Janet Mowbray

Chapter I

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and he bears a laden breast, Full of sad experience moving toward the stillness of his rest. Tennyson. The rain plashed drearily on the wet pavement — it had been falling all day — while the wind blew in broken, hollow gusts, growing louder and longer as the twiliaht closed in. Walter Crauford roused himself suddenly from the musing attitude he had so long maintained, and after one glance through the dim window panes, he rose and kindled his lamp. There were not VOL. I. B many lights burning in the Temple that evening, for the lawyers' Christmas vacation had commenced, and the tenants of the ancient Inn were all dispersed — some to their own happy homes, and the tender smiles of wife and chdd — others to the joyous welcome of parents and sisters in the old country house — some here — some there — all gone, save the lonely and the friendless.

Walter drew the table nearer to the fire, and taking a book, began to read with an air of great earnestness and determination; there were many books in the room, piled promiscuously on shelves and tables, the only objects redeeming the aspect of desolation, which, owing to their meagre furniture, and the absence of all appear ance of business, the chambers of the young barrister must else have worn. He read on, or appeared to read, for nearly half an hour. "It will not do!" he ex claimed at last, and threw the volume from him ; " it wid not do ! I must give it up for to-night!" So saying he rose, and began rapidly to pace the room, pausing, after a while, with his elbow resting on the chimney-piece, and his eyes bent absently on the vacant space before him. The ex pression of his features, handsome in them selves, and shaded by a profusion of dark, flowing hair, was dejected and gloomy in the extreme, but his bearing was manly and erect, with' a graceful and unconscious dignity, and the " grand old name of gentleman" ineffaceably impressed upon it.

" Another year gone by — another year!" he repeated; "another Christmas come — the seventh — aye, the seventh that I have passed within these gloomy walls, and yet no further progress made — nothing gained, absolutely nothing! Yet once I could — I dared to hope. . .how bold, how romantic. . . pooh, I was a boy then !" He paused, lost in deep and painful reverie, till startled by the sudden opening of the door. "Walter, old fellow!" cried a cheerful b2 voice, "yourself at last, in proprid persona! I thought I should never find you out;" the speaker, a young man of open and prepos sessing countenance, his person enveloped in a variety of protections from the weather, more convenient than elegant, entered with these words, and grasping Walter by the hand, shook it long and heartily, while he continued, "I went to the old cjiiarters first, but there was a new name on the cloor, and no sign or rumour of you to be met with anywhere.

I have been hunting up and clown this dull place for the last half-hour, and had almost given up the search — indeed I believe I must have done so in utter despair, had not this last effort been crowned with success." "And I am heartily glad it was so, Edward, and am truly rejoiced to see you again!" replied Walter, returning the hearty pressure of his friend's hand; "sit down... are you wet?" " Oh, nothing to speak of, I understand taking care of myself; however, I may as well get rid of these affairs — it's a pelting night !" So saying, with Walter's assistance, he proceeded to divest himself of his rough great coat and voluminous handkerchief, and then, stretching himself out in the proffered chair and taking a deliberate survey of the apartment in which he found himself, he continued, " You five pretty well in the clouds up here . . . pray how many feet do you call this above the level of the Strand?

Let me see — no, I don't like these chambers half so well as those you had before; why did you leave them?" " We won't talk of that now ; these serve my purpose quite as well, only let me enjoy the pleasure of seeing you in them. Do you know, Edward, I began to think that you were as bad as the rest — that you had forgotten me too; where have you been this long time, and why have you never written to me?" "Where have I been !" returned Edward, passing over the last inquiry; "where have I been ! rather ask me where have I not been — here, there, and everywhere, my dear fellow! hunting, fishing, yachting — it's more than two years, though, since I was last in London — just before I started for Switzerland — you remember I called on you then." " Very true — that was the last communication of any kind that passed between us."

" Well, I own it," said Edward in a con trite tone, " I ought to have written, but — I always put it off — and positively, Walter, I had no idea you would have cared so much about it." There was a short sdence. "And how are all at Harefield?" in quired Walter presently; " your father, and Mrs. Wyndham?" "All well," replied Edward; "the go vernor wears wonderfully, though you might probably find him looking something older — as also my mother. And that re minds me of my particular business with you to-night: I return to Harefield to morrow morning, and I have set my heart on taking you back with me ; now it won't do to put on that solemn face, and to look as if nothing on earth should ever move you out of this dismal den, for I have made up my mind to it, and come you must and shall." "You are very good," was the grave reply ; " but indeed I cannot accept your invitation."

" I expected as much ; you wouldn't come when I asked you four — no five, years ago ; you were waiting then I believe, tdl you should be made Lord Chancellor, before your return in triumph to your native vdlage; but as, according to present appear ances, the woolsack is as much an affair of the mind's eye as ever, I really cannot admit the idea of waiting for it any longer. Now I shall listen to no excuse, you must come." " You have no idea — you can have no idea, how you are paining me, Edward; you cannot imagine what it would be to me to return to the old scenes again." " You are a most incomprehensible fellow, Walter! why, in your place, I shoidd be thankful for such an opportunity of going among all my old friends once more — going home again in fact; are you not a shire man? You were born at Stone lands, and your mother's famdy was one of the best and oldest in the county ; I don't know anything about your father, certainly, or where he came from— I am not sure that I ever met with any one who did ..."

" My father died abroad, very early," in terrupted Walter; "I do not see how you, or any of your acquaintance, could know anything of him." " Well, you needn't be so peppery about it — this doesn't lessen your claim to being a native of shire ; you must always con tinue one of the old Tracey stock." "And has it never struck you," said Walter, " that to these very circumstances may be owing my repugnance to return to my old home? Think of my altered for tunes, my present position..." "As if you were the only disappointed heir, the only briefless barrister, in all the wide world!" exclaimed Edward ; "not but what I shall never forgive old Tracey for his shameful treatment of you. . .1 beg your pardon, I forgot he was your uncle, but. . ." "Now, Edward, you are going too far; I do not complain of him ; I know what his intentions were, and but for his sudden death, before the wdl was signed, I shoidd have been the inheritor of bis fortune, and the master of Stonelands Park.

I do not complain of him — but I feel, and shall always feel, most bitterly, the change in my destiny; and as for going down into shire, under these circumstances, I scarcely know whether it would be most painful to me to find myself remembered, or forgotten, in my former home." " Pooh, pooh ! once consent to come with me, and we'll soon get all this nonsense out of your head ; the fact is, you ought to have come long ago; you're hipped, and no wonder, with playing anchorite here by B yourself, and not finding the road to higli fortune quite so smooth as you expected; but never fear, you'll think very differently when once you have tasted a draught of the fresh air on our hids — we'd make another man of you, if you will but come, and send you back with new heart, and new hope, to do great things yet."

" We look upon these matters iu so different a light, Edward, and ft-om so different a point of view, that I fear it is quite im possible ever to make you understand my feelings; you would find me but dull com pany at Harefield." " I'll take my chance of that," returned Edward, "if you wid but come; and as to understanding your feelings, and seeing things as you do — with all due deference be it spoken — I hope I never may be able to comprehend the .wisdom of pertina ciously looking at existence through a bit of smoked glass, as you have been doing for the last seven years. Now, Walter listen to reason, listen to friendship do not refuse me this favour — why should you do so? — but come down with me to Harefield. You must come — we are all de termined to have you — my father wishes it, my mother has set her heart upon it; if you really should find yourself in the slightest degree extra miserable (in which chance, by the way, I have not a spark of faith) you shall be off again without a word from any of us ; but the experiment must be tried.

Come, oldfedow," throwing his arm round him, in the old familiar fashion of then school days, " you will not say 'no.'" Walter paused a moment, but when he replied, it was to prove the truth of Edward's concluding remark; he did not say "no." for his heart, darkened though it was by its long divorce from the sweets and charities of existence, by a life of ill success, neglect, and disappointment, was not yet proof against the warm and earnest pleadings of sincere friendship; before Edward Wyndham finally prepared to take his departure, he had obtained Walter's promise to accompany him home on the following day. "The express starts at 10-45," he ob served, "mind you are ready." " You had better come and breakfast with me," returned Walter, "and then we can start from here together; but you're not going away, are you?"

" Not with my own good wdl, I assure you," was the reply; "the fact is, I came to town to see Bruce, my father's oracle, on some abominable business matters — you know Bruce?" "My dear fellow, what do you suppose? how should such acquaintance fall in my way? Is it he who prevents your spending the rest of the evening with me?" " Why, partly, for my engagements with him have obliged me to put off till to-nio-fit an incursion upon a party of slow relations, to whom I am ordered to be very attentive — so there's nothing for it, but to mount my Hansom, and be off. By the bye, I suppose you don't breakfast before nine ? Good bye! can you give me a light? Hang it! I forget that I am going into a party of vene rable spinsters !" So saying the unexpected visitor disappeared, leaving the room, to Walter's imagination at least, even more lonely and sdent than before his arrival.

" I cannot disappoint him now," mused Walter, more than his former gloom re turning upon him, "I cannot disappoint him now, and yet I half wish I had not promised to accompany him home. What can he have meant by that remark about my father? but it is folly to return to that — I know the suspicion, the dreadful belief, is confined to my own bosom — there let it ever remain! The very fact of Edward's allusion proves his ignorance — he is far too good a fellow knowingly to cause an in stant's pain ; yes, he is a good fedow, and however this visit, which I shrink from more and more, should turn out in the end, at least it is a pleasant thought that there is some one in the world who can desire it." " Was there ever anything so fortunate as this sudden change in the weather!" cried Edward Wyndham, as he and bis friend took their places in the train the following morning.

" I verily believe it has cleared up solely in compliment to you, Walter; it would never do for you to re visit the old place for the first time, under the influence of yesterday's skies." An uneventful journey of about a couple of hours earned the travellers to Ash combe, a pleasant country town, where they found Edward's dog-cart in attendance to convey them on to Harefield. "All right, Hawkins," cried Edward to the servant, "those are our traps, throw them in! Poor fellow," to the horse, "how fresh he is — steady there ! Jump in, Wal ter ; I suppose you hardly know your where abouts yet ; what do you think of our new station?" " Why that's out of sight already," returned Walter ; " I must see it again before I can judge — and I imagine you do not require my opinion upon these banks of mud and stinging nettles — or these venerable apple trees. . .this was somebody's orchard once, I suppose ; but I really have no idea where we are — were it not for the church yonder, this might be any place as well as Ashcombe."

" Wait a minute, wait a minute," replied his friend ; " there we are ! do you remember now?" " Oh, to be sure ! there's Hall Farm, and that's the way to the cold bath, and to Wood's End; is Colonel Mowbrav still at the cottage?" " Yes, he remains, though everyone thought he would get rid of the place after his wife's death, he was so cut up. Here we come to the common. . .now don't you feel three times — twenty times, the life in you that you had this time yesterday? if not, I'll never make sure of anything again. There's Harefield at last, and there's the lodge gate wide open for our entrance... here we are! and now, welcome to our poor house, most worthy Knight of the Temple I"

Chapter II

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to min' ? Should auld acquaintance be forgot. And days o' auld lang syne ? We twa hae run about the braes, And pu'd the gowans fine ; But we've wandered mony a weary foot Sin' auld lang syne. Burns. Great was the bustle and excitement in the little town of Ashcombe. Evening had long since closed in; the light streamed brightly from the five tall windows of the best inn's best room, conspicuous through the entire length of the High-street; carriage after carriage rattled up the narrow way, whde in every lull of ruder sounds, the strains of gay music burst upon the ear, and floated away over the heads of the eager crowd assembled round the inn door, to witness the arrival of the great ones of the neighbouring country. It was au important night to Ashcombe ; the nio-ht of the annual Christmas ball.

Tbe rooms were rapidly filling when Edward Wyndham and Walter Crauford made their way up the crowded staircase, and appeared upon the scene of action. Edward was soon shaking hands with every one within reach, talking, laughing, and jesting, but Walter stood alone by the door, unknown and unnoticed, and de voutly wishing that common courtesy to wards his friend had not forbidden his immediate withdrawal from a position, the disagreeables of which he had foreseen, and had only encountered in deference to Edward's earnest wishes and persuasion. " They're going to have a waltz next," said Edward, presently returning to the spot where he had left his friend ; " now, shall I pick you out a nice little partner? I know one, if she's not engaged, that wdl suit you exactly — I'm going to dance with her sister myself."

" Thank you, I don't dance," replied Walter, shortly. " Not dance! there — did you ever hear such a deux tempts as that? will not that move you?" " Not yet — indeed, Edward, it is out of the question; I never waltz — I have not danced a step since I did so last in this very room." " ' Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance,' " returned Edward; " what else did you come here for? however, perhaps, as matters stand, it wid be as well not to risk your reputation in a waltz at present — we must get you into training graduady. Wed, I must go and look after my partner — au revoir /" So saying, he left him ouce more alone ; there were many faces that Walter remembered well in the moving crowd, but not any that wore a look of recognition for him. Edward returned to him when the dance was over. " That was famous," he cried; "that little Maxwell is capital — how warm it's getting !

If you only would. . .very well, I won't teaze you; see, here come some of our very tip-tops — Lady Ruther ford and party !" " Ah ! she was Miss Western," said Walter; " I remember they were just married when I went away ; why, she's hand somer than ever — but Sir Wdliam is very much changed — is he not? he seems to me to look dreadfully ill." " Yes, so every one thinks, but still they don't speak as if there were anything seriously amiss. There, do you recognise those faces — those twro that came in with the Rutherfords?" " That is Colonel Mowbray," replied Walter, " but the lady . . . well, I suppose little Janet may be grown up by this time." " Little Janet ! good heavens, my dear fellow, don't let any one hear you ! Miss Mowbray is our bede, our queen, our — ah, there goes Western as usual — bravo, Sir Henry, ' faint heart never won fair lady !'" In another moment, the subject of his observations, a young man of pleasing and elegant appearance, having concluded his parley with Miss Mowbray, approached the spot where the two friends were standing; this was Sir Henry Western, the brother of Lady Rutherford, and one of the stewards of the ball.

"Are you dancing, Wyndham?" " I am engaged, but here is my friend — come, Walter, it's only a quadrille, you had better make up your mind to it." Walter, who was beginning to tire of his solitude, made no objection, and time and business pressing, Sir Henry turned at once to the nearest lady — "Wid you dance, Miss Stanley? allow me to introduce Mr — " " Crauford," suggested Edward. " Mr. Crauford," said Sir Henry Western, with a sudden inquisitive glance at Walter; " have you engaged a vis-a-vis ? then come here, if you please, and I wid stand opposite — that's it — thank you!" and the several stewards having at last succeeded in disposing ad the couples in their proper places, the music sounded and the dance commenced. Miss Stanley's ringlets were amongst some of Walter's oldest acquaintances, but they no longer boasted of the luxuriance of ten years ago.

Perceiving that he was un recognised, he contented himself by stating, in answer to the lady's inquiries, that he came from London, and was staying at Harefield, when his opinion was immediately demanded on the beauty of the shire ladies in general, and on that of their vis-ti-vis, Miss Mowbray, in particular. " I can't say I think anything of her myself," said Miss Stanley, " she's not in my style" — (she certainly was not) — "I require something more — more air — but it is the fashion here to admire her quite & distraction." looked curiously towards the spot where stood "little Janet," a woman grown. " She is very like her mother!" was the exclamation that rose to his lips, but re membering his incog, he merely answered, " She is very pretty." " Oh, I do not mean to dispute her pret tiness," returned Miss Stanley; "she is very pretty — that is just the right expres sion — a nice little term that may mean — almost anything; it suits her exactly, as she stands there with ber downcast eyes, and that very simple and girlish style of dress."

" I think that very pretty too," said Walter, " all white, with those drooping flowers." " Yes — yes ; it is quite in character with her youthful appearance — but she was kept back a long time, and can hardly be as young as she looks, or as is generally supposed." " She cannot possibly be nineteen yet !" cried Walter, completely off his guard ; the lady only replied by a peculiar smile, and feeling that he should infallibly quarrel with her, if the conversation were continued in this strain any longer, made haste to change the subject, only returning to it once more when the dance was over. " I have altered my opinion regarding Miss Mowbray," said he, as he led Miss Stanley back to her seat; "I think she has one of the loveliest faces I ever beheld." " We are getting crowded already," observed Sir Henry Western to his partner ; " there are a great many strange faces here to-niaht." ■ " Yes, there are," she replied, somewhat abruptly; "but do tell me — is that a strange face ?"

"Which do you mean? our vis-a-vis ? his name is Crauford I hear." "Crauford!" "Yes, Crauford," repeated Sir Henry; " I think it must be the same that used to be at Stonelands in Mr. Tracey' s time; but you cannot remember that." " Oh, but I can!" cried Janet; "it is— it must be Walter Crauford — I remember him perfectly now — he used to play with Frank and me when we were children; he was Mr. Tracey's nephew — great nephew, I believe; how glad papa will be to see him ! Papa and Mr. Tracey were very in timate friends, but we have heard nothing of Walter since his uncle's death; he must quite have forgotten me, I am sure, but I wdl point him out to papa." Sir Henry thought he had never seen her look so pretty as at this moment in her pleasant surprise at the unexpected recognition of her old friend; nevertheless he contrived so to lengthen out the search for Colonel Mowbray, that when his daughter finally joined him, she found that he had already discovered Walter, with whom he was then iu the act of shaking hands, and bidding him welcome back to shire.

" Where, by rights," said he, " you ought never to have been a stranger — well, wed, we will not talk of that now. What have you been doing with yourself this long time? Ah, here comes my daughter! you remember Janet, I hope? Little Janet she was then..." "If I could flatter myself that Miss Mowbray has not forgotten an old friend. . ." began Walter, but Colonel Mowbray inter rupted him : "Forgotten! how should that be? she was but a little girl, to be sure, when she knew you . . ." " But Mr. Crauford was always much too kind to the little girl, for her to forget him as easily as he seems to imagine," said Janet, giving him her hand; they were good friends directly. Walter engaged her for the next quadrille, and during the inter vening dances continued in conversation with her father. " It brings back old times strangely — strangely, Walter," said Colonel Mowbray, " to see you here among us again."

He paused a moment. " You find Janet very much grown and altered, of course ? Ah ! I wish you could see my boy." "Frank!" said Walter; " he must be as much changed as his sister. Where is he? is he here?" " Oh, no — no ; Frank is at sea. I didn't wish it — I coidd have got him a commission in my own regiment — but the boy left me no peace about it, so what was to be done?" Walter touched very lightly on his own affairs, but the Colonel had no difficulty, froni the little he did say, in guessing that these were not prosperous. " Your father has invited me to pay you a visit at Wood's End," said Walter, as he and Janet took their places in the qua dride; "he tells me he has been making great alterations there." " Papa is very fond of his garden," she replied, " and has always some improvement or other in progress — you must tell us what you think of them.

When will you come ? we must all be at home. Did you know my little brother and sister? I shoidd like you to see them ; but Emdy is so very shy, you must not judge of her on first acquaintance. Ob, if Frank were only here !" "I wish he were," said Walter; "I remember web! what a fine, spirited fellow he was — so true and open hearted; and those are qualities that time rarely wears out, whatever other changes it may bring." " Oh, Frank could not change — nothing could ever change him, I am quite sure; but it is four whole years since I have seen him, and it does seem a very, very long time; he is in the Mediterranean now." Walter wondered which was the most beautiful, the sudden but gentle sadness which now overspread her countenance, the expression of affectionate enthusiasm that had animated it, when he spoke of the noble qualities of her absent brother, or the smiles of light-hearted enjoyment it had worn on their first meeting ; long before the conclusion of the evening he had quite resolved that his visit to Wood's End cottage should take place the very next day.

" Remember our engagement for Thurs day evening, Miss Mowbray," said Sir Henry Western; "the first waltz and the first polka — do not forget." He spoke loud enough to be heard by Walter, while lingering in the cloak-room, where he had been vainly endeavouring to assist in the search for tbe shawl and boa, so well known to, and so easily discovered by, Sir Henrv. " The Colonel is seeins: Mrs. Featherstone to her carriage, but he wdl be back directly ; let us walk in the cor ridor till he comes." So saying he led her off, while Walter returned to the ball-room, to inquire of Edward what he thought about going away. " Oh, you can go if you like," returned his friend ; " but I shad not think of giving in for the next hour at least — there are plenty of capital girls here still. I say, Walter, Miss Mowbray's not bad, is she? however, as she appears to be really and truly gone away, why you, as wed as others, must make up your mind to do without her; come, you had better find another partner."

" Well, as you intend to stay, I suppose it will be my best course ; I shall try if that silver Avreath will oblige me again. Who is she? I didn't catch the name?" "That— oh, that's Julia Danby! tbe Danbys of Croft Lodge — don't you remem ber them? she's rather a nice girl — don't make Aylmer jealous, that's ad." So saying, he turned away, to wind up his own flirtation "for one night only" with Miss Maxwell, while Walter suppressed his yawns, walked through dance after dance, and tried to appear as well amused as ever. " Were not you surprised, papa, to see Walter Crauford again?" exclaimed Janet, as soon as she was seated in the carriage ; " how did you find him out? or was it he who discovered you? how was it — and do you think him much altered?" " Altered !" said the Colonel, in a considering tone; "yes — I should say altered, certainly; he's graver, quieter, than he used to be, but then he's seven years older — he must be eight-and-twenty at least by this time.