Only temper : a novel

Front matter

IN CIRCULATION AT EVERY LIBRARY. In 1 Vol. 10s. 6d. THE SPINSTERS OF SANDHAM. BY ONE OP THEMSELVES. " It is an important and painful subject, and we give full credit to the gentle spinster who has written about it in so kind a spirit, and we do not hesitate to say it is a good and thoughtful book."— Athenæum. " It is well and carefully written, and we can give it an unqualified commendation."- — Observer . "A well-written story, quiet and lady-like." — Atlas. " Women, whose destiny it has been to live unmarried, will say, when they have read the story, ' It is true as life.' " — Guardian. IN CIRCULATION AT EVERY LIBRARY. In 3 Vols. AUNT BETSY'S TRAINING. "Ifwe were looking for a novel adapted for rue in families, we should be attracted by such a title as ' Aunt Betsy's Training,' and «e find upon perusal that the character of the book answers the ex pectation exacted by its name." — Saturday Review.

" Decidedly light and lively volumes."— Morning Post. ' ' To those who wish to be amused but not excited — entertained but not shocked — we recommend ' Aunt Betsy's Training.' " — 'Atlas. ' None but a lady's pen could so minutely describe the little weak nesses of the sex. To those who like a story devoted to the sayings or doings of the upper ten thousand, we recommend ' Aunt Betsys Training.' " — Observer. In 3 Vols. 31s. 6d. CROSS CURRENTS. A Novel. By ALTON CLYDE, Author of * ' Maggie Lynne," &<s. ONLY TEMPER. IN CIRCULATION AT EVERY LIBRARY. In 2 Vols. 21s. FORTY YEARS AGO, Edited by Mrs. C. J. NEWBY. " The book before us is simple, reflective, and true to human nature, admirably bringing back the quiet, thoughtful character of a country neighbourhood before London was brought so near to the provinces by means of railroads." — Brighton Examiner.

" The characters are carefully delineated, and the tale told with natural effect. The book will have interest for a great many readers who prefer a quiet story to a noisy one, and like to make the literary acquaintance of probable rather than improbable people." — Morn ing Post. x ONLY TEMPER. A NOVEL. IN THEEE VOLUMES. BY MRS. C. J. NEWBY, Author of "Wondrous Strange,' "Common Sense," "Kate Kennedy," &c., &c. "And, after heaven, on our dull side of death, What should be best if not so pure a love, Clothed in so pure a loveliness." Tennyson. VOL. III. gtatton : CAUTLEY NEWBY, PUBLISHER, 30, WELBECK STREET, CAVENDISH SQUARE, 1868. [the eight of translation is reserved.] CONTENTS OF VOL. III. Chap. Page I. Aunt Susan finds Matters not to her Liking ... 1 H. Built Upon the Rock 13 in. The Broken Dream 24 IV.

Chapter I. Aunt Susan Finds Matters Not To Her Liking

It was true that John Moncton's attentions to Rose had attracted the notice of the whole neigh bourhood ; it was true that he had gone so far that a few honest, outspoken words alone were needed to put the finishing touch to a courtship which had been open as the day. Aunt Susan, however, was not content; she had grown to love Rose very sincerely, and had fallen into her VOL. III. B nieces' habit of petting her and treating her as one exempt from humanity's every day cares. It should not, therefore, have seemed strange to her that Rose could have attracted a man so much above her in fortune, seeing that he him self had pointed out that her connections on her mother's side were above most of the county families, and that, therefore, she might expect to marry well, and to be properly received in society.

Still she was not content. Courtship and marriage had both formed her peculiar study, and as she had been married for one year, and therefore, it may be presumed, been courted beforehand, her experience was doubtless to be taken upon her own valuation. She had driven the poor girl into a corner sometimes, and had questioned her as to what he said upon those occasions, when to the blindest perceptions he seemed so near a pro posal; and though Kose looked happy, blushed, and laughed off the questions in her girlish way, she had never arrived at any words which her keener judgment could interpret into meaning anything. Will you marry me ? — which, in the judgment of Aunt Susan, in her position as chaperon to these motherless girls— she naturally considered as the most important question, aud one into which all honied speeches ought to melt — had she felt, never been approached, and yet she could see with half an eye, as she observed, that Rose reckoned upon his love with a blind and trust ing confidence, which knew no shadow of doubt or impatience, and which, to the peculiar wisdom of the elder lady, appeared to savour very much of the provoking.

" If she had any doubt she'd hook him," said Aunt Susan, to Ruth ; and in her vehemence, re lapsing into vulgarity, " but as it is, she will let him slip off in her easy way, and she'll be no where." " And a very good job, if he wishes to slip off," said outspoken Ruth. " You know nothing about it," was the hot b reply ; " had you my experience, you would see the great delicacy required to turn a lover simply into an engaged man." " So the breach of promise cases say," said Ruth ; " but I never yet found that the man who gets off was worth keeping on." •'That only comes from your want of experience, Ruth ; if you would give a little more attention to these things, you would see that it needs all a woman's wits to bring matters to a point." " Ronald required no management," said Ruth. Ronald was the family hero now, Major Cathcart.

" Ah ! but they had come to an understanding," replied Aunt Susan, who would not be beaten. " Take my word for it, unless Rose can be taught to shew a little more finesse, John Moncton will cry off." " Then let him go, and ill-luck go with him," cried Ruth ; but her face clouded, for she loved Rose, and in her heart believed in Aunt Susan, until love to her became a thing despised, be cause a thing to be contrived. Having these sentiments, Aunt Susan hailed Miss Hammerton's coming with peculiar inter est, and she had no t been twenty-four hours in the house before she had found an anxiously watched for opportunity of confiding to her ear the history of the past weeks, and her own doubts and fears. Miss Hammerton received this confidence with considerable anxiety, and striving hard to check the thought that possibly after all her darling might return for peace to the haven she had promised her, undertook to watch the case for Aunt Susan.

She had ample opportunity ; on one of her three days' stay, Mr. Brereton had given a dinner party in her honour, to which Mr. John Moncton came, and on the following day she had dined at the Hall with Rose, her uncle, and Aunt Susan. Here she found herself, to her astonishment, becoming quite warm friends with Mrs. Moncton, who received her with almost royal honours, and introduced her to a lady friend as the dear lady who had been kind enough to let her stay a few weeks with her when she quarrelled with dearest Henry in the spring, until Miss Hammerton felt her ideas quite confused, and began almost to doubt whether the sin which Mrs. Moncton, the petted lady of the Hall, spoke of as so venial, really was so heinous after all. Confiding her feelings to Rose, in some won der, afterwards, Rose told her they were explained by the old proverb — " One man may steal a horse while another cannot look over a wall ;" and as for herself she declared that if she saw her leap into the mill-pool, she believed her evidence would go to prove that it was accidental death.

" One of the most dangerous women possible," said Miss Hammerton. This, however, was in her absence ; in her presence she was greatly mollified, particularly when she took her, on that pleasant summer evening, after dinner, to see a cottage juston the verge of the park, which, she said, with the most touching pathos, Henry had decided on present ing to her, whenever she would take it, as a resi dence, rent and taxes free, for her life. " Because you were so kind to me," she said, tears in her eyes — those tears which, at Mab berly House, had been such a bore ; but which, somehow, now, from the great lady, seemed like true feeling — " You believed in me when I came, a poor outcast, to your door." This was rather an exaggeration, considering her introduction, and the first-rate terms she offered ; but Miss Hammerton, who felt it im possible in face of her gratitude, to oppose this, let it pass, thanking her very warmly for her generous offer.

" When Rose is married you will like living near us, I am sure," said Mrs. Moncton, sweetly. Now this was a very puzzling speech, and one which it was, Miss Hammerton felt, impossible to answer. " Near us" implied near both Rose and her, or might mean only Mrs. Moncton and her husband. Now, to accept the position seemed equivalent to taking Mr. John Moncton before he asked, unless he had asked ; but, then, Rose was so open and straightforward; and then, again, to refuse the position, to say lightly that there was no chance of Rose's being married, would be to imply that, in the opinion of The Limes, he was free to withdraw his attentions, and stood in no degree implicated. She therefore decided in this difficulty to say nothing, but took so long to ar rive at this conclusion , that her mental debate, she feared, was detected, for as she led her back, Mrs. Moncton laughed a laugh which seemed to come from nothing and to ask for no sympathy — a laugh, indeed, which, ringing out, and seeming to be echoed by the sedately shading trees, struck her as savouring of the lunatic.

Indeed, it was one of her theories — by which she accounted for very much of the mischief which goes on in the world — that madness lies incipient in every one, showing itself, it may be, but once or twice in a lifetime, and she came charitably to the conclusion, particularly after that idle laugh, which seemed to come from nowhere, and to mean nothing, that she must have been mad when she left her husband's home, and perhaps that she had done well to shelter her. Time, particularly with temperate people, softens so much of the past. Few minds can be so miserably constituted, as re gards their own happiuess, as those who keep a long store of grievances, and rake them up and re-count them with all the fire and bitterness which they felt when they first occurred, perhaps, indeed, with added bitterness.

It may be difficult, and it certainly is unwise, to forget our own sins ; but it is possible to learn, and with no great difficulty to forget, the offences of others. Journeying back through the trees, they came upon Rose and John Moncton, who were coming to meet them. Rose looked so joyous and happy b that her sweet face made the heart glad, even to see her— childish, all touching, all confiding. Miss Hammerton felt how charming she might be from experience of her own fondness for her. " Was it you we heard laughing, Mira," said her brother-in-law, a little seriously, and rather anxiously. "' Yes, I laughed," she said, carelessly, " and so would you have laughed, too, John, if you had been me." "What about, then, may I ask ?" he said looking relieved. " Oh ! that I cannot tell you ; nor would you understand.

Would he, Miss Hammerton ?" Miss Hammerton felt herself to be more and more in the dark, and to be certain of nothing beyond the fact that she knew nothing herself, and therefore was very far from understanding it. She felt herself, however, very soon lost in con templation of Rose's happy face. Her power of being so thoroughly happy had always been fascinating to her in a home where happiness does not always reign supreme, and perhaps it is a boon alike to the world around as to its possessor. It had made poor Philip welcome everywhere ; yet with him it had been combined to a selfishness which might have made, but really marred his fortune. In her it was a joyousness of heart combined with the truest feeling, only that upon the least excuse she must be and look happy. And had she not cause to be happy at the preseut moment?

The romance and blessing of life had come to Hope in the happiest manner just now. Aunt Susan's longing for a family bride cake would be gratified after long years of waiting. One walked by her side, the sound of whose footfall was as music in her ear, and the cherished lady who had proved so kind to her was here to be petted and caressed and loved and flattered. What could she desire more ? A great deal more, Aunt Susan would say ; she regarded her position as one of a most slippery nature, and looked upon her happy carelessness of demeanour alike re moved from coquetry or indifference, as very unlike the rules she herself would have laid down for her following.

Chapter II. Built Upon The Rock

It did seem a little hard to Rose that she could not be allowed to dream out her own love dream, beautiful and perfect as it was to her, without in terruption. But she could not fail to see with some dismay that there was a little disappointment in her cousins' manner whenever she returned after any occasional meetings with John Moncton without bringing them that information which they showed that they expected, and which every delay made them anticipate with more impatience. But it may be that as the stream gains force by fretting against the stones, so love gains power, while breathed upon by the outer world. It is true, they had as yet been acquainted but a few weeks ; still, as from the first moment of meeting he had shown her undisguised attention, they had indeed seen more of each other than is often possible during a much longer time.

That her cousins felt no jealousy, and nothing but un feigned concern for her welfare, Rose was quite certain, and she honoured them for this certainty, and felt glad to know that there were such good unselfish people in the world. Still, she would have felt easier if they had left her little history alone. In vain she had tried to occupy them and her self almost exclusively with preparations for Hope's wedding : it would not do; her romance had, as it were, been first in the field, and their sympathies already enlisted too deeply to be set aside, even by so absorbing an interest as the arrival of a demi-god ; perhaps, the more deeply indeed, as from the very first, Aunt Susan had taken upon herself to prognosticate evil, and had thus gieen to the tale, carried on, as it were, before their eyes, a pathos which no ordinary acquaintance would have produced.

Being very warmly urged by Aunt Susan, and having promised to watch the case for her, Miss Hammerton felt called upon to do something before she left The Limes. But well did she know the delicacy of the position in which her darling stood ; and her heart was as tender as any mother's to wards her. She had perceived, however, that Aunt Susan had already made broad hints before her, and that the cousins took an interest in the affair which they had taken no pains to conceal; perhaps, then, a few words from her could do no harm. It was on the last evening of her stay, which had been too short to allow of the last night being very pathetic, that she decided on speaking. They were seated on a garden chair beneath an acacia, whose light branches trembled with every breath of the summer air, and whose loaded blossoms cast down upon the ground white leaves, falling like messengers of peace around them.

They could see the many windows of the house deep-set in rose covered walls and could feel that exceeding rest and tranquillity which comes with a season so blessed. "If you were only going to stay," Rose was murmuring softly. " If I were, darling, could I serve you, I wonder," Miss Hammerton said, and then Rose felt her colour deepening, and knew that she also was thinking of John Moncton, and thinking, per haps, with Aunt Susan that he meant to deceive, so that she answered nothing to this, but only laid her head caressingly on her shoulder. " May I say a word, darling," said Miss Ham merton, using the pet term so current at Mabberly House. " Is it necessary ?" asked Rose, " or shall I guess all you would say, and so spare both you and me." " You may do that if you like, sweet one," replied Miss Hammerton, relieved, in spite of her self, to find that there was not one chord of trouble or anxiety to be discovered in the sweet tones of her voice.

" Still, I think I should like to speak, if you will let me, for I am going away, and cannot watch over you or take any care of you. I must leave you to yourself and to your own guidance, and I should like to offer you a few words of help, drawn from a longer acquain - tance with life. May I, darling ?" " You know you may do or say anything," replied Rose, feeling instinctively that Miss Ham merton was not feeling simply as Aunt Susan had made her feel. "It seems to me, dear," Miss Hammerton began, gravely, " that you may be standing within reach of a very happy lot." Rose's hand, resting within her own, trembled slightly. " I like that fine young man, with his honest, laughing eyes." Much as Rose had loved her, she felt she loved her more at that moment than she had ever done before. " And I cannot help believing in him ; still, Mrs. Meredith, who has known him a long time, and who evidently likes him, com plains that he is a man governed by caprice, and that he worships a new face, and only plays at courting to pass away the time.

All this forms a very grave accusation against him, of course, and though it is not painting him as a bad man exactly, it is making him out to be a very un reliable one." She paused. Rose's large eyes were fixed upon the ground. The light branches above them stirred beneath the moving of a little bird, as it fluttered away, and a cluster of white flowers fell around them ; then the bird, having reached a more distant tree, began to sing, breaking the stillness which had fallen between them, by sweet notes, full of hope and comfort. Then Rose spoke, but her voice was low and hurried. " It is too late to caution me. He has made himself almost as dear as you are to me. I have looked in his laughing eyes and have believed in them. He may not wish to marry, but I am sure he is very fond of me, and I do not think I want any thing more.

When I come back to you I shall have an episode in my life to remember which will be fair as the pleasant scene we now look at together." " My darling," said Miss Hammerton, speaking with emotion, " I would that all this were true." She saw that the child she loved so well was happy and trustful, floating, as in a summer pageant, carelessly upon a sea whose depth she knew not, and of whose storms she was unaware. " You think with Uncle George," said Rose, laughing, " that all women are so double. I shall never forget his notion." "I think a little with him, but know that they are seldom double with intention. On the contrary, I believe every word you say." " That is right, dear . You like him, do you not? I am sure you do, by the way you smile upon him when you meet." "I do like him, but still I am not unobservant of Mrs. Meredith's caution."

" And so," said Rose, archly, " you would have me follow her advice. Lure him on by seeming to huff him off — by flirting just a little with Mr. Saunders, or any other gentleman who may be by, so that he may not think him self quite so sure. He is jealous to a fault, as all the Monctons are ; so that this treatment judiciously applied might be effectual." Miss Hammerton turned to her with sudden fear, and put her arm round her, drawing her, if possible, nearer than she was before, as if to screen her from some danger. " My darling, what do I care whether he comes forward or not ? All I want to be sure of is that, come what will, you will do your duty to yourself, and to that merciful and Heavenly Father to whom alone you owe your allegiance, and that these sore temptations to bitterness of thought and vexation of spirit will have no power to harm you ; for oh ! my child," she went on, excitedly, "it is through these heart sorrows that women are tried ; and who knows what trial of your faith may not be in store for you?"

The face which Rose turned towards her, lighted up as it was by the pure faith which was in her, reminded her of the expression of endur ing calmness and peace which she had always joined in her own mind with her idea of the holy men of old who walked unscathed through the fiery furnace. " You must not doubt me," she said, firmly, " you, who have taught me to build my house upon a rock." " I will not, my sweet child ; but when I saw how you were surrounded, how even the affec ti onate concern of those about you might become a temptation to you to try to secure what seems within your grasp by some unmaidenly effort, or should it be withheld, to think yourself illused, and therefore justified in repining — all this I have feared for you, and I am glad I had the courage to speak out. You know, I trust, that I have but one thought in this."

" I am sure of it," replied Rose, earnestly. " Remember, dear, that you are, as far as I am concerned, quite free," said the elder lady. " If you marry, I think I will retire ; but if you do not, and any trouble comes to you, then I feel sure you will fight it better by coming to me, and be very certain I will stay and fight it with you." They went in presently, Rose looking more thoughtful, perhaps, than usual, and wearing her beauty with a sedater aspect ; but she was soon won back to her usual gaiety by the sociability of the evening, during which Miss Hammerton was called upon to decide as to many weighty matters in the way of lace, ribands, and veils. The next morning she took her leave ; but so much had she won upon the good graces of the household by her well-timed stay, that Mr. Brereton insisted upon driving her himself to the station with Rose, who could not be denied a last look at her friend.

" You will remember, darling," said Miss Hammerton, as the train was about to leave, " that you have said that your house is on the rock ; these words will comfort me when I am troubling for you." " You must not — you shall not feel trouble for me," said Rose, impetuously. The train began to move, and Mr. Brereton bustled up with the morning paper ; and then with increasing speed the carriages hurried out of the station, leaving Rose looking after them through tearful, hazy eyes. " A very nice woman, I declare," said her uncle, " and worth crying for." " I am so glad you like her," said Rose, and smiled like sudden sunshine.

Chapter III. The Broken Dream

Miss Hammerton was gone, and Rose and her uncle returned home through the white dusty roads and the burning midday air, which pro duced lassitude and peculiar fatigue when joined to the loss of a friend whom she so dearly loved as Miss Hammerton. But Rose was a good and patient girl ; sore buffetted as she had once been, tossed from one place to another, and made to taste of bitternesses her father only guessed at — she had learned the blessed lesson of contentment. She was content with small blessings, singing within herself often enough a hymn of praise for such little things as move no feeling of thankfulness in some minds. Yet there was upon her that afternoon a heaviness she could not shake off. She was think ing of Miss Hammerton's words, and praying that she might do her duty, come what would ; even as she moved about the room, putting it a little tidy, for her cousins had gone out, and she had volunteered to put their work away.

She could not help feeling that either by the impatience of her friends or of right, a slur had been cast upon her lover. They considered him to be either a " laggard in love," which in a woman's eyes is ever a mean attribute, or worse, to be a man upon the faith of whose looks and actions no reliance could be placed. She remembered many such cases in her varied experience, for her father, from the earliest age, had made her the receptacle of his daily experi ences. She could call to mind how she had from VOL. III. c the far off corners where, for poor Philip's sake, she had been permitted to find a seat in arisotcratic circles, watched the young and handsome Lord Holfield paying his seemingly devoted attentions to the pretty Lady Mary Buchanan. Lady Mary had been very fond of her, and one night she remembered well when she, in her litte white frock, growing rapidly too short for her, had been standing admiring the lovely gauze dress which, to her artistic eye, made the young aristocrat look like a fairy, how Lady Mary had bent blushing beneath her gaze and the burden of her own thoughts, and drawing her to her had said, " If I marry, Rose, you shall be my little bridesmaid."

She had parted from her then for a, long, long time, it seemed to her childish fancy, and when she saw her next she lay in her shroud. They had called to enquire for the sorrowing relatives, for Philip always did a kind thing at the right time, and then the housekeeper, whom they saw, had said, " The young lady will never see a sweeter corpse, and it's best to get over the fear of death," and so had taken her up to see the white marble face lying in its beauty. " How did she die ?" Rose had asked. She was nearly going to say " why ?" feeling that one whom she had seen last so full of life and health could hardly die, and the answer came now to her remembrance : " Poor dear! she died of a broken heart, if ever any heart was broken." Lord Holfield had married a rich woman, leaving his poor, but real love, to be thought of only in his sentimental hours.

" I am sure he loved her," Rose had said, to her old and confidential friend the housekeeper. " Yes, my dear," the old woman had replied, sadly enough, " but men love money and their own comforts best." This old story, gone from her for years, came back to her now as she stood sorting the wools which Ruth had begged of her " to put away anyhow" in the drawing-room at The Limes. c She did not tell herself any longer that she did not care for John Moncton. She knew she cared for him, and she knew enough of life to be certain that she should care for him a very long time, or for ever, as she told herself. " But I do not wish him to continue to love me if he does not wish it," she said to her self; "only I shall be very sorry if people say he has done wrong, so that, when 1 go away, I shall leave a slur upon the name of one who has taught me to love him."

Upon the table lay her drawing materials. She had put them together, meaning to go, if she felt rested, to continue the sketch of the church from the Moncton grounds which her cousins had persuaded her to begin. The organ was in the course of erection, but there would be left upon it a1 small debt which the promised ten pounds would go far to cover, and there seemed no reason why she should not obtain that sum, which was so earnestly desired. She would go presently, she thought, or perhaps after tea, when the people of the Hall would be at dinner, and she could feel certain, even in her own mind, that she was not going there with the hope of meeting any body. The very next week was fixed for Hope's marriage. The Major, though he never seemed to say much, had hurried the thing forward, and had determined to furnish his house after, instead of before marriage ; and Hope had given way, having heard that retired soldiers sadly wanted something to do, and being mentally determined that the furnishing should last for a long time.