Sir Tristram's Will

Chapter I. Tn

a state of greater perplexity and trouble -■- of mind than he had yet been in, Sh Edward gazed after the retreating figure of Mrs. Grant as it descended the lull. His first feeling was one of regret that he had not laid his hand upon her bridle-rein, and insisted upon her remaining to hold further communion with him. Even now he was half inclined to run after her, and to try to rejoin her; a little consideration, however, made him come to the conclusion that, after ad, it was better as it was. " My first words alone seemed strongly to affect her," he thought to himself; "from some unaccountable reason she grew calmer and more composed the more I talked with VOL. II. b her. I should have got nothing further out of her to-day, it would therefore have been useless to have prolonged so uncomfortable a scene.

He then began to meditate more quietly than he had yet done upon theh interview, and to analyse the impressions which it had made upon him. When he recalled Nina's conduct at the first intimation of his suspicions, and at his utterance of those words concerning St. Guire, he felt that conduct seemed to condemn her, for what save a consciousness of some guilty act could have made her show such signs of agitation and alarm? But this idea was very soon destroyed by the recollection of the rest of their conversation, and of the way in which she had looked at him with such an expression of real surprise. The more, however, he meditated upon all the circumstances, the more confused he grew. Two things only was he determined upon — to extract some thing further from Nina upon the subject, and to have the island of St. Guire thoroughly searched.

During these reflections he had been standing on precisely the same spot where Nina left him, holding the bridle of the lame horse. He now moved slowly homeward, leading the animal, and on reaching Llan morden, shut himself up in his study for the rest of the afternoon. Meanwhde Nina had arrived there long before him. On dis mounting from her horse, the first thing she did was to go straight to Aunt Livie's morning-room. " I must get away from here immedi ately," she thought to herself. " Bless my heart ! which of those plague ing servants can that be ?" said Aunt Livie to herself, as Nina's knock at her door made her start up from the comfortable doze over b a novel in which she was indulging, under the happy belief that she had got rid of all her guests for the afternoon. " It's only me, Miss Morden," said Nina, as she entered.

" Why, my dear, do you mean that you are all come back ? I thought you were not to return for the next two hours," cried the old lady, with a face of dl-concealed dis appointment. " None of the party except myself are returned." " And why, then, are you ?" " My horse fell lame, and I could not go on. And now I want to tell you that I think I had better leave Llanmorden." " Leave ! — no, my dear," reiterated Miss Morden, in considerable surprise. " Why, what has happened ?" "Nothing very dreadful. Only I think," and she cast her eyes down with a pretty show of modesty — "indeed, I am certain that it would be better for the peace of mind of poor Mrs. Annely if I were to go away." "Now I understand," said Aunt Livie, quickly, with a significant look ; " you mean that that young scapegrace, Captain Annely, has been paying you too much attention.

I noticed last evening that he was constantly persecuting you." " I knew you would comprehend me, you are so quick of perception." " I always was remarkable for discern ment in this sort of thing," replied Miss Morden, complacently. " When I was quite a chdd, I found out that the nursemaid was more intimate than she should have been with the under-footman. But is it not rather a strong and sudden measure to go off in this way ?" "You would not call it strong, if you could have heard the things that Mrs. An nely said to me just now, when I happened to ride beside her for a few minutes. Poor thing ! she completely lost her temper. I will not repeat to you what she said. If you do • not understand now my reason for wanting to depart, your sense of womanly delicacy is different from mine." " My dear, I have been all my life famed for that quality," rejoined the old lady, drawing herself up in a very stately manner ; " and I quite agree with you."

" You see, then, the fitness of my going away r " Quite, my love ; and I admire much the spirit and good sense you show in so doing. I am only so sorry to part with you," and there was genuine emotion now in the old lady's manner. Nina had made no small way in her heart. " Remember, however, if ever you want a friend, you have only to come to me," and she kissed her affectionately. Nina started at that caress as though the lips that touched her had been red-hot. This unsuspecting kindness was harder to bear than Sir Edward's suspicions. " What is the matter ?" asked Aunt Livie, surprised at her manner. " Nothing," she murmured hurriedly. Then, desirous to free herself from the pain which the conversation was now begin ing to cause her, she added, " I'm afraid I must leave you now. If I do not make haste, I shall not get away before they all come back, and that would make it so much more awkward."

" By-the-by, my dear, what reason am I to give for your leaving us so suddenly?" asked Miss Morden in considerable per plexity. " You had better say it was some particular business, which I had not explained to you, and which calls me to London." " At length the last of this hateful acting is over," thought Nina to herself, as she went to her own room. " Shall I ever re gain the self-esteem that I have lost by the course I have been forced to follow here ? But there must always be one secret the discovery of which to dread." She sighed at that thought, and turned away from it. When Louise came, by Miss Morden's desire, to assist her in her packing arrangements, Nina had some little difficulty in persuading her mother that this sudden departure was either necessary or politic. The suspicious mind of Louise was roused by this singular conduct of her daughter, and she half fancied that the latter was keeping something back from her.

With wonderful dexterity, however, Nina con trived to make her believe that her leaving Llanmorden was the best arrangement. Yet not once did she hint to her anything concerning what Sir Edward had said about Zitta. She merely informed her that she had been made to take this sudden resolu tion by the exceeding closeness with which the Baronet had urged his suspicions touching her designs against himself. His questions, she said, had never pressed her so hard as they had done that afternoon, when, through the accident of her horse's lameness, she had been thrown alone into his company. When they took leave of each other, Nina threw herself into her mother's arms in tears, as she had done on the first night she passed at Llanmorden. " If it were not that I am about to part from you, madre," she murmured, "I should feel on leaving this place a relief I cannot express.

Ever since I have been in this house, it has seemed to me as though I were surrounded by a thick atmosphere of deceit, which almost prevented my breathing. When I used to wander with Launcelot in the moonlight among the orange groves, I do not think I could have comprehended such a feeling as this. Louise made no reply. She deemed her daughter's words mere signs of weakness, and left her, half in pity, half in scorn. As she drove away from Llanmorden, Nina leant from the carriage and gazed at the house. " Since the first moment I entered it," she thought to herself, " I have been weav ing closer and closer around me a black web of deceit. When I recall the constant fear of detection — the constant framing of some new falsehood — the constant bitter contempt for myself, which have filled up the measure of my life here, I can scarce understand how I endured so wretched an existence.

May God and the holy saints, remembering that what I have done will bring good to the Church, accept the life of truth and purity which henceforth by their help I will lead, and do my best to bring my husband and child to lead also. As long as I exist, there must always be for me one source of secret anxiety." And she heaved a deep sigh, and threw herself back in the carriage. Though Nina was thus already beginning to discover that there were thorns in the way she had chosen, she could not, however, help feeling gratified at the clever manner in which she had masked her retreat from Llanmorden, in spite of the self-contempt which mingled with that gratification when she reflected that she had fallen low enough to feel pride in the invention of a lie. She had decidedly done well in priming Aunt Livie with the interesting httle history touching Mrs. Anneley.

The old lady was quite certain, long before she went to bed that night, to make known, in strict confidence, of course, to all the ladies and half the gentlemen, the secret reason for going away which she had given her ; and should Sir Edward throw out any hints prejudicial to her, the good impression produced by this story would in no small measure, as she foresaw, prevent those hints being believed. In declaring herself to be starting for town, Nina had told the simple truth. She drove straight to Kingowern, and having spent the night in a radway-carriage, arrived the next morning in the metropolis. There she went straight to the hotel at which she knew her husband to be residing, her heart throbbing, as usual when she approached him, with passionate joy — her whole soul filled with the hope of instilling into him high resolutions for the future.

Now it so happened that Launcelot and two or three companions had found the past night so pleasant a time for jovial en joyment, that they had returned to theh re spective domiciles contemporaneously with the first appearance of the milkmen in the streets. The consequence of this was (a con sequence which my young gentlemen readers who have spent the nocturnal hours in a simdar manner wdl not be surprised at) that, when his wife aroused him by entering his chamber, he awoke with a splitting head ache, a misty intellect, and a temper not quite so placid as the summer sea when not a breath of wind moves o'er its surface. " What in the devil's name brings you here, Nina, at this unearthly hour in the morning!" he commenced in impatient tones, gazing drowsily at her. " Is that the only greeting you have for me ?

I, who have been working for you, who have, perhaps, been putting even my soul in peril for you," she said reproachfully, while a sharper pang than she had yet experienced shot through her heart at the thought how different this reception was from the one which she had been picturing to herself as she whirled along through the gloomy, wearisome night. " Don't talk about your soul, Nina — be cause it sounds so like the commencement of a sermon, the mere thought of which makes me sick. But just tell me if any thing has gone wrong at Llanmorden that makes you appear here in this sudden "No, everything has been done quietly and wed, as I told you when I wrote to you. But I have grown weary of my Ihe there, and have left the place." " Very well, if all is going on right I want to hear nothing more from you.

And you had better leave the room, for I am con foundedly sleepy." " But I wish to stay with you, Launcelot." " Then if you do, don't make a noise." " And would you not like to talk with me ? Have you nothing to say to me, now I have been separated from you for so long ?" "Nothing very particular, I think," he re plied drowsdy. " Oh ! Launcelot, Launcelot!" she exclaim ed, bursting into tears, and throwing her arms around him. " Is this the love, the thought of which has been my very life through these dark weary days ?" His affection for her, which, although it was deadened by his present condition, still existed within him, was somewhat aroused by the sight of her distress. " Why, Nina, you foolish girl, don't you know that I always must love you ; only just now I have such an execrable headache, that I can't think of anything."

Her woman's heart craving for some sign of affection from him, received with meek gratitude the few scanty crumbs thus thrown to her. With blind fondness she resolutely refused to dwell upon the blemishes of her idol, and sitting down beside him, she watched patiently his slumber.

Chapter II. Ttery

considerable was the surprise of ' Sir Edward, when, on entering the drawing-room before dinner, he learned Mrs. Grant's sudden departure. He had remained, since his return, shut up in his study, and as the windows of that apartment did not look towards the front of the house, he had not even heard the noise of the car riage-wheels which bore Nina away. He did not believe the reasons which Aunt Livie gave concerning Nina's departure. He was irri tated that she should thus have evaded him, and have taken from him all chance of gain ing any more light upon the subject by pressing her with further questions ; yet stdl vol. ii. c he felt it a relief to be freed from the occu pation of watching her words and actions. Now that his mind was less employed with the doubts that so long had troubled it, he began to occupy himself with his ap proaching marriage, and Sydney grew more tranquil and contented.

Her cousin would now often spend his mornings sitting under one of the spreading beech-trees in the park reading to her some favourite passage from the "Faerie Queene," or one ofthe oldltalian poets, whde she lay upon the soft grass at his feet, and Brownie sat beside her, looking up into his master's face with a gravity that gave the idea that he was pondering upon every word that fell from his lips. In earlier days, when Sydney had as yet only just passed out of the rainbow region of child hood, he had frequently read to her the same passages, and had instilled into her girlish mind a strong love for those mighty geniuses who had built the brilliant palaces, in which theh imagination delighted, of such sohd as well as rich materials, that genera tions yet to come shall wonder at their splendour.

Those sweet poetic numbers rang upon the ears of the cousins like some loved famdiar chime which in days gone by had swayed theh hearts with a magic power; and now recalling old associations, drew them still, they scarce knew why, closer to each other. In the atmosphere of serene sun shine which now surrounded Sir Edward and his bride, you could scarce believe that the form of Nina had so lately cast a dark shadow over both theh lives. A strong dread of some great approaching calamity she had awakened in the mind of one — in cessant jealous suspicions in that of the other ; but this dread and these suspicions seemed hkely to pass away hke morning c mists, and to leave theh existence one un broken, cloudless noon; and Sh Edward began to think that his idea of Mrs. Grant's designs against himself, and against Zitta, must have been an unsubstantial fancy.

During this time no further tidings were gained of poor Zitta, and the Baronet came to the conclusion that her fate must for ever remain a mystery. Brightly and peacefully, therefore, the few days sped by the lovers which remained between Nina's departure and theh marriage — so brightly and so peacefully, that each one might have been regarded as a rosebud in the garland of time, which is too often composed of seared leaves or of bitter fruits. At length came the vigil of the bridal morn. Now, Sydney Ashton was by no means formed sufficiently after the correct pattern of a modern bride, to be able to spend such a season as this in a state of thoughtless gaiety, or of stony composure. She had, however, enough of the nineteenth century in her composition to make her feel somewhat ashamed of its getting abroad in the world, and especially among her young lady friends, that there was in her character a considerable dash of romance and feeling.

After dinner, therefore, on that evening, she stole away from her companions, and ascended to her own apartment, which, as has been before mentioned, was situated in the old part of the house. Here, however, she remained only a short time ; and then, her thoughts recurring to the early habits of her chddhood, she passed out, and pro ceeded up a long passage into a suite of three or four disused apartments. She had often been fond, when staying at Llanmorden, of wandering up and down these deserted rooms, and conjuring up there visionary pictures of the past. Perhaps a love of this kind of fanciful musing had been engendered within her by the legends concerning the ancient history of the Mordens, with which, in her young days, Aunt Livie used to delight her as she sat upon her knee. Happy was it for her that the spark of imagination kindled in those early years had' still burned on within her, through all the petrifying drill of a fashionable London boarding-school, where fiction is held as a forbidden thing, and the tumultuous whhl of a London season !

These old chambers were full of objects that might have well called up dreams of the past. Here was a tapestry hanging, behind which an armed consphator might lurk — there a straight backed mediæval chair, upon which you might expect to see the ghost of one of your ancestors sitting bolt upright, and thus grimly and silently rebukhig you for your last lounge upon a spring sofa. In a third place appeared the worm-eaten portrait of a stern baron in armour, or of a severe-looking matron in a close-fitting hood and far thingale, the expression of whose face made you feel that you would have by no means liked to have been her spouse when, by rea son of his being half an hour late for supper, the crust of the venison pasty, which she had manufactured herself with so much pride, was burnt. On the present evening, however, Syd ney's mind was not busy with the past.

The heart of the young bride was filled with palpitating hopes and fears for the future ; with passionate deshes that she might always keep her husband's love, with earnest prayers for strength to overcome her haughty temper, that she might pour over Edward Morden's life a soothing as well as a brightening influence. It was long since she had breathed such prayers as these ; perhaps in the pride of her youth and beauty her devotions had grown cold, but at the present moment, when ad the deepest and purest parts of her nature were stirred within her, " her flutter ing heart " leant instinctively on the thought of Almighty love and power. With such thoughts and feelings as these, she wandered up and down those lonely rooms, that were lit only by the sdver moonbeams which streamed in through the lancet-shaped win dows, and which, in her present state of mind, were far more pleasing to her than the most brilliant illumination.

After this warm, enthusiastic vein of thought, there came at length, as is not uncommon with people of Sydney's variable disposition, a re-action. The image of Nina rose before her, bringing with it the idea that, if Sir Edward had once been almost unfaithful to her, so might he be again. She now also recalled that mysterious whispering voice that had twice warned her against her marriage, and it almost seemed to her that she again heard those strange tones. So long did she dwell upon this latter theme, that a fear of the supernatural began to steal over her, and she felt half afraid of being in that stdl and lonely chamber, and half inclined immediately to leave it. Whde she was occupied with these thoughts, she happened to be standing close to a large mirror, which was set in a heavy old-fashioned frame of tarnished gdding, and which had probably adorned the drawing-room of some Lady Morden in the last century.

With a vague dread of what she might see portrayed upon its surface, Sydney raised her eyes to the glass, and beheld the singular picture represented there, in which past and present were so strangely mingled, of her own graceful form, arrayed in her elegant modern dress, standing in the midst of those antiquated memorials of former ages. Suddenly there glides across the sur face of the mirror, just where the moon beams are reflected in it, a tall, dark, stately female figure, in flowing sable robes, with its face and head covered apparently by a black ved. It might have been the wandering ghost of some nun who had been faith less to her vows. In a second it has dis appeared from the glass, but Sydney is certain that she has seen it, and she hides her eyes in uncontrollable alarm, fearing that some more hideous spectre may pass before them.

For about a minute she remained thus, then, as she heard not a sound, she overcame with an effort her excessive terror, and glanced timidly round the apart ment. It was empty and silent, and her ear caught nothing save the weird moaning of the wind, which had risen that evening ; her eye saw nothing but the window-curtain trembling in the moonlight, as that same wind, breathing through the old. fll-fitting casement, endowed it with a kind of phantom-like life. Though somewhat re-assured by this, she felt no desire to remain longer in the cham ber, and therefore left it. She had gone but a few steps, casting before her as she went many an anxious look down the shadowy corridor, when, to her unutterable horror, she saw, or fancied she saw, by the light of the moonbeams which shone in through a window, that same dark figure, standing at the other end of the passage close to the door of her own room, apparently waiting there to give her some terrible mysterious warning.

All her courage now forsook her; she rushed back into the apartment she had lately left, and threw herself almost fainting into a chair. Here she remained for a whde, until her physical and mental powers were somewhat restored. Then, influenced by a strong de she to make her escape from that part of the house, which seemed to her now filled with terror, she rose and looked timidly out into the passage. Perceiving that it was empty, she gathered together all her cour age, and passing swiftly down it soon reached the inhabited portion of the mansion. There the first person she met was Sir Edward, who happened to be just then as cending the stahs. "My dear Sydney, what is the matter?" he asked anxiously, gazing at her pale agitated face. But the only answer she made him was to .seek the shelter of his arms, just as a frightened bhd seeks that of some familiar leafy bower.

As soon as she had somewhat recovered herself, she narrated to the sur prised Baronet the cause of her alarm. Since the appearance ofthe mysterious hands at his window, Sh Edward was not quite so ready as formerly to ridicule tales of the supernatural. In order, however, to en courage Sydney, he made light of the matter, called her a sdly little thing for wandering about in the twilight untd her imagination knew not what trick next to play her, and then led her back to the drawing-room, promising her that neither ghost nor man, save himself, should approach her for the rest of the evening. I wdl not attempt to describe in detail either the wedding or the wedding breakfast; if the reader wants to know more about them, he had better try to get a number of the Kingowern Trumpet, which was pub lished on the following Saturday, and there he will doubtless find a glowing account of everything, from the speech of the Duke of Dryshire, down to the enthusiastic shouts of the small boys of Aberfinhn.

It suffices to say that the whole affair was as replete with show and glitter as are most such affairs now-a-days. There was, however, truth in some few tilings at Sh Edward Morden's marriage. There was truth in the flowers which the village chddren strewed before the bridal party. Truth in the simple, yet touching, words of our beautiful marriage service ; truth in the clear depth of the bridegroom's eyes as he stood before the altar ; truth hi the trembling accents of the fair young bride as she pronounced her solemn vow. True harmony was there, also, in the full tones of the bells as they chanted forth theh sw'eet marriage hymn, telling the joy ful news to the summits of the neighbouring mountains, and to the distant plains of ocean. As the young bride passed down the churchyard path, leaning on her husband's arm, on their way back to the carriage, there poured down upon her head (for there had been a summer storm whde they were in church) a little shower of rain-drops from the outspreading branches of a large yew-tree that overshadowed the way.

Two aged Welshwomen of the village, who were standing by, shook theh heads at this omen. There is nothing more to be told about that day, except that Louise that morning received a letter, the concluding sentence of which, to judge by the scornful tone in which she murmured it over to herself, was by no means pleasing to her. This was the sentence — "Launcelot and I have determined to leave them a few weeks of 'happiness, because we remember so fondly our own early married days." " Was there ever such ridiculous, roman tic folly ?" muttered Louise, as she tore up the paper into tiny fragments, and scattered them indignantly to the wind.

Chapter III

TT^"E have again passed over two months. " " and it is the commencement of September. In country houses are begin ning to assemble merry parties of sports men, many of whom have sat through the long bright summer days in close dingy rooms, engaged in the machine-like drudg ery of the desk, or in the more intellectual, but not less arduous, tod of the brain, with no other sound in theh ears but the roar of the tide of life, which rolls along the streets of the metropolis. To these the breath of the meadows and hedge-rows must surely be as the elixir of life. The woods ring with the frequent reports of theh guns, and the poor partridges begin to comprehend vol. n. d most unpleasantly why they have been so carefully preserved for the last few months. There is spread over the trees a faint golden thige, which reminds you of the tender hues that sometimes tint after sunset the western sky.

The mountains have put on their regal robes of purple and gold, and, thus adorned, almost dazzle the eye when the autumnal sun shines full upon them. As you pass along the lanes, your ear recognises the peculiar, monotonous, sigh ing sound produced by the scythes of the harvesters as they cut through the long stalks of corn ; and your eye is pleased by the picturesque scene of the harvest field, which carries back one's mind to patriarchal days. One morning about this period, Sh Ed' ward and Lady Morden sat at breakfast within their manorial home. The Baronet and his bride had not remained absent nearly as long as they intended when they started for the Continent after theh marriage. Their plan had been to spend a little time in Switzerland, and then to visit the lovely lakes that gem the fair plains of Lombardy.

Very probably they would have ended in passing the winter abroad, for Sh Edward had a strong deshe to lead his bride to the South, and introduce her to those scenes where his youth had first imbibed a decided taste for art, and had learned to comprehend more fully than he had ever done be fore the very soul of poetry. They had not, however, been absent for more than a month, and were stdl lingering among the snow-crowned peaks and dash ing cataracts of Switzerland, when a tele gram reached them conveying tidings of the sudden and alarming dlness of Miss Morden. The old lady had caught a severe cold, which had ended in an attack of bronchitis d2 senilis, and her life was declared by the medical men to be in a very critical state. Much grieved at this — for Aunt Livie's care had been the nearest to that of a mother they had ever known — Sir Edward and Sydney had returned as rapidly as possible to England.