a thorough society woman, liked to have a young fresh girl to take about with her, and who, not being her own daughter, did not reflect at all upon her age ; also, they had very kindred tastes, and consequently they could talk for hours about new dresses or current gossip without feeling the least bit wearied. They had another bond of sympathy in Godfrey.

He who was his mother's idol occupied no small share of Adelaide's thoughts, and so they were provided with an ever interesting and unfailing topic of conversation. It was the ardent desire of both of them that he should make a grand position in society, and lately Mrs. Burnston had begun to think — what Miss Brase had thought all along — that he might go farther and fare worse than if he chose his wife from his own home. However, Godfrey, who knew rather too well for his own comfort their views about his career, knew nothing whatever of. this last idea, and he seemed utterly unable to take any hints on the subject. Mrs. Burnston had begun to realise lately what a dangerous propensity Godfrey had of falling in love with ineligible parties, and it was this discovery that had compelled her (rather reluctantly, it must be admitted) to come to the conclusion that handsome, well-born Adelaide Brase, with her three thousand a year in her own right, would not be a bad match for her son aster all.

It was a great blow to her, nevertheless; for one of the brightest dreams of her life had been of the grand, brilliant match that he was to make — nothing under a duke's daughter had ever entered her mind at one time — but now — well, Adelaide would always pay her great respect, and she would urge her husband to get into Parliament and otherwise distinguish himself; so she had better be content with her for a daughter in-law. She shuddered as she recalled to her mind the last ball they had all visited together. Godfrey had devoted himself for an entire evening to a pretty little girl — almost a child — named Millicent Danstrie, who was absolutely penniless, and likely to remain so. Her father was a middle-aged man, but a young barrister, who earned but a scanty, precarious living at his calling.

Men work many years at the Bar, as a rule, before they get a chance of distinguishing themselves. Well, Millicent, or Millie, as she was generally called, was a universal favourite, and invited everywhere, only being shunned by mothers with marriageable sons, and Mrs. Burnston had almost turned cold from fright as she counted Godfrey having three waltzes with this pretty nobody, and missed them both from the room during a whole set of lancers. When she tackled him on the subject, and forbade him ever to repeat " his abominable conduct," he had coolly observed that he was looking out for a wife, in obedience to her often-expressed desire, and meant to marry and settle down. " But dancing with girls like Millicent Danstrie won't help you in the search," she replied, coldly. " I'm not so sure of that," said Godfrey, with a spice of mischief in his eyes, " as I intend to marry for love, not money."

" Such nonsense you do talk, Godfrey," ex claimed his mother, crimson with subdued wrath; " marry for love, forsooth ! Don't count on my consent, then ; for so surely as you marry that little beggar, or any one like her, so surely do I disown you as my son." " My dear mother," replied Godfrey, with a merry laugh, " I haven't the least intention of marrying any one at present. I only said that when I did, I should marry for love, not money. You need not excite yourself about that child. I never met her until the other evening, and, really, there was no one else to dance with worth looking at." " There was Adelaide," replied Mrs. Burnston, slowly. This was the first time that she had been able to bring herself to mention her ward in direct connection with her son ; but she was getting frightened.

"Pooh, mother!" he replied, laughingly; "fellows don't care to dance with their sisters all the evening, and I did have a couple of squares with her." " Adelaide is not your sister," said Mrs. Burnston, laying some stress on the last word, and giving a little sigh as she thus upset the doctrine which for years she had been drilling into both their heads, namely, that they were to consider one another as brother and sister. " No, not in reality, of course," replied Godfrey; "but she has been brought up here, and seems like one almost by now. Let me see. It is just twelve years since she first came here, and I don't like her any better after so long an acquaintance than I did the first day I saw her; we don't get on together somehow. On second thoughts you are right; she is not my sister, and I am very glad of it."

" I'm sure that you are very ungrateful, God frey," said his mother, severely; "Adelaide is a well-brought-up, ladylike, very superior girl, and is only too good for you, and far better-looking than that — that chit of a girl you admired so the other night." Godfrey began to whistle softly and walked restlessly to and from the window, a favourite plan of his when being lectured. " I admit that Adelaide is perfect, and that she possesses every virtue and attraction under the sun," he said, lazily. " Now do let the subject drop ; I want a smoke." Mrs. Burnston was too worldly wise to pursue the subject further at present, and felt very well satisfied with the progress she had already made. Godfrey admitted that he was glad that Adelaide was not his sister, and he freely ad mitted her superiority over Millicent Danstrie, and he had apparently been thinking over the subject of matrimony; so, altogether, she was in a high good humour, and as Adelaide entered the room just at that moment (Godfrey having left it some minutes before), she determined to sound her on the same subject — not that she thought it at all necessary, but just to see how the land lay.

" Adelaide, my dear," she began, artfully, " have you observed any change in Godfrey lately ? " " No, aunt," replied Adelaide, hesitatingly (she always called Mrs. Burnston aunt); " why do you ask ? " " Oh, I only thought that he had something on his mind, was quieter than usual, and rather strange in his manner. I began to fear lest he had formed some unfortunate attachment." Mrs. Burnston paused to mark the effect of her carefully-chosen words. She was rewarded by seeing her ward's cheeks flush crimson, while she bit her lip sharply to conceal her feelings. " If it is any one ! " she exclaimed angrily, " it is that detestable little Millie Danstrie. He is quite infatuated with her lately." " So I feared, my dear," replied Mrs. Burnston, with a smile, " and in some uneasiness I questioned him on the subject, but he managed to completely set my doubts at rest."

" What did he say ? " asked Adelaide, with un usual vivacity. " Why, he intimated that he was merely amusing himself, but that he thought seriously of getting married soon, and that he intended to marry for love. He said it, too, in a way that almost con vinced me he had already some one in his mind." "Are you sure he did not mean her?" asked Adelaide, eagerly. " He has been at their house a good deal lately, but he pretends that he goes to see her brother. I have noticed several things that seem to point to the same thing." " I did not know that he had been there, Adelaide. He did not mention it to me," said Mrs. Burnston, rather surprised, but not much dis pleased at the news, " nor did I know that she had a brother. Of course, if Godfrey is friends with the brother, he is compelled to be civil to the girl.

Anyhow, I am not uneasy about her any longer, for he acknowledged that you were in every way superior to her, which, of course, he would not have done if he had been in love with her." " Did he ? " asked Adelaide, looking very pleased at the compliment ; " what else did he say ? " " Oh, not very much, but I said several things and he agreed (by the rule that silence gives con sent," thought Mrs. Burnston to herself, though, being naturally very straightforward, she did not altogether like playing the part she had undertaken to do)," and when upbraiding him with paying her so much attention the other evening I said that I should disown him if he married her, or any one like her. He laughed, and said that he had not the smallest intention of marrying her, but that you and she were the only girls worth dancing with in the room, and that he did not like to be seen too much with you, as living in the same house and being seen so much together might cause people to make remarks, and that was how the conversa tion turned upon you.

Sometimes, lately, I have thought, Adelaide — but no, I won't say any more yet awhile." Mrs. Burnston had really meant to say that lately she had sometimes thought that her son and her ward had better marry, but Adelaide inferred that Mrs. Burnston had seen something in her son's manner that led her to believe that he was beginning to care for her (Adelaide), and that she had no reason to be jealous of Millie Danstrie or any one else. Her heart beat rapidly at the thought, for she had made up her mind long ago to marry this man, and so the mistake all began that was to work so much mischief in the lives of more than one person. But love was not her motive. It was the large rent-roll he would inherit — the good position she would take as his wife — that she coveted ; and when Adelaide Brase made up her mind to a thing she was perfectly unscrupulous and very dangerous to cope with, and she had made up her mind now at last, after this conversation, that nothing and nobody on earth should prevent her from becoming the wife of Godfrey Burnston.

Chapter II

Breakfast had been waiting for quite half an hour, and neither the mistress nor the master of Burnston House had come downstairs. This was so unusual an event that it was discussed freely belowstairs, and the cook was in a fine rage about it, and expressed herself strongly on the subject. " If it happens again," she declared, " I mean to give notice, that's all." " Lor', cook," cried the housemaid Maria, " what a temper you've got, to be sure! Fancy worriting yourself over nothing. Hark, that's them coming downstairs now." Just at this minute Mr. and Mrs. Burnston entered the breakfast-room, and it was evident, from the repressed excitement visible in their manner, that something unusual had occurred, and the other two members of the family were not kept long in ignorance as to what it was.

Mr. Burnston had a sad, quiet, but determined look on his face, 1: quite at variance with his usual appearance, whilst his wife looked more annoyed and baffled than grieved. " You look rather upset, Pater," said Godfrey, in a sympathetic tone; "has anything unpleasant taken place ? " " Your aunt Josephine, my only sister, is dead he replied briefly. Godfrey had often heard of but never seen this relative. Indeed, she was rarely mentioned by any one, as she had displeased all her family by marrying her music - master, a very handsome man, but who was bitterly repudiated by all the Burnstons. He had made her a very good husband, though, and time had softened her brother's heart towards her. Latterly, she had been in his mind a good deal, and he had thought more than once of writing to her to try and heal the breach.

The news of her death caught him in this frame of mind. Godfrey saw that it had distressed him very much, so he forbore to make any further remark on the subject ; but as he rose from the table he let his hand fall gently on his father's shoulder, and gave it a sympathetic pressure. " That is only half and the least important half of the news," said Mrs. Burnston, in a tone of repressed annoyance. "Are you not going to finish telling it all, John ? " addressing her husband in what might almost be called a neutral voice. " Yes," he replied, slowly, " I may as well tell everything now as at another time. My sister had been a widow, Godfrey, for several years before she died, and supported herself almost entirely by teaching music. Her only other money was about one hundred pounds a year, which she possessed previous to her marriage.

She leaves one child, a girl, whom she requests me to be kind to and take care of. She says that she did not trouble me about herself, but that for her child she stoops to ask a favour." "And what do you intend to do about her?" asked Godfrey, with a sudden enlightenment of the reason of the disturbed appearance of his mother's face. " I intend her to come here, and be as my daughter," replied his father, firmly ; "this house is mine," with emphasis, "and my sister's only child shall find a home in it ; there is room enough in all conscience." Mr. Burnston rarely asserted his authority, but when he did so, no one dared to dispute it. Even his wife was silent until he left the room, but then she broke forth into lamentation dismal and loud. " It's a frightful nuisance," she exclaimed vehemently, " that people cannot provide for their own children, and that we should be burdened with them.

I don't mean you, my dear," laying her hand on Adelaide's arm ; " but this Mrs. Rienzi, my husband's sister, married in defiance of all our opinions — quarrelled with the whole family, in fact, and consequently had no right to expect us to provide for her child. Why, she might have left a dozen. I wonder whether in that case she would have expected us to have adopted the lot." " But there is only one, it appears," remarked Godfrey, shortly, "and she is my cousin, my father's sister's child, and I think he could hardly do other wise than offer the poor little thing a home. I shall give her a hearty welcome." He sauntered out of the room to find his father to try and console him, and left his mother and Miss Brase to discuss the subject to their hearts' content. " You see, Adelaide," observed the former lady confidentially to her ward, as soon as the door closed upon her son, " I could not say before those two why I object to the girl's coming here to live.

Heaven knows ! I don't grudge her house room or food, but I dread any young, pretty girl's influence over Godfrey, for he is so susceptible, and his father would only encourage his infatuation if the object of it were his own orphan niece." " I inferred that she was a mere child," said Adelaide, rather startled at this aspect of affairs. " Not so, my dear ; she is seventeen or eighteen at the very least, and if she resembles either of her parents she must be a very lovely girl indeed ; besides, she will no doubt be an accomplished musician, and Godfrey worships music. Oh ! it is really dreadful, but I suppose it cannot be helped, and I must resign myself to circumstances. I only wish, though, that he would become engaged before she arrives, but that is too much to hope for, I fear." As Mrs. Burnston finished speaking she raised her eyes and met those of Adelaide gazing at her with rather a strange, troubled expression in them.

It was evident that the same thought had occurred to both. Something must be done immediately to ascertain the exact state of Godfrey's feelings towards Miss Brase, and an effort must be made to try and arrange some thing definite. " You know my wishes, dear," sighed the elder woman, plaintively, "and I think I need fear no disappointment from you at anyrate." Adelaide paused for an instant before making a reply. A man's face, handsome as a god's, proud, careless, and indolent, in whose scornful, mocking eyes lay a world of hidden fire, rose all unbidden before her mental vision, and she knew now for the first time, when called upon to give an answer to her guardian's question, that it was not Godfrey Burnston that she loved (although she fully intended to marry him), but another man — a man to whom she had given all the heart she was capable of giving, for whom she would commit any sin or imprudence in the calendar, save and except the folly of marrying a poor man.

Sternly crushing down all remem brance of this, and stifling the passion that consumed her soul, she replied with an admirable mixture of diffidence and pleasure : " You may indeed depend upon me, dear Aunt Charlotte; I will disappoint you in nothing; your wish and mine are the same thing." The serpent at Burnston House was waking up.

Chapter III

It was again breakfast time at Burnston House, and there was considerable excitement on this particular morning on account of the expected arrival of Mr. Burnston's niece. " The train is due here at half-past twelve," observed Godfrey, raising his head for an instant from a close perusal of a local time-table ; " what arrangements have you made about meeting her?" " Well, I thought of sending Culver with the brougham for her, and Thomas with the cart for the luggage," replied Mrs. Burnston in an agreeable voice, for she knew when she was beaten, and, like Queen Elizabeth, always made a point of giving in gracefully when compelled to bend her will to her husband's, and as Godfrey had taken it upon himself to champion his unseen cousin, she felt that she must be doubly careful. "Are you not intending to meet her yourself?

" he asked, rather surprised at his mother's want of courtesy towards an expected guest; "it will seem such a cold welcome to the poor little thing to be met by servants only." " I have an important engagement," she replied, rather embarrassed by his question, " otherwise I certainly intended to go." "Oh, don't inconvenience yourself,^ my dear mother," he said politely, but with a spice of malice in his voice ; " I have nothnig whatever to do this morning, so I will play the gallant and meet her myself. Who knows what will follow such a romantic incident. We shall of course fall in love with one another at first sight, and let us hope that in our case the course of true love will for once run smooth." Mrs. Burnston was too taken aback to make an immediate reply, but Miss Brase was equal to the occasion.

" How very nice and considerate you are, God frey," she observed, with a sweet smile, " so dif ferent to most men. I am going to meet your cousin, so we can go together if you have no objection." " Oh, with pleasure," he replied, rather puzzled at the nice feeling shown by Miss Brase towards the expected stranger ; " I will be ready to start at half-past eleven, and if you are also, well and good ; but if you are a minute behind the time — I give you warning — I shall start by myself." As he left the room Mrs. Burnston rose up from her chair and gave Adelaide a hearty kiss — a rare mark of favour from her. " You are a girl after my own heart, Adelaide," she said emphatically; "give me tact before any thing else in the world, and if you and Godfrey go together to meet her this morning it will show her from the first that there is a strong bond of sympathy between you, and we must do all in our power to strengthen that impression."

" You may trust me," replied Miss Brase, deliberately; "she shall not win him if I can prevent her " — and she meant it. Godfrey was as good as his word, and shortly after eleven the carriage, containing Miss Brase and himself, started for the station, for his caution had been effectual, and any little plan that might have risen in her mind to procrastinate and delay setting out until too late for the train was put on one side, and she was punctual to a second. They arrived there in admirable time, and Godfrey, who felt rather grateful to his companion for showing such a good heart towards his cousin, made himself very agreeable to her, and she congratulated herself heartily upon the success of her tactics. " What fools men are," she thought to herself, scornfully ; " a woman would have known by instinct that the only motive that brought me here was to prevent the possibility of their really having a romantic meeting — a third person is always a bar to sentiment.

But it is better as it is; my husband must be a man that I can hood wink when I choose, and twist about as my fancy dictates." The train came steaming into the station, and neither could repress a thrill of excitement as to what the girl might be like. Godfrey was walking towards the first-class carriages by instinct, when Miss Brase said with a scarcely concealed sneer : " Do you not think that you are making a mistake in searching this part of the train, Godfrey? she will be at the other end, I should think." " What do you say ? " he asked, not compre hending at first the drift of her words. " I should hardly think that she will be travel ling first class," she replied insolently; "people in her position, governesses, music-masters' daughters, etc., generally travel third, I believe." A deep flush of annoyance swept over Godfrey's face ; he had never cared very much for Miss Brase before, but she had always made herself very agreeable to him personally, and it had never entered into his head that she would be otherwise to a helpless orphaned girl.

Now, as if revealed by a flash of lightning, he understood the mean, jealous nature of his mother's ward, who could flatter and fawn upon the son and heir to an old estate, but who would turn and trample upon a penniless orphan. " I think you forget of whom and to whom you are speaking," he replied quietly. " I look upon the girl we have come to meet as the nearest relation I have in the world, save my father and mother, and I will suffer no one living to depre ciate her in my presence." " Really, Godfrey," said Adelaide, with a forced laugh, terribly annoyed with herself for having betrayed her spite so plainly, "you make too much of my words ; I meant nothing by them. I intend to be very good friends with your cousin, I assure you." " I accept your apology," replied Godfrey, gravely, " and, by Jove," suddenly changing his voice to one of quick, pleasant excitement, " that must be she stepping out of that first - class carriage, and what a perfect beauty she is.

Not much conventional governess cut about her." He rushed forward eagerly to greet the girl that his instinct told him was the one he had come to meet, and Adelaide felt her heart sink to the bottom of her boots as she gazed at her probable rival. Miss Brase was no fool, and a glance told her that this unknown cousin of Godfrey was at once a perfect lady and the most beautiful girl she had ever met in the whole course of her life. Her spirit groaned within her as her judgment assured her of the unwelcome fact. " I hate her already," she muttered vindictively, her black eyes gleaming with her repressed rage ; " woe to her if she crosses my path ; she will find me a dangerous foe." Meanwhile Godfrey had reached the girl's side, and, raising his hat courteously, he said in a pleasant, friendly voice, "My name is Godfrey Burnston ; are you my cousin whom we are ex pecting by this train, and whom I am come to meet ?"

" I am your cousin, Maud Rienzi," replied the girl, in a sweet, low voice, holding out a small black gloved hand at the same time ; " thank you for coming to meet me." " Will you introduce me to your cousin, Godfrey?" asked Miss Brase, coming up at this instant, her face wreathed in smiles; " I am so anxious to know her." " This is Miss Adelaide Brase, my mother's ward," replied Godfrey, with a slight laugh, "and this is Miss Maud Rienzi, my father's ward and my cousin," he added, somewhat proudly, as he gazed at the exquisite face before him. A complete oval, with creamy brown complexion, wee scarlet mouth, dark lovely eyes, and dark golden bronze hair, a girl possessing a perfect figure, and although clad in deep mourning, yet so distingue in appearance that she might have been a princess.