The Cup and the Lip, a novel

Chapter I

"Flora to Dolores, " I am installed in my new home, be loved Dora, and a fair, sweet place it is. Dear old Mrs. Crawford has insisted on resigning her keys and rights of Chatelaine siiip, as you used to call it, to me, and I am head of this vast establishment ; reckoning amongst my subjects, first, my ugly giant, who is very loyal and obedient; next a negro servant, he has brought back with him; then the old servant and a tiny satelite in the kitchen ; and lastly Harry's Newfoundland dog, and his grandmother's VOL. ill. B large tortoise-shell cat. Don't let me forget also my minstrel, a tiny canary, as tame as your doves, that will come and sit on my finger when I call it. The garden is still under the care of Hector Bear, and is really a wilderness of sweets. Such posies as we make nearly every day, — Harry and I, — for our parlour! one would think the flower beds could never recover our inroads on them, but, the morrow shows them as fair as ever.

And then of an evening I play the ' Fair queen in a summer bower,' not ' singing to my lute,' Dora, so don't look frightened, but pouring out tea in the old summer house ; dear grandmama on one side, Harry on the other, and black John, kettle in hand, at the doorway ; the snowy guelder roses, that hang about it, drooping over his head, in admirable con trast with his complexion ; his glistening eyes fixed on his master, and his white teeth visible at the least approach to a jest from Harry, for whom he has a ludicrous admiration. From the wooden walls of my bower Falstaff and Dame Quickly smile upon me, and St. George is in desperate conflict with the Dragon above my head. Grandmama retires before the dew falls, but we wander about the garden till long after the moon has risen, and talk of Woodborough and all its dear ones.

Harry is so good-tempered, and so light hearted that it is impossible to be dull for a moment, and if ' the cottage ' were within a walk, I should be the happiest person in the world ; indeed I am not sure that I am not now ! " A very strange incident has happened to us, since we arrived. The servant, on opening the house the other morning found a large box at the door directed to me. She brought it up, and it proved to contain the beautiful candelabra and vase which were stolen from Mrs. Crawford, when Harry first left us. You may imagine our surprise. There was a dirty bit of paper at the top of them, on which was scrawled, " The enclosed are presented to Mrs. Harry B Crawford, daughter of the late Lieute nant Nevil, from a well-wisher." Did you ever hear of such impertinence? A thief my well wisher!

To make me a receiver of stolen goods! Seriously, however, is it not most singular? They must have been returned by the man who saved my life by not suffering his comrade to kill me. We are, of course, very glad to get them back, even in this strange manner. Mrs. Crawford was quite touchingly delighted at their re appearance; dear old lady, she concealed her sorrow for their loss so well, that we should never have known how grieved she had been, but by her present joy. I can quite understand it; they were memorials of the courage and goodness of her husband. I am sure if I had lost a similar memento of Harry I should have been inconsolable. " What a gossip this is, about self ! You will think I have forgotten to ask after all at Woodborough ; but, believe me, you are often in my thoughts — Dare not send me ill THE CUr AND THE LIP. 5 news!

Just now I could not bear to believe you were any of you sick or sorrowful. Is Mr. Livingstone returned? I like him, Dolores, but I wish he were more like Harry. I put great faith in a man who laughs merrily. " Uncle Frederick is handsomer and gayer than ever. He has been several times to see us ; he is so fond of Harry. Jane is grown prettier, and Willie quite a little man. 1 think the shy chaplain's suit to Jane is prospering, for she has taken his portrait, and it is wonderfully flattered, though she assures me it is not handsome enough ! I must get her to take my husband's likeness for me before he goes to sea again. Ah! that sea! I shall begin to hate it. Love to all — to my dearest mother, to the Holme Glen family, to Mrs. Howard, and ' brother Walter,' and half a dozen kisses from Harry aud myself to our own Dora.

" Your happy " Flossy." Walter Livingstone had not yet returned; he had many arrangements to make before his marriage, and he wished to be quite free from tbe annoyances of business, when he should once more be with Dolores, in order to enjoy her society without distrac tion or annoyance. Cecil, however, left his affairs, which were indeed of a far dif ferent nature, to the discreet management of Mr. Polwel, and very shortly after his interview with that gentleman took possession again of his village lodging. The following morning found him at Greenfell. He had brought some trifling but elegant gift for its mistress, and had a new work, not yet to be procured in the country, for Dolores. He could scarcely be said to ob tain a cordial welcome from either lady, but he was not a man of delicate percep tions, and even if he had observed a want of cordiality in their manner, he would not have judged it expedient to act upon it, by withdrawing from the acquaintance.

He remained chatting with them in his most agreeable manner for an hour ; spoke often and in terms of high commendation of his good cousin Walter, and left them more favourably impressed in his favour than they had yet been. The next morning's post brought Dolores aletter from her old preceptor, Monsieur Ber nard. She was rather surprised at receiving it — as she was aware he seldom wrote letters — but still more astonished at its contents. He began by apologising for taking the liberty of writing to her on a very delicate subject, but hoped that his friendship and devouement to her would suffice to justify him. He feared she had become intimately acquainted, with a Mr. Cecil, and he thought it right to warn her that, that gentleman was by no means such a parti as he could desire for her. He had known something of Mr. Cecil years ago, when he was on the Con tinent, and there had then been very in jurious, though vague, reports about him, in circulation.

He had also recently understood that the gentleman's affairs were not as good as they were supposed to be, a fortune he had recently acquired being much impaired by the liquidation of heavy debts. He thought it right to give this information to Madlle. Dolores, trusting to her discretion not to name him as her in formant in the matter. The epistle con cluded with warm good wishes for her happi ness, and a message of florid but respectful gallantry to Mrs. Howard. Dolores was amused at the good Ber nard's alarm lest she should make an imprudent marriage, but gratified and obliged by the kind interest he displayed in her wel fare. She communicated the letter to Mrs. Howard, who laughed, and entertained herself by trying to guess how her French friend had discovered their acquaintance with Cecil.

" Really Dolores," she said, " your con quests are innumerable ! Monsieur Bernard must be very much devoted to have taken the trouble to find out all your movements at this distance from him ! Worthy man ! I should not be surprised if he pro posed himself as the best possible parti for you by and by." " How absurd ! but, dear Mis. Howard, do be serious, aud tell me what you think can have made him take such a notion into his head, as that Mr. Cecil, who treats me only with grave condescension, should be going to propose to me !" " Really I am at a loss to divine. Per haps Cecil has made a confidant of some common friend, who has betrayed him to Bernard." " Nonsense !" " Or," continued Mrs. Howard, "jealousy is very far sighted ! Mousieur is guided by the instinct of that powerful passion. ' Coming events are casting their shadows before them,' and he mistakes the one cousin for the other.

I would not advise you to put too implicit a faith in this missive — you must remember it is the effusion of a rival." B Dolores laughed. " I shall remember that it is the effusion of a kind, true-hearted friend," she said, " and hasten to re-assure him, by the in formation that Mr. Cecil and myself are barely acquaintance." " Would it not also be charitable of you to crush any hopes Monsieur Bernard may cherish in consequence, by informing him of your engagement to Walter?" " No, indeed !" said Dolores, blushing ; " we both wish it to be a secret till the wedding is nearer at hand. It would be so disagreeable to be the burden of the worthies of Woodborough's gossipping ! — and news travels so fast — and always in the contrary direction to that which one wishes." " Well, poor man ! then we must leave him and your other admirers to the protec tion of their good angels; and only hope they won't break their hearts, or blow their brains out in consequence."

"I can't imagine where you would find my admirers, Mrs. Howard; no one ever liked me but Walter — I cannot tell how he could have made so strange a choice !" "Fie, Dora. Did not Major Simpson propose 1 — ay, I know he did, though you will never own it — does not the savant Bernard, grow jealous about you, and the Rev. Abraham Scobell look silly when you are near — and let me tell you the latter proof of love is almost as strong as the first." " Quite, I should say, in both cases! Now, dear Mrs. Howard, will you excuse me? I must go and answer this kindly meant letter — and it will cost me some little pains — for Monsieur Bernard would rather forgive me for ' blighting his hopes,' as you say, than for a false idiom." " In sober earnest then, Dora, I am sorry we have made this Cecil's acquaintance, since he is such a rnauvais sujet — for, as Walter's kinsman, I do not see how we can well drop him."

" Walter will soon be with us, now," said Dolores, with a beaming smile ; " and we will ask him about it. He will put all things right." No Pope ever possessed equal infallibi lity in the imagination of his most bigotted adherent ! Dolores Nevil's interest in Wal ter — her friendship for him — her admira tion of his character — had grown into the deepest and most intense affection. She had loved him almost unconsciously at first ; and the feeling had been quickly developed from the moment she knew that her dor mant tenderness was returned. A strong feeling of gratitude mingled with it. Flora — the beautiful Flora — had been so supreme in the favour of their mother and their family, that Dolores had always felt her self a secondary person. She was too generous — too humble to be pained by this perception ; but it heightened the ex quisite pleasure derived from being the sole and chief object with sucb a man as Living stone.

She was almost painfull} happy at time*, and this somewhat took from the playful attraction of her manner, but Wal ter always understood her — for there was a profound sympathy between them. Never had a fuller Cup of happiness sparkled at the lip of mortal, than that which Love and Fate held forth to Dolores Nevil !

Chapter II

" AnD you really mean to leave me, Do lores ! Is it kind? Is it wise, love, to mar this happy present by a parting V "I do not wish to go, Walter, but a refusal would pain Flora deeply. She is anxious, — in order that I may know more of Harry — that I should visit them whilst he is at home — and he has already had a private warning from his friend and patron, Admi ral Wenlock, to be in readiness to sail with him very shortly as his flag lieutenant. " Could you not intimate to Mrs. Craw ford that /would thankfully accept an in vitation also 1" THE CU1* AND THE LIP. " No ; for I know they have no spare room to offer you; besides, I think Flora would like to have me entirely to herself once more, with no one to engross my time and attention. I shall only stay there a fortnight." " That fortnight will be an eternity to rae!

I must follow you, Dora, and re main somewhere in your neighbourhood, ' Make me a willow cabin at your gate,' " Sic, <kc. " No ; do not follow me ! It will be so pleasant to meet again after this brief separation ! and, indeed, I could not be as much with Flossy as I wish, if I saw you daily. Besides," she added, playfully, " we are so very happy now, that I almost tremble lest this pleasant dream may end painfully ; if I were a heathen I should call my depar ture for a time, a sacrifice to propitiate for tune." " Ah Dolores ! remember the old world story of the tyrant's ring! shall I give you Fe nelon's reflection on the fallacy of self-created sorrow 1 ' Les maux qu'on choisit et qu'on se fait soi-mime ne sont plus des maux ; nous ne sommes affliges que par les seines forcees et imprevues dont les Dieux nous frappent.' Let us enjoy the sunshine of life while we may; notthinkof darkthe future beyond it.

In a fortnight, how many changes may take place, even in nature. The summer will have given its last smile, the leaves will be falling, the flowers fading ere you return. If it were possible 1 would keep for ever this joyous season, which has been to me, the happiest summer I ever knew ; I have the impression on my mind that, as it passes, a portion of my rare happiness wiil pass with it. Let us spend what is left of it together, Dora !" His dark eyes were fixed pleadingly upon her. Why did she refuse . There is no thing more puzzling than the perversity of our nature, and the inconsistency with which, for a mere whim, from the influence of a feeling for which we cannot account to ourselves — we sometimes mar the happiness of our lives. Dolores wished to con tinue firm in her resolve, yet struggled with her inclination to please Livingstone, this gave an abruptness to her manner, as she answered, " No, indeed, Walter, I must go.

I pro mised Flora ; and it would look silly to refuse now, for no other reason than because Mr. Livingstone cannot spare me whilst the sun shines." He made no answer ; and they proceeded for some time in silence up the green-lane whicii they were traversing on their return from Woodborough to Greenfell. Both felt uncomfortable ; he was pained as much by her manner, as by her decision ; and her heart smote her for her temporary ebullition of temper. There was already a cloud across their summer heaven. Dolores went. into Hampshire two days afterwards. It was only for a fortnight; but her heart sank when the morning fixed for her journey dawned, Walter breakfasted at Greenfell, in order that he might escort her to the railway station. He was un usually silent, and that inexpressible mourn fulness, which had attracted her attention the first time she saw him, but which had been gradually passing off, again stamped his countenance.

" You will write to me daily, Dolores," he said, as he bade her adieu, " and, if you can, return soon to Woodborough !" She bowed assent ; she could not speak ; her eyes were full of tears. "Dora, you are pained — unhappy — do not go ; why should you? Stay with us! "Impossible, Walter," she murmured, " it would be too absurd now ! Good-bye. Heaven bless you." The bell rang ; the porter came to shut the carriage doors ; and he was obliged to release her hand. Another instant, and with a shrill cry, the train rushed on, bearing her swiftly from his sight, but leaving a trail of snowy wreaths of steam amongst the tall trees that bordered the road, on which Walter's eyes were often rivetted as (declining to return in Mrs. Howard's carriage) he slowly re-traced his way to Woodborough — a walk of several miles ; and he would fain have had it longer, in order to have beguiled, by exercise, the long hours of the now unoccupied day.

Dolores kept her promise of writing fre quently — indeed, daily to him, and as her letters contained occasionally intelligence which may interest the reader, we shall transcribe a few of them. " I am flattered and yet pained by the melancholy style of your letters. It is pleasant to believe myself essential to your happiness and comfort ; but distressing to know that you are, by that very circum stance, rendered sad. You are grown quite miserly of the sunshine ! One would think that this summer was to have no successor, judging by your pathetic lamentations over its flight. Pray do not yield to such an error ; there are, 1 trust, stored up in the future, many as bright to beam upon us together, though I also, shall always deem this present one the happiest I ever knew. My sister's house and garden are pretty and rural ; but can bear no comparison with Greenfell ; but it is Harry's home, and that gives it a powerful charm, for Flora, who raves about her flower beds, sits en chanted in what she calls a shrubbery — One horse-chestnut, and three or four laurel trees compose it — and finds strange music iu the incessant hammering from a neigh bouring blacksmith's forge.

Through what illusions we see the world! Flora is very happy, though she has not married as well as mama always thought she would, in point of pecuniary circumstances. Indeed, people, who notice her extraordinary loveliness, might think her buried in such a dull country village as this ; but it contains a wealth of affection for her ; and that is certainly the true treasure. Several very pleasant neighbours have called on her ; old naval and military men's families, kind, frank, cordial people, and she has already made intimate acquaintance with the greater number of the village poor, and is as busy and as merry as a bee. Though so near a sea-port, we are at some distance from the sea ; that is the open sea. From the bed-room windows we catch a glimpse of the harbour — a very different Marine view, however, from the glorious one we have so often admired together at Hastings.

Amidst what scenes of beauty — of rare and novel beauty to me — we first met, Walter! In compliance with my humour for walking on the shore, Harry and Flora frequently go with me, after tea, to the beach, which bounds the inner por tion of the harbour. Tbe road leading to it— a dusty, ugly lane — terminates in "a wind-mill, called the Black-mill — and a dark-looking place it appears. Flossy has some strange vague horror of mills ; I don't know whether she fancies them as Don Quixote did, many — armed giants ; but she will never go there without Harry, and she has so far infected me, that I always feel depressed when I am walking near the solemn-looking winged building." " We have been to a ball ; my first public ball, Walter. I wished much that you had been with us, then I should have found the novelty of the scene delightful.

And yet, I scarcely think I should like to see you dance ! Except in the mere walk ing through a quadrille, there is something in ray opinion undignified in dancing. I could not see you even " in my mind's eye," per forming aPolka,orrushing about like a fran tic Berserker in a waltz, without laughing. We did not meet in a ball-room, perhaps that may account for my feeling ; our impressions of PTL each other were formed amid the solemn beauty and quiet dignity of nature. I hope you do not dance. It would be quite out of character with your physiognomy and figure, and the character of your mind. Flora, in her pretty bridal white, was the belle of the roomthe othernight. I overheard all sorts of civil remarks made about her, but not one on myself. Alas ! mine is not a ball-room face ; you have no rivals to fear there, Walter.

Nor do I think, my few partners (who were generally brought to me by the zeal of Uncle Frederick,) were much amused by my conversation. I never can talk to people, unless I see they will understand me ; and my new acquaintance certainly did not ; with the exception of a tiny imp of a midshipman, who enjoyed a laugh greatly, and became my shadow for the evening. Amongst other mad devices for entertaining me, he assured an old lady (with whom Flossy became acquainted when staying with Uncle Frederick,) that he had just returned from the Caffre Islands, and it was amusing enough to see her perplexity, evidently doubting the existence of such an Archipelago, and yet searing to deny it, ' because,' as she afterwards assured me, ' there had been so many discoveries in geography of late years, since she was at school in the Island,' i. e. in the Isle of Wight."

" Do not be too secure of having no rivals, Mr. Walter Livingstone ! They may be found out of a ball-room, if not in it. You have quite a dangerous one now ! an admirer of mine, (Harry says he is, I should not have guessed it !) has followed me here, and walks daily from Southsea to see me ; brings me books — though I have no time to read — buys bouquets for me, — though I can have plenty of flowers here for the gathering, — calls my nonsense, originality, and listens to me when I pretend to talk learnedly, (which I do some times to plague him) with feigned admiration, though I can plainly see that he is bored to death. "Do you recognize my friend, Walter? What do you think of Mr. Cecil? " You may look amazed, but it is indeed your cousin who is ' the gentleman come a-wooing to me.' I am as cold and distant as I can be, but he will not be snubbed.

He is as pertinacious as Viola ; if I say I am going to walk, he " takes upon him to know as much," and, therefore, comes to walk with me ; if I am in my room, he had an instinc tive knowledge of that also, has time to wait, and haunts the parlour, talking Flossy into a blue bewilderment, (you know she is not bookish) till I relieve her by my appearance; nobody can put him out of temper or offend him ; nay, though at first the Crawfords did not like him, they are beginning to yield already to the strange VOL. III. c LIF. influence of his pertinacity, and will really grow into a habit of friendship for him." To this last letter Dolores received the following answer. We omit the first few lines. " Do not laugh when I tell you that your jesting account of Cecil's attentions has alarmed me. I know the man only too well.

He is exactly what you describe him, singularly pertinacious, and, as the natural consequence of such an iron will, ac customed, almost invariably, to obtain the object at which he aims, be it what it may. I am not jealous, Dolores ; I do not, for one moment, doubt your fidelity or your affec tion, but you are young, imaginative, un suspecting ; Cecil unites profound know ledge of human nature to a will unrestrained by any principle, for he is professedly, an unbeliever, though he has the good taste to keep his opinions secret from the world in general. Can you wonder that I am un easy wben I know this serpent is whispering to my fair Eve? Have you not been long enough absent? May I not come to Ports mouth to escort you and your old Rachel back to Woodborough? We have borne your absence with great fortitude, and now, I think, deserve to be rewarded.

You can not know how painfully I have missed your society ; how desolate Greenfell looks without you. I doubt whether I have ever been able to describe my feelings in all their intensity ; you would give me a vivid pic ture of yours, but because I want your feminine gift of expression do not the less believe me in all sincerity, your attached, &c." " I will come home, Walter, in four days, c 2 and Noah's dove did not enter the Ark more willingly than I shall the cottage at Woodborough. Fear nothing for me from Cecil. The days for being carried off a, la Miss Byron are gone by ; and to all ma licious or otherwise evil whisperings my ears are stuffed, by distrust and dislike, as firmly as the princess's in the Arabian story were bv cotton. I cannot hear the voices ! I can only distinguish in my soul the spirit song of the bird that sings at Greenfell.

" It is astonishing how Cecil bears teazing. I do not believe you would be so patient under it. Flora is amazed at my gifts in that way; and sometimes re monstrates, assuring me that ' the poor man' as she calls him, should not be thus tried, as he is not to be rewarded in the end ; but I wish to disgust him, and drive him away, and it appears the only mode of achieving my object. I am sure he does not love me; if I thought there were any sincerity in his feelings, I should reverence them too much to jest ; but he cannot for a moment deceive me. " Is your allusion to my powers of ex pression satire or flattery? I half suspect the former ! a sly hit at the ' words, words, words!' that travel daily to Woodborough. If letters were weighed by the sense they contain, one stamp would free a bundle of mine.

I am glad you are rather silent with regard to your feelings ; I like to divine your meaning ; to guess at your thoughts by the expression of your countenance. Cecil's ready compliments are not half as interesting. But if I go on in this style I shall make you conceited, and quite spoil you. Addio. Flossy 's love to all. " We have had an adventure, Walter! Such a terrible scene has been presented to us! This evening Mr. Cecil came up and join ed Harry in the garden ; Flora and I were dressing for our evening walk, and I per suaded her to slip out without letting them seeus,toavoid Cecil's companionship. There fore alone, and ata brisk pace, we walked to wards the beach. It was rather a cloudy evening — later and darker than it usually is when we go out — and, after a turn or two on the shore, she asked me to go home, observing, with a shudder, that the noise of the mill sails, which were still in motion, was depressing and disagreeable.

Of course I complied. In retracing our steps, we passed the miller's house, a long, low, dismal-looking building. My sandal was un tied, and I stopped to tie it, putting my foot on the door-step to raise it. The window above was open ; and whilst I was thus occupied, the most appalling groans struck on my ear. Flora, dreadfully fright ened, begged me to come away; but I could not bear to go without knowing what Lir. 31 was the matter, lest we should leave some poor creature in distress — and I called aloud within the door-way — the door was open — ■ to know what was the matter. No one an swered ; but the piteous sounds were re peated. I looked into the down stairs rooms ; there was no one to be seen ; and then I told Flora I must go up and see what was the matter. She was afraid to remain behind, though terrified at the idea of enter ing the dismal-looking house, and, there fore, accompanied me.