A Hero's Work

Chapter I. The Stepmother

" No, be assured, you shall not find me, daughter, After the slander of most step-mothers, Evil ey'd unto you." HE Rectory of Crofton lay bathed in the pleasant sunshine of a bright spring morning. Flowers seemed to send forth addi tional fragrance, perfuming the air with their spirit of purity and perfection, even as they scented the air of Paradise so many ages ago. Birds warbled merrily their songs of love and content, and the skylark darted towards heaven, pouring out his "full heart in profuse strains of unpremeditated art ;" the higher he soared, the more energetically he sang. VOL. I. B All without the Rectory doors was peace and joy — within them was bustle and expectation ; for the Rector and his newly-married wife were to arrive in the course of the day. Aunt Jane, the Rector's maiden sister, who had come down from London to set things in order, made a tour, for the twentieth time, through the whole house.

When she had quite satisfied herself that everything was in proper order, ready for the new mistress, she took out her knitting, and sat down quietly near the drawing-room window, to await the expected arrivals, and think over the expedi ency of second marriages. Grace Carlton, a bright-eyed brunette of about seventeen, seated herself at her aunt's feet, in an evident state of discontent and irritation. She sat idly turning over the leaves of a book, now and then casting an impatient glance across the meadows, boding and dreading the advent of her father's second choice. Her sister Lena opened the window, and stepped out upon the gravel walk, looking as sweet and fresh as the May morning itself. Few could see Lena Carlton without a feeling of attraction towards her ; even the slight expres sion of disquietude that now shaded her face per haps added to her loveliness.

Her eyes, " too expressive to be blue, too lovely to be grey," were tender, trusting, and true ; they beamed with a soft light, which a painter would find it difficult to portray ; and even her hair — that mute orna ment that God has given to woman — had a mar vellous expression in every rippling wave. It was of that light yellow tinge the Venetian artists loved to paint, and which the Emperor Constan tine, with more than a woman's vanity, degraded himself by falsely wearing. If Lena Carbon's eyes and hair were perfection, the critics would not pronounce so decidedly upon the shape of her nose. It was neither aquiline, Grecian, Roman, nor retrouss<i, but what is sometimes called a " sensible nose." However defective it might have been as a separate feature, her face would have suited no other, and no one ever felt inclined to find fault with it.

Her mouth was exquisitely B formed — the upper lip short and curved, with a world of meaning. Had Titian seen her, he would have been inclined to paint another Venus. Lena looked across the meadow towards the road that skirted it, along which her father, with his new wife, was to pass, and an involuntary sigh escaped her. She desired to receive affec tionately her new mother, but she feared the remembrance of the one she had lost would create in her heart a feeling of dislike and distrust towards the new-comer, rather than that of welcome. As she walked slowly up and down the gravel walk, she paused occasionally at the drawing-room window to exchange a few words with her aunt or sister. The elder lady endeavoured to impress her nieces with a higher sense of duty than they seemed to possess.

" It's no use talking, Aunt Jane," said Lena, stepping into the room ; " they say every house has its skeleton — ours comes in the shape of a stepmother." " Yes," rejoined Grace ; " but most people can keep their skeleton out of sight — we shall never be quit of ours, unless we are sleeping ; it will be the torment of our lives. I can't think what papa could have been dreaming of when he determined to bring a strange woman here to head the table, rule the house, and scold us girls, as, of course, she will. She shall not rule me, though, that I'm determined !" Here Grace curled her lip, and threw herself back in her chair, with all the dignity of her seventeen years. " I am quite grieved to hear you speak so un dutifully of your father, Grace," replied her aunt, with some severity. "Even if he had committed the most imprudent act, it is not your place to censure it."

" I can't help it," said Grace, half crying, " it is such a great and sudden change ; everything will be so different now — home will never be like home again. A new mistress ahvays causes a revolution in every way — what will not a new mother do? I am sure papa will never be the same kind father to us now as he was before." "You have no right to suppose that he will change, unless, indeed, your own ungracious man ners cause his affection to cool, or his authority to hold stronger sway. Of course he cannot coun tenance the rude or disrespectful behaviour of his children to his wife. Your deportment to her will greatly influence his bearing towards you. I am sure he will appreciate any kind attention of yours to his new-married wife ; and if you exhibit any symptoms of disrespect or dislike to her, he will acutely feel it, if not resent it."

She paused a moment, then, drawing Grace towards her, added affectionately — "Don't think me hard-hearted, Gracie darling, or fancy that I do not sympathise with you, for indeed I do sincerely. I know it is a trying occasion for all — for him, for her, as well as for you. I hardly know which to pity most ; but remember this, if anything goes -wrong, the world will be all on your side ; this knowledge The Step- Mother. 7 ought to make you doubly careful not to win undue sympathy for yourself, or cast undeserved blame on her." "You weigh everything in the scales of justice, Aunt Jane," said Lena. " It is easy to chalk out the path of duty, but a very difficult matter to keep in it. For my part, I almost agree with Grace, it will be a hard task to behave even politely to Mrs. Carlton — we remember mamma too well ; it will be bitter, very bitter, to see another take her place.

In a strange house, perhaps, we might not feel it quite so much ; but here her memory seems to linger round everything — indeed, while we are living amongst the same things that surrounded her, I don't quite feel as if we had lost her. Sometimes I even fancy I see her going about the house in her old sweet way. Now a stranger is to take her place. There is her picture, too — it has always stood there in sight — her eye seems to follow us, sometimes smiling, sometimes looking sad, as I fancy it is looking now, as if she knew she was in her grave forgotten. Now I suppose it will be turned to the wall." Lena's heart swelled, and her eyes filled with tears, as they lingered regretfully on the life-like portrait of her dead mother. Her thoughts wan dered back to that day when the grave had closed over her.

She remembered it all so. well — the closed shutters, the silent house, and black, black everywhere ; the subdued sobs that seemed to thrill through the whole household, as the dark pall fluttered down the oak staircase, and the bearers descended with their dull funereal tramp, that seemed to wound the ear, and tread upon some sensitive nerve at every step. All this was long ago, but it seemed to have happened only yester day. Lena was silent for awhile. Feelings deeper than sorrow, fiercer than anger, seemed at war within her. At last, dashing the tears away, she said abruptly, " It is no use talking, aunt — if an angel were to come down from heaven to take my mother's place I should hate her with all my heart !" "You are both unreasonable and unjust," remonstrated Aunt Jane ; " an injustice to the living can do no honour to the dead.

I neither wish nor expect you to receive Mrs. Carlton as though you loved her — that would be unnatural — almost impossible. I only ask you to receive her with the respect due to your father's wife, and judge her by the light of truth and justice. Bear with her faults, Lena, if you expect her to bear with yours." " "Well, I'll try," replied Lena, with an effort ; " but the very name of a stepmother brings a bad odour with it." " Hush ! here they are !" exclaimed Grace, springing to her feet, as a carriage drove briskly round the gravelled way, and stopped at the hall-door. The usual bustle and stir ensued ; the whole household was on the alert to catch a glimpse of the new mistress. Lena and Grace had always sprung forward to meet their father before he had crossed the threshold. Now a feeling of nervous trepidation seized them.

They knew they ought not to keep back ; they could not venture to go forward; they felt as if their father, their own kind father, had grown a stranger to them ; they were shy and awkward at the idea of meeting him. However, when they heard his old genial voice in the hall, they conquered their timidity, threw open the drawing-room door, and in a moment were in his arms. He was always kind and gentle, but there was something touchingly tender in his caresses now, as he kissed them again and again ; there was an eloquence in the expression of his eye, as well as in the tone of his voice, that seemed to assure them of his unchanged love. Lena met his look, and understood it well — indeed, at that moment, she felt it would be as impossible as cruel for a stranger to stand between her and her father's heart.

Mrs. Carlton stood back till the first warmth of the meeting had sub sided ; then, with a winning, graceful manner, she came forward and embraced the two girls, calling each by name, in a way that showed they must have been the subject of frequent conversation. Her ready tact saved Mr. Carlton the rather unpleasant task of introducing her to his daugh ters. She had silently noticed the free, unre strained affection which seemed to come warm and fresh from their hearts, and told, more plainly than words could have done, that perfect confidence, as well as perfect love, existed between them. As she looked on the eloquent faces of her husband and his children, she inwardly resolved that no false note of her playing should bring dis cord into the harmony of the household. She drew Lena to her side, and kissed her fore head, saying in a sweet tone — " You must try and love me a little — I have already learnt to love you much from your father's painting."

Lena lifted her head, and fixed her eyes on Mrs. Carbon's face. She might have been forty years old, she might have been much less, or even a little more ; but she was one of those picturesque women whose age is a matter of indifference. She had a fine Spanish-looking face, with clear grey eyes, thoughtful, and softened by an expression of gravity, as though she had known some great sorrow, and had learned to live it down. She bore evident marks of the great battle of life, which she had fought out bravely ; combating day by day with a host of carking cares and petty troubles ; but she had conquered them all, and buried them, as in old Continental cities they bury their dead and cover their graves with flowers. When Edward Carlton came to her, and asked her to take a place in his household, and renew — so far as maturity can renew — the dreams of their youth, she had not courage to say " No." As Lena looked upon Mrs. Carbon's face, heard her pleasant voice, and felt the warm pressure of her hand, she was softened ; and for a second for got her resolution to hate her dreaded stepmother.

The skeleton that was to mar the happiness of their future lives, came in a very pleasant guise — indeed, it seemed no skeleton at all ; and Lena felt that if Mrs. Carlton had been somebody else's stepmother, she could have loved her at sight. As it was, she submitted to her affectionate greet ing with a better grace than she could have be lieved herself capable of an hour ago. Grace was taciturn and observant ; she spoke when spoken to, not else ; she had determined that none of Mrs Carbon's winning ways should make her regard her in any other light than as an in truder, and the common enemy of the house ; she felt herself aggrieved at Lena's evident impression in favour of the stepmother. The evening passed away more pleasantly than perhaps might have been expected under existing circumstances.

Once Mrs. Carlton looked intently on Lena's face, and said, " You are very like your mother — at least, like what she was at your age." " Why, did you know my mother, then V ex claimed Lena, with unqualified surprise. " Yes ; we were girls together." "How strange!" said Lena. "Mamma was fond of talking of her girl companions, but I never heard her speak of you !" " No," said Mrs. Carlton, and there was a world of meaning in the utterance of that one word " no." A grave shadow crossed her face, as though she were not inclined to say any more upon the subject, and was sorry she had even said so much. It was no wonder that Lena had never heard her mother speak of Christina Creswick ; if she had spoken of her at all, she must have told a tale of treachery and wrong, wherein she was the chief actor, and Christina a life-long sufferer.

It is perhaps fortunate that parents have the liberty of keeping their own secrets out of sight of their children. If the father's indiscretions and little peccadilloes were exposed to the son, the most re spectable middle-aged parent, in spite of his wise homilies and prudent precepts, might lose some portion of his son's esteem. As for the mother — well, a mother's name, though laden with all the follies of unguided, wilful youth, is still sacred. After Mrs. Carbon's significant " no," there was a momentary silence. She, however, adroitly shifted the conversation, and they talked of other matters. There was much to be said and told on all sides ; for Mr. Carlton had been absent from the Rectory at least four months. Presently Grace exclaimed abruptly, " By-the-bye, papa, have you heard or seen any thing of Laurence lately ?"

A cloud came over Mr. Carbon's face, as he an swered — " Yes, Grace ; I hear of him too often. I wish to Heaven I heard less, or else heard better news." The girls fixed their eyes upon their father's face, but asked no questions ; they feared to hear ill news of Laurence, and they did not wish his faults to be told in Mrs. Carbon's hearing. He was their brother — their only brother, and they loved him dearly ; they were proud of his good looks and his gay careless manner ; his cheery laugh and merry jokes always brought a fresh in fluence into the quiet life at the Rectory. They could not understand how much his idle extravagances, and the loose dissipated habits of his life, grieved their father's heart. They admitted the general fact that " Laurence was a little too gay ;" but they could not fathom the depth of meaning that was hidden beneath the simple words, " a little too gay."

Hence it happened that they thought their father often harsh, and sometimes unkind, to his only son. Mr. Carlton understood his daughter's inquiring eyes, and answered, " Yes, Grace, it is no use mincing the matter — Laurence is coming home again in disgrace. I have a letter here from Messrs. West and Graham, in which they regret ' my son's incapacity for business.' I know what that means," he added, bitterly. " Of course they cannot tell me that my son is an idle reprobate. We shall have him home in three weeks !" There was bitterness and disappointment in Mr. Carlton, as he spoke thus of his only son — that son to whose manhood he had looked forward with yearning hopes and lofty expectations. He loved his daughters, but he would fain have been proud of his son. He had tried to carve out for him an upright, honourable career ; but the boy was wild and wayward ; he would go his own road, not caring whither it led.

The thorns and bram bles which beset his path were trodden down, regardless of the wounds and pains they occasioned. Every step he took was in the wrong direction, and left some foul stain upon his track, until he had trampled out every vestige of hope or expectation from his father's heart. Mr. Carlton was weighed down by a dread of some undefined and inevitable disgrace from his son.; The frailties of Laurence Carlton became like a haunting presence at the Rectory, flushing his father's cheek with shame for the present, and with fear of what the future might bring. C VOL. I.

Chapter II. Mrs

CARLTON. " She is a woman, good without pretence, Bless'd with plain reason and with sober sense ; No conquests she but o'er herself desired, No arts essayed but not to be admired ; So unaffected, so composed a mind, So firm, yet soft ; so strong, yet so refined." iHE next morning Mrs. Carlton was up with the lark, anxious to inspect her new home, and take a look at the surrounding country by daylight. " Was it much changed _ " she wondered, for it was now more than twenty years since she had left Crofton. She went into her dressing-room, threw open the window, and looked out. For some years past she had lived amid the gaieties of Naples, and the sudden change from that luxurious and enervating capital to this quiet, rural home in England, was refreshing and grateful to her. The aspect of the scenery around her was soft and tranquil in the extreme ; some of the trees were laden with bloom, which covered their boughs like a drapery of snow ; others were just putting forth their young green leaves, their different tints harmonizing beautifully with the pink and white blossoms, charming to the eye, and cheering to the soul.

Mrs. Carlton sat some time, leaning her cheek upon her hand, and looking out on the fair landscape before her. She had sojourned long in those Southern lands, whose balmy breezes have so often been the theme of the poet's song; but she thought she had never felt the air so soft and pure as that which now breathed upon her. In the distance, she could just dis tinguish the outline of the Manor House, her old home, where Edward Carlton "came a-woo ing" to her, nearly five-and-twenty years ago. C2 Five-and-twenty years ! — when looking forward they had seemed like an eternity ; but looking back upon them now, they seemed no more than as many days. A mist gathered before her eyes, as they rested on the well-remembered home — her thoughts flew back, and revelled for a time in the golden hours of her youth.

It seemed strange that things should be as they were now — that Edward Carlton should be Rector of Crofton, and she the stepmother of his grown up daughters ! The reflection brought all her thoughts back to the present — she passed her hand across her brow, as though she could so sweep away the memories that were crowding her brain with pictures of former days. She wondered if any of her old acquaintances were still living at Crofton. Her girl companions, she knew, were scattered far and wide — not one remained in the old place — some were lying at rest in the church yard. She felt grateful, and lifted her heart in thankfulness, that she had been spared to be his wife, his companion, his comforter in the downward path of life. She was satisfied, more than satisfied, content and happy that it should be so.

Falsehood and misconstruction had parted them in their youth — she felt that their union was calmer and purer now. Their old love was changed, but it was love still, devoted and .now unchangeable, combining more of romance with reality than any pair of unfledged lovers can readily conceive. Indeed, Mrs. Carlton felt ashamed of the enthusiastic admiration she still retained for her husband. In the old times he had been considered one of the handsomest men of his day ; though he was now near fifty, he was hand some still — at least, she thought so. His hair, once dark brown, was now iron grey ; but it still clustered in thick curls above his high, intellectual forehead. It had always been difficult to deter mine the true colour of his eyes — some said they were grey, some blue, and some green ; they might have had a tinge of all three, for certainly their colour seemed to vary with their expression.

His complexion had that rich, ruddy tinge which so often characterizes a man in the autumn of life, and stamps him, as it were, with the seal of the season. He was tall and stalwart in make, and, altogether, a fine type of strong, healthy manhood. As for Mrs. Carlton, I should like to give my readers some notion of her, in order that they may identify her face and figure with her words and actions, as she moves through these pages. I always considered Mrs. Carlton as one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. Hers was a beauty quite independent of the colouring and roundness of youth, for she was certainly over forty, and the beauty that lasts till then must be of the highest kind. Some very lovely girls are faded at five-and-twenty, because their charm has consisted only in the freshness, the tints, and colouring of youth, which soon pass away, like the summer glory of a flower.

Mrs. Carlton was above the ordinary height of women, but at her age that was decidedly an advantage, for it gave a stately dignity to her graceful carriage. She had large grey eyes, more clear and steady than sparkling; and though soft, resolute, as though she knew how to enforce her will. Fler hair was long, dark, and glossy. Time had touched her lightly; the only traces he left of his progress were small bunches of silvery hair upon her temples ; but they were hidden beneath her rich, luxuriant braids. There was a nameless grace about Mrs. Carltou, an inexpressible charm, which surrounded her like an aerial atmosphere ; where ever she moved, she seemed to bring harmony and peace. There was something so genial in her presence, that when she was absent you missed her as you would miss warmth or sunlight.

She was a good specimen of an English gentlewoman. Being easy herself, she made everybody else at ease ; whatever she did, or whenever she spoke, she seemed to do, or say the right thing to the right person at the right time. The first thing that caught her eye on entering the breakfast-room was a bunch of fresh dewy violets, lying by her plate at the head of the table. " How lovely ! — how very delicious !" she ex claimed, bending over them, and inhaling the deli cate perfume. " I am glad you like them," said Lena, coming forward from the bay-window, where, half hidden by the thick folds of the curtain, she had been sitting reading. "I got up early, and gathered them the first thing in the morning," she added ; " they grow in clusters down in the hollow." " How kind of you to think of me !" said Mrs. Carlton, bending once more over the flowers ; and this time their fragrance seemed to enter her heart ; then, turning to Lena, she folded her in a warm, affectionate embrace, saying — " Dear Lena, I can hardly tell you how much pleasure this delicate attention gives me."

" I am so glad you are pleased," replied the young girl, blushing. " It seems as though you wished to welcome me with your heart as well as with your lips," con tinued Mrs. Carlton, adding, after a moment's pause, caressingly : " Do you know, I almost dreaded coming home to Crofton 1 It would be very painful to be disliked by my husband's children ; but now that I have seen you, I am quite happy. I think we shall understand one an other." It was impossible to resist the winning grace of Mrs. Carbon's manner. Lena felt flushed and uncomfortable as she remembered the words she had spoken, and the determination she had held only yesterday. It was all changed now ; she could not help it. She cast a shy glance on the serene face above her, and answered nervously — " Yes, I think — I — I am sure we shall."

" You must not think that I have come to rob you of one atom of your father's love, Lena ; his affection for me can in no wise lessen his love for you ; his happiness must be our mutual care ; the peace and comfort of home will rest with you now as much as ever it did." While they were talking, Mr. Carlton and Grace came in from the garden. Grace bowed with a shy girlish air to Mrs. Carlton, and, without approaching near enough to take her hand, or receive the kiss her stepmother was quite ready to bestow upon her, she took her accustomed seat at table. " Why, Lena," said Mr. Carlton, " Grace and I have been looking for you everywhere, for I saw, or thought I saw, you go into the shrubbery an hour ago." " So I did," she answered. " I went down as far as the hollow to gather these violets for " — she hesitated ; it was difficult at first to pronounce the name, but she did at last — " for Mrs. Carl ton."

The gratified smile that played upon her father's face more than repaid her for the trouble she had taken. Aunt Jane, as we shall call her, to save the confusion of names, breakfasted in her own room, being in rather delicate health. Mrs. Carlton at once took her place at the head of the table, as though she had been accustomed to do the honours of the house. It seemed quite natural to see her there ; her bright face, and lively way of conversing, even on the most trivial mat ters, diffused a cheerful spirit round her. Grace devoted herself entirely to her father. She watched to hand him his tea and toast, or any thing else he wanted, seeming determined that nobody except herself should do anything for him, if she could help it. " By-the-bye, papa," she said, " we quite forgot to tell you that the Manor-house is let at last."

" I'm very glad to hear it, my dear," he answered. " Do you know who our new neigh bours are to be ?" " Well, we don't exactly know ; but they say in the village that it is a widow lady, a French Mar chioness ; but we shall soon know all about her, for she takes possession to-morrow ; heaps of furniture have been sent down already." " I wonder if she has any daughters V said Lena. " If she has, they will be such nice com panions for us ; we could take long walks to gether ; it would be a good opportunity to practise our French, too." " I don't see that you are in want of compan ions," said Grace, pettishly; "you have always got me to walk with ; but I daresay you'll like a change." "I did not say they would be companions for me," replied Lena, gently — " I said us. We all like a little fresh society now and then, and you are always complaining that Crofton is so dull."

" So it is," said Grace. " I wonder if they'll give balls and parties ? — if they do, I shall like them well enough. I suppose they'll bring lots of new fashions from Paris ?" " I am sure I hope not," said Mr. Carlton, " or we shall have all the village running wild again. It was quite dreadful," he added, addressing his wife, " when you ladies first took to wearing steel petticoats, to walk through the village and see the spirit of imitation among the people; at every turn you met the labourer's wives and daughters, with the hoops of butter-firkins and beer-barrels pinned under their skirts. It is curious to observe the effect which the example of the upper classes has upon the lower ; no matter whether it be in manners, morals, or in dress. I am afraid my girls are themselves too fond of show and glitter to have any wholesome effect upon their poorer neighbours.